Montana Darling (Big Sky Mavericks Book 3)

by Salonen, Debra

  Ryker shook his head. “I had acceptance letters from two Ivy League schools, but after my dad passed away, my mother remarried quite quickly and my stepfather didn’t believe anybody deserved a ‘free ride,’ as he called it. No money and no time to apply for aid didn’t leave me with a lot of options. Luckily, my dad had a lot of connections and was well liked. I begged a recommendation from a friend of his who was an editor at a local newspaper to snag a stringer spot with an affiliate of UPI—United Press International. It took about nine months to get in so I used the time to sharpen my skills in fashion in New York.”

  He took a breath and let it out, picturing how green he’d been. Such a baby. Good thing some guardian angel—his dad he always figured—had been looking out for him.

  “When I was nineteen, I was sent to Afghanistan as a gopher with an experienced crew. We wound up in Fallujah right before a major offensive. Utter chaos. Someone handed me a camera and I kept shooting until the shooting stopped. The world press picked up a couple of my shots. Just luck.”

  “Impressive for one so young,” Bob said.

  “In the early years, my age probably is what saved me. People didn’t have very high expectations. Every once in awhile I’d get lucky, but most of my shots sucked most of the time. I didn’t know a tenth of what I needed to learn about composition and light. But I got better.” He washed down his last bite of pizza with a large gulp of Chianti.

  When Bob turned away to answer a question from his wife, Mia reached under the table to touch his leg. Just a little pat but the zings of electricity from the contact made him nearly choke on his wine. “Sorry for the inquisition,” she said, leaning close enough to whisper. “We’re all still adjusting to our new roles. Dad forgets I’m not in high school anymore.”

  “I’ve been grilled by worse. No worries.”

  Mia stood. “Apples To Apples, anyone?”

  “Grandpa and I are playing Minecraft,” Hunter said.

  “I’m Skyping with Cara and Jenni. We have to decide on the image for the Volleyball T-shirt fundraiser,” Emilee answered. “Which do you like better, Ryker?”

  She walked around the table to show him her phone. “This one?”

  The pink shirt sported a familiar twisted ribbon made up of people’s names. “That’s cool. Is your mom’s name in it?” he asked, squinting.

  “No. It’s just some clip art our teacher found online.”

  Mia leaned over his shoulder. Her scent wrapped him in a hug that left him a little breathless. Shit. Weird. He liked her. He’d like to take her home with him and spend the night making love with her, but despite her friendliness, he guessed that wasn’t going to happen. She had a family. She belonged here. He didn’t.

  “Nice, but not very volleyball-ish,” Mia said. “Show us the other one.”

  Emilee flicked the screen with her fingertip. A light pink background with hot pink lettering that bore the words: “Bump, Set, Spike for a Cure.”

  Ryker and Mia exchanged a look. “This one,” they said together.

  Emilee looked from one to the other and back. Then she walked away without comment.

  Probably just as well, Ryker thought. The pheromones line-dancing between him and her mother were undoubtedly glowing the same shade of pink as the wording on the shirt. “I’ll buy one, if they go with the Bump, Set, Spike design,” he said.

  “You’re not afraid to be seen in pink?”

  “It’s one of my best colors, I’ve been told.”

  She grinned. “I’ll order you a size large. Now, how ’bout some help cleaning up since Mom is probably on the phone with my future sister-in-law talking wedding details and my lazy children seem to have disappeared.”

  “Oh, Mo…om,” he whined, with a wink. “Okay.”

  He followed her around the corner to find a bright, cheerful, open layout kitchen that included a large island with four stools and a gleaming chrome cooktop. “Something tells me this is Family Central.”

  “It is, now. This used to be a wall when I was growing up. A woman’s place and all that,” she added sardonically. “A few years ago, Paul’s crew gutted the room when Mom and Dad were doing their snowbird thing in Arizona. They took out a wall and replaced it with this island.”

  “Looks great.”

  She nodded. “The plan called for him to move the basement steps to the other side of the room so this could all be dining room.” She pointed toward a painted railing capped with a polished oak banister. “That proved cost prohibitive. But taking out the wall and adding French doors out to the deck gave the kitchen a view.”

  He stared out the darkened windows. When he’d ridden up, he’d glimpsed what appeared to be creek trees behind the house. He didn’t know the variety. “Do you back up to the river?”

  She walked to the sink and turned on the water. “Just a feeder creek. It runs briefly in the spring. When we were kids, we’d catch crawdads and Austen swears he got a trout one time, but I never believed it.”

  He hurried to her side, grabbing a towel from the handle of the stove on his way past. Since she was washing the silverware first, he started drying the flatware they’d used. The warm, lemon-scented steam from the wash water made him smile. “I didn’t know how much I missed hot, running water until I moved into the Fish and Game. It’s a luxury beyond words.”

  “Where did you bathe when you were in your tent?”

  “Once—sometimes twice—a week, I’d ride my bike to the hot springs. Heavenly. But most days, I’d simply go for a swim with a bar of soap. Not enough to pollute the river, I promise.”

  She snickered. “I’m sure the people swimming upriver from you weren’t that concerned about hygiene.”

  “True. Once, when a group of German tourists were passing by, one of them paddled to shore and gave me an ice cold beer from his cooler that had a dedicated float.”

  “Sounds nice. Your great summer adventure.”

  He took his time polishing a high-end looking knife. He studied his reflection in the steel. “My tent was a great place to hide out from reality.”

  She rinsed the glass carafe from the drip coffeemaker. “If we’re being honest, I have to admit when I first saw your camp and how relaxed you seemed, I was green with envy. That’s one of the reasons I was so testy. A single mom is lucky if she can go to the bathroom without someone wanting something. There have been times when I would have paid someone to hire me just so I could get out of the house.”

  He liked her honesty. It made her more accessible and real.

  She went on. “While living here with my folks is a great blessing, I’ve been on my own since I left for college. This is home, but it’s not my house. I guess that’s why I was in such a big hurry to get the foundation in.”

  He took the carafe from her hands and slowly dried it. “When I first got back to the states, I spent a month with my brother in Kentucky. He and his wife were not getting along. They’ve since split up. At the time, I felt like a buffer…an excuse to avoid dealing with their problems.”

  He shook his head. “So, last year, right after Christmas, I headed to Key West to see an old friend from high school. He lives mostly off the grid, fishes, sells a piece of art every once in awhile and seems pretty darn content. He told me I owed it to myself to check out Montana.”

  “It’s your life, man. Take however long you need to figure things out. You get to decide.’”

  She pulled the plug on the soapy water. “Have you? Decided? What you’re going to do?”

  He knew what he’d like to do. He wanted to kiss her again. Right here, in the lemon-scented bouquet from the wash water. Instead, he folded the damp dishtowel neatly and laid it beside the sink. “I know what I don’t want to do. Does that count?”

  She hopped to the counter, her white stocking feet dangling. “That’s half the battle…at least, it was for me.” She gazed past his shoulder, thinking. “Regardless of my health, I knew I couldn’t raise a family on my own while working in the Cheyenne Dis
trict Attorney’s office. I’d either screw up my kids or let a serial killer walk because I missed something…neither sounded like a viable option.”

  He stepped between her legs. She blinked in surprise but didn’t pull back. “Good call. Any chance we could continue this conversation at my place?”

  She inhaled slowly, her teeth worrying her bottom lip as she silently debated the wisdom of what most certainly would not be one-sided sex. Were they friends? Were they going to be friends with benefits? Was he dreaming or rushing her? He braced for her answer.

  “Okay.”

  “Really?” He risked a quick kiss, which she returned with an eagerness that pleased him. “Cool.”

  Of course, that tiny taste only made him want more. He wanted her—every bit as much as he’d ever wanted any woman. The knowledge unnerved him, but that didn’t change how he felt. “Maybe we could toss my bike in the back of your car.”

  “Good idea. I’ll go tell the kids. It was starting to sprinkle when I let the dog in. If the temperature drops any more, the rain will turn to ice. Safety first is the Big Z way,” she added with an enticing hint of humor.

  She scooted forward and lowered herself to the floor, her front rubbing with slow, seductive friction against his front. Then, with a soft snicker, she slipped away.

  He took a clean wine glass that hadn’t gotten put away and filled it with water from the tap. He drank his fill. He didn’t know how deep this connection would go, but he knew one thing for certain—they were a thing. A hot, gotta-have-me-some-of-this kind of thing. And Ryker was ready.

  *

  Mia pulled into the driveway between the garage and the main house, which had been converted to Jenkins’s Fish and Game and Bedazzled Bling. Her windshield wipers whacked back and forth relentlessly, barely clearing enough space for her to read the sign suspended under the front overhang.

  “I’ll be right back,” Ryker said, jumping out.

  A gust of cold air chased in before he could get the door closed.

  She shifted in the heated seat to look over her shoulder. The rear hatch opened and, after a brief tussle, he pulled his bike from the SUV’s back area. The rivulets of rain on the driver’s side window and fog from her warm breath made it impossible to watch as he stowed his bike in the garage.

  She’d just leaned forward to turn up the fan when he rapped on her window.

  She opened the door a crack, her doubts returning. Was the weather a sign she’d made the wrong choice? “Your umbrella, ma’am.”

  The gesture made her heart melt a little. “You’re a gentleman.”

  “Be sure to tell your dad. I think he had his doubts about me.”

  His tone made her kick her hesitation to the curb. The weather in Montana was always changeable. This squall had nothing to do with her desire to explore the attraction she felt toward this man. And she wasn’t daddy’s little girl trying to be perfect. She’d wasted too damn much of her life on that futile goal.

  She opened the door and got out after stuffing her purse under her jacket. He put his arm around her shoulders, holding the umbrella at an angle to keep the wind from blowing the rain sideways. “Dad’s cautious. Mom’s more adventurous. She talked him into buying the travel trailer. They visited friends in Arizona one winter and she decided she was ready to become a Montana snowbird. Dad resisted for another year, but, eventually, she wore him down. Now, he can’t wait to get down south.”

  They waddled quite gracelessly through the wet yard to the patio, which provided enough protection for Ryker to shake out the umbrella and stash it in a dry corner. He pulled a key from his pocket. “Side door,” he said, drawing her with him. “The slider is very sticky.”

  Mia had been to Bailey’s workshop several times, but never at night. They kicked off their shoes and boots on a wide woven mat. “My socks are wet.”

  “Mine, too. We can dry them on the register in my room.”

  His hand was warm and comforting. “Want some tea or cocoa? Won’t be as good as Sage Carrigan’s.”

  She squeezed his fingers. “Nothing right now.”

  Was that signal clear enough? She wanted something that had nothing to do with food. She wanted him, God help her. She even brought along a couple of the condoms she bought in Bozeman the last time she was there. Not because for fear of pregnancy but because she hadn’t taken him up on his offer of a doctor’s report.

  Her lack of female plumbing was another reason why this fling with Ryker could never go any further than a little temporary fun. He wasn’t even thirty. He’d want children at some point. He deserved a family of his own. She wasn’t the right woman for him…long-term, but for tonight? She wasn’t a sex fiend, but she felt fairly confident they’d both enjoy what was about to happen.

  “What’s it like living in a jewelry store?” she asked as they passed the new showroom.

  He shrugged. “Ask me in a week. When I was doing school pictures, I left in the morning before the ladies got here and they were gone by the time I got back.” He paused, his smile a bit mischievous. “But they’re really nice. They think I’m too thin so they leave plates of goodies for me. One of the ladies—I don’t know which—makes the best brownies on the planet. Do you want one?”

  She did. “I cut sugar out of my diet because somebody told me or I read somewhere that sugar feeds cancer cells.”

  He pulled her close. “But you got rid of the cancer cells.”

  “I did, didn’t I?” What was her excuse for cutting pleasure from her diet? As a punishment for getting sick in the first place? “Okay. Give me a brownie.”

  His smile triggered something silly, bright and magical inside her. She applauded when he danced like some crazy hipster down the hallway to the kitchen. He was a young Tom Cruise in white socks and blue jeans, with a mop of curls and laughing eyes.

  He returned a second later in serious waiter mode—a yellow plate resting on his uplifted hand. “Madam,” he said with a phony French accent. “If you weel follow me. Your table…or should I say…bed…is waiting.”

  Bed. The b-word. God, I’m really going to do this, aren’t I?

  His bow was her answer. Tonight was about having fun.

  Exactly what he made her want to feel again. Ryker Bensen was the right man to remind her she was still alive.

  She walked to the open door at the end of the hallway. The house was quiet, despite the storm raging outside. He reached in to flick on the light. A bedside lamp cast a warm yellowish glow across a queen-size bed. A hand-stitched patchwork quilt in dark blues and yellow gave the place a pleasant, welcoming vibe.

  “It’s nice.”

  “Good word. I agree.”

  He ushered her in. Not forcefully, but with a steady, reassuring hand at the base of her spine. She knew he would have stepped back instantly if she’d changed her mind. That knowledge made her march into the room and sit on the bed. She bounced a couple of times as if testing the firmness of the mattress before buying it.

  Ryker went to the upholstered chair situated between the window and the bed and sat. He hunched forward, fingers woven together. His body language told her he wanted to talk.

  Damn.

  “Mia, I’m glad you’re here. Delighted, actually.” His smile was reassuring, until he added, “But I think we should clear the air before we go any further.”

  “Because of our legal issues?”

  “No. That’s…stuff. It’ll get resolved—one way or the other. I’m confident we can work out something fair. I meant…correct me if I’m wrong, but this is the first time you’ve been with another man since your life hit the fan…so to speak, isn’t it?”

  She wanted to be put out by the question, but, strangely, she wasn’t. “Am I an open book to you? Nobody’s ever said that about me before.”

  “No. You’re a sweetheart. A goddess. An enigma. All of the above. But for some reason, I feel you.”

  She leaned back on her elbows, a grin slowly forming on her lips. “You feel me? Is th
at some kind of woo-woo California-speak? I thought you were from the east coast. And France.”

  He was out of the chair before she could blink. His body hovered above hers. Not touching, but close enough to feel his heat, his substance, his heartbeat. She smelled the scent of him—wet hair, cold air, pizza and wine on his breath. And she knew what he was waiting for her to say.

  She let her head fall to the mattress as she stared into his eyes. “I feel you, too.”

  Then he lowered his head. His lips lightly, tenderly brushed hers as he whispered, “I know.”

  *

  “Will Mia be back tonight?”

  Emilee’s question exactly. Her only excuse for eavesdropping on her grandparents nested together on the family room sofa.

  “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t if I were her.”

  The blunt words weren’t nearly as shocking as her grandmother’s throaty laugh. It reminded Emilee of the older girls in school. The ones who dated…a lot. Emilee knew perfectly well what they did on those dates. Apparently the same thing her mother was doing with Ryker. The guy wasn’t bad looking…for someone old. And he’d been pretty cool when he took her picture, but still….

  She closed her eyes and shuddered. Her mother. Her broken, damaged mother who wouldn’t even let Emilee see her naked.

  No. Mom wouldn’t do the evil deed with a stranger. She just wouldn’t.

  “She’ll be back,” Emilee said, revealing herself.

  Her grandparents didn’t look surprised or put out that she’d been listening. Grandma even patted the sofa and motioned for Emilee to join them.

  “Why do you say that? Your mom’s an adult, and now that she’s healed—healing,” she corrected, a concerned look wrinkling her forehead, “…it’s only natural to want to start dating again.”

  Emilee forced herself not to roll her eyes. “This isn’t exactly a date, Grandma.”

  Her grandparents exchanged a look. Emilee could tell they were trying not to smile.

  Grandpa reached across Grandma to pat Emilee’s arm. “Good point, sweets. But your mother has always lived life on her own terms.”