Montana Cowgirl

by Debra Salonen

  Chloe knew from what happened to Cinderella that having a stepmother who married your dad for his money was not a good idea. That’s why she decided Bailey would be perfect for him.

  Anybody who liked horses couldn’t be too high maintenance. She drove an old truck. Plus, they wouldn’t have to date for years and years before getting married because they’d already dated in high school.

  And Chloe was going to need a stepmother sooner rather than later if what Mark overheard was true.

  Andrew, their step-dad, was up for a promotion, which would involve moving to Atlanta, Georgia. A state about a million miles away from Montana.

  No, thank you.

  Her horse was here. Her best friend lived here. Her dad was here. Chloe loved Montana. Even the winters.

  But Chloe knew her dad didn’t trust himself to be a full-time single parent. That’s what he told Chloe and Mark when they asked to stay with him full-time and visit their mother every other weekend—instead of the other way around.

  “I’m at the store too much. Kids need a mom to be there after school and stuff.”

  Like that happened. Chloe loved her mother, but Andrew’s work required a lot of parties and fundraising events that took up most of her mom’s time.

  If I can find Daddy a girlfriend...or a wife, Chloe thought, maybe he’d keep us.

  And who better than Bailey?

  “Um...can I ask you something?”

  Bailey turned off the key and dropped it in the ashtray on the dash. “Sure. What?”

  “Would you...um...date with my dad?”

  “‘Date’ him?”

  “Yeah. You like him, don’t you?”

  The look on Bailey’s face said she was trying not to laugh because she didn’t want to hurt Chloe’s feelings. “Yes. I like your dad. He’s a great guy. But...relationships are tricky.”

  “My dad says the only way you’re guaranteed to fail is if you fail to try.”

  Bailey blinked. “That’s...that’s true. If I wanted to get involved with your dad, how would you suggest I do it?”

  “Ask him to the Fair.”

  “On a date.”

  “Yeah. On the first night, Mark and I always go with Grandma and Grandpa Z and our cousins. My aunt’s been sick lately and she might not be able to come, but the kids will be here. Uncle Austen is flying to Wyoming to pick them up.”

  “Austen’s a pilot?”

  Chloe nodded. “Daddy is, too, but he likes riding horses better.”

  “Oh.”

  “So? Will you? Ask him out? Please.”

  Bailey thought a long time. Like a minute, at least. “Why now?”

  Chloe wasn’t expecting that question. She decided to go with the truth. “Because he doesn’t have anybody. And I don’t think that’s right.”

  Bailey took a big breath and let it out. “I’ll be working at the B. Dazzled Western Bling booth at the fair anyway, so...I could ask. Maybe we could get a corn dog together or something.”

  Chloe had to force herself not to jump up and down in the seat. “He’s having lunch at the Main Street Diner today. If you hurry, I’m sure you can catch him.”

  “What if he turns me down?”

  Chloe made a swishing motion with her hand. “He won’t. I heard Mommy tell Grandpa Z on the phone that Daddy has it bad for you. Sometimes, bad is a good thing. You know?” She opened the door and hopped to the ground. “I have to go to Amber’s. See you later.”

  She dashed to her bike and pushed it through the gate. She’d been brave enough to ask, and Bailey said yes. Sooo much better than going up a level in dumb ol’ Minecraft, she thought, humming her favorite song from Frozen as she pedaled toward Amber’s. She couldn’t wait to share this news with her BFF.

  Chapter 13

  Bailey paced, fretted and stalled after Chloe left. But, eventually, her grumbling stomach convinced her to call for a take-out order from the Main Street Diner.

  If she happened to bump into Paul and circumstances warranted, she might consider bringing up the subject—or at least telling him his children were worried about his lack of a social life.

  “What’s one lousy date?” she muttered, climbing into her dad’s truck.

  We can walk through the Fair like the old friends we are. Grab a couple of corn dogs. Maybe, watch a show.

  She’d seen the completed line-up of events but hadn’t paid close attention since she expected to be working in her booth the whole time.

  But the Dazzling Minions had their own ideas.

  “Here,” Tonya, the bossiest, said earlier that morning when she popped in to pick up more seed pearls. “The girls and I came up with a schedule. You’ll still have to put in a lot of hours, girlfriend, but you won’t end up losing your foot like your dad did.”

  Bailey’s ankle continued to improve, but she still dealt with some swelling after a long day at the shop.

  “Oh, and, by the way,” Anne added. “Our kids are going to pass out fliers to advertise our sale prices and some giveaways. It’ll cost you a few ride tickets, but if you buy them in advance, they’re cheaper.”

  Bailey glanced at her phone on the seat beside her.

  Maybe she’d have time to run to the Fairgrounds Office on her way back. She might pick up tickets, some for Chloe and Mark, too.

  Chloe. A grin formed on her lips. Paul’s daughter was something else. In a good way. Self-assured in a way Bailey never was. Probably helps to have a normal father in your corner.

  She felt a little guilty harping on the negative when her father had been trying so hard in recent weeks. He seemed to accept the fact the only way he was going to get better was by learning to work with his doctors and physical therapists.

  When he called to tell her he had a new leg, she asked, “How’s it look?”

  “Not pretty. Good thing I never went in for wearing shorts.”

  She slipped into a parking spot one over from the handicap stall. “Rock star,” she called, sliding from the seat.

  The aroma of burgers on the grill made her mouth water. She’d developed a peculiar addiction to buffalo meat thanks to Paul Zabrinski.

  Who, to her surprise, was seated at a window booth.

  She smiled and waved.

  He nodded. No smile.

  Was he mad at her? Or was the pensive look on Paul’s face due to the man in the expensive suit sitting across from him?

  Austen?

  Had to be, she decided. She only had a vague recollection of Paul’s older brother since he left for college before she and Paul started dating. But everybody in Marietta knew Austen.

  His name had been in the Courier every week since he was MVP in at least three sports. All the girls wanted to date him, although he never had a steady that Bailey could remember. He gave the class speech at graduation. She knew that for a fact because she’d been selected as one of the four freshman girls to pass out programs at the door.

  She’d listened closely because he had the audacity to buck the system, showing up with his longish hair artfully tousled, a movie-star goatee and bare ankles, hinting that he was wearing shorts under his gown.

  At the time, Bailey had been impressed.

  Now, not so much. She’d met more than her share of promoters, lawyers and wealthy stockmen over the years. And one thing she knew for certain was money did not automatically signify class.

  More nervous than she had been when she left the house, she walked slowly and deliberately, trying not to limp.

  Show no weakness. She couldn’t remember if the adage applied to wild animals and lawyers, or just lawyers.

  Thank goodness I called in an order. She could pick it up and run. No need to bring up the ridiculous idea of going on a date. No harm, no foul.

  She went straight to the cash register, not looking right or left. “Bailey Jenkins. To-go,” she told the young woman behind the till.

  The girl—about sixteen working her first summer job, Bailey guessed—spun about and dashed to the kitchen windo
w, where a clothesline of white orders were strung.

  “Ironically appropriate, don’t you agree? A To-Go order. Your modus operandi, no?”

  She turned, her purse clutched to her belly—bling side out, as if the glitter might magically ward off the attack she sensed coming. “I beg your pardon?”

  Austen had changed since the cocky kid at the school podium. More than the expensive suit and cover-model haircut, his style shouted, “Warning: rich, influential, angry man with agenda. Look out.”

  He leaned in. Not so his words were kept between them. No. In fact, he spoke loudly, with succinct clarity so the entire jury of her peers could hear. “It’s not my pardon you need to beg, Bailey. It’s my brother’s.”

  His cologne hit her olfactory memory center like a tsunami. Ross wore Bleu de Chanel, too. What was the chance?

  Feelings she’d kept in a locked box burst forth, her mind instantly awash in pain and nightmarish fear. The beautiful smell forever juxtaposed against the bitter mix of blood, gasoline and deployed air bags.

  Austen went on, either not noticing her reaction or misinterpreting it. “And my parents’,” he said. “You killed their first grandchild, after all.”

  “God damn it, Austen,” Paul shouted, shoving his brother with enough force to make Austen take two steps back. “I told you to leave Bailey alone. This is not your business.”

  “You’re my brother. You fucking up your life a second time is too my business. But more importantly, I’m not going to let Bailey Jenkins do another number on Mom and Dad. They have enough on their plates without worrying about you being let down when your pretty little cowgirl gets a wild hair and takes off again.”

  Austen looked at Bailey, his eyes as cold and dispassionate as a wolf about to attack. “And that’s what you do, isn’t it? Suck a man dry then take off?”

  Bailey was aware of the noise level in the diner dropping as people turned to watch the real life drama play out.

  She’d been in this situation so many times as a kid, she knew exactly how to hide her feelings and do what needed to be done to salvage a tiny morsel of pride. She slid a twenty across the glass countertop, picked up her to-go sack and said, “Keep it.”

  She couldn’t afford the gesture, but money was the least of her worries at the moment. Not making matters worse by punching Austen in the face was her first concern.

  She pivoted on her good ankle and headed toward the door, chin high, sunglasses in place. She paused beside Paul, who looked ready to tackle his brother.

  “Don’t bother,” she said. “Chloe asked me to invite you to the Fair. She thought you needed a girlfriend. Tell her I changed my mind.” She looked at Austen. “I’m good at that.”

  Then she left before she could change her mind again and kiss the look of disappointment and anguish off Paul’s face.

  Paul gave the door the shove he wanted to give his brother. “Bailey. Wait. Please.”

  She had the truck door open by the time he reached her. For a woman with a bad ankle, she moved pretty fast.

  “You heard your brother. I leave. It’s what I do.”

  “Yeah. I know. I was there, remember.”

  Instead of climbing in, she set her purse and food bag on the bench seat then turned, hands on her hips.

  “I left, Paul. I had to.” She took a step closer, probably knowing full well the entire café was watching. “Am I disappointed you shared my private, painful decision with the whole town? Yes. You’re not the man I thought you were.” Her eyes narrowed with disappointment and disgust.

  “I was seventeen. Heart broke and bitter. I turned to my family, who, naturally, took my side. What did you expect? Do I wish I’d been a better person back then? Fuck, yes. But I wasn’t. I’m not perfect, now, either. But I am sorry.” He meant that. More than she could ever know.

  She shrugged, as if his apology wasn’t worth the air it took to say the words.

  He grabbed her arm, probably more forcefully than he should have. “That’s all in the past, Bailey. We are not our families. You’re not a drunk. I’m not one of the Great Zabrinskis.”

  “The what?”

  He glanced toward the café, half-expecting to see Austen gloating in the doorway. “Meg, Austen and Mia used to call themselves that. It was a family thing. They made it clear I would never be good enough to be one of them.”

  “Ouch.” She touched his hand, setting off the usual sparks through his body. “How come you never mentioned this when we were dating?”

  “Once they were all off at college, I pretended I was an only child. The fact your siblings think you’re a loser is not the kind of thing you say to impress the girl you’re crazy about.”

  She pried up his fingers. “True. I get that. But family is family. And yours obviously hates me.”

  He stuck his hands in his pockets to keep from doing something stupid, like kissing her. “Not all of them. Meg was on your side from Day One. Mia’s worried about me. Austen...he’s going through a lot right now. He always set ridiculously high goals for himself and met them, but a few months ago one of his heroes threw Austen under the proverbial bus and...let’s just say Austen hates everybody right now, himself included.”

  She nodded as though that was something she could understand.

  “Is your offer still open? For a date to the fair? My answer is yes.”

  Before she could reply, a car sped into the handicap parking spot. The Subaru wagon had a blue wheelchair sign hanging in the window, but neither door opened. Instead, the passenger side window rolled down and OC Jenkins made a “come here” motion with his hand. “Paul Zabrinski. Just the man I’m looking for. You still got your pilot’s license?”

  “Dad? What’s going on?” Bailey hurried to the window. “Why do you need a plane?”

  “That crazy bitch, Marla, shot Jack. He told her he was done running and wanted to go home. So, she shot him in the back at a laundromat in Reno.”

  “Reno? I thought they were moving to New Mexico?”

  OC tossed up his hands. “She’s a thief, a killer and a liar.”

  “Jack’s dead?” Paul asked.

  “Dying. He asked for me. If I don’t get there soon, it’ll be too late. He was my friend for thirty years. I owe him a chance to make peace. I’ll pay you whatever it costs as soon as I’m back to work.”

  Paul wanted to help, but he couldn’t just up and leave...or could he?

  “Hang on a second.” He walked to the door of the restaurant and hollered, “Austen Zabrinski, get your ass out here. Our family owes the Jenkins an apology, and this is how it’s going down.”

  Two hours later, Paul, OC and an obviously reluctant Bailey were airborne. He’d waved goodbye to Mark and Chloe standing on his porch, Bailey’s mother beside them.

  Leaving Louise in charge was a no-brainer. The kids were in perfect hands. Choosing Austen as his stand-in at Big Z’s might have been a stretch, but his brother graduated at the top of his class from Harvard. He’d rise to the occasion.

  As for the Great Marietta Fair, Paul was confident Jane Weiss could boss his crew without Paul’s micromanaging fingers in the pie.

  With any luck, they’d be back in town tomorrow afternoon.

  His family’s Cessna wasn’t a white horse, but Paul felt like a hero. Sort of.

  OC had insisted Bailey accompany them. Something about needing help remembering his meds so he didn’t reach for a bottle of booze by mistake.

  Paul was sure the man’s not-so-subtle blackmail didn’t fool anybody. OC wasn’t thrilled about being stuck in a little plane for God knows how long with the person he once threatened to hike to Coffin Lake at gunpoint so he could dump his body well away from Marietta.

  Sure, OC had been drunk at the time, but seventeen-year-old Paul had slept with a hunting knife under his pillow for a week before his mother confiscated it.

  Paul had always felt relaxed and at home in the air. Jen claimed that was why he didn’t fly more often. “You’re addicted to dra
ma. Big Z’s is like your personal soap opera. When things get boring, you fire half the staff and bring in new characters.”

  “I do not,” he’d denied. “That only happened once when half of them failed a drug test. What was I supposed to do?”

  She’d waved aside his question. “I’m not wasting my breath trying to tell the great and powerful Paul Zabrinski how to run his store. Just don’t kid yourself. You’d be a basket case without the drama.”

  In a way, she was right, but not for the reasons she thought: ego, power or distraction. The store was home to him. Growing up, he often felt overlooked by his busy family. His sisters alternately adored him or ignored him. Austen accepted Paul’s adoration as befitting a hotshot big brother but gave little if any attention in return.

  On the days his mother dropped him at Zabrinski’s Hardware—before it became Big Z’s—so she could do her weekly shopping in peace, Paul explored. He watched and learned. And he knew he’d take over from his father some day.

  The same way he’d known he would learn to fly the first time Grandpa took him for a ride in his old mail plane.

  “When did you learn to fly?” Bailey asked, leaning forward and sideways. She’d chosen to sit directly behind the co-pilot’s seat. OC wanted to sit in the back so he could sleep, but the logistics proved impossible. Of the two, Bailey was more nimble.

  “I took lessons in college. It was cheaper. Everybody in my family has their pilot’s license—even Mom, but none of them can teach worth shit. We formed a consortium awhile back and went together to buy this bird.” Since then, he’d bought Mia’s share to help her pay for her divorce and Meg’s share so she could use the money to fund some kind of wolf-related study project.

  The plane hit a pocket and made a stomach-lurching drop. Bailey gave a little gasp. Her big, badass father moaned.

  Paul glanced sideways. Sure enough, the larger-than-life, watch-out-Big-Foot-here-I-come OC Jenkins was afraid to fly. And the tinge of gray in his cheeks made Paul glad he had a supply of barf bags.