Chapter One
She wouldn’t need
black pumps on a ranch…would she?
Ellison
Hunter hesitated for only a moment before she tucked her trusty Christian
Louboutin shoes, toes stuffed with the original tissue, into their usual spot
in her travel bag. She had no idea what she’d be facing in Montana, but would
hate to need her pumps and be without. These particular heels, a splurge she’d
never regretted, gave her a sense of power and control.
Right
now Ellie needed all of the above and then some.
The
phone rang for the third time in the past two hours as she reached for a stack
of underwear to tuck into the spaces around the heels and Ellie considered
ignoring it—except that an unanswered call would eventually be followed by a
rapping on her door. So much for control and power.
“Montana?”
Kate Warren asked without saying hello. Ellie’s closest friend was well aware
that Ellie was holding out on her, that she hadn’t divulged the true reason for
her abrupt departure from her job and an impromptu trip across the country for
an undetermined length of time. And Ellie wasn’t going to spill her guts
anytime soon because she was still coming to terms with the reason herself.
“My
uncle needs me,” she said.
“But…Montana?”
“It’s
where he lives,” Ellie replied patiently, although she felt her back start to
go up. Her usual calm demeanor was getting harder to maintain with each passing
day.
“No,”
Kate said. “He lives in Santa Barbara, and I could understand you going to help
him there, but—”
“A
surgical practice doesn’t prepare you to manage people.” Which was what Ellie
did. She managed people. Helped organizations run more smoothly by evaluating
their personnel and their practices. Up until two months ago, her life had
mirrored her profession—it had run smoothly, according to plan.
And now…
Ellie
scrunched up her forehead as she balanced the phone on her shoulder and reached
for more underwear. Think about it later.
“Ellie,
I know you’re dealing with some kind of a problem,” Kate blurted. “And I think
it’s totally unfair of you not to let me help—”
“I’m
fine,” Ellie snapped and then let out a sigh. Not fine. “Okay…I need to get
away.” That was the truth. “I…need a break. When I talked to my aunt and she
told me that the ranch Uncle Milo bought was about fifty years behind the times…well,
it seemed like a good opportunity to change scenery and help them out at the
same time.”
A long
silence met her words. Kate had known Ellie since they’d first been assigned as
bunkmates at boarding school, seventeen years ago. Changing scenery was not
something Ellie had ever been concerned with.
“Ellie…”
There was a soft note of desperation in her friend’s voice; one that made Ellie
come very close to confessing.
Not
yet. Not until she had some kind of plan in place. Not until she’d come to
terms with everything. Telling her aunt the truth had been ridiculously
difficult, and she was not ready to repeat the experience. And then there was
always the chance that she wouldn’t have to confess—which was why she hadn’t
yet told her mother.
You’re only
six weeks along. Sometimes…things…happen.
Her
aunt’s words had given her a smidgeon of comfort two weeks ago when she’d
simply had to tell someone the devastating news. How horrible was she that she
kind of hoped something would happen? That the pregnancy would end itself naturally
before the first trimester; that she could go back to her old life and never,
ever make a mistake like this again?
Really
horrible.
So she
had that to deal with, too.
“Kate…my
decision is made. I’m going to Montana. It’s what I want to do.”
“I don’t
believe you,” Kate replied. “Quitting your job, moving to a foreign
environment, holding out on your best friend…. You don’t have a dreaded
disease, do you?”
“No
disease. Just a need for a change. And some privacy.”
Kate
sighed into the phone. “All right,” she said sullenly. “Go to Montana. Keep me
in the dark.”
“It
isn’t like I won’t be back,” Ellie said, relieved that her friend was finally
showing signs of backing off. “I have to finish packing. I’m running late and I
won’t make my flight if I have to keep answering calls.”
“No
more calls.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s
okay.”
Her
words were followed by an awkward silence as if they were both waiting for the
other to hang up first, and then Kate said, “You know I have your back.”
“You
always have,” Ellie replied, forcing the words over the lump forming in her
throat. Stupid hormone-induced emotions. “I’ll talk to you soon.” And then she
did hang up. Fast.
For a
moment she stared down at her suitcase, blinking against the tears before she
regained control and started packing again, her movements quick and automatic.
Her
new job was bogus—or at least it had started out that way. When her aunt had
first suggested that Ellie go to work for them at their new ranch in Montana,
her initial instinct had been to say no. It had been more than obvious that
Angela was trumping up a way to rescue her niece from the consequences of her
actions—something Ellie’s own mother would have never done. Besides, Milo had a
ranch consultant coming in later that summer to evaluate, so why would he need
her? Easy answer. He didn’t.
But
for the first time in her life Ellie had no plan, no idea what her next move
would or should be. After several days of considering her alternatives—paying
rent from savings while she looked for another job in a tight market, trying to
find a position that would work with single motherhood, coming to terms with
her pregnancy—she’d realized that she was damned fortunate to have this
opportunity. It gave her time, although she hated admitting she needed that
time.
So three
days ago she’d called her uncle Milo and hammered out a deal. She’d travel to
Montana and familiarize herself with the ranch, which was still being managed
by the original owner, before the consultant arrived. Milo had seemed relieved,
saying that while the consultant came highly recommended, he’d feel better if
he had another set of eyes there—Ellie’s eyes. The person he was most concerned
about was the former owner, now the uncommunicative ranch manager. On the one
hand, he didn’t want to let the guy go if he was the best man to run the place,
but on the other, the guy was hell to deal with.
Ellie
assured Milo she’d take care of matters. That was what she did, after all—take
care of matters, evaluate staff, make hiring and firing decisions. Between her
and the consultant, they should have the ranch in decent shape by the time Milo
retired.
She
closed her suitcase and locked the latches. This was not going to be an escape.
It was going to be a mission.
*
The arena was muddy as hell. Ryan Madison shook out his loop,
found the sweet spot and gripped it tightly as he urged his black gelding, PJ,
into the roping box.
“Come
on, Ryan. You can do it!” A female voice broke through his concentration, but
he instantly tuned her out.
Focus.
PJ’s
body tensed as the calf was pushed forward into position. Ryan sent up a quick
prayer, then nodded. The chute clanged open, the calf shot out and after that
it was autopilot.
PJ
caught up with the calf, squeezed in on him as Ryan dropped the loop over the
animal’s neck and dallied around the saddle horn, dismounting almost before PJ
had skidded to a stop in the mud. He flanked the calf, a heavy squirming
heifer, dodging a foot as the calf hit the ground, before grabbing that same
foot, holding it with the two front feet with one hand, making his wraps with
the other. Two wraps and a half hitch.
Ryan
jumped to his feet, hands in the air. PJ eased forward, slacking the rope
stretched between the saddle horn and the calf. He held his breath as the calf
squirmed and bucked, and then the judge dropped his flag.
Ryan
bent to loosen the rope on the calf’s neck before releasing the animal’s feet
from the wraps of the pigging string. The calf jumped up and loped to the far
end of the arena as Ryan remounted the gelding, coiled his muddy rope.
He was
vaguely aware of the announcer giving his time—the best that day so far—and
cheers from the crowd as he exited the arena; he nodded at some of his
acquaintances. Smiled even though he didn’t feel like smiling, despite a decent
run.
Somewhere
in the warm-up crowd was his half brother, Matt Montoya, who had every
intention of stealing this purse away from him.
Have
at it,
Ryan thought as he rode through the crowd and then headed for his trailer. His
run had been pretty damned close to perfect, especially in a muddy arena.
Once
at the trailer, he tied PJ and pulled the saddle off. The horse was done for
the day, but Ryan wasn’t. He had a mission ahead of him that he was not looking
forward to, but one that couldn’t be avoided. He needed to talk to his father.
It was
a good-size rodeo, but Charles Montoya tended to show up in the competitor area
to congratulate his legitimate son after a good run. Ryan had purposely parked
his trailer within sight of his brother’s, although under normal circumstances,
they avoided any proximity with one another. In fact, they’d never actually
spoken since the fist fight in the rodeo grounds’ bathroom just after he’d
turned fifteen.
After
PJ was taken care of, Ryan sat on the trailer fender where he had a decent view
of Montoya’s trailer, and began his vigil. Matt would make his run within the
hour and then, hopefully—
Score.
Charles
Montoya was a tall man with a full head of silver hair. Hard to miss in a
crowd, and even harder to miss as he headed for Matt’s trailer. Ryan, vaguely
aware of his heart rate bumping up, just as it did when he was about to rope,
pushed off the trailer and started toward the man who, after finding Matt’s
trailer deserted, reversed course toward the stands. Ryan knew he probably wasn’t
going to have another semi-private opportunity such as this anytime in the near
future, so he started to jog after him.
“Excuse
me,” he called, when he really wanted to say, “Hold up, asshole.”
Charles
Montoya stopped walking and glanced over his shoulder, a stunned expression
forming on his face when he recognized just who had hailed him.
Yeah. It’s me.
Surprised?
Ryan’s
mouth clamped into a hard straight line as he slowed to a walk, and damned if
Charles didn’t take on a polite distant expression.
“Can I
help you?” he said.
“Yes,
you can. Stay away from my mother,” Ryan said as he came to a stop.
“Excuse
me?”
And
this was when the bluff came in, because although he knew from Cindy, his
mother’s best friend, that Charles had been in contact with his mom—and that
she’d been in a deep funk for days afterward—he didn’t know the nuts and bolts
of the situation. As always, Lydia Madison was protecting people. Ryan.
Charles. Everyone but herself.
Ryan
took a step forward, putting himself close enough to his father that the guy
knew he meant business. “Leave my mother alone. No contact. Understand?”
A
fierce frown formed between Charles’s heavy white eyebrows. “I don’t know what
you’re talking about.”
“Don’t
bullshit me. You called her, you threatened her, and if you do it again, the
era of don’t ask, don’t tell is over. Forever.”
Charles
drew himself up in a way that told Ryan he wasn’t used to being challenged.
Tough shit.
“Don’t
threaten me,” he rumbled.
“Or?”
Ryan asked calmly. “You’ll tell the world the truth?”
The
older man’s face went brilliantly red and then, apparently unable to find a
reply, he turned on his heel and stalked toward the stands. He made it only a
few steps before he stopped dead in his tracks.
Ryan’s
first thought was, What the hell? But he quickly saw exactly what had brought
his father to a screeching halt. The golden son, Matt, stood about fifteen
yards away, blocking Charles’s escape between two trailers.
Cool.
A twisted family reunion.
Ryan
started walking before he had a chance to think things through. He had a few
words for his brother, too. Matt also moved forward, while Charles stayed
planted, one son approaching from the front, one from the rear. Trapped.
Matt’s
face was a blank mask when he stopped in front of his father, his gaze raking
quickly over the old man’s face before moving on to Ryan.
“I was
just explaining to your father how much his recent phone
call to my mom had upset her,” Ryan said.
If he’d
had any question as to whether or not Matt would automatically back his father,
it was answered when his brother shot Charles a fiercely angry look.
“If it
happens again,” Ryan continued, “I’ll make a call of my own.” If his mother was
being harassed, then Montoya’s mother could join the fray.
“Do
that,” Matt growled, “and I’ll beat the shit out of you.”
“Or
try?” Ryan asked flatly before he turned his attention back to Charles, who
appeared to be on the verge of a stroke he was so red. “No more calls, you son
of a bitch. Leave her alone.”
Then,
having had all the family reunion he could handle for one day, he turned and
stalked back toward his trailer. Neither Montoya followed him. Good thing.
He
loaded PJ, locked the tack compartment, pocketed his keys. Now that his mission
was accomplished, he had to stop by the rodeo office and then grab a hamburger
for the road before he put a couple hundred miles between himself and his old
man. If he could choke a burger down. Talk about a bad taste.
“Great
run, Ryan!” a young voice called as he approached the rodeo office.
Ryan
smiled and nodded at the boy dressed in chaps and carrying a red, white and
blue rope. “Thanks, bud.”
He
conducted his business in the rodeo office, which took about fifteen minutes
longer than it should have, and got into the concession line.
People
stopped and said hello as he waited, congratulating him on his run—still the
winning time—and Ryan chatted with a few of them even though he wanted nothing
more than to get the hell out of there. He’d just made it to the counter and
was about to give his order when a collective gasp went up from the crowd,
followed by silence. The nasty kind of silence that indicated something bad had
just happened. Ryan’s gut tightened as he waited for the hubbub that would
erupt when the injured cowboy got back to his feet. The crowd remained stubbornly
silent.
“Oh,
no,” the elderly lady in the booth gasped, craning her neck to see, but the
solid gate panels blocked the view.
“Our
medical team is on the scene, taking a look at this cowboy,” the announcer
finally said in a reassuring voice. “As you know, these guys are the best in
the business.” The ambulance rolled past the concession stand then and the wide
arena gate swung open to give access. The lady gasped again and Ryan instantly
understood why.
The
sorrel horse, with the distinctive white spot on his side, standing near the
crouched group surrounding the downed cowboy belonged to the crowd favorite.
His
brother. Matt Montoya.
*
Just when Ellie was beginning to think the dusty single-track
road was never going to end, she rounded a corner and a rustic ranch spread out
in front of her in postcard-like perfection. She pulled her leased Land Rover
to a halt, taking in the large red barn and several smaller outbuildings on the
edge of green fields. The single-story, shake-roofed house with a porch surrounding
it on three sides nestled close to a stand of evergreen trees. Cows and horses
grazed in the pastures and a pair of large birds flew in lazy circles over the
pond at the edge of one of the fields.
Milo
had bought the place eight months ago and since then had spent a grand total of
one week there, shortly after the purchase, but didn’t seem to be able to stop
talking about “his ranch” to anyone who would listen. Now Ellie understood why.
It was gorgeous.
Gorgeous
and really, really close.
After
fifteen hours of travel Ellie was more than ready for a hot bath and a bed. Ten
minutes later she parked at the end of the flagstone walk, not liking the fact
that the place felt as deserted up close as it had appeared from a distance.
Had Angela or Milo told the staff she’d be arriving? A question Ellie hadn’t
thought to ask. Ellie who always thought of everything.
She’d
been rattled lately. Disorganized. Not herself.
Ellie
rang the bell. After the second ring she knocked, then, after a suitable amount
of time, tried the handle. Locked. Okay. She set down her handbag and stood for
a moment, hands on hips, surveying the ranch, watching for some sign of
movement around the barn and outbuildings. Nothing.
Great.
Her feet hurt and the small of her back ached from sitting for too long and she
wanted to get inside. Now.
She
started walking around the house, her heels clunking hollowly on the wooden
porch, looking for another way in and wondering if she was going to have to
call Angela to get the number of the caretaker. She tried the side entrance,
the back entrance, the sliding door. No luck. She’d just pulled her phone from
her jacket pocket when she heard the sound of an engine.
Salvation.
Ellie
rounded the corner of the house in time to see a woman with long dark hair
scramble out of the open Jeep.
“Miss
Bradworth?” she called as she strode up the walk, her long flannel shirt
flapping loosely over very worn jeans.
“Hunter,”
Ellie called back. “Mrs. Bradworth is my aunt.”
“Oh.”
The woman quickly crossed the distance between them, taking the porch steps two
at a time. “Sorry about the wait. I didn’t know you were coming until half an
hour ago.”
“Really?”
How was that possible?
The
woman held out a wad of keys and then, after Ellie automatically took them,
shoved her hands into her back pockets. “I was in town when Walt called and got
here as quickly as I could. I hope you haven’t waited for too long.”
There
was nothing about the woman’s tone that was impolite, but there was nothing
that was particularly friendly, either. Ellie felt rather like an interloper.
Well, she was an interloper related to the owner of this place.
“Thanks
for hurrying,” Ellie said, holding out her free hand. “Ms.…?”
“Garcia.
Jessie Garcia.” Jessie met her gaze directly as they shook hands and Ellie was
struck by how really gorgeous the woman was, with high cheekbones and amazing
dark eyes.
“I’m
Ellison Hunter. Milo and Angela’s niece.”
“Will
you be staying long?”
“My
stay is open-ended.”
Jessie
pulled her mouth into a polite smile, yet Ellie sensed she was not pleased with
the answer. Why?
Probably
because life was easier when the staff had the place to themselves.
“I
hope you enjoy your time here,” Jessie said coolly.
“I’m
sure I will.”
“There’s
no fresh food in the house, but you should be able to find some things in the
freezer and pantry.”
“Thanks.”
Jessie
smiled slightly then started back down the steps.
“Excuse
me,” Ellie called, waiting for the woman to turn back before she said, “How can
I get hold of Mr. Feldman?”
“Walt?”
A shadow crossed Jessie’s face. “It’s Sunday.”
“Yes.”
“It’s
his day off.”
“I
see. And after that?”
“I’ll
have him give you a call. Okay?”
“Thank
you.”
Ellie
had the distinct impression that Jessie wanted to escape and was getting
annoyed at the prolonged conversation, but her tone was courteous when she
said, “Anything else?”
I want to meet
with the staff… But she’d pass that along through Mr. Feldman
when they got a chance to talk. “Not right now.”
“Well,
have a good one.”
The
woman climbed into the Jeep. It coughed once, then the engine caught and roared
to life. Jessie raised a hand then turned the Jeep into a tight U and sped back
down the road in the direction from which she’d come.
Ellie
held up the ring of nine keys, frowned a little and then picked one at random.
Surprisingly it slid into the lock and the mechanism clicked open. A bed and a
bath awaited.
Maybe
her luck was changing for the better.
