by Karen Foley
A Hot Montana Summer
A Glacier Creek Romance
Karen Foley
A Hot Montana Summer
Copyright © 2018 Karen Foley
EPUB Edition
The Tule Publishing Group, LLC
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
First Publication by Tule Publishing Group 2018
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-948342-75-9
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Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
The Glacier Creek Series
Excerpt from The Firefighter’s Slow Burn
About the Author
Prologue
“You’re going to marry me someday.”
Rachel McCafferty spun around from the sink where she was mixing a pitcher of lemonade to stare at the boy sitting on the far side of the kitchen island. He watched her with solemn blue eyes, and his narrow face gave no indication he was joking.
Rachel smiled uncertainly. She didn’t want to crush the kid’s ego, but neither did she want to give him any false hope. He was, after all, just a kid. He had about as much chance of marrying her as a snowball had of surviving ten minutes in Hell. So why, then, did the expression in his eyes—unwavering and intense—cause such an odd tightening sensation in her chest? Abruptly, she turned her back to him. Reaching up, she took two glasses down from the cupboard.
“Well,” she finally responded, eyeing him cautiously as she poured a glass of lemonade and slid it across the countertop to him, “seeing as you’re only twelve years old, you’re expecting me to wait an awfully long time, aren’t you?”
“Fourteen.”
Rachel set the pitcher down on the counter with a grin. “Fourteen years? I’ll be an old maid by then!”
“No,” he said quietly. “I’m not twelve. I’m actually fourteen. At least,” he amended, with a shrug, “I will be in another month. But since you mentioned it, I’m pretty sure in fourteen years, you and I will be married.”
Rachel stared at Jamie Colter, too taken aback by his brash confidence to know how to respond. He was small for his age, and skinny. His family had lived across the street for as long as Rachel could remember, and he and her younger brother, Dylan, had been best buds practically from the time they could walk. Jamie was almost a permanent fixture at their house, but Rachel paid about as much attention to him as she would any other piece of furniture. Still, he seemed like a nice kid, and the last thing she wanted was to hurt his feelings.
“Jamie,” she finally said, choosing her words carefully, “I’m flattered, I really am, but I’m sure in a couple of years—no, a couple of weeks—you’re going to forget all about me.”
“I won’t.”
“I’m twenty years old, Jamie. I’m almost done with college.” She slanted him a skeptical look. “No offense, but you haven’t even started high school yet.”
Jamie didn’t say anything. He picked up his glass and took a long swallow of lemonade, his eyes never leaving hers.
“Besides,” Rachel continued, keeping her tone light, “once school starts in the fall, you’re going to have so many pretty girls your own age to choose from, you won’t want anything to do with me.”
Jamie set his glass down and carefully wiped his mouth. “It won’t matter how many other girls I date between now and then. It’ll just be practice for the real thing.”
Rachel gave a bark of surprised laughter. “Jamie Colter! You’re unbelievable.”
“Who’s unbelievable? And how long have you been here, Jamie? Why didn’t you come upstairs and get me?” Dylan McCafferty’s tone was mildly annoyed as he slid onto a stool beside Jamie and reached for Rachel’s untouched glass of lemonade. “I told Lucas we’d meet him at the skate park to try out your new board.”
“Yeah, well, I stopped to talk with Rachel.”
Dylan’s face twisted in bemusement. “Why?”
Jamie grinned. “Because I like talking to her.”
Dylan snorted in disgust. “That’s only because you don’t live with her. Trust me, if she was your sister, you wouldn’t want anything to do with her.”
Sliding from the stool, Jamie scooped his skateboard up from where it leaned against the island and tucked it under his arm. “Which is why,” he said, slanting a wicked grin at Rachel, “I thank God every day she’s not my sister.”
Chapter One
Twelve Years Later
Jamie leaned heavily on his crutches as he thumbed through the mail, enjoying the morning sun on his shoulders and the dewy coolness of the grass beneath his bare feet. After a year in the Syrian Desert, he didn’t think he’d ever grow tired of the crisp mountain air and deep, cool forests that characterized his hometown of Glacier Creek, Montana.
“Honey, you should put some clothes on! It’s not that warm out.”
Glancing up, Jamie saw his mother standing in the open doorway of the single-story, ranch-style house where he’d grown up. A tall, attractive woman in her fifties, she was dressed for her morning Zumba class in a pair of yoga pants and a bright pink hoodie. In contrast, he wore only a pair of shorts. Getting a pair of jeans to fit over his leg cast was impossible, and he hadn’t yet gotten around to putting on a shirt. The day promised to be warm and dry, so maybe he’d just lounge in the backyard, like he’d done almost every day since he’d come home.
“I’m fine, Mom,” he said.
“Your breakfast is ready,” she called, crossing the front yard to the driveway. “I’m leaving now, so don’t let it get cold. And be careful! You don’t want to do too much. You’ll exhaust yourself and fall, and I won’t be here to help you.”
Jamie raised his hand in farewell as she backed her car onto the street, and drove away. He sighed and closed the mailbox. He’d been home for almost two months, and as his injuries healed and he grew stronger, the walls of his childhood home closed in more tightly around him. His mother worried and fussed over him like he was still a child. His dad had explained to him the fear and anxiety she’d experienced when they’d learned he’d been injured in Syria, but Jamie wished she’d relax, just a little. He was home now, however reluctantly.
Thank God they were leaving in a couple of days for their annual cruise with the McCaffertys. This year they were cruising through the Hawaiian Islands for two weeks. His mother had wanted to cancel the trip, insisting he couldn’t
be left alone, but Jamie and his dad had convinced her he would be fine. He was twenty-six years old, and had been taking care of himself for almost eight years. Knowing his mother, she’d make sure the cupboards and fridge were stocked with enough food and beer to last him a month. She’d probably already contacted the neighbors and put them on notice to provide assistance while she was gone, just in case.
He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. He loved Glacier Creek, but there wasn’t a whole lot going on in the way of excitement. Even hanging out with his old high school buddies at The Drop Zone, one of his favorite pubs, was a major undertaking. The leg cast, which extended from his toes to mid-thigh on his right leg, made it impossible to drive, so he was pretty much at the mercy of his parents if he wanted to go out anywhere. They’d only be gone for two weeks, but Jamie would be housebound for the duration. He could already feel the itch of cabin fever crawling across his skin.
He glanced at the house across the street, and the empty driveway. Even his best friend, Dylan, who had joined the local smoke jumper crew as a wildland firefighter, was off battling a blaze somewhere in Idaho. Jamie hadn’t seen him in a couple of years, but decided as soon as Dylan returned, he’d get back in touch with him.
As teenagers, they’d sworn one day they would start their own extreme adventure company, along with their third friend, Lucas Talbot. There was nothing they had enjoyed more than pushing themselves to the limit. As adults, they’d each found a career doing just that, but in ways they hadn’t imagined when they’d been kids. He missed Dylan and Lucas. Too much time had passed since the three of them had been together.
His thoughts turned briefly to Dylan’s sister, Rachel, as they always did when he looked at the McCafferty house. Man, he’d been crazy about her as a kid, but time and biology had conspired against him. Seven years his senior, she hadn’t been remotely interested in a scrawny, prepubescent boy. By the time he’d grown up, filled out, and became a man, she’d found herself some rich playboy named Deke Narducci, aka the Deke-wad, and married him.
And that had been that.
He’d been out of the running before he’d even had a chance to compete.
Jamie hadn’t seen Rachel in years, which was probably for the best. She’d been his first serious crush. He still experienced a bittersweet pang of longing and regret whenever he thought of her. She’d been so beautiful, so confident, and so energetic in everything she’d done, that watching her had been like staring too long at the sun. She’d dazzled him. Whenever she’d come home from college, Jamie had found a reason to spend more time at the McCafferty house than he did his own. Dylan had been disgusted by Jamie’s obvious infatuation with Rachel, and teased him mercilessly. Jamie hadn’t cared. The abuse had been worth the reward of seeing Rachel, of simply circling in her orbit. She’d been so full of life, big dreams, and big plans that he’d been in awe of her.
Tucking the bundle of mail into the waistband of his shorts, Jamie adjusted his crutches and turned to go back into the house, when a car turned onto the street. He wouldn’t have paused to watch except it was a sweet little Porsche Carrera GT in a gleaming shade of silver. Low-slung and sexy as hell, Jamie would have given his left nut to take it for a spin. Even as he wondered why a sleek set of wheels like that would have any business driving down Pinewood Avenue, it turned into the McCafferty driveway.
Jamie’s mouth nearly fell open. Had Dylan’s dad finally succumbed to a midlife crisis? A car like that was easily worth six figures. Unable to resist, he swung his crutches in the direction of the car, and then stopped short as the driver’s door opened, and a woman climbed out.
Holy shit.
There was no mistaking the shiny swish of dark hair, or the sweetly curved ass beneath the snug white shorts. Jamie stopped breathing.
Rachel.
She hadn’t changed much in the three years since he’d last seen her, except she was even sexier than he remembered. Admittedly, the encounter at a popular L.A. restaurant had been so brief and unexpected, she hadn’t even seen him. But Jamie had recognized her. More importantly, he’d recognized the man who’d been aggressively hitting on a pretty brunette near the restaurant bar, while Rachel had sat at an outdoor dining table waiting for him to return with their drinks. She’d always had terrible taste in guys, as evidenced by her choice of husband.
Jamie had thought about that night so many times over the last few years, and still regretted he hadn’t gone over to say hello to Rachel. Or better yet, outed her dirtball spouse. In his fantasy, Rachel always slapped Deke hard across the face and declared their marriage was over. Then she ran, teary-eyed, from the restaurant. That’s where he came in, offering a strong shoulder for her to lean on. The fantasy always ended with the two of them in his bed.
She hadn’t yet spotted him standing in the middle of the street, staring at her like an idiot, and for a moment Jamie thought about turning tail and running. Only there was no running in his current condition. There was only painstakingly slow, snail-like progress. But he didn’t want her to see him like this, looking so fucking pathetic. Maybe, if he stood perfectly still, she wouldn’t notice him. Or maybe he could turn away and if she did happen to look in his direction, she wouldn’t recognize him. He was about to do that when her gaze swung toward him, and their eyes locked. He saw the precise instant when recognition caused her eyes to widen, and then sweep over him. Her mouth formed a wordless oh.
He smiled, feeling as if he’d been caught doing something naughty. “Hey, Rachel. Long time, no see.”
“Yeah,” she responded, sounding a little stunned. “Jamie, right? Wow. I would never have guessed. You look…great.” Her expression immediately turned contrite. “I mean, except for the leg. What happened?”
Jamie shrugged. “A mortar attack in Syria, and I was trapped beneath some debris. No biggie.”
No biggie. He sounded like a complete moron, and for the first time in his life, he couldn’t wait to get away from Rachel McCafferty. He wasn’t prepared to see her, and was definitely not ready to talk to her. She’d caught him completely off guard. She was even prettier than he remembered, and it was all he could do not to stare, bug-eyed, at her. He had an impression of slim, bare legs and a silky top that clung to her curves. She was so freaking beautiful, it hurt to look at her. He quickly looked away. It seemed some things never changed, like whenever she was near his brain stopped synapsing.
Now she looked uncomfortable, as if she didn’t know what to say, either. If she followed the news, she’d know the attack on the Marine compound five months earlier had been deadly. He’d lost two buddies that night, and had been trapped beneath the rubble for an agonizing eighteen hours before he’d been rescued. He’d been lucky; his injuries had been extensive, but not life-threatening.
“How long are you home for?” he asked, ignoring the warning bells jangling in his head, telling him to just let her go. Because what was the point in small talk? She’d married some dude on the East Coast, and that was that. The guy was a total dick, but Rachel had hitched her wagon to his horse. Or at least to his little Porsche Carrera.
“I’m not sure.” She shrugged, looking both uncomfortable, and something else. Angry? “A while,” she finally said. “At least until I find my own place.”
Jamie’s antennae went up, and he sharpened his gaze on her. “Oh, yeah? You moving back here?”
She looked away for a moment, and cleared her throat. Jamie had the distinct sense she was struggling to compose herself. When she turned back to look at him, there was no mistaking the sheen of tears in her dark eyes, and she swiped at them with her fingertips.
“Yes.”
“Hey,” he said, frowning at her distress. He’d never seen Rachel cry. He moved closer, until he was in her driveway. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”
She gave a bitter laugh. “You could say that. Deke and I just got divorced. Like literally, just a few days ago.” She flapped a hand. “I mean, we haven’t lived together for almost t
wo years, but the papers just came through the other day, and I don’t know…it just seems so final. The end of a chapter.” She drew in a deep breath and expelled it. “I had to get away, so here I am.”
Something shifted in Jamie’s chest, and then broke loose and began turning cartwheels of unadulterated delight.
Divorced.
As in…no longer married.
Available.
“About damned time,” he said, unable to disguise his satisfaction. “That guy was a douche, and the only one who couldn’t see it was you.”
Rachel’s face registered shock, and then affront. “I beg your pardon, but I wasn’t aware you ever met Deke.”
“I did, actually. A couple of times. Once when the two of you came home for a visit, and once out in L.A., at a restaurant called The Point.”
Rachel tipped her head, considering. At least she no longer looked like she might burst into tears, for which Jamie was grateful. He could handle just about anything except a woman’s tears.
“We were only at The Point once, a few years ago,” she finally said. “You were there? Why didn’t you say hello?”
“I was with a bunch of guys from my unit, and it didn’t seem like the right time,” he hedged. “You probably wouldn’t have recognized me, anyway.”
Her eyes swept over him again, and this time he could have sworn there was something else in her eyes…a feminine awareness and maybe even appreciation. It was all Jamie could do not to puff himself up beneath her gaze. He forced himself to lean easily on his crutches and act as if it were no big deal to be standing there, talking to her.
“Probably not,” she finally agreed. “You’ve, ah, changed a lot.”
“Damn straight. I’m not fourteen anymore.”
Her eyes flicked over him again and he watched with interest as warm color crept up her neck, before washing into her cheeks.