Copyright © 2011 by Vanessa Gray Bartal
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Chapter 1
An idyllic Christmas in the country sounded like a good idea when Belle made the suggestion. Ethan Prescott had been curious about Montana since his boss first returned from a trip there a few years ago and married a cowboy who owned a massive ranch. He had visions of things he had only ever seen on television—sleigh rides, roaring fireplaces and singing Christmas carols around an upright piano while sipping hot cocoa. But sitting in an airport the size of a walnut was not part of that plan.
“Ethan, when are we going to go?”
Bringing his new girlfriend, Chrissy, had also seemed like a good idea. Now he wasn’t so sure. In New York, she had seemed gung-ho to travel to Montana. Ethan had been surprised because Chrissy was a city girl, through and through. She was the type of girl who had her manicurist on speed dial for nail emergencies. But as soon as he had mentioned the possibility of Christmas in Montana, Chrissy had practically begged to come along. Ethan had been ecstatic. Beautiful, polished, and successful, she was everything he had dreamed he would find. He had no idea what she saw in him, a chatty secretary from Ohio, but he wasn’t about to ruin his chances with her by remaining in neutral any longer.
“I’ve been trying to call the Kings, Chrissy, but I can’t get a signal here,” he explained, frowning at his useless cell phone.
“What kind of place doesn’t have cell service?” Chrissy said, looking around with a sour expression.
The kind of place in the middle of nowhere, Ethan thought, but didn’t say it. After so many hours flying west, they were both exhausted. And, really, Chrissy’s impatience was understandable. They were stuck in an airport so small there wasn’t even a restaurant. Ethan had offered to raid a row of vending machines for some food, but Chrissy declared she would rather starve than eat chemicals and sodium from a machine. For that reason, Ethan hid the bag of neon orange cheese crackers he’d bought for himself, surreptitiously pulling a cracker from his bag every so often. He was starving and had no compunctions about eating anything at this point.
“What are we supposed to do?” Chrissy asked, sounding a little desperate. “We could die here.”
She was exaggerating, but only slightly. Outside the airport, snow was everywhere. There were no hotels nearby, nor any restaurants, so it was a sure sign there were no rental car agencies, either. And even if Ethan could somehow miraculously procure a car, the King’s ranch wasn’t on any map. How was he supposed to find it by himself?
He couldn’t understand why there wasn’t someone there to meet them at the airport. His boss, Belle Landry King, was known to be a detailed perfectionist. If she said someone would pick them up from the airport, then someone would pick them up from the airport. But so far no one had, and Ethan was becoming more than a little worried. If it were just him, he would bunk down in the airport, survive on vending food, and wait for help to eventually arrive. But he had a new and very grumpy girlfriend to support. Chrissy needed proper food and rest, stat.
“I’ll see if I can find a landline,” Ethan volunteered.
“’Bout time,” Chrissy snapped before jutting her lip in a determined-looking pout.
At times like these, Ethan always felt a little shallow because he knew if Chrissy was ugly, he would probably blow up at her and tell her she wasn’t helping the situation by being grumpy. But instead he thought her pouty lip looked cute, like an angry little girl. So, instead of chastising her, he bent and kissed her forehead.
“I’m sorry things aren’t turning out well,” he said.
She softened slightly and reeled her lip in. “I know it’s not your fault,” she said. “I’m hungry and tired. I’m sure you are, too.”
He smiled in agreement before turning to try and locate a phone. A few minutes later, he found one in the entryway of the airport between the outer and inner doors. Even though it wasn’t exactly outside, it was still freezing in the entryway. Ethan’s teeth chattered as he tried to make his newly numb fingers dial the correct numbers. He was thankful years of knowing Belle and Cam had prepared him for Montana weather. His bags were stuffed with warm clothes, but he hadn’t put them on yet because New York had been almost balmy when he left, and he didn’t want to swelter on the plane.
When a buzzing signal sounded in his ear, he double-checked the number for Belle’s house. After assuring himself he had dialed correctly, he tried again, but the signal remained the same. He frowned, trying to determine what the signal meant. Was it a busy signal, or were the lines down? Seeing how much snow was outside the airport made him think the second option was more likely.
“Great, just great,” he muttered. Now what was he to do? How could he go back inside and tell Chrissy they were stuck at the airport until further notice? Maybe it was disloyal to think it, but he was quickly becoming sorry he had brought Chrissy along. The stress of this trip could prove to be too much for their fledgling relationship. In New York they were always so busy they had barely been able to find time for dates. Ethan had simply wanted to get away with her and spend quality time. But not like this. This was miserable, and his inability to solve the situation wasn’t winning him any points.
His steps were slow and measured as he plodded back to the bench where Chrissy sat. Her hopeful expression sent his heart plummeting even more.
“Did you get hold of them? Where are they? When are they coming? How soon can we leave here?” In her eagerness, the questions poured out of her and jumbled together. Ethan pretended to take his time sorting them while he tried to compose his thoughts.
“Well,” he drawled, “I didn’t…” His words trailed off while his attention was distracted by the arrival of a newcomer. Normally, he was a one-woman type of guy. He didn’t cheat on his girlfriends, and he didn’t allow his eye to roam. But those principals did nothing to stop his galvanized gaze from fastening on the woman who now stood before him. Not just because she was arrestingly beautiful, but because she was like a character from a movie—Pocahontas, to be exact. He had never seen a Native American in real life, and now he was sure he was seeing a warrior princess come to life. His mouth opened, releasing a puff of air as he stared, dumbfounded. He expected her to speak some foreign tongue that he couldn’t understand, but when she spoke the words were in English.
“Ethan Prescott.” She said his name as a statement, shocking him further into speechlessness. “Come with me. I’m here to take you home.”
When she turned to go, Ethan grabbed his bag and followed with no thought to the blond girl he had brought from New York.
Chapter 2
Thankfully Ethan remembered Chrissy a split second after he forgot her, and hopefully before she realized she had been forgotten. With a slight shake of his head, he grabbed her bags and waited for her to stand, but she didn’t stand. She remained frozen to her seat, staring at the newcomer in dismay.
“Who is she?” Chrissy hissed.
“I have no idea,” Ethan returned, also in a whisper. “But she’s offering to get us out of here.” And she’s lovely, he added to himself. Even now his eyes strayed to the woman whose stride didn’t slow until she reached the doors. That’s when she glanced back and realized there was no one behind her. With a sigh of impatience, she returned to Ethan and Chrissy, picked up their two remaining bags, and threw them over her shoulders like a pack mule.
“Coming?” she asked, giving Chrissy a pointed glance, as if she knew she was the reason for their delay.
“Who are you?” Chrissy blurted.
“I’m PJ,” the girl said.
Chrissy looked to Ethan for an explanation, but he shrugged. In all the talk about the ranch, he had never heard of a PJ.
The woman, PJ, sighed again. “I work for the Kings sometimes. They had an emergency. They asked me to pick you up. Coming?” Wistfully, her eyes darted toward the exit again.
“What type of emergency?” Ethan asked worriedly. After so many years working for Belle, she felt like family. By now he had met all the Kings, and he liked them. He hated the thought of anything happening to them. He held out his hand for Chrissy, and she took it as she trooped beside him.
“Ivy went into labor,” PJ threw over her shoulder.
“Isn’t that a bit early?” Ethan asked. He wasn’t an expert on such matters, but he seemed to remember hearing that Ivy’s baby wasn’t due until the spring.
PJ nodded. “Very early. She’s been in the hospital, and the rest of the family went with her. They brought her home today and she’s going to be on bed rest until the end of her pregnancy.”
“Oh,” Ethan said, frowning. He hoped their visit wouldn’t cause any more undue stress on the Kings, although he knew Ivy and Coy had their own house and he and Chrissy wouldn’t be staying there.
They followed PJ to a beat-up red pickup truck. She tossed their bags unceremoniously into the truck bed, and Ethan did the same, retaining his grip on the bag that held his laptop.
Chrissy bit her lip and stared worriedly at the truck. Ethan was almost positive it was her first time being near such a vehicle. Manhattan wasn’t exactly a Mecca for pickups.
“Are we sure this is safe?” Chrissy whispered.
“We won’t know until we try.” He tried to say it cheerfully with a wink and a smile as he lifted Chrissy up. But inside he was equally uncertain. He was no expert on cars, but he was pretty sure the old Ford had been built sometime during the fifties. How could such a beast still function?
His doubts increased when PJ tried to crank the machine, only to growl in frustration when it coughed and sputtered before dying. Without a word to the truck’s occupants, she grabbed a tool box from under the seat and hopped out of the cab. Ethan sat uncertainly in his seat for a moment, at war with himself. On the one hand, he was the man and this was Montana. Shouldn’t he be the one to do something? On the other hand, he had only a passing acquaintance with automobile repair. Unless the oil needed checked or a tire needed changed, he would be over his head.
Nonetheless, he felt like a useless heel waiting in the car, so he hopped out and strode to the front of the truck where PJ had already popped the hood and was now bent.
“Anything I can do to help?” he asked.
PJ looked up at him in surprise. “It’s just dust in the spark plug.” She worked as she spoke and within a moment she had pulled out a spark plug. Ethan watched as she held it up to the light to inspect it.
“It must be hard to find parts for an antique,” he said, giving the truck a loving pat.
A smile lit PJ’s face. “It really is.”
Movement in the truck caught Ethan’s attention. Chrissy’s face was a mask of horror as she watched PJ place the spark plug against her lips and blow. When she removed the plug, a line of grease ringed her mouth. PJ wiped it away with the back of her hand, reinstalled the plug, and slammed the hood.
“Where did you learn about engine repair?” Ethan asked.
“Trial and error,” PJ said. She swiped her hands on a rag before dropping it in her toolbox and then turned toward the truck. Ethan waited until they were back inside the truck before he spoke again.
“Is that what you do for the Kings? Are you their mechanic?”
PJ shook her head. “Not since I was a kid.”
“You were a mechanic when you were a kid?” This came from Chrissy whose tone was more derisive than curious.
PJ’s answering smile was tender. “No, I was a tagalong with my dad who went to the ranch every few weeks on business.” She didn’t add that she had thought becoming an expert mechanic might get her into the King brothers’ good graces. Back then, she had been a lonely tomboy, but she had also been discerning. She hadn’t wanted to be friends with just anyone, but the Kings were good people and she had liked them. Their acceptance had been important to her.
Her silence made Ethan all the more curious. Who was this woman? Granted, she was very pretty in the exotic Indian princess sort of way he had first noted, but why else did he find her so intriguing? Chrissy was pretty, beautiful, even. What made PJ so captivating?
“The roads look pretty bad,” Chrissy commented. Her hands were white where they clutched the edge of the seat.
“Do they?” PJ asked, sounding moderately bored. “They look pretty normal to me. Doesn’t it snow in New York?”
“It snows, but the street crews clean it up as soon as it falls. Any significant snow on the roads would cause gridlock,” Ethan explained.
“Gridlock,” PJ repeated, and this time her smile was wry, though why Ethan should take note of her differing smiles was beyond him. She smiled a lot for a seemingly serious person. “Gridlock here would entail a whole bunch of cattle standing still, something that never happens.”
Chrissy peered nervously out the windows. “I don’t see any cows.”
“They don’t stand by the highway. The big ranches, like the Kings’ ranch, are farther away from town.”
Now Chrissy turned to look behind them. “That was a town?”
“That was the big city,” PJ informed them.
“Where do you shop? Where do you eat?” Chrissy asked.
“I don’t shop. I eat what I cook.”
Chrissy blinked as if the words made no sense to her. “What do you do for fun?”
“I…” PJ started, then faded away. She tapped her window. “If you look to the left, you can just see the edge of Lewis and Clark National Forest.”
“There are trees everywhere. How are those any different?”
“Because you go to jail if you cut them down,” PJ said. Ethan laughed. Chrissy frowned at him. PJ’s smile faded as she took in Chrissy’s frown. “You must be tired; it’s a long drive, why don’t you nap?”
“I can’t sleep in the middle,” Chrissy grumbled. “I want to lean against the window.”
Ethan slid her across his lap as he simultaneously scooted to her spot. She wadded up her coat and rested her head against the window, closing her eyes. Ethan stared through the front windshield, blinking to focus through the driving snow.
“You’re a good driver,” he commented softly.
PJ’s hands tightened slightly on the wheel. “Thanks.”
Their thighs brushed and Ethan jumped slightly and moved away, surprised by his awareness of her. On his other side, Chrissy was tightly pressed to his leg, but the feeling was nothing like touching PJ.
Not good, Ethan, he thought. Not good at all. This trip was supposed to be about relaxing and getting closer to Chrissy, not meeting a stranger in Montana and having a fling. What was wrong with him? Just when things were finally going well in his personal life, why did he have to go and mess it up? Was he secretly bent on self-sabotage?
“How long have you worked for the Kings?” Ethan asked, trying desperately to focus on something mundane.
“Since I was seventeen,” PJ replied.
“How long ago was that?” he asked.
She brushed a stray hair away from her face, trying vainly to tuck it in her ponytail. “Four years.”
Twenty one. She was twenty one, eight years younger than his twenty nine, and one more reason not to be attracted to her. However, that knowledge did nothing to quell his curiosity about her. “Have you always lived in Montana?”
“Always. I’ve only left once.” Her mouth turned grim and her hands tightened on the steering wheel.
Where had she gone? And why did the memory make her sad?
“You’re Belle’s secretary,” she stated.
Now it was his turn to grimace slightly. “Executive assistant.”
The wry smile was back on PJ’s face. Ethan couldn’t contain his curiosity any longer. “What’s funny?”
“You’re sensitive about your job because it’s primarily a girl’s job. I have the same problem in reverse.”
“What do you do?” he asked.
“I’m a farrier.”
“I have no idea what that is,” he said.
“I trim horse’s hooves and shoe them.”
“That job still exists?”
“Horses still exist. Until they make a computer than can shoe a horse, I guess my profession is safe.”
“How did you learn to be a farrier?” he asked. On his right, Chrissy began snoring softly.
“My dad taught me everything I know.”
“Do you work with him?”
She shook her head. “He died.”
“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely.
She nodded. He used the opportunity to stare at her. Tears shimmered in her obsidian eyes, lingering on her long lashes until she blinked them away. Her skin was the color of russet, and her hair was long and charcoal black.
“What does PJ stand for?” he asked.
“Not telling,” she said, flashing him a grin before returning her attention to the road.
“A woman of mystery,” he said. He heard the flirtation in his tone and his smile fled. No flirting; she’s a kid, and your girlfriend is sitting four inches away.
He wondered if PJ was having the same thought because she turned the conversation to Chrissy. “What does your girlfriend do?”
“She’s a journalist.”
“Really?” PJ asked. She peered around Ethan to glance at Chrissy. “She doesn’t seem the type.”
“What’s the type?” Ethan asked.
“More serious, less…fluffy.”
He chortled a laugh and cleared his throat. “I’m going to tell her you called her fluffy,” he threatened.
PJ smiled, an altogether different smile than any he had seen before. This one looked amused. “Go ahead. I’m pretty sure I could take her in a fight.”
“You’ve never seen her at a sale at Sak’s,” he said.
“I’m going to tell her you said that,” she threatened.
“Please don’t,” he said. “You might be able to take her, but I’m not sure I could.”
PJ punched his arm, hard. He winced and rubbed the spot. “Ouch. What was that for?”
“You insulted me.”
“I did?” he asked. “How?”
“You said I could take your girlfriend in a fight.”
“I was just repeating what you said,” he said, exasperated.
“You’re not supposed to. You made me sound manly.”
“You’re not manly,” he assured her. “Crazy, maybe, but not manly.” He rubbed his arm again.
“That’s better,” PJ said, satisfied.
“So, just for the record, I can say you’re crazy, but I can’t cast doubt on your femininity,” he said.
“Pretty much,” she agreed.
“You’re crazy,” he said.
She punched him again, harder this time.
He rubbed the spot again and shot her an indignant look. “What was that for?”
She shrugged. “Doesn’t have to be for anything. Apparently I’m crazy.”
Despite the pain in his aching arm, he was smiling at her. His smile grew when she turned to him and winked. On his other side, Chrissy snorted softly and his smile faded. Yep, I’m in a whole lot of trouble here, was Ethan’s final thought before the truck started to spin.
Chapter 3
Chrissy woke up screaming.
“We’re going to die, we’re going to die,” she screeched over and over until Ethan finally covered his ears with his hands.
“We’re fine,” PJ said calmly. She deftly brought the truck back under control and they continued on their way. “We hit a patch of ice, but we’re through it now. Good thing your suitcases are so heavy. I think the extra weight in the back of the truck is really helping keep us on the road.”
Chrissy’s mouth hung limply as she stared at PJ. “You’re crazy,” she whispered.
“A popular opinion lately,” PJ said. “Do you want to listen to the radio? Say yes if you like country, because that’s all we get out here.”
“Shouldn’t we be somewhere by now?” Chrissy asked, conveniently ignoring the radio question. “We’ve been driving forever.”
“We’ve been driving an hour. We have another hour before we reach my house.”
“Your house,” Chrissy said. “You live with the Kings?”
PJ shook her head. “The Kings live another hour past me. It’s too late to go there tonight. You’ll stay with me, and I’ll take you in the morning. I have to go there anyway, which is why they asked me to retrieve you.”
“We’re staying with you?” Chrissy asked. “Couldn’t we get a hotel?”
“Sure, if you take the train to Billings. It’s two hours away after you reach the station.”
“I have entered the Twilight Zone,” Chrissy said.
“Thanks for picking us up and keeping us tonight,” Ethan said diplomatically. He realized, even if Chrissy didn’t, that PJ was going out of her way for them. A four hour round trip to pick up strangers wasn’t exactly anyone’s idea of the perfect evening, especially not when the roads were so bad. And now she had to put them up at her house.
“I would do anything for the Kings,” PJ said. “They’re good people.”
“How well do you know them?” Chrissy asked. PJ and Ethan both noted her change of attitude with surprise. Suddenly she sounded curious and cheerful.
“I’ve known them all my life,” PJ said. “Josh and I were in school together. He’s a year older but we weren’t exactly friends. Coy and I used to spend a lot of time together before he met Ivy.”
Ethan wondered if she knew her voice sounded wistful.
“Was he your boyfriend?” Chrissy asked.
Outside, it was dark so Ethan couldn’t be sure, but he thought maybe PJ blushed. “No. We’ve only ever been friends. They took good care of me when my father died, offering me a job and references to help keep me going.”
“And you’ve known Belle all your life, too,” Ethan added. He knew their town was the size of a postage stamp.
PJ grinned. “Belle’s five years older than me but, oh yeah, I know Belle. Everyone knows Belle.” She was as notorious for her bulldog personality as she was for her unfortunate accidents. As one of the town’s most successful citizens, she had been asked to give the invocation the previous year for Founder’s Day. Unfortunately, her dress had accidentally become lodged in her underpants, and during her entire prayer she had flashed the congregation at large, causing the mayor and the minister to run up on the stage mid-prayer and intervene. PJ filled them in on the story.
“So that’s why she and Cam weren’t speaking when she came back to New York last spring,” Ethan said, remembering how angry Belle had been with her husband.
“Apparently he closed his eyes as soon as she took the stage because he was nervous something bad was going to happen to her,” PJ explained. “He missed the fact that she was practically naked until the screaming started.”
“The screaming?” Chrissy asked.
“When the reverend tried to run up on the stage to stop the prayer, he fell off the edge and landed on a little girl. She was okay, but she had been holding a Founder’s Day pennant, the kind with the pointy top.”
“And she cut the reverend with it?” Ethan guessed.
PJ shook her head. “It missed the reverend and somehow caught the mayor when he ran over to help. The reverend had a concussion and the mayor needed ten stitches.”
“No wonder Belle was so tight-lipped about that visit,” Ethan mused. He had a hard time comparing the Belle from the story to his capable boss who terrified most people she encountered in New York. In Manhattan, the sound of her heels clicking in the foyer had been enough to send secretaries scurrying for cover. Ethan had his own brand of notoriety for having survived so many years as her assistant, but from the beginning he had realized something that no one else had; Belle had a soft heart. She was a good woman, and he liked her very much, loved her, even.
He had been assigned to her from the very beginning, ever since she ascended the corporate ladder and became a literary agent instead of a secretary. Although she was his boss, she was three years younger and Ethan sensed a vulnerability in her that had brought out his shielding nature. And after only a few weeks, he realized his first instincts had been right; not only did Belle have a hidden soft side, but she was incredibly innocent when it came to anything but business. She brought out Ethan’s protective side, and he found himself running interference for her with men who didn’t have good intentions. Right away he and Belle had shared a connection, although thankfully not in any romantic sense. Ethan had seen her as a sister, which was a good thing since she married Cam a year after she became Ethan’s boss.
Though Ethan would never admit it, Cam was slightly terrifying. Their first meeting had been nerve-wracking as Cam sized him up through narrowed eyes, decided there was nothing between him and Belle, and deemed him worthy of approval. Ethan had almost wanted to sag in relief. After hearing what Belle’s ex-boyfriend, Storm, had to say about his meeting with Cam, he hadn’t been sure what to expect. But now he counted Cam as a friend. Though he and Belle were only in New York half the year, they always included Ethan in some of their social plans, making sure to see him outside of work a couple of times during their stay in Manhattan. That was why he had no reservations about spending Christmas at their house. After so many years, he was as close to Cam and Belle as he was to his own family in Ohio. Maybe more so because he couldn’t remember the last time he was in Ohio.
Ethan must have been lost in his own thoughts for a long time because sooner than he would have expected, PJ spoke.
“Here we are,” she announced. The truck slid off the road and into a narrow gravel driveway. Somehow she got the beast stopped before it slammed into the house. Chrissy had fallen asleep again, but the jarring motion woke her. She sat up, blinked sleepily at the house, and frowned.
“Someone actually lives here?” she asked.
Ethan winced at her rudeness, but PJ laughed. “Not just someone—me,” she answered. She hopped out of the truck and began retrieving their bags from the bed. “Be careful, it’s slippery out here.”
As if to prove her point, Chrissy stepped out of the car and immediately fell on her backside before bursting into loud, angry tears. Ethan stretched his leg over her and gingerly set it on the ground, testing the ice. Holding on to the door handle, he bent to assess Chrissy.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“No,” she replied.
Then why are you crying? he wanted to ask. “Come on,” he said instead. Offering her his hands, he pulled her up and practically carried her to the house. When they reached the inside, he realized that while he had been assisting Chrissy, PJ had made three trips to carry all their bags inside.
“You should have let me get those,” he said.
PJ shrugged. “You had your hands full.”
Chrissy pulled away from Ethan and stood upright, surveying the interior of the house. It was small but clean. There weren’t many personal objects lying around, but neither was there any dust or clutter. He crossed his fingers that Chrissy wouldn’t complain again.
“Here is the guest room,” PJ announced as she took two steps down the short hallway. “You can have this room,” she looked at Chrissy. “You can sleep on the couch.” She directed this toward Ethan.
“He can share my room,” Chrissy offered.
“No, he can’t,” PJ replied. “He can have my room and I’ll take the couch if that works out better.”
“The couch is fine,” Ethan said hastily. He had assumed that Chrissy would realize Montana values were much different than Manhattan values, but apparently not. He should have talked to her, told her what to expect. Now both women were looking at him and to his embarrassment, he found his cheeks heating with a blush.
“This is a very nice house,” he commented to try and relieve some of the pressure. “You could fit four of my apartments in here.”
“Your apartment must be the size of a pin,” PJ commented.
“My apartment could fit twice on a pin,” he said with a smile.
“Your apartment really is horrid, Ethan,” Chrissy added. “I don’t know why you won’t move.”
“I like where I live. It’s close to work, and I don’t want to hunt.” Apartment hunting in Manhattan was a stressful event, practically a fulltime job on its own.
PJ smiled. “Out here when we refer to hunting, we’re usually talking about animals.”
Ethan smiled. “In New York, we’re referring to apartments or sales.”
“Both of which I’m extremely good at,” Chrissy announced proudly.
“What a coincidence, I’m good at hunting, too,” PJ said.
Chrissy’s smile slipped. “You actually hunt animals?”
PJ nodded, not commenting further. She would never admit that even though she was good at hunting, she didn’t actually enjoy it. Bringing down an elk a year was an important part of supplementing her meager income. Without hunting and fishing, she would probably exist on canned vegetables. One look at the two city slickers in their fancy clothes, and she knew they would never understand the necessities of country living, so why bother to try? Still, for some reason it bothered her that the man should think she enjoyed killing for pleasure.
“I only kill what I eat,” she added.
“Maybe I could go with you sometime while I’m here,” Ethan suggested. “I haven’t been hunting since I was a kid.”
PJ stopped short and looked at him in surprise. “You hunt?”
“I used to. I enjoyed it.”
“We could probably scare up some birds,” PJ said. “Otherwise the only season open right now is for Mountain Lions, but they’re no good for eating.”
Chrissy laughed. “You’re kidding, right? People don’t actually hunt lions here, do they?”
“People hunt everything here,” PJ replied. “Hunting is a big tourist industry in Montana, especially big game. Everyone wants to bring down a bear or lion. Personally, I don’t see the excitement in hunting an animal for sport unless the animal is armed, too.”
“Okay,” Chrissy drawled. Her tone made it clear she couldn’t care less. “I’m going to bed now.” Without another word, she turned and headed toward the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her.
Ethan and PJ stood staring at the door.
“Does she have some sort of sleeping disorder?” PJ whispered.
Ethan checked his watch. “It’s midnight in New York, and we’ve had a long day with lots of flying.”
“You don’t look tired,” PJ noted.
“I keep odd hours.”
She bit her lip and gave an uncertain look toward the kitchen. “Want some cocoa?”
“Sure.” He followed her down the short hallway to the kitchen and watched while she prepared cocoa from scratch using whole milk and chocolate.
“This is what I thought Montana would be like,” he commented. “Sitting around relaxing while the weather swirls outside, drinking cocoa and making small talk.”
“I’m sorry you’ve had such a rough beginning. I’m sure as soon as you get to the Kings tomorrow things will be better,” she said.
“I’m not complaining,” he said. He crossed his arms and enjoyed the view. She was graceful in her movements, even something as mundane as stirring the cocoa was compelling to watch. She was tall and slender; observing her was almost like watching a ballerina perform. “Do you dance?” he blurted.
“Only when someone asks.” She tossed him a smile over her shoulder. “Are you asking?”
He smiled in return, trying to block the sudden desire she had awakened. What if they danced in the middle of her kitchen? There was no music, but he was still tempted to try. “I have two left feet,” he told her. “But that wasn’t exactly what I was talking about. I wondered if you had ever studied ballet.”
She laughed for a long minute before realizing he was serious. “I thought you were joking. No, I’ve never studied dance. My dad raised me by himself; there was nothing girly about my upbringing.”
Which made it all the more amazing that she had turned out so feminine. More than just her pretty looks and graceful way of moving, there was something undeniably soft and womanly about her. She would be a good mom, he thought, clamping down on the notion before it could take root and cause him more confusion.
“Sounds like your dad was a good man,” he commented as she poured the cocoa and set it before him.
“He was,” she replied, sitting down beside him and cupping her mug between her hands. “He was the best—a rugged sort of man, but with a hidden tender side he reserved for me. It was tough on him, raising a girl alone. But he did his best.”
“Where did you go?” he asked, startling her out of her memories.
“What?”
“You said you went away once. Where did you go?”
“After he died, the state sent me to live on the reservation with my mother in Oklahoma. I stayed two weeks before running away.”
He sensed the topic of her mother was a painful one that she didn’t want to discuss. “Then what happened? You said you were only seventeen. What did you do?”
“I lived here alone. I was seventeen and a half. Social services figured I was better off staying put for a few months instead of being whisked away to foster care. I finished school and worked in the evenings and on weekends.”
“I’ve never known social services to bend the rules. Things must be different out here.”
She refrained from telling him the truth—that social services hadn’t bent the rules for her; they had bent them for Cam King. Cam had vouched for her, calling everyone from the local to the state level to convince them to leave her alone. The Kings had offered to take her in, but upon realizing how much she wanted to stay in her own home, Cam had instead offered to be her guardian in absentia until she turned eighteen. Once a week he reported to the state on her wellbeing, making sure she was attending school and eating properly. She had so badly wanted to make it on her own that first year, but it was impossible; she was in school too often during work hours. Once again, the Kings had kept her afloat, paying her mortgage in full and providing her with a trust fund that would see to her care.
As soon as she graduated and began working full time, she began paying them back. Cam had tried to protest, saying she owed them nothing, but PJ had burst into tears until he uncomfortably relented and practically fled the room. Last year she had repaid the money they had spent on her food, and now she only paid them a small amount of rent for her house. Cam had set up a land contract, so she was actually buying the property from him, which gave her a satisfactory feeling of accomplishment.
“What about you? What’s your story?” she asked, realizing she had spent much of the evening talking about herself. She realized something else, too. “I know Belle told me your name, but I’m afraid I’ve forgotten it. Could you remind me?”
“Ethan,” he said. “Ethan Prescott, and my story is boring. I’m from a small town in Ohio. At least, I used to think it was a small town until I arrived here. Now it looks like a metropolis in comparison. After college, I went to the big city to make a name for myself.” And wound up a secretary, he thought bitterly. Sometimes it was better not to examine his life too closely.
“Do you have parents? Siblings? Grandparents?”
“I have everything. My family all lives in the same town. I’m a middle kid, sandwiched between two girls. My parents are still alive and still together, and both sets of their parents are still alive, too.”
PJ smiled. “You’re lucky; that sounds nice. You must miss them.”
He opened his mouth to reply and no sound came out. Suddenly he did miss them, very much. When was the last time he saw them?
PJ, sensing his sudden mood shift, searched around for a new topic. “Was it culture shock to go from Ohio to New York?”
“Not really,” he replied. “But I’ve been there so long, it’s hard to remember.”
“How long have you been there?”
“Since I was twenty two.”
“And how old are you now?”
“Almost thirty,” he said.
She whistled softly. “You’re practically a grandpa.”
He laughed. “Don’t tease the elderly, it’s not nice.” His index finger gave the back of her hand a light, admonishing tap, and they froze, caught off guard by the sudden current of electricity bouncing between them. As casually as he could manage, he shifted away, withdrawing his hand while she raised her mug to her lips and took a sip.
“I should go to bed,” she said when she set the mug down.
“Me, too,” he agreed, but neither made a move. Instead they started a new topic of conversation and talked for the next two hours until he stumbled toward the couch, exhausted and half asleep.
Chapter 4
PJ couldn’t sleep. Usually she was one of those people who put in a hard day of work, fell into bed exhausted, and slept well all night. Rarely had she ever suffered insomnia. But now her thoughts were in a whirl, tormenting her with confusion.
Who was Ethan Prescott?
Oh, she knew he was Belle’s secretary, but who was he to her? No one. And that was what made her reaction to him all the more baffling. He was a stranger. He had a girlfriend. He wasn’t her type. He lived in New York. He was old. Those were all valid reasons why she should have nothing to do with him, but, despite all that head knowledge, she was intensely attracted to him and had been since the second he looked up at her in the airport.
His dark brown eyes were large and expressive, filled with a sparkle of humor and intelligence. He was tall, taller than her, well-dressed, and cultured. His hair was a dark chestnut color and artfully arranged so it skimmed his brows in the front, a sharp contrast to most of the cowboys she knew who constantly had a sweat ring around their heads from their Stetsons. Her second reaction after her initial attraction had been defensiveness. Surely someone who looked so refined would have to be a snob; his girlfriend certainly was. But Ethan wasn’t a snob. He seemed to see their ordeal as an adventure, and PJ liked that. She enjoyed optimism. Life was hard enough without bad attitudes making everything worse. Ethan didn’t have a bad attitude. He was pleasant and kind, with a hint of roguishness behind his gentle exterior. He had to be a little bit of a rogue; why else would he be flirting with her when his girlfriend was right next to him? And he had been flirting, hadn’t he? PJ thought so, but she didn’t have much experience with male/female relationships outside of friendship. Most of the men she knew considered her to be one of the guys. Ethan was the first man in a long time who looked at her like she was a woman and not a grease monkey.
And he was definitely the first man PJ had looked at in a long time. Eons ago when she was a kid, she’d had a huge crush on Coy King. All the girls had liked Coy. PJ had always felt special because he took her riding when she went to the ranch with her father. One day when she was sixteen, he had helped her down off her horse and for the first time she thought he might kiss her. But he hadn’t. Instead, he had let her down gently and told her he wasn’t interested.
Far from being offended, PJ had been gratified by his easy letdown. Save your kisses for someone who deserves them, he had said, and she had taken those words to heart that day. For some reason his advice had meant more to her than anything she had ever heard about dating, maybe because it came from someone she adored and respected, but she really thought about his words as she and her father drove home that day.
All around her, girls were dying to give themselves away. A late bloomer, PJ had only recently become interested in boys. Coy had been her first crush. But she didn’t want to be like the other girls; she didn’t want to give herself to someone unworthy who didn’t care about her. She wanted to love someone who would love her in return, someone who would treat her well and look at her the way she had seen Coy look at Ivy.
For a few months, she had turned the words over in her mind, deciding to be careful with her heart and not hand it to some boy on a platter because she was desperate for love. But then her father had died. Her life was turned upside down, and everything except survival was pushed to the back burner for PJ. Who had time to date when there were bills to be paid?
Enter Ethan Prescott.
Why was it that she worked with cowboys and ranch hands on a daily basis and gave none of them more than a passing glance, yet a fancy stranger with a girlfriend shows up and she’s suddenly a sixteen-year-old with a crush again?
Eventually she fell into a fitful slumber, tossing and turning until dawn. She woke, straining to hear any sounds in the house, but there were none. Her guests were still asleep. PJ couldn’t lie there anymore, but neither did she want to wake Ethan or his obnoxious girlfriend. Instead, she bypassed the main portion of the house and went outside to the garage to begin work. There was nothing like hard work to make a girl forget her troubles. Or so she thought.
The sound of metal on metal woke Ethan from a peaceful slumber. Despite the fact that he was folded like a pretzel on PJ’s too-small couch, he had slept comfortably and dreamed vividly. Of PJ. He didn’t remember specifics from the dream except that one of them had included a sleigh ride. Why he should dream about a stranger he had just met was beyond him.
The hammering sound continued, reminding Ethan of what had woken him in the first place. Darkness still hovered outside, but a quick glance at his watch told him it was seven New York time. Usually he woke at six, but he was feeling jetlagged and exhausted from his late night with PJ. He tiptoed to Chrissy’s door and pressed his ear to it, listening, but all was quiet within. Not that he actually thought the hammering sound was coming from her room. He was relieved to find she was getting some much needed rest. Hopefully her mood would be better after she woke up.
Having assured himself that Chrissy was still sleeping, he followed the hammering sound to the attached garage. Last night he had absently noted that the garage was the size of the house, and this morning he saw why. Far from being a container for cars, this garage was a work zone, complete with tools he didn’t recognize, metal bars, a giant anvil, and a furnace.
The furnace was burning brightly, making the room toasty warm despite the fact that it was below freezing outside. PJ had her back to him, wearing a tank top, pair of jeans, and leather apron. In her hand she held a pair of tongs as she extricated something from the fire. Whatever it was, it was glowing bright red. Ethan stood back, conflicted. He didn’t want to skulk in the shadows, watching without a sound, but to move or make his presence known might alarm her and he didn’t want to risk having her drop the molten metal onto her foot.
He needn’t have worried, though. She set the metal on the anvil and looked up at him with a welcoming smile before picking up her hammer to pound. Taking her smile as an invitation, he walked over to where she stood to get a closer look. He watched, captivated, as she expertly pounded the straight piece of metal into a heart-shaped horseshoe.
“Why the heart shape?” he asked when she was finished working.
“The horse in question has laminitis. Sometimes these shoes can help. I thought I would try before taking more drastic measures.”
He nodded as if any of what she had just said made sense to him. “So you’re a blacksmith.”
“I’m a farrier. Farriers are blacksmiths; it’s part of the trade. Never know when you’re going to have to make a shoe on the fly.”
He tapped the waist-high anvil. “I’ve only seen these in cartoons.”
“They’re pretty much the same in real life except if a coyote drops one on your head, you don’t walk away.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said seriously. He was quiet again while she picked up the hammer and pounded nail holes in the shoe. Watching her work was a fascination in itself. Except for the gas-powered furnace, he was glimpsing a craft that hadn’t changed much in hundreds of years. Like everything she did, her movements were graceful, almost poetic in their economy. She only moved as much as necessary, twisting her back to the fire in order to avoid taking steps. The routine was so practiced and fluid it was like watching a dance—tongs into the fire, tongs out of the fire, pound the metal and repeat. Over and over she performed the little ritual until she was satisfied with the result. By that time, she had developed a sheen of sweat on her shoulders and arms from the exertion and Ethan couldn’t look away. Watching her was becoming like a drug to him.
She set down her hammer, turned off the burner and reached for her apron. “I think that’s enough work for this morning.” When she began to tug at the knot on her apron, Ethan practically tripped over himself in his eagerness to help.
His hands shook like a teenager as he tried to untangle the knot and he was glad her back was to him so she couldn’t see. Finally, the knot gave way and Ethan lifted the apron over her head and tossed it onto the workbench. And then they just stood there, frozen as tension bounced between them. At first they were self-conscious, each wondering if the other was somehow aware of what the other was feeling. Then they realized they were both feeling the same thing. Ethan’s fingertips lightly brushed her waist, and she sucked in a breath.
“I’m a decade too old for you,” he whispered. “I live in New York. I have a girlfriend.”
PJ swallowed and squinched up her eyes. Her mind told her to run, far and fast. But she didn’t. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face him, pressing her palms flat on his chest. “I know,” she whispered. He looked at her, trying to search her face. Was he trying to give her another out? But PJ didn’t want an out; she wanted Ethan. Alarming as the thought was, she didn’t allow herself to dwell on it. If he wasn’t going to make a move, then it was up to her.
Ethan watched, mesmerized, as her hands slid up to his shoulders. She stood on her toes and tipped her face up, waiting, her eyes closed. All rational or protective thoughts fled when he took in her pose. He had the sense that PJ wasn’t one to make herself vulnerable, yet here she stood in his arms, awaiting acceptance or rejection. He cinched her slightly closer and lowered his head when the handle on the door started to turn, sending them both into a panic.
PJ jumped away from him and spun toward her workbench, staring at the now cold furnace. Ethan leaned casually against the bench and faced the door, his arms crossed over his chest, trying to calm the rapid beating of his heart.
Chrissy stepped into the room, frowning, but Ethan thought her expression had more to do with distaste than suspicion. “Are we leaving soon?” she asked.
“I just need to grab a shower,” PJ said. She fled the garage, practically sprinting in her haste to get away.
Chrissy watched her go before turning back to Ethan. “She’s weird.”
Ethan remained mute. He was afraid if he tried to disagree his defensive tone would give him away. How had he gotten himself in this awkward situation? It wasn’t as if he had never cheated on a girlfriend before, but then he had been young and stupid. The last couple of years, he had matured, or so he thought. Not only had he started looking for a potential wife, but he had started acting like a potential husband, erasing all of his immature bad behavior.
And now this. Was he simply a bad person? All signs were pointing that way. Now he was feeling as anxious as Chrissy was to get to the King’s. What he needed was space to clear his head. The ranch was large. Even if PJ came to do work, Ethan probably wouldn’t see her. He simply had to get through this morning and the madness would be over.
Chapter 5
In her bedroom, PJ was having similar panicked thoughts. For so many years after Coy’s brotherly pep talk, she had guarded her heart, saying no to the occasional man who asked her out because he wasn’t her ideal. She had waited for Mr. Right, and now somehow she had allowed herself to become attached to a handsome stranger, and not just any stranger—a fancy one from New York, with a girlfriend to boot. Work was the distraction she needed, and there was plenty of work to be done at the King’s ranch.
By the time she finished a quick shower, Ethan and the girl were packed and ready to go, a sure sign that they were all anxious to leave.
“Anyone want breakfast?” PJ asked.
“No,” Ethan and the girl answered in unison.
“Then let’s go,” she said. Ethan was trying hard not to stare at her as she tried not to stare at him. When their eyes happened to meet, they immediately turned away, in search of reprieve. PJ would have sprinted to the truck if not for the ice that slicked her driveway. Instead she walked cautiously, calling a warning to the couple behind her.
The girl was wearing predictably fashionable high-heeled shoes, totally inadequate protection from Montana weather. PJ rolled her eyes, glad she was facing front and they couldn’t see. It wasn’t as if Montana winters were a big secret from the rest of the country. How could someone possibly come so ill prepared? Then she felt guilty for her negative thoughts about the girl. Maybe it was possible that her blazing attraction to Ethan had biased her against the pretty blond. Yesterday had been a harrowing day for her. Maybe she wasn’t as obnoxious as PJ remembered.
“Ethan, are we sure we couldn’t hire a taxi to take us? I’m not sure I trust this hunk of junk to get us there,” the woman said as she surveyed PJ’s truck with a grimace of disgust.
PJ opened her mouth to answer, but Ethan intervened, which was a good thing because PJ didn’t trust herself to be nice. The truck had been her father’s, and she was protective of it.
“There are no taxis out here, Chrissy, and the truck works great. You’re forgetting we’re riding with a mechanic.”
“I’m not forgetting,” the girl, Chrissy, said, her tone filled with disapproval and disgust.
Chrissy. What kind of a name was Chrissy? Fluffy, that’s what.
“At least let me sit by the window again,” Chrissy demanded. “I’ll get carsick if I have to sit in the middle again.”
“Fine,” Ethan agreed. He vaulted into the seat and put a hand down to help Chrissy.
PJ settled in the driver’s seat, started the truck, and backed out. Within a couple of minutes, Chrissy was asleep and snoring softly. PJ glanced at Ethan who was making a concerted effort to stare straight ahead.
“Are we sure she doesn’t have mono?” PJ whispered. Ethan chuckled, cutting some of the thick tension in the vehicle. PJ smiled. Some of the crushing weight shifted off her chest. “Look, Ethan, about earlier,” she whispered, but he cut her off.
“Don’t, PJ. Let’s just let it go. You’re a very attractive woman, but it shouldn’t have happened. It was a moment out of time, and it’s best if we forget about it.”
PJ stared through the windshield in dismay. Her, attractive? Ethan, beautiful specimen that he was, found her attractive? She wasn’t used to feeling pretty, but his words had made her feel that way. PJ thought men were attracted to her for different reasons than her looks. She didn’t fool herself that people were able to see beneath her ponytail and jeans to the woman beneath. Usually she was either covered in grease or soot or both. The last man who asked her out had done so because she overhauled his transmission for free. She knew because he told her before offering to take her to a tractor pull, as if he thought her perfect romantic evening included John Deere.
“Have you ever taken a woman to a tractor pull, Ethan?” she blurted.
“No,” he drawled, clearly startled by her random question.
“I didn’t think so,” she said. Maybe that explained her instant and powerful attraction to him. Maybe it was because he was different. Didn’t someone say that familiarity breeds contempt? In her case it was certainly true. What she felt for the handful of cowboys she knew bordered on contempt, at least when it came to the possibility of dating them. She didn’t want a cowboy; she wanted a cultured gentleman. Someone like Ethan, but not Ethan, of course, because he was off limits. Maybe that had been another factor in her attraction. PJ had always possessed a rebellious streak. Maybe it was because she had been looking after herself for so many years, but she was independent and didn’t like to be told what she couldn’t do. Ethan, with his many differences, had presented a challenge. Yes, there were many reasons why she was attracted to Ethan, but none of them was compelling enough to overcome common sense.
A flirtation might prove fun if she was the type of girl who could do such a thing, but she wasn’t. She was a steady, serious person. Even though she was only twenty one, she had forever on her mind, and Ethan wasn’t a forever kind of guy. He wasn’t a keeper. All those years ago, PJ had promised herself that she would only settle for Mr. Right. Ethan wasn’t him, and she wouldn’t allow him to throw her off course.
All her pretty thoughts flew out the window, though, when they turned down the lane for the Flying K ranch. Ethan rested his hand on her thigh and turned to look deeply into her eyes.
“Thank you for all you’ve done for us, PJ. I really appreciate it, and I won’t ever forget you. Maybe if things had been different, if we had more time, if this wasn’t goodbye…Well, the point is I’m grateful, and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed meeting you.” He flashed her a smile, his full red lips parting to reveal perfectly white teeth, and PJ felt her stomach turn a somersault.
“Oh, dear,” she whispered as she brought the truck to a stop. He thought he was gaining distance from her, but she had news for him. “I’m not going away, Ethan. I’ve been invited to stay.”
Ethan’s mouth dropped and something like panic filled his eyes as Chrissy sat up with a jaw-cracking yawn. “Finally,” she said. Then she opened the door, hopped down from the truck, and promptly fell on her behind before once again bursting into loud, angry tears.
It took a few minutes for Ethan to quiet the howling Chrissy. PJ used that time to gather some bags from the back of the truck and look around at the quiet ranch. The silence was unnerving. Such a large spread was always bustling with noise and activity, but today she could almost hear the pine needles dropping from the trees. Her heart speed increased and her stomach filled with dread. Was Ivy sicker than they realized? Had something worse happened? What else could account for such deadly stillness?
Once again Ethan had to practically carry Chrissy up the walk as she tried to balance on her stilts. As they drew closer to the front porch, PJ noted Josh sitting on the front porch, his wife, Sam, rolled in a quilt and tucked into his lap. Though Josh was the closest brother to PJ in age, they had never been friends. Truth be told, she hadn’t liked him much growing up. He had been as cold and unfeeling as a robot until he married his pretty little wife, Sam. Either Josh had been hiding his humanity all along, or Sam had found a way to bestow some because now Josh was almost as friendly as his brothers, but today he didn’t smile when he saw PJ ascend the steps, Ethan and Chrissy in tow.
“Josh,” PJ whispered, noting that Sam was asleep. “What’s going on?” Why was it so quiet and why wasn’t he working? The King brothers had a notorious work ethic, especially Josh.
“The women are sick,” Josh whispered. He drew Sam tighter and gave Ethan a narrow-eyed glance before turning back to PJ. “I’m glad you’re here, PJ. My brothers and I are overwhelmed trying to care for them. They’ve all caught some virus, and they think that’s what triggered Ivy’s labor, although she’s doing better now.” His gaze moved to Ethan once again. “Cam will be glad to see you. Belle is, uh, not an easy patient.”
Download this book for your ebook reader.
(Pages 1-30 show above.)