Sweet Home Montana

by Shann McPherson

  Colt groans, a gruff, animalistic sound that only further ignites the flame burning deep in my belly. I moan, his hands moving down, lower and lower, fingers toying with the skirt of my dress as he grips my ass through the delicate wool. I can feel him pressing into my stomach, and it makes me weak at the knees, so much so, I wrap my arms around him so tight, scared I might crumble to an obliterated heap right here on the floor if I don’t hold on for dear life.

  When he pulls away, his fingers working their way up my back, kneading my skin before finding the zip at the top of my dress, I meet his eyes. They’re dark and full of wanton desire that makes my stomach dip and clench. He tenderly kisses my forehead, my cheek, ducking down to nip the very tip of my nose, moving to the shell of my ear and sucking gently on the lobe as he begins slowly unfastening the zip, pulling it lower, and lower, until my back is exposed. His fingertips trace down over my spine, causing me to shiver against his featherlight touch, my skin erupting with goose bumps.

  He ducks down, his lips kissing the curve of my neck, his tongue lapping at that one spot that drives me completely crazy, my toes curling. And I’m like putty in his hands, craning my neck to the side to give him better access as stars begin to dance around my head.

  “God, I missed this,” he murmurs against my skin, his voice gruff and raspy, and everything delicious.

  I moan from his words alone. I needed to hear that. More than anything, I needed to hear him admit that he’s missed me just as much as I have irrefutably missed him over the last ten years. In fact, that’s all I need to know. I don’t need anything else; right now, all I need, want, is him. We stumble our way to the sofa, finding the edge of the cushion, and Colt pulls away from me, his heavily hooded eyes watching me with such intent it’s almost intimidating. But I keep a hold of his gaze with my own as I sit, pulling my dress down over my shoulders, making quick work of my plain cotton bra, his eyes darkening even more as he watches me while tearing at the buttons on his shirt, desperately shrugging it off before tossing it across the room. And, it is at that exact moment that my eyes find my name inked in the most beautifully intricate script, right there where Shelby said it was. On his chest, right over the jagged scar across his heart, the scar he received from the emergency surgery that saved his life.

  I’m rendered momentarily breathless. I reach up, hesitating for a split second before ever so slightly and gently tracing the letters with the tips of my fingers. He almost flinches, as if he’s afraid of me, afraid of my touch, and the thought that I can scare him with just one touch, breaks my heart.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, holding my hand against his chest, feeling the thick scar beneath my fingers, feeling his heart race.

  Colt continues watching me, his hooded eyes stormy. I don’t think I’ve ever been looked at the way he’s looking at me right now. Not by him, nor by anyone else. He’s looking at me as if I’m the only woman in the world. As if no one else can possibly compare. The sheer look of want, need and adoration in his eyes might very well be my undoing, but there’s a stark trepidation also, and it’s that foreboding look in his gaze that reminds me of just how terribly I hurt him. His hand reaches out, tenderly cupping my jaw, the pad of his thumb tracing the plumpness of my bottom lip, and he offers a small smile so full of something I hadn’t been prepared for. I lean into his touch, exhaling a contented sigh, my lashes fluttering closed.

  God, I love you … I think to myself.

  But, just like that, everything comes to a spectacular stop.

  Colt tears his hand away from me as fast as if he’s burned himself. I almost fall against the sofa with how fast he lets me go. My skin is icy cold from the loss of contact, and when I look up at him, that expression I’d seen in his eyes only seconds ago has been replaced by nothing, an emptiness, that same painful indifference that stabs me right in the middle of my chest. And I know, with that one look, I’ve just gone and ruined everything.

  “Y-you love me?” he asks, a hard crease etched between his brows.

  Of course I went and said it out loud.

  Shit.

  “You love me?” This time, he asks the question with a derisive scoff before quickly refastening his belt buckle.

  “W-what are you doing?” I stammer, feeling very naked all of a sudden. I hold my hands up to my chest, covering what I can of myself with my dress. “Colt. Stop. I-I can explain, I didn’t mean it! I—”

  He doesn’t stop to hear me out. He doesn’t stop at all. Instead, he turns away from me, finding his crumpled shirt on the floor, picking it up and throwing it over his shoulders, not bothering with the buttons on his way up the steps toward the foyer.

  “Colt, stop!” I yell, chasing after him, one hand still covering what I can of my breasts.

  He turns when he reaches the front door, facing me, this time his face masked with disgust as he regards me like I’m nothing more than a piece of garbage. “You love me, now …” His steely gaze cuts through me, hard and blunt. “Why couldn’t you love me back then?”

  I gape at him, shocked by his words. “But, I-I did … I—”

  “God, I’m so fuckin’ stupid,” he murmurs to himself, shaking his head with another humorless laugh. “You almost went and fooled me again, Quinny.”

  ***

  I wake in the morning after a broken sleep, my head throbbing, my stomach knotted, and my eyes dry, swollen and itchy from crying myself into that broken, sorry excuse for a slumber. I spent all night replaying that moment over and over again in my head, the look in Colt’s eyes, how it had changed so drastically when I’d stupidly gone and said that I loved him.

  What an idiot.

  Do I love him?

  Without a sliver of doubt. All I know is that he’s still the one for me. The one I was stupid enough to let go. The one I’ve spent ten years of my life trying to move past. The one I’ve spent ten years of my life resigned to the fact that, no matter what, he’ll always be the love of my life. But that’s the trouble with love; the heart wants what it wants, and for ten long, infuriating years, all my heart has wanted is the one whose heart I broke.

  I love you?

  God, of course he would run. I broke Colt’s heart in so many ways, and he’s terrified I’m going to do it again. Or, maybe I read him completely wrong. Maybe he doesn’t want anything more from me than one final hoorah. Maybe it was closure he was after, closure after ten long years. But that tattoo. My name. Inked into his skin as a constant reminder.

  I bury my head in my hands, closing my eyes, racking my brain. I have to see him. I have to talk to him. I need to see the look in his eyes when he tells me he wants nothing to do with me; Colt may be a closed book to most people, but I’ve always been able to see the truth in those eyes of his. I want to see him tell the truth, or lie to my face. At least then I’ll know.

  I jump out of bed and run through to the bathroom. No time to waste.

  Chapter 14

  I’m met with another gray and dreary morning when I step outside. I zip up my leather bomber jacket, tuck my hands into the front pockets, and duck my chin down into the blanket scarf I wrapped around my neck three times. I missed this kind of cold. It’s different to New York. Where New York’s cold is stark and brutal, Montana’s cold is stark yet refreshing.

  I glance out over the ranch from the vantage point high up on the verandah, where Dad used to stand in the mornings with his coffee, looking out over what was his. From up here, you can almost see forever. The stables. The paddocks, all the way down to the river, to the rolling hills and looming peaks in the distance. My gaze sets upon Cash standing over by the fence, watching one of the ranch hands try to break a horse on a longline in the corral, the wild animal running circles around him, its chestnut mane flowing majestically in the breeze.

  I continue down the steps, crossing the front yard. Cash casts a brief glance over his shoulder in my direction as I approach.

  “Morning.” I step up onto the fence rung to get a better view of the beautif
ul horse.

  “How’d you sleep after last night?”

  Oh, if only you knew, big brother.

  “Not so good.” I sniffle against the cool air. “Where is he?”

  “He’s gone to Jackson Hole with one of the ranch hands to pick up a colt.”

  Colt. I swear, that name will haunt me for as long as I live.

  “Did he tell you about the fight?”

  “At the bar?”

  “No.” My eyes widen. “With his best friend of almost twenty-five years.”

  Cash’s brow pinches.

  I shake my head in exasperation. “I don’t know what the hell is going on with those two, but they almost killed each other … Right there, on the lawn in front of the sheriff’s station.”

  Cash removes his hat, ruffling a hand through his hair, looking down to the ground, and I can see his mind working overtime, his jaw tensing.

  “What is it?” I press.

  “They’ve been fighting on and off for a while now.” Cash shrugs nonchalantly. “You know how they are.”

  I can tell there’s more to it, but he looks away, concentrating on the horse, and I know he’s not planning on elaborating any further, despite my piqued curiosity.

  “Do you know where he is?” I ask, trying so hard not to be obvious. “Colt, I mean.”

  Cash looks at me again, his lips twisting in thought as he considers my question. “He’s gone to the auctions.” He eyes me a moment longer, readjusting his hat once more. “Why?”

  Because I want to ask him why he walked out on me last night, half-naked and desperate.

  “I was just wondering if … if he was okay … after last night, and all,” I stammer, cursing under my breath at my sudden inability to form a damn sentence.

  Cash’s gaze lingers unnecessarily long, and I quickly turn away. I’ve never been able to hide much from my big brother; I swear he was a special agent in his past life.

  “I’m going into town. I need to pick up a few things.” I step down off the fence rung, wiping my hands on the backs of my jeans. “You need me to pick you up anything?”

  He shakes his head, but when he goes back to watching the wild horse buck and refuse to submit, I don’t miss the faintest hint of a smile that curls his lips. He knows. I can’t keep anything from him. But I ignore it, I ignore him, turning and crossing the yard, hurrying to my rental car before he can call me out right there by the stable yards.

  ***

  The streets in town are relatively quiet, in stark contrast to the chaos of New York City that I’ve become accustomed to over the last ten years. But still, I keep my beanie pulled low, my head cast down as I amble along Main Street. I don’t really know what I’m doing in town. I just couldn’t sit around the house all day, not with the way in which my emotions are running amok in my mind.

  That house feels tainted right now. What was once a place filled with good memories, love and family, is now nothing more than a reminder of my dead father, my brother who loathes me, and the love of my life who no longer wants anything to do with me.

  I grab a to-go coffee from one of the many trendy cafés lining the promenade, and I continue wandering aimlessly, checking out the store windows, cowering from the wind as it barrels through the street, taking no prisoners on its way through the town.

  It’s all so weird. Black Canyon looks exactly the same as it always has from a distance, but the closer you get, the more you realize everything has changed. I mean, old Mrs. Schultz’s bakery has been replaced by a vegan brownie bar. A vegan-anything in a cattle-ranching town is beyond absurd. And across the street is a vape store, for God’s sake. It’s like the place has been gentrified when there was nothing derelict about it in the first place; morphed into a hipster, upmarket layover for entitled tourists to stop in on their way to the ski resorts in the winter.

  My eyes wander to the shop window of a surprisingly fashionable boutique. Oh, red bottoms. But just as I stop to look at the cute pair of Louboutin boots in the display, I’m almost knocked on my unsuspecting ass by a relentless force ramming into me like a damn Mack truck, causing me to spill my coffee all down the front of me for the second time this week.

  “Shit!” I look down as coffee drenches the legs of my jeans, the cup falling from my gloved fingers, what’s left of its contents spilling onto the sidewalk.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!”

  “Mommy, the lady said shit!”

  “Honey, don’t say shit!”

  Confused and totally out of sorts to say the least, I glance up from the mess down the front of me to see a little girl peering up at me, a small hand plastered over her gaping mouth, bright eyes smiling mischievously. And then I lift my chin, looking upward to see a somewhat familiar face blinking at me with a knowing smirk.

  “Gucci gal?”

  I smile. “Rylie, hey!”

  She looks different today. A little less eyeliner, the nude eye contradicted by bright red lips. Her dark hair is piled on top of her head in a messy topknot I know I could never pull off. She wears leather tights, an oversized Def Leppard T-shirt with a vintage Eighties jean jacket over the top. She’s so cool. Effortlessly and enviably so. Definitely not Canyon material. When I grow up, I want to be just like Rylie—though, I’m almost certain I’m at least a couple years older than she is.

  “Oh, Lord, I’m so sorry, doll, I wasn’t even paying attention to where I was going!” she apologizes, rifling through her purse before pulling out a handful of questionably scrunched-up Kleenex.

  “Thanks.” I take the tissue from her, assuming they’re unused, mopping up the coffee trickling down over my leather jacket. “And don’t worry, it was totally my fault. I was too busy admiring these boots.” I point to the window to my right.

  “Cute,” Rylie coos, peering through the glass.

  I glance down at the little girl. She studies me curiously, holding on tight to Rylie’s hand. She’s beautiful. Blonde curls, wild and unruly. Big eyes full of curiosity and mischief. A smattering of freckles peppered over her nose. Chubby cheeks with dimples that pop when she smiles up at me, so shy, so cheeky, so adorable.

  “Hi.” I crouch down. “What’s your name?”

  “Emmy.” Her cheeks blush a little and she looks down to her feet, cowering into Rylie’s side.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Emmy.” I hold a hand out. “I’m Quinn.”

  Emmy glances from my hand, up to her mom as if to check, and I try not to take offense that she clearly needs permission to shake my hand; I am a stranger after all. But when Rylie nods, when Emmy feels I’m trustworthy enough, she places her dainty little hand in mine, and I shake it gently, meeting her innocent and captivating gaze. She’s adorable, and I’m momentarily taken aback by the little girl, wholeheartedly enamored of her.

  I stand back up, smiling at Rylie. “She’s beautiful.”

  She rolls her eyes indulgently. “And don’t she know it.”

  I laugh, smiling fondly down at the little girl.

  “Let me buy you lunch,” Rylie offers. “It’s the least I can do for … this whole situation …” She pauses, waving her hand in front of me, indicating the coffee staining my jeans.

  I glance around, for what, I don’t even know. I look from Rylie, down to Emmy who’s still staring up at me with those curious eyes, and back again, managing a smile. “Sure.” I nod. “But, first,” I say, pointing to the boutique we’re standing outside, “I’m just going to duck in here and see if they have a pair of jeans in my size.”

  ***

  With a fresh pair of jeans on, my coffee-stained pair in the carry bag provided by the boutique, I join Rylie and Emmy at a table inside a bistro on the other side of Main Street. It’s just started raining again, the raindrops pelting against the window we sit by. Emmy sneakily blows a hot breath of steam onto the glass, drawing a smiling face with her index finger and giggling to herself as if it’s the funniest thing ever. She is too adorable, and I can’t help but smile as Rylie shakes her
head at her daughter.

  “I’m surprised to see you’re still in town,” Rylie says after we place an order with the server.

  I glance down at my glass of water, swiping at the condensation as it drips down the side. “Yeah, I don’t know how long I’ll be staying for.” I shrug a shoulder, meeting her eyes. “Maybe indefinitely. I don’t know yet. Family stuff …” I explain.

  She nods in understanding. “Your family is still here?”

  “My brothers are here.” Those words hurt surprisingly more than I thought they would, but I ignore the lump of emotion wedging its way into the back of my throat, taking a sip from my water in the hope that it will help wash it down.

  I sense Rylie can tell there is more to my story. A sadness. But I’m so relieved when she decides to change the subject, smiling at me and narrowing one of her eyes as she studies me closely. “Let me guess,” she begins. “You’re back in town from … Los Angeles?”

  I manage a smile, shaking my head.

  Her brow furrows, her lips twisting ever so slightly with another guess: “Salt Lake?”

  I laugh. “New York.”

  At that, Emmy gasps, her eyes wide as she looks at me from across the table.

  “Oh God. Here we go.” Rylie sighs dramatically.

  “What?” I ask, looking between the two of them; they look so different, but their mannerisms are almost identical.

  “She’s infatuated with New York,” Rylie explains, nodding to her daughter. Adding conspiratorially, “I blame Taylor Swift. I took her to the 1989 concert, and ever since then she’s been obsessed with the damn city.”

  I laugh, meeting Emmy’s wide-eyed gaze.