Montana Darling (Big Sky Mavericks Book 3)

by Salonen, Debra

  Bailey and her “minions,” as her gregarious, chatty workers called themselves, would be here soon. He’d only bumped into the four women a few times. As pleasant, gregarious and motherly as they were, he’d felt like a new pet goldfish under scrutiny in a sparkly fishbowl. This job got him out of the house before the jewelry crowd arrived.

  Maybe he’d try to find another steady gig.

  He wove gracefully around parked cars, barely avoiding a cat that would have given up one of his lives if Ryker had been in a car. He turned on Fifth, slowing to cross the tracks—a treacherous task on a bike. If he lived here permanently, he’d make building dedicated bike lanes one of his first initiatives.

  Traffic picked up as he neared the school, but he was early enough to be able to spot the Raines Photography van in the high school parking lot without a problem.

  “Morning. Punctual. Like that,” Bob Raines, his temporary boss, said when Ryker glided to a stop beside the impossible-to-miss vehicle. Bob liked things organized and on schedule. He tended to talk in Twitter-speak. Short. Succinct. Verb-challenged.

  Ryker chained his bike to a nearby rack and removed his helmet.

  “Clean-shaven, too, I see. Good and bad.”

  “What do you mean? Yesterday, you called me scruffy.”

  Bob handed him a clipboard. “True. Better for the teachers. Worse for the girls.”

  Ryker ran his hand over his smooth jaw. The whole time he’d spent shaving, he’d pictured himself kissing Mia, rubbing his smooth cheek against her tender skin, trying to imagine what she’d gone through with her surgery and cancer treatments. Last night, he’d read a few breast cancer survivors’ journals online to get some idea of her ordeal.

  “Worse? How?”

  Bob yanked a tripod out of the van and passed it to Ryker. “Watch ’em go all Bieber on you.”

  Bieber? Ryker had a vague idea who Justin Bieber was, but he’d didn’t get what Bob was implying until the man added, “Giggles. Blushes. Flirting. Adds time to every single shot.”

  Three hours later, Ryker understood. Teenage girls…who knew? As a herd, they reminded him of gazelles. He’d observed a hundred or so females grazing with grace and casual indifference until a cheetah appeared in the distance. Suddenly, the dynamic changed and Ryker was lucky he wasn’t trampled in the resulting stampede. He felt the same jolt of panic when the first group of high school kids showed up for their moment in the spotlight.

  As Bob’s assistant, Ryker was in charge of coordinating the individual headshots so the right name made it to the right package for payment and eventual distribution. The boys goofed off a little bit in line, but nothing a casual “Really, dude?” couldn’t control. But the girls…crap. They danced nervously as soon as they got close to the lights and camera. They started preening and fidgeting. Some posed like actresses on the red carpet.

  Others, like Mia’s daughter, stepped up and handed him the manila envelope without the least bit of flirtatious banter. The only way he could tell she recognized him was the slight blush in her pretty cheeks—her mother’s cheeks—and the serious tilt of her brows. She wanted to know what he’d been doing with her mother.

  Not as much as I want to do, he thought.

  Since the line had stalled as Bob dealt with a drama queen who demanded a glam shot, Ryker had time to break the ice. “Sorry about the other day by the tracks.”

  Her slim shoulders rose and fell.

  “Has your mother forgiven you for skipping school or are you still in the dog house?”

  “Our dog sleeps inside.”

  He liked her answer. Just a hint of attitude.

  “What kind of dog do you have?”

  “Labradoodle.”

  He had no idea what that was. One more thing to look up on the Internet.

  “How do you know my mom?”

  “We own the same piece of land. Didn’t she tell you?”

  Her frown was pure Mia. “She doesn’t tell me anything…except when it comes to her medical problems. I’m an expert on that.”

  He glanced at Bob to see if he’d settled the dispute. Nope. Still going on.

  “That’s unusual. My dad had a heart condition he never told anybody about. Not even my mom.”

  “Did he die?”

  “Yep. Too young. Really sucked.”

  Her momentary look of distress made him kick himself. He quickly added, “If he’d been more open, like your mom, he might still be alive. But, if he were, I wouldn’t be here. My life would have been completely different.” He shrugged. “You learn to deal, right?”

  Bob whistled to get his attention. “Next.”

  Ryker made a be-my-guest gesture. “Nice meeting you…” He consulted his list. “Emilee Kingston.” A member of Spirit Club, French Club and Twisted, whatever that was. Three social groups meant he’d see her again.

  Normally, the thought of dating a woman with kids—particularly teens—would have sent Ryker scrambling for a flight to Mozambique. Instead, he was planning a conquest. He didn’t understand why exactly, but he wasn’t leaving Marietta without two things: his name on the deed of his father’s land and Mia Zabrinski celebrating her body, her life and her sexuality…with him.

  *

  Mia glanced at her phone. Not to check the clock but to remember what day it was. Five days had skipped by in a blur. Time no longer made sense to her. She used to be able to work the clock to her advantage. Her keen sense of timing and ability to cut through crap to get things accomplished had made her an asset to her boss, the DA. In the frantic, too much work, too little time atmosphere of the DA’s office, Mia got things done.

  Now that she was out of work, she found herself easily side-tracked by silly jobs—like brushing the dog, which was supposed to be Emilee’s job. Unfortunately, the mindless distraction encouraged her brain to wander way, way, way off topic.

  Twice today she’d had to tackle her imagination when it pondered what Ryker Bensen was doing. She hadn’t seen him since Saturday when she helped him move in the rain. A muddy unpleasant task that she’d had to rush through because Emilee had informed her the night before she had to go to Livingston for a girl’s volleyball tournament. Because Mia had been too sick and too lethargic to make up her mind about moving last summer, the kids had registered for school too late for Emilee to join the volleyball team. Paul had suggested Emilee attend all the games to show her support. “The coach might even let you practice with the team if she knows you’re committed.”

  Since team sports were a great way to make friends and get involved with a new school, Mia couldn’t say no.

  While they were moving Ryker had filled her in on his new job working for the school photographer this week. They were starting with the lower grades and working their way up to the junior high and high school. Would he meet her kids? Emilee he might recognize from the train tracks incident, but he hadn’t seen Hunter. Had she told him the kids’ last name? She couldn’t remember. They hadn’t talked about her children. For some reason, she’d gotten the impression the topic was verboten. She couldn’t say why. What that told her is she didn’t know Ryker Bensen at all. And, yet, she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

  Her phone rang. Austen.

  She put the phone on speaker so she could continue brushing Roxy. “Hello, brother dear. How’s life in the big city of Helena?”

  “Typical. People being stupid and predictable. You have no idea how bored I am. Endless meetings. Nothing gets accomplished. No wonder I like the ranch better. There’s a lot to be said for physical labor, you know. A clear sense of accomplishment, for one.”

  She missed her brother. She missed a lot of things.

  “How’s your search for the perfect rental property going?” he asked.

  “It sucks. I saw two over-priced shacks this week. And there’s no way I’m working out of a strip mall. Does that cry ambulance chaser or what?”

  His laugh made Roxy bark. “Hey, is that my dog niece? Put her on. I still think we ne
ed to introduce her to Beau. They’d make beautiful giant babies.”

  Mia rolled her eyes. “Your girlfriend’s dog has been fixed—and, besides, Beau already has a relationship with Serena’s brother’s dog. A high-strung poodle, from what I hear. There’s no accounting for taste.” She hugged Roxy, rubbing her cheek against the dog’s soft coat. “Roxy would be a great catch, but such are the vagaries of love.”

  Austen groaned. “Damn, girl, you sound depressed. If you were a guy, I’d say you needed to get laid.”

  “If you weren’t a misogynistic ass, I’d tell you about a certain guy.”

  “Who? When? Are you kidding me?”

  “None of your business. What is your business is Zabrinski Law. I need help. There’s nothing worth renting in the downtown area.”

  He made a crowing I-know-something-you-don’t sound, which used to irk the hell out of her. “Check your email. I just made a tentative deal…pending your approval.”

  “Who? When? Where?”

  His laugh made her grin. Damn. She’d hate him if she didn’t love him so much. She fumbled with her phone but finally got into her mail and opened the attachment. The image was a publicity photo for Ren Fletcher’s law office—the place she’d met with Ryker Bensen last week.

  “What are you talking about? He’s selling?”

  “No. He’s willing to rent us the second floor. He lived up there after his divorce, but now that he and Tully are married and expecting a baby, he plans to spend less time in town. I suggested this would be great passive income and he agreed.”

  She was shocked but immediately began to see the potential. “I’m in,” she said. “It’s perfect.”

  “Thank you. I am. Pretty much.”

  Her joy must have been infectious because Roxy pulled away and started loping across the back yard like a puppy.

  “Wait. I don’t remember seeing a set of interior stairs.”

  “Yeah…well, there’s that. Putting in an elevator won’t be cheap, but we’ll have to be ADA compliant or the city won’t approve our application. Ren said if we could get an engineer to okay it, he’d be willing to split the cost since it’s his building.”

  At least with interior work they wouldn’t have to worry about winter weather slowing things down. With a little luck, they could be open by the first of the year. Then, next spring, after her title was free and clear, she could look into building a house.

  “Since I’m not going to have a house to move into any time soon, I’ve decided to take Mom and Dad up on their offer to move into the master suite after they leave for Arizona. No way can I take a winter in the basement. I don’t know how you stood it.”

  He laughed. “I sneaked out half the time. Slept in the back of my truck. Under the stars. With my girlfriends. The folks either didn’t know or didn’t care. I never asked.”

  “I hate you. I was a perfect angel, and they watched me like a hawk. You ran amuck and they turned a blind eye.”

  “I know, right? Maybe that’s why you’re so tough on Emilee while Hunter flies right under your radar.”

  They’d had this discussion before. She didn’t like it—probably because he was right.

  “When are you coming home?”

  “I have a breakfast meeting tomorrow, then I’m outta here.”

  “I’ll see if I can schedule a meeting with an engineer next week. Fly safe, Striker.”

  Her mention of his Big Sky Mavericks’ call signal made him chuckle. “You, too, Nitro.”

  They’d had a magical childhood. Not the sort her children could claim.

  Before he hung up, Mia asked for a favor. “Meg’s invited Em to come up for a few days. Would you be able to fly her? The thought of driving that far makes me queasy.” Since her treatments, she didn’t trust herself behind the wheel on long distance drives. Especially alone. She could take someone with her. Say…Ryker Bensen, for instance. But that would involve a hotel room and a lot of explaining.

  One huge emotional hurdle at a time.

  “Not a problem. I’ll see if Serena can come along. She hasn’t met Meg, yet.”

  They pinned down some details then Mia went inside to shower. Mom was in the kitchen chopping veggies for homemade pizza—a favorite at the Zabrinski house. Mom’s sourdough crust was the best around.

  One huge emotional hurdle at a time, she reminded herself.

  “Hey, Mom, would you mind if I invited someone to pizza tonight? Not sure he’ll come, but he’s on his own and…”

  “The photographer/squatter you kicked off your land?”

  Mia rolled her eyes. Was nothing private in this town?

  “His name is Ryker Bensen.”

  “Sure. I’d like to meet him. Louise suggested Bailey hire him to take photos of the wedding. I want to make sure he knows what he’s doing.”

  She did? Mia wasn’t sure how she felt about that development. It was starting to sound as though Ryker Bensen was setting up shop and planned to stay in Marietta. Permanent was so not part of her plans. Her vague plans. More wishful thinking than a set-in-stone want list.

  That settled it. She was going to invite him to pizza night. She had a few questions for Ryker Bensen, too, starting with…“Would you be open to a brief, no-strings affair before you head off on your merry way—regardless of the outcome of the property?”

  *

  What am I doing? Ryker silently asked himself as he pushed the doorbell of the sprawling, contemporary ranch-style house set on a huge lot in a development north of town. The age of the trees told him this neighborhood was several dozen years old. But someone had painted this home recently and added a few updates, like new windows and landscaping.

  “I’ll get it.”

  “I will.”

  “I said…”

  The door opened with a jolt, as if both of the people opposite him had pulled the doorknob at the same time.

  “Hi. Am I at the right place?”

  “Yes. Come in,” Mia’s daughter said. She’d changed out of her school clothes into a stylish layered top over black leggings. Her long straight hair reached nearly to her butt—or the subtle extensions did, at least.

  “Better bring your bike in,” a boy—her younger brother, Ryker guessed—said. “Somebody stole my skateboard out of the front yard a few weeks ago.”

  “Mom told you not to leave it there.”

  The boy stuck out his tongue.

  “You two remind me of me and my brother. We fought all the time, but now we’re best friends.”

  Emilee’s left brow shot upward, skeptically. The boy gave her a snarly look.

  Ryker put out his hand. “We haven’t met. I’m Ryker.”

  “Hunter.”

  “Cool. I like your name. Whose class are you in?”

  “Bateman’s.”

  Ryker rolled his bike into the entry, grateful the rain that drenched his move had passed. “Ah…that explains why we didn’t meet. My boss did your room.”

  He’d seen the proofs and was pleased to know Emilee’s were lovely. Her smile seemed sweet and genuine, which had surprised him given her attitude the first time they met.

  Hunter closed the door and turned toward the brightly lit kitchen to call out, “Mom, your boyfriend is here.”

  Emilee slugged her brother in the shoulder. “Asswipe.”

  “Mo…om, Em hit me. Hard.”

  Ryker looked longingly at his bike but after a heartbeat of indecision, he hung his helmet from the left handlebar and shrugged off his backpack so he could grab the bottle of Chianti he’d brought for the occasion. “Wine makes even the most difficult occasion tolerable,” Colette often said.

  He hoped she was right. He’d accepted Mia’s surprise invitation with reservations. Other than the hour or so it took her to help him move his stuff to the Fish and Game, he and Mia hadn’t had a real post-sex-in-his-tent talk. He didn’t expect the subject to come up tonight. That’s why he’d planned to take her to dinner at the local Italian restaurant, which was w
ithin walking distance. But she’d declined his invitation saying, “My mom’s pizza beats anything Rocco’s puts out. Just sayin’…are you interested?”

  Yep. He was. Interested enough to meet the family.

  Chapter 9

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  “This is the…best…pizza…ever,” Ryker said, savoring the flavor with every chew. “And I spent a month in Italy when I was nineteen, so I consider myself a bit of a pizza connoisseur.”

  His hostess, Sarah Zabrinski, embodied the warmest, most genuine motherly aura he’d ever met. When she hugged him hello, his heart had melted a little. Even some of the resentment he felt toward his own mother might have disappeared with that hug.

  “You have to let me photograph you the next time you do this. I want to capture the exact moment you infuse the secret ingredient into the dough.”

  “What secret ingredient?” Emilee asked.

  They were sitting around a giant oval table, with an incongruous, but somehow appropriate mix of paper plates and crystal wine glasses. Emilee and Hunter sipped apple juice out of their sparkling stemware.

  “Love. I can taste it. Can’t you?”

  She made a face. “You’re weird.”

  “Emilee. Rude.”

  Emilee looked at her mother. “Sorry.” Her tone was anything but.

  Sarah offered Ryker another slice of the pepperoni, jalapeno and artichoke, which he took. “You’re too kind,” she said. “I’ve had a lot of practice. Four kids, including twins, was a challenge at times. Luckily, they were all very independent and self-starters. I was happy just to keep up.”

  He looked around the table as he chewed. Bob Zabrinski, Mia’s dad, reminded Ryker of his own father in a way. Or, maybe, the way he thought his dad might look if he’d lived to be sixty-eight. Still tall, broad-shouldered and fit, with a great deal more silver than coal in his recently barbered hair. Bob had pulled Ryker aside to ask the tough questions any patriarch would ask: age, marital state, employment, family background, and work history. The latter surprised Ryker, until he remembered the man had run a retail business most of his life.

  “So, Ryker, you were telling us about all your travels. Sounds like you started pretty young. Where’d you go to college?”