The work he’d had to do before and after school. The fact that there was always something that needed to be done, and that the growth cycle of the orchard dictated so many aspects of their lives.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“I want to know that you’re not going to regret it if we sell,” his mother said, her gaze very direct.
“I don’t have a simple answer to that question,” he said.
Because the truth was, he hadn’t hated helping out this past year. In fact, a lot of the time he’d enjoyed it, working in the outdoors alongside his father. As a teenager, life had been elsewhere. As an adult, he appreciated the fresh air and sunshine, the simple straight forwardness of the work.
“I appreciate that, but I told Hank I’d get back to him soon, so we all need to think about this.”
“Only because he’s made an offer. In real terms, there’s no reason why you couldn’t hire people in to do some of the work once Dad doesn’t feel up to it anymore,” Reid said.
“We could, but it would just be putting off the inevitable.”
She was right, but it didn’t stop him from feeling a twinge of angry resentment that she was forcing him—them—to this decision point now, when it wasn’t strictly necessary.
They walked in silence the rest of the way back to the house.
“Are you joining us for dinner?” his Mom asked when they reached the point where he needed to peel off toward the barn.
“Thanks, but I’ve got something to do,” he said.
She caught his arm as he turned away. “I know you don’t want to face this, Reid, but it’s not something we can all just ignore. I’m not asking you to make the decision for us, but I am asking you to make it with us.”
Reid stared after her as she headed into the main house. One thing about his mom, she had always been great at nailing a person to the wall. She always called a spade a spade, and never bullshitted when the truth would do.
Tara was like that, too. Straight up and honest, even if it was sometimes to her own detriment.
Reid dumped the ladder against the barn wall, aware that his thoughts had once again drifted to Tara. She’d been in and out his head all week, even though he hadn’t heard from her since she finished her shift on Sunday. Sergeant Crawford had given her two weeks off, and he’d been doing single-car patrols in her absence.
He’d missed her, though. She always had something to say, and usually it was funny or interesting or both. He missed her light touch, too. No one was better at defusing a tense situation; there was something about Tara’s calm common sense that kept people grounded, himself included.
Most of all he missed the sense of having her nearby, and knowing that he had only to turn his head and she’d be there, ready with a pithy comment or a laugh or a smile.
Better get used to that. If you get that Klieg job, you’ll see her once or twice a year, if that.
And when he did see her, she’d probably be with some new guy, because it wouldn’t take long for some smart bastard to snap her up. She was gorgeous, she was hot, she was funny and smart.
Pretty much the perfect woman.
Jesus. Can you hear yourself? Next thing you know you’ll be writing bad poetry and singing beneath her bedroom window.
His dad had left the toolbox near the apple press, and he hefted it back to the workbench where it belonged, dusting his hands on the seat of his jeans when he was done.
It was fruitless to spend too much time brooding over Tara. He’d made that decision long ago. It wasn’t just that she’d been in a relationship with Simon the entire time he’d known her—although that was definitely a contributing factor. Tara was a Marietta girl, through and through. She loved the town, the people, the weather. She was content here, saw her future here. More importantly, her family were here, too, and they meant the world to her.
Whereas he’d had itchy feet ever since he’d opened his first atlas and understood how big the world was.
Even if she hadn’t been with Simon, that fundamental difference in their outlooks would have stopped him from making a move. He hadn’t spent more than eighteen months in one spot since he’d left Marietta when he was twenty-four, and he was on the verge of moving on yet again. He might be powerfully attracted to Tara, but he liked her a hell of a lot, too, and the last thing he’d ever want to do is hurt her. She was a dream. A sweet, hot dream, but a dream nonetheless, and he needed to stop thinking about her.
Determined to put words into action, he headed up to the apartment and changed into his running gear. An hour later, he was sweaty and exhausted and more than a little hungry. He showered, then heated up the leftover spaghetti and meatballs he’d made last night, sitting in front of the TV to eat. The baseball game was on, and he cracked open a beer and settled in for a lazy evening.
The Cardinals were starting their second inning when his phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number but took the call anyway.
“Dalton speaking.”
“Reid. Thank God. I wasn’t sure if this number was current or not. It’s Scarlett calling, Tara’s sister.”
He leaned forward and set his beer on the coffee table. “Scarlett. What’s up?”
“Straight to the point, just like Tara.” Her laugh was a little nervous.
“I figured that you wouldn’t go to the trouble of tracking down my number and calling for nothing.”
“True. The thing is, I can’t find Tara. I’ve tried her place, I’ve tried her phone. I wondered whether maybe she was with you...?”
“No.”
She sighed. “Okay. Then I guess my next question is if there is some way you can put an alert out without it being a big deal? In case I’m just being a nervous nelly and freaking out over nothing.”
“Her phone battery is probably just dead. Or she could be out with friends, or seeing a movie.”
“You think I’m over-reacting, and normally I would totally agree with you. But she only picked up the motorbike the day before yesterday, and even though I know she’s probably being super safe and careful, I can’t help worrying.”
He blinked. “Tara bought a motorbike?”
“On Wednesday. I wanted her to go for the blue one but she had to have red. It’s a Suzuki Boulevard something or other. I keep forgetting the model number. “
He was still stuck on the part where Tara handed over cold hard cash for a two-wheeled suicide machine. Between the two of them, they had attended enough road accidents to know how dangerous motorbikes were.
“Why in hell would she buy a bike?” he asked.
“It’s a long story.”
“Give me the short version.”
“She’s living a little. Catching up on things she let slide by.”
There was a cautious note beneath Scarlett’s voice, and Reid guessed he was only getting part of the story.
“So, is there something you can do? Someone you can call in the sheriff’s department, maybe, who could just keep an eye out or let you know if there have been any accidents...?” Scarlett asked.
“Let me make a few calls, I’ll get back to you.”
He swore when he ended the call. What in the hell was Tara thinking? He dialed the sheriff’s office, his mind full of horror images from accident sites. He had a quick word with Harrison Pearce, who was happy to inform him that there had been no road accidents involving motorbikes in the area. Then he called Scarlett back, determined to get more information this time.
“No accidents,” he said when Scarlett took the call.
“Oh, thank God. Thank you so much for checking.”
“When was the last time you spoke to her?”
“Lunchtime. She said she was going to go for a run, then maybe go out on the bike. I was thinking we could get takeout for dinner, but she hasn’t answered any of my calls or returned my messages.”
Which Reid knew from personal experience was unusual for Tara.
“She didn’t say anything else? Mention
anything else she might want to do or go?”
There was a pause and he could almost hear Scarlett thinking on the other end of the phone.
“The only other thing I can think of is that she said she wanted to try the mechanical bull at that place near the train line.”
Reid was pretty sure he hadn’t heard properly. “Did you just say mechanical bull?”
“That’s right. What’s the name of that bar on the north side of town, the one with the broken neon sign?”
“The Wolves Den.”
He stood, unable to stay seated.
“That’s the one. They’ve got a bull there, right?”
“I have no idea.”
He hadn’t hung out at the Den since he’d first started to drink. Unlike Grey’s Saloon and some of the other places in town, the Den was all about getting hammered and it attracted an ugly crowd.
“Maybe I should go over there and check. Just to put my mind at ease,” Scarlett said.
Reid had a vision of Scarlett walking through the door at the Den in her usual get-up of tight T-shirt and snug, hip-hugging jeans. There’d be drool on the bar within seconds, and the queue of guys who’d insist on buying her a drink would form to the left.
“Why don’t I do a drive by, see what I can see?” he said.
“You don’t have to do that.”
Yeah, he did. There was no way he was going to be able to concentrate on a freaking baseball game with pictures of Tara fending off drunken idiots or sliding off her brand new motorbike bouncing around in his head.
“I’m heading over that way anyway,” he lied. “I can duck my head in.”
“Well, okay, then. Although I’m going to feel pretty stupid when it turns out she’s gone into Bozeman to shop or something.”
He’d much rather Scarlett feel foolish than any of the alternatives his imagination was throwing up. That was the problem with being a cop—he had seen too many bad things over the years.
He pulled on a pair of jeans, put on his boots and shrugged into a T-shirt. Tucking his phone into the back pocket, he took the stairs two at a time. The GMC fired up with a dull roar and seconds later he was shooting up the driveway, gravel spurting beneath his tires. It was only a short drive into town, and he navigated his way from the well-lit center to the less-illuminated industrial sector north of the train line. The Den’s neon sign had lost its N years ago, and the neon blue made everything seem gray as Reid turned into the parking lot. There were a handful of motorbikes parked near the stairs to the bar, but none of them were red Suzukis.
He pulled out his phone to call Scarlett, then hesitated when he caught sight of the roof of a black pickup tucked into the corner. Tara had a black pickup.
He cruised up the aisle until he could see the number plate.
Yep, Tara’s.
Feeling like he’d slipped down the rabbit-hole, he parked the GMC and headed for the entrance.
Chapter Six
If anyone had asked Reid, he would have said The Wolves Den was the last place he would ever find Tara Buck.
But apparently he was wrong.
It was a Friday night and the place was crowded, people standing three or four deep at the bar. The mechanical bull was on a raised platform in the rear corner and clearly visible from the front entrance. The rabbit-hole feeling intensified as he spotted a slim, athletic figure astride the bucking beast, her blond hair whipping back and forth in the air as the machine tried to toss her.
He mouthed a four letter word and started pushing his way through the crowd, his gaze glued to Tara’s jerking, swaying body. If she came off...
The bull was becoming more and more belligerent, spinning wildly now, throwing her back and forth. Tara had one hand high in the air, the other white-knuckle tight on the strap—and she was laughing and whooping like a good old cowgirl.
A crowd had formed around the safety barrier, cheering her on. Mostly men, Reid noted sourly. And who could blame them? Tara’s blue tank top clung to her breasts and torso, while well-worn denim hugged her thighs. She looked wild and a bit dangerous and a lot sexy as she rode the bull like a rodeo champion.
The bull slowed, only throwing out the odd flick here and there to set Tara swaying. Finally it stopped entirely, and the crowd let up an almighty roar as Tara punched the air.
“Goddamn, you did it, girl,” a tall cowboy said, stepping forward and lifting her off the bull.
She was laughing, pushing her hair off her face, her eyes shining. Someone passed her a beer and she chugged half of it down before lifting it high in the air in a triumphant salute. When she lowered it, one of the guys stepped in to top her drink up from a pitcher, filling it to the brim.
Reid muscled his way to the front of the crowd.
“Tara.”
Her head swung round. It took her a moment to register him, then her face split into a big, beaming smile.
“Hey! What are you doing here? You just missed my big ride. Four in a row, no falls,” she said. “Everyone’s telling me it’s a new record.”
“This girl can ride,” the tall cowboy said.
Tara’s hair was tangled around her shoulders, her tank top low-cut enough that he could see the shadowy valley between her breasts. She looked Playboy-bunny good—pretty, sexy, fun.
And more than a little drunk, unless he missed his guess.
“Ready to go five for five, sweetheart?” a husky guy behind her asked.
The crowd cheered and Tara laughed.
“Sure. Why the hell not?” She chugged the rest of her beer, banging the empty glass down onto the tabletop.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Reid said, stepping forward and catching her upper arm. “Not so fast.”
“What’s wrong?”
Not wanting to embarrass her, Reid lowered his voice and leaned closer. “How much have you had to drink?”
She blinked, then laughed. “I don’t know. Enough to feel good.”
“What if you come off?”
“Haven’t yet.” Her smile was full of cocky confidence.
Reid considered his options—throw her over his shoulder and forcibly drag her out of the bar, or let her have her head.
“Walk a straight line for me,” he said.
She frowned, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “What?”
“You heard me. Pass a field sobriety test for me and I’ll let you climb on board.”
“Let me? Good luck trying to stop me, buddy,” she said, giving him a look. “You might not have noticed, but women got the right to vote about a hundred years ago.”
He didn’t say anything, just eyed her steadily.
“I’m not drunk,” she said, chin coming up.
“Prove it to me.”
Her eyes narrowed. Then she tossed her hair over her shoulder.
“Okay, fine. But if I pass the test, you’re next on the bull.”
He glanced at the piece of battered machinery over her shoulder. “If that’s the way you want to play it.”
“It’s exactly the way I want to play it, Dalton.”
She turned and waved a hand at the opportunists crowding around like starving men at a buffet. “Give me a bit of room, boys, while I prove Officer Dalton wrong.”
A few eyebrows went up as his profession was noted and the crowd shuffled backward, clearing a patch roughly three foot by seven.
“Hope you’ve got a strong grip, because that bull bucks like crazy,” Tara said.
“Let’s see you stand on one leg first,” he said.
Tara lifted one booted foot off the ground and eyeing him smugly.
“Good enough for you?”
No sooner had she spoken than she lost her balance, wavering wildly, arms flailing before catching herself.
Reid crossed his arms over his chest and cocked an eyebrow.
“I didn’t fall,” Tara said, stabbing a finger at him. “I did not touch my foot to the ground. I want that on the record.”
The crowd stirred around them, a co
uple of people throwing in their two cents’ worth.
“Walk and turn. You know the drill,” he said, gesturing with his chin.
Tara contemplated the space that had been cleared, then started to walk, each foot placed very deliberately and directly in front of the other.
“Note the straight line,” she called over her shoulder.
When she got to the end, she swiveled on her heel, just to show she could, he suspected. For the second time she nearly lost her balance, staggering slightly to the left.
“That wasn’t fair,” she said immediately. “Let me do that again.”
“Too late. You failed, I win. Let’s go home,” he said.
“I want another test.”
“Tough luck.” He stepped forward to grasp her elbow.
Tara frowned. “I don’t want to go home. I’m having a good time, and I’m doing new things and meeting new people.”
Okay, she was definitely three sheets to the wind.
“Why don’t we go grab a burger, maybe some coffee?” he suggested.
She pulled her arm free. “I’m riding the bull again, and you can’t stop me.”
She made a break for the bull, not unlike a child insisting on one last play on the swing set before leaving the park. Reid swore under his breath and went after her.
Plan B it was, then.
Wrapping an arm around her middle, he pulled her back toward him. She squawked out a protest, twisting to face him, and he bent so that his shoulder was tucked against her belly, pulling her off balance at the same time. She toppled onto his shoulder, and he turned and immediately headed for the door, one arm banded across the back of her thighs to lock her in place. It took her a second to comprehend what he’d done, and when she did she started to wriggle and twist around, fists battering his back, doing her best to force him to release her.
He simply tightened his grip, his gaze on the distant exit, and kept walking.
The crowd parted, and seconds later he was outside, bending to set Tara back on her feet.
Almost A Bride (Montana Born Brides) Page 6