Montana Wishes
Page 23
He closed the gate and left Payday’s halter on the post, pausing for a moment to take in the view. He’d owned this land for five years now and still couldn’t quite believe it was his. His ranch was a series of hills and valleys that rolled west toward the Pacific Ocean. His barn and sheep shed were both on one broad hilltop, and his house was up one hill higher, with a wide-open view for miles. He never got tired of it—hills upon hills, parched to a golden color for most of the year, punctuated by majestic, gnarled live oaks. In the distance, a dark band of redwood forest marked the spot where his land ended and a state park began.
Growing up on his parents’ ranch in Wyoming, Aidan’s only goal had been to get away. He’d worked hard and earned every dollar of his college scholarship. Out of college he’d thrown his weight behind an internet start-up that had, miraculously, been successful. But ranching must have gotten into his blood, like some kind of chronic disease. He’d missed it. And he’d never felt at home in the city.
Plus, he and Sheila had been tired of their overwhelming work schedules, and Aidan had already made more money than he’d ever imagined. Lured by a dream of living off the land, they’d bought this ranch and Aidan had fallen in love with it all—raising the sheep, the cattle, dealing with repairs and predators, the solitude, and all the ups and downs that came with ranching.
But that same solitude he loved so much had destroyed the person he loved the most. Or at least, that’s what Sheila had said when she left for good.
And maybe she was right. Today the dry wind, hissing in Aidan’s ears and rattling the dry grass, seemed to magnify the silence, until it filled every space, all around. It was too much, even for him. Aidan returned to the barn to collect Chip. “I’m going to town,” he told the dog, who was still lying like a discarded blanket in the shade. And right there, discussing his plans with his dog, was evidence that Aidan needed some human companionship. He knelt down to scratch behind Chip’s soft ears. “Come on, good boy, it will be cooler inside.”
Aidan jogged up the path toward the house, and Chip panted along beside him. Once inside, Chip made a beeline for his water bowl and then stretched out on the cool tile of the kitchen floor. Aidan jumped in the shower, and within twenty minutes he was back outside at his truck. The wind had slowed a little and the sky looked kind of hazy way off in the east. Good. Maybe clouds would form and the weather would shift. Rain in October was rare, but certainly not unheard of. An early storm would cool everything down.
Aidan cranked up the AC, put on a country music playlist and started the truck down the gravel lane that wound down the ridgetop until it met the road. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but he might treat himself to a six-pack of beer at the grocery store. It had been a long week. He’d bred his Dorset sheep for fall lambs, so he’d been keeping a close eye on the pregnant ewes confined to his sheep shed all week. Why three of them chose to give birth right at bedtime last night he’d never know, but he hadn’t had much sleep as a result.
At the bottom of the drive, Aidan turned right on Mill Creek Road. It wound along through live oak and gangly bay trees that clung to the side of the high ridge that Aidan called home. Then it snaked north for several miles through parched open hills until it reached Willits, the closest town. Humming tunelessly along with Reba, Aidan guided the truck around a hairpin turn. The trees cleared—it was just open hillside here, with a view across the low, grassy hills to the east.
His heart lurched in his chest and he slammed on the brakes. “Oh no.” Breath unsteady, he carefully guided the truck into a graveled turnout and cut the engine. Shoving the door open, he jumped out of the cab, shaded his eyes and looked out at the hills, a band of worry tightening across his chest.
That haze he’d seen back at the house hadn’t been rain clouds forming. Smoke was billowing up from a distant ridge. A wildfire. It was still far away, but he could almost smell it. A faint charcoal essence rode on the wind, which had picked up again and was rustling the dry shrubs on the slope below.
This was bad. Really bad. The fire was in the northeast, exactly upwind. It was at least thirty miles away right now, but that wasn’t much comfort. Last summer, a wildfire out near Chico had moved so fast it had burned up the space of a football field every single second.
Stay calm. You’re prepared for this. He’d written out an evacuation plan for his ranch. Now he just had to put his plan into practice and hope the fire didn’t get this far.
Copyright © 2020 by Claire Haiken
Love Harlequin romance?
DISCOVER.
Be the first to find out about promotions, news and exclusive content!
Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
Instagram.com/HarlequinBooks
Pinterest.com/HarlequinBooks
ReaderService.com
EXPLORE.
Sign up for the Harlequin e-newsletter and download a free book from any series at
TryHarlequin.com
CONNECT.
Join our Harlequin community to share your thoughts and connect with other romance readers!
Facebook.com/groups/HarlequinConnection
ISBN-13: 9781488068232
Montana Wishes
Copyright © 2020 by Amy Vastine
All rights reserved. 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 either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
For questions and comments about the quality of this book, please contact us at CustomerService@Harlequin.com.
Harlequin Enterprises ULC
22 Adelaide St. West, 40th Floor
Toronto, Ontario M5H 4E3, Canada
www.Harlequin.com