Closer to You (A Haven, Montana Novel)

by Jill Sanders

  The company’s current lease was on an old farm in the middle of nowhere. Sure, it was only ten miles out of town, but when he stepped out of the trailer and glanced around, there wasn’t another person or building in sight. No lights, no city noises, no women to come running when he smiled at them.

  Damn! He missed the city.

  He made his way toward his father’s truck and cursed when the old thing didn’t start up.

  Why the hell his old man hadn’t replaced the damn thing years ago was beyond him.

  The memory surfaced fast and hard, almost like a quick punch to the gut.

  His father laughing as he leaned over the engine of the old Ford truck.

  “No, son, a carburetor doesn’t yell at the rest of the car to go faster.”

  He must have been ten since he’d needed to stand on a five-gallon bucket in order to see inside the engine block.

  “What does a car-berate-tor do, then?”

  His father had chuckled again. “A carburetor controls the flow of gas that goes into the engine.” His father had tapped the large metal piece in the engine. “This”—he smiled up at him—“is what we’ll be taking apart in the next few weeks.”

  “Why? Why not get a new one?” he’d asked.

  “Because, son, sometimes the answer to a problem isn’t throwing money at it. Sometimes you need to put in a little elbow grease in order to solve a problem.”

  “Like you and Uncle Carl?”

  His father had sighed and wiped a cloth along his forehead. “Well, in the case of people problems, it takes both people to want to work the problems out.”

  “Doesn’t Uncle Carl want to be your brother anymore?”

  “Son, he’ll always be my brother.”

  “Like Trent, Trey, and me?”

  “Yeah.” His dad grinned. “Carl just needs to want to work things out.”

  “He’ll come around, though, right?”

  “I hope so.” His father’s eyes had been filled with sadness. “I sure do hope so.”

  Tyler shook off the memory and after he punched the gas a few times, the engine roared to life. He made his way back into town, toward his parents’ place. The old ranch house sat on the outskirts of town and, if you could believe it, was one of the nicer homes around Haven. He knew that his dad and Uncle Carl had designed and built the place themselves. Back before Tyler had been born, before they had a falling out.

  He passed through town without stopping at his place. The first thing Tyler had done after returning to town was to rent the apartment above the Wet Spot, the local bar slash strip club. Haven wasn’t known for its churches, but they had some of the nicest tits in Montana. Ones he had frequently enjoyed. Up until now.

  After spending almost an hour on the phone with NewField Production Company that afternoon, he’d convinced himself that it was high time to take a hiatus from drinking. He needed to focus for the next three months, which meant no more drinking himself to oblivion every night and no more women. Period.

  After he pulled up behind his mother’s new sedan and jerked the truck into park, he sat there in silence as he looked at his childhood home. His father had been a stickler for keeping the place up. He’d even hired several of the oil crew to swing by once a week to tend to the yard work. Since none of the three boys could ever muster up the strength to do the job themselves.

  Reflecting on that made Tyler realize how worthless they really had been. Why had their father never yelled at them? Hell, the old man had never really had a harsh word for anyone in his life. Even when all the employees had gone on strike several years back, his dad was right there with his calm voice, negotiating until everyone was satisfied and back at work.

  They’d always called him the gentle giant. His old man had followed the rule of “speak softly” literally—only his stick was the power of persuasion. Which, at this point, Tyler was seriously envious of.

  “You going to sit there all night or come in?” Trey, his youngest brother, stood just outside the truck, completely bundled up in a thick coat with a beanie covering his head and scarf over his face.

  “I’m thinking . . .” Tyler sighed, then reached over and snatched up the box of gifts he’d hastily wrapped the week before. Opening his door, he pulled his jacket closed and followed his brother up the front porch and into the warm house.

  Winters in Montana were the worst kind of a bitch, but he’d grown up here and knew how to deal with the cold. The two of them took their time in the entryway removing their outer clothing and boots.

  He noticed that Trent’s boots and the jacket were already hanging up and dry. Even though all three boys had moved out shortly after graduating, Trent had been the one to move back in a few weeks ago when their father had suddenly died from a heart attack while out on a job.

  Trent had wanted to move in and take care of their mom, Gail. They all saw how she was so emotionally drained, left all alone after thirty years of being happily married. Trent stepped in to keep her from living in that big house alone.

  That move had worked out just great since Tyler couldn’t imagine sleeping in his old room again. Especially after his mother had turned it into an office and sewing room.

  “What’d you get her?” Trey asked as he shook his head. The fact that his hair fell perfectly into place caused Tyler to grimace. He knew he’d have to pull a comb from his back pocket and spend a minute or two at the mirror by the door making it look like he had at least tried to look nice for the family dinner.

  “A picture frame,” he answered as he walked over and started trying to tame the mangled mess that was his hair.

  “That’s it?” His brother stopped and looked at him in the mirror. “Jesus, bro! The first Christmas without Dad, you’d think you would have gone out of your way to . . .” His words dropped away when their brother walked in.

  “Keep it down. Mom’s just in the other room,” Trent whispered. He was the rational brother. The one who always stepped up to the plate when things got rough.

  He’d been the one who Tyler imagined his father would have left the family business to. But, at the reading of the will, the brothers had been given equal shares to the family business. It had been a shock, though, when Tyler had been named head, with Trent and Trey following behind.

  Trent knew more about running the oil rigging business than any of them. So, for the first few weeks, Tyler had just assumed that his brother would step into that role. But instead, Trent had stepped into the role of helping their mother get back on her feet after losing their dad. So, naturally, Tyler had tried to fill their father’s role in the business.

  Which was turning out to be a bigger disaster than any of them had ever imagined.

  “Sorry,” Trey mumbled, then gathered his own wrapped presents and disappeared into the next room.

  “Tell me you got her more than just a stupid picture frame.” Trent crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe.

  “Sure,” Tyler answered as he shoved his comb back into his back pocket. “Whatever.” He picked up the rest of his presents and carried them into the next room.

  The house smelled like heaven. Coming home for Christmas was one of those pure pleasures a person could never get over. Cinnamon and spice. Pine trees and candlelight. It was paradise. Especially when he saw his mother sitting by the fireplace, smiling up at him.

  He’d missed seeing that smile. Her brown eyes had been filled with nothing but sorrow. Even the dimple by the side of her mouth was now back in place.

  “Hey.” He walked over, set his packages down, then leaned in and placed a kiss on her cheek. “You look beautiful tonight.” He watched as tears formed in her eyes. “Hey, don’t do that.” He took her shoulders and leaned down.

  “I’m sorry.” She sniffled. “It’s just so good to have you all back home. Your father . . .” She dropped off and shook her head as her eyes closed.

  “Dad would be pissed that we caused you to cry,” Tyler said. When her eyes op
ened, he realized it was the right thing to say.

  She nodded, then the smile was back in place. “A mother is allowed to indulge in tears, as long as they are for the right reasons.” She sighed. “Shall we open presents first or . . .”

  “Eat,” all three of the brothers said at the same time, causing their mother to laugh.

  “Eat first, then I can open that picture frame of yours.” She patted Tyler on the cheek, making him feel like a complete jerk.

  Three months later

  Kristen stepped off the small plane and shivered. What the hell was she doing with her life that caused her to be in the middle of nowhere for the next two weeks?

  She blinked a few times against the sheer brightness of the sun beaming off the frozen land and shivered once more, pulling her Armani jacket closer to her. The stylish long beige coat with faux fur was all the rage back in the city, but here . . . She desperately wished for another layer of clothing as the wind hit her.

  Then she looked down the small ladder and realized that they meant for her to walk from the tiny plane to the airport. Which consisted of a small metal building with a bright-orange windsock attached to the roof.

  Tucking her Gucci overnight bag closer to her body, she made her way down the ladder, only to pause at the base of the steps and cringe. She’d worn her heeled, beige Gucci boots, never imagining she’d be trekking across three inches of snow. And, from the looks of it, it wasn’t very clean snow either.

  “Well?” someone said, causing her to jerk her head up. “You going to stand there all day?”

  A very tall, lean man stood a few feet from her. He was so covered with a thick coat and heavy hat that she couldn’t get a good look at him. Other than he had dark eyes and a frown on his lips.

  “Don’t you have a snow shovel?” she asked, causing the man to laugh.

  “Lady, why on earth did you wear those shoes here?” He laughed again and she watched his dark eyebrows rise with humor.

  “In the city, these are perfectly sensible boots.”

  “Well, you’re not in the city anymore.” He held out a gloved hand for her to take it, but she shook her head. “I’ll just wait here until the car for me arrives. I’m waiting for . . .”

  “Tyler McGowan,” he said. When she looked at him questioningly, he added, “Small town. That’s your . . . car, over there.” He nodded to a very dirty, very old-looking truck. Which appeared too tall and dangerous for anyone to drive.

  “Then I’ll just wait until Mr. McGowan comes and picks me up.”

  “Can’t.” His hand was still extended.

  “Why not?” she asked.

  “Private vehicles aren’t allowed on the runway.” He waved his hand, waiting for her to take it.

  “I’m not stepping down in that muck.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Suits me.” He put a hand behind her knees and tossed her over his shoulder, overnight bag and all.

  “What on—what do you think you’re doing?” she exclaimed as her long dark hair fell over her eyes. She tried to push it out of her face, but her gloved hands were locked between her body and his.

  “Getting you to your car.” He chuckled. “We’re on a schedule here, lady.” He stomped through the snow like he was walking through the grass at a park.

  “I’ll have you fired for this. How dare you manhandle me!” she continued as he shifted her to open the side door of the large truck. When her backside hit the soft cushion of the seat, she pushed him away with her hands and swiped her long hair out of her face.

  “There, now you won’t get those fancy boots of yours dirty.” He smiled. “Do you have any more luggage?” He glanced back toward the plane.

  “Yes,” she growled. “Which I’m sure . . .” She stopped talking since he’d turned around and was already halfway back to the plane.

  Less than a minute later he returned with both of her larger bags tucked under his arms. She’d had to hire a mover in the New York airport to shuttle her and her luggage to the gate, and here was this country boy, carting them around like they weighed nothing.

  When he tossed them in the bed of his truck, Kristen gasped.

  “Those cannot go back there.” She moved to get out of the truck, but then remembered how far down it was and the dirty snow on the ground.

  “Where do you expect them to go?” His eyebrows rose slightly.

  “Well.” She glanced toward the back seat. “There. Inside, where they won’t get snowed on.”

  “Lady, we have other passengers to pick up before we reach McGowan Enterprises. They’ll just have to stay in the bed.”

  “That luggage cost more than this truck.” She crossed her arms over her chest again. “It goes in the back.”

  He whistled. “Why would you pay so much for bags the airlines are going to toss around?”

  “Because I can,” she added, feeling her entire body vibrate. Why was she letting this airline worker question her? More importantly, why hadn’t she seen another person since arriving? Even the pilot was mysteriously absent. “I’d like to see some ID,” she said, feeling nervous all of a sudden.

  His dark eyebrows rose and she could tell he was on the verge of laughing at her. “At your service, ma’am.” He bent at the waist and bowed. Her muscles tensed and something in her felt like kicking out and catching him in the jaw. But instead she waited as he pulled out his wallet from his jeans.

  Kristen’s eyes roamed over the man. He wore a heavy brown coat that looked warmer than anything she owned. His jeans were worn but in good shape. He had a pair of tall boots on that looked like they’d been worn as long as the jeans had, but still looked warm enough that she dreamed of purchasing a pair for herself while she was here.

  His hair was longer than any man who ran in her circles, and it hung below a thick beanie. It looked slick, as if it had been snowed on earlier. His brown eyes were still laughing at her as she watched him.

  As he handed her his ID, his smile increased until she noticed a small dimple near the right side of his mouth.

  “Tyler McGowan, at your service,” he said, causing her to gasp.

  “You . . . you’re McGowan?” She blinked a few times, then glanced down at his driver’s license.

  Sure enough, the name and face matched that of Tyler Reginal McGowan.

  Closing her eyes, she took several calming breaths. Then handed him back his driver’s license. “I’m sorry. You can’t be too careful these days . . .”

  He nodded, then moved to shut the door.

  “What about my luggage?” She reached out to stop him.

  He shook his head. “Like I said, we have several other people to pick up before we get to the office. It’ll have to stay in the bed.”

  He shut the door and walked around the truck. Before getting in, he banged his boots together, knocking off the snow.

  “I know why you’re here,” he said after pulling out of the airport parking lot. “And the answer is still no.” His eyes were glued to the road.

  “I think you’ll reconsider once you see our new offer,” she responded with as much sweetness as she could muster. After all, now that she knew exactly who she was dealing with, she knew that laying on the charm would only help her cause.

  “I don’t care what you offer. McGowan Enterprises isn’t for sale. Now or ever.” His tone had a hint of sharpness to it. She made the decision to postpone the negotiations until after she had a hot shower and a change of clothes.

  “Would you mind dropping me off at my hotel instead of heading directly into the office? I’d like some time to freshen up.”

  He nodded. They sat in silence for several minutes. She watched out the window, waiting for a sign of life, but there was only an occasional building and more snow.

  “Have you always lived in Montana?” she asked, deciding it couldn’t hurt to get a little more personal information out of him. Not that it mattered, since she’d read up on all three McGowan brothers.

  “No,” he
answered, then continued to drive in silence.

  “Did you live in a city?” she asked, trying again.

  “Yes.” Again, he was silent.

  “You’re not the talkative kind, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  She shifted slightly. “Well, whether you like it or not, I’m stuck here for two weeks. We’re going to have to talk sooner or later.”

  He glanced over at her as he pulled off the road. “As I told your boss on the phone, just because he sent you out here doesn’t mean I have to deal with you.” The truck stopped in front of a small building with five bright-red doors.

  “What is this?” She frowned at the building.

  “This is your hotel.” He chuckled when she made a face. “I’m sure it’s not as fancy as you’re used to, but it’s the best Haven has to offer. Unless you’d prefer to ride along as I pick up the rest of the crew and head in to work?”

  She shook her head quickly. She might as well get freshened up first while she was here. Her eyes scanned the small building again.

  He got out of the truck, carted her bags to the doorway, and set them down in the snow, then walked over to open her door. “Do you think you can manage, or should I carry you again?”

  She narrowed her eyes, then reached out and took a hold of the door handle and eased out of the truck. She had gauged the distance wrong and felt herself falling through the open air, only to be snatched up and eased slowly down until her feet touched the soggy ground.

  Instead of offering a polite thank you, she pushed her hands against his shoulders and tried to shove him back. But the solid wall of a man had his feet planted firmly on the ground.

  “If you need anything, Marg in the office will see to it.” He nodded toward the last door.

  He dropped his hands from her waist and walked around the truck. She watched him drive away, leaving her standing in the frozen parking lot of the smallest hotel she’d ever seen, in the frozen hellhole that would be her prison for the next two weeks. Or at least until she proved to her boss that she was worthy of moving up the corporate ladder of one of the biggest holding companies in the States.