Montana Mavericks: a hot cowboy collection

by Rebecca Zanetti

  “Thank you, dear.” The elderly lady hung up.

  Juliet chuckled. Now that was a confusing conversation. She slid her arms into her coat and headed for the door. “Deputy Phillips, I take it?”

  Phillips nodded a buzz-cut head. He stood to about six feet and was built like a truck. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “How do you feel about a walk?” she asked.

  “You walk, I follow, ma’am,” he said with a smile and twinkling brown eyes.

  “Excellent.” She stepped into the chilly day and frowned at the gathering clouds. Not another heavy summer storm. She hustled down the block to Mrs. Hudson’s white bungalow. She knocked on the door. The elderly lady hollered for her to come in.

  Juliet left Deputy Phillips on the porch and hurried inside. “Mrs. Hudson?”

  “In the kitchen, dear,” Mrs. Hudson said.

  Juliet removed her coat, entered the sparkling clean kitchen, and stopped short. “Quinn.”

  “Juliet.” He sat at the round table, a large bowl of oriental chicken salad set on the crocheted tablecloth in front of him.

  Juliet raised her eyebrows at Mrs. Hudson.

  The woman smiled and all but pushed Juliet into the chair across from Quinn. “The sheriff was kind enough to get down my bowl, but now I need a couple of testers for the salad I want to take tonight.” She dumped another bowl of oriental chicken salad in front of Juliet and smoothed her purple, velour pantsuit. “Now you two eat up, take notes, and I’ll be right back. I promised Henry Bullton next door some salad.” Humming to herself, she all but skipped out the back door.

  Juliet’s stomach knotted. “I thought she’d injured her foot.”

  Quinn took a bite of the salad. “Nope. She’s interfering.”

  Juliet’s hand stopped halfway to the fork. “Interfering?”

  “Yep.” He took another bite. “The word around town is that we broke up, and apparently, the news doesn’t sit well with Mrs. Hudson.”

  Heat climbed into Juliet’s face. “Well, it sits just fine with me.”

  “Does it, now?” Quinn polished off his salad. “Good to know.” He stood—a strong man with a hard jaw. “I have a meeting in five minutes. Please tell Mrs. Hudson that I enjoyed the salad very much and to mind her own business.”

  “You tell her that.” Juliet lifted her chin.

  “I will.” He halted at the kitchen door. “Make sure Deputy Phillips is with you all day, Juliet. I’d hate to fire the guy.” Whistling a smart-ass tune, the sheriff sauntered out of sight.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A raging headache set up camp behind Quinn’s left eye as he shoved open the door to the station. While he adored Mrs. Hudson, he didn’t need any help in figuring out his life. He needed time.

  The silence in the station shot his blood pressure into overdrive.

  Stopping at the reception counter, he pinned Mrs. Wilson with a hard look. “What’s going on?”

  “Don’t you speak to me in such a tone, young man.” She shoved her glasses up her pointy nose, giving him the same glare she had when he’d stolen tulips from her garden to give to a girl. He’d been eight.

  He fought the urge to shuffle his feet. “I apologize, Mrs. Wilson. Why is it so quiet in here?”

  “I think everyone is upset about this.” She flashed a sympathetic grimace and slid the Missoula paper across the counter.

  Dread dropped into his gut. He turned the paper around to see a front-page picture of him helping Juliet out of the truck at the funeral. The caption read: “Sheriff Lodge Escorts mob-daughter Juliet Spazzoli.”

  He scanned the article. Some of it touched on his reelection bid, but most of the article detailed the DEA’s case and offered speculation about Juliet’s crime family. Quinn handed the paper back to Mrs. Wilson. “Throw the entire thing away, would you?”

  “Will this hurt you in the election?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” Right now, he didn’t have time to worry about the election. As he entered the main hub of the station, all of a sudden, everyone was either on the phone, typing, or out of sight. With a sigh, he stalked between people who wouldn’t meet his eye until entering his office.

  “We could sue the paper.” Jake sat in a guest chair playing Angry Birds on his phone.

  “Why? Most of the article seemed to be somewhat factual.” Quinn skirted his desk and dropped into his chair.

  Jake shot another red bird into the air. “You’ll need to campaign now.”

  “I don’t have time.” Quinn shoved papers out of the way.

  Jake clicked his phone shut. “Do you want to be the sheriff or not?”

  Right now? “Not.”

  “Liar.” Jake stuck his phone in his pocket. “I’ve booked you on two radio stations next week. The interviews will go quickly, and you need to do them.”

  “Fine.”

  Jake grinned. “You and Juliet make up yet?”

  “No,” Quinn said.

  “Stop being such a stubborn bastard,” Jake said without heat. His eyes darkened with sympathy.

  “She lied to me,” Quinn grunted.

  “Yeah. People make mistakes, Quinn. Even you.” Jake cleared his throat. “Officially, I’m here to report that my client will testify to anything she has knowledge of regarding Freddy Spazzoli’s drug business in exchange for both state and federal immunity.”

  Quinn lifted an eyebrow. “Does your client know anything she hasn’t already shared?”

  “Er, no.” Jake grinned.

  “Then not only is her testimony useless, she doesn’t need immunity.” Quinn doubted the DEA would waste time prosecuting Juliet without any proof.

  The grin disappeared. “I still want the immunity. The money concerns me…and there’s a decent accessory-after-the-fact charge if the DEA wants to make an example out of her. Push your friend for the deal, Quinn,” Jake said.

  “Dealing with the DEA is your job, Jake.” Quinn settled back in his chair. He didn’t deserve to be sheriff if he called in special favors. “You might also want to concentrate on the possession of false identification charge that will be heading Juliet’s way soon. The local prosecutor will love the case.”

  “What false identification?” Jake asked.

  “She brought false ID from New York to Montana,” Quinn said.

  Both of Jake’s dark eyebrows rose. “Did she use any identification?”

  “Don’t know.” Quinn crossed his arms.

  Jake picked at his faded jeans. “Have you either seen this identification or applied for a warrant to search her home or place of business?”

  Quinn scowled. “Obtaining a warrant is on the agenda for today.”

  Jake flashed the smile that made other attorneys quake. “Feel free. You won’t find any identification.”

  Quinn gripped his desk. “You told her to destroy evidence?”

  “Of course not. I didn’t tell her a damn thing.” Jake stood.

  “Tell me you didn’t destroy evidence,” Quinn said, his breath heating.

  Jake loped toward the door. “I believe I’ll take the Fifth on that one, Sheriff. Have a nice day.”

  “You’re an officer of the court,” Quinn bellowed after his disappearing brother. Son of a bitch. The relief sliding through him pissed him off more. With a growl, he started punching in letters on his keyboard. Those reports wouldn’t write themselves.

  An hour passed and someone tapped on his opened door. The scent of wild citrus hit him right in the solar plexus. Smoothing his face into interested lines, he focused on the door. “Hello, Juliet.” Standing like his mama had taught him, he gestured her into a chair.

  She gracefully crossed and sat. Her pale face and trembling hands made him feel like an ogre.

  “How can I help you?” He retook his seat before he could grab her up and cu
ddle her close.

  Her forehead creased. “I, ah, well, you requested my presence.”

  He leaned forward. “Who called you?”

  “Mrs. Wilson.” Juliet glanced at the door, no doubt seeking a quick exit.

  “Mrs. Wilson?” Quinn yelled.

  The file clerk poked his head inside the office. “Mrs. Wilson took a half-day sick day, Sheriff.”

  “I’ll bet she did,” Quinn muttered. He rubbed his whiskers. Had he forgotten to shave again? “I’m sorry, Juliet. Apparently I need to fire my receptionist.”

  “You’re not going to fire Mrs. Wilson,” Juliet said, her lips tilting slightly. “Anyway, I wanted to say how sorry I am for the newspaper article. I wish I could do something about it.”

  “Not your fault.” Her scent was driving him crazy.

  The file clerk returned to place a box on Quinn’s desk. “From Shelby’s bakery.” The kid disappeared, shutting the door behind himself.

  Quinn frowned at the box and flipped open the lid. Inside lay several cookies, all shaped as hearts and decorated with a Q + J.

  Juliet covered her mouth, her eyes lighting with amusement. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  Quinn cleared his throat. If the old biddies in town thought they could force him into anything, they were freakin’ crazy. “I’m sorry about this, Juliet. Their interference is ridiculous.”

  She lost her smile. “I’m sorry, too.” She rose, looking small and fragile.

  He stood. “I, uh, am probably going to get a warrant to search your place later for the doctored identification.” Damn it. He had no right to warn her.

  “Oh.” She tugged open a monstrous purse and rummaged inside. “I’ll give the identification to you now.”

  “No.” He hadn’t wanted to set her up. Not at all. “Don’t do that.”

  “No more hiding, and no more lies, Quinn. Take the ID. I bought it off a guy in the Village.” She yanked out a wallet and searched through it. “I don’t understand.”

  Relief dropped him back onto his seat. “Don’t tell me—it’s gone?”

  “Um, yes.” Juliet frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “I do.” He shook his head. While part of him strongly disapproved, the other part wanted to buy his brother a drink later. As a thank you. “You should probably talk to your lawyer. Either way, there’s no reason to search your place.”

  She nodded and turned toward the doorway. “Very well. Good-bye, Sheriff.”

  “’Bye, Juliet.”

  The door shut behind her with a sad sense of finality. Quinn Lodge glared at the cookies. What now?

  …

  Although early, the country-western bar was already hopping. The band blared a quick tune, and several couples two-stepped across the sawdust-covered dance floor. Juliet eyed the clear liquid in the shot glass from her table near the bar. “I’m not sure doing shots is such a good idea.”

  Sophie shrugged and sipped her ginger ale. “Why not? I wish I could.”

  Anabella Rush tipped back her head and downed her shot. “Yeah. Why not?” Then she sputtered, her eyes watering.

  “That’s why,” Juliet said slowly. What the heck. She grabbed the glass and poured the heated alcohol down her throat. The liquid rushed down and exploded in her stomach. She gasped and coughed.

  Sophie smacked her on the back. “There you go, girlfriend. Now, did Quinn eat one of the heart-shaped cookies?” Her laugh competed with the band.

  Juliet flushed. “Not while I was in his office. They just ticked him off.” She sighed. “I don’t think he’ll let anybody push him into forgiving me. This whole plan by the town is going to backfire.”

  “I told Loni that.” Sophie’s eyes widened, and she slapped a hand over her mouth. “I mean, I, uh—”

  “Loni’s in on this?” Juliet gasped.

  “Yep.” Sophie nodded. “She likes you. A lot.”

  That was just sweet. Her heart warmed. “Well, that’s nice.” Juliet brushed sawdust off the table.

  The fast song stopped, and Dawn Freeze stepped up to the mic to sing a country ballad. The entire place quieted. Low and sexy, the young woman’s voice crooned around the room, creating a cocoon of intimacy. Several couples slid onto the dance floor.

  Juliet leaned forward. “Wow. She can really sing.”

  “Yeah.” Sophie grinned. “The guys hate her singing in a bar. Jake keeps trying to get her to sing more in church.”

  Considering his little sister was wearing tight jeans and a black half T-shirt that showed very smooth skin, Juliet imagined none of the brothers liked it much. Her gaze caught on a man across the bar watching Dawn with heated green eyes. “When did Hawk get back to town?”

  “Last night. He’s on leave for a week.” Sophie turned as Colton plunked down a beer in front of Hawk. “Oh, great. There’s our babysitter.”

  Juliet waved. “Don’t be silly. He’s here to hang out with Hawk and watch his sister.”

  Sophie frowned. “Colt can multitask, believe me. Darn protective Lodge-Freeze men.”

  “I miss my husband.” Anabella hiccupped. She motioned to the waitress. “Another round, Milina.”

  Juliet’s eyes widened. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. I went into my purse to give Quinn the false identification stuff I bought in New York, and it was gone. I have a terrible feeling my lawyer did something he shouldn’t have done.”

  Sophie snorted and reached for her newly delivered plate of nachos. “That was me, girlfriend.”

  Juliet gaped. “Destroying evidence is illegal.”

  “So my rather angry husband explained in great detail when I told him what I’d done.” Sophie reached for the bowl of pretzels. “Though, he kind of looked relieved, too.”

  “He yelled at you?” Anabella gasped.

  “Nope. I’m all pregnant and delicate, you know?” Sophie grinned.

  Juliet shook her head. “You broke the law.”

  “Prove it.” Sophie’s smile turned a bit lopsided. “No proof, no crime.”

  Anabella took another shot and sputtered. “Remind me not to tick you off.”

  Sophie nodded. “Yeah. Don’t tick me off. I know stuff.”

  For some reason, all three women thought that was ridiculously hilarious. Their laughter brought interested looks from both Colton and Hawk. Sophie gestured toward them in what could only be called a smart-assed wave.

  They laughed harder.

  …

  Juliet sighed deeply right around midnight. “I think I’m too sad to get drunk.”

  Sophie sighed heavily. “Not me—I miss drinking.”

  “I’m not drunk.” Anabella rubbed her nose. “But I can’t feel my nose.”

  Sophie patted her hand. “You don’t need your nose tonight.”

  “True.” Anabella nodded wisely. “So true. But when my husband gets home next month, I hope I can smell him. He always smells so good.”

  Juliet sighed and scooted out of the booth. “I think it’s time for water.” She headed over to the bar and skidded through sawdust. Regaining her balance, she stopped short as a woman stepped in front of her. “Amy?”

  Amy Nelson nodded, her gaze sweeping Juliet’s jeans and boots. “Nice outfit, career killer.”

  “Thanks.” Juliet glanced down at Amy’s short skirt and vested top. “You look like a high-priced hooker.” Oops. Maybe the alcohol had affected her.

  Amy put both hands on her ample hips. “Why are you still in town? Time to leave.”

  “Why?” Juliet asked.

  “Because you’re already ruined Quinn’s chance of being sheriff again,” Amy said.

  Juliet struggled to maintain a polite smile. “I don’t think so. Quinn will still win.”

  “No he won’t.” A fierce smile split Amy’s face. “Which is all right and in the pla
n. With all his money and all his charisma, the man could go much higher than sheriff, if he had the right partner directing him.”

  Juliet snorted and then covered her mouth in embarrassment. Taking several deep breaths, she clasped her hands. “Quinn doesn’t take direction from anybody.”

  “I admit I’ve had to be careful. But now that he’s out of the sheriff race, he can enter the Senate race next year. I’d love to live in DC.” Amy frowned at Sophie and Anabella as they laughed back at the booth. “I’ll have to get him out of this podunk town and away from his family. They are definitely holding him back.”

  Anger danced spots in front of Juliet’s eyes. “Wait a minute. You’re the one who alerted the Missoula paper?”

  “Yep.” Malicious glee danced in Amy’s eyes. “I can’t tell you how helpful you’ve been.”

  “This conversation is over.” Juliet lifted her head and turned to sidestep Amy.

  The woman dug sharp nails into Juliet’s arm. “Get out of town before I destroy you even more than I already have.”

  “Let go of me.” Juliet used her most regal voice.

  Amy dug deeper and then shoved.

  The world disappeared. Temper roared through Juliet so quickly she staggered. Clenching her fist, she swung and nailed Amy right in the jaw. The woman flew into the bar and slid down to the floor.

  The front door opened to reveal the sheriff.

  Juliet’s eyes widened. Fists bunched and slightly drunk, she stood over the sheriff’s ex-lover after having just clocked her one.

  Oops.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Quinn had stuck Juliet in the same jail cell as last time. The wool blanket on the one cot shifted as she settled against the concrete-block wall. The man had taken one look at the scene in the bar and handcuffed both Amy and her. Handcuffed!

  About an hour had passed before Quinn appeared on the other side of the bars. Even with anger warming her chest, her gaze ate him up. Tonight he’d donned faded jeans, scuffed cowboy boots, and a long-sleeved, dark green T-shirt. He’d tucked his gun at his waist, and the deadly weapon looked right at home. A deep shadow covered his jaw, and pure irritation shone in his black eyes.