Rocky Mountain Shelter

by Vivian Arend

  “We’re the youngest, except for Lee, and nobody tells us shit,” Jesse complained.

  “There’s never been a reason to tell us,” Raphael pointed out. He finished his bottle and stood. “I’m starving. I’ll get supper going.”

  Trevor lingered over his drink. He’d struck out for the past couple of months, but Becky moving in changed things. Maybe he’d be able to finally get ahead. “There’s someone new renting it now,” he said. “The house on the southwest quarter.”

  Jesse raised a brow. “What? The old-timers are gone?” He snapped his fingers. “Hey, you’re right. I heard somebody say they decided it was too much work to take care of, so they moved into town. That was back a month or so ago.”

  “Well, someone else moved in already, so I might be able to find out who owns it from her.”

  Jesse’s eyes widened. “Her? Tell me we’ve got new blood in the neighbourhood.”

  Something tightened in Trevor’s gut. He had absolutely no reason to feel possessive, or protective, but damn if that wasn’t what whipped through his veins the instant interest lit up Jesse’s expression. “Yeah. Must be an old schoolteacher come to retire, or something,” he lied.

  Anticipation faded from Jesse’s blue eyes. “Well, damn it all.” He threw his beer bottle across the deck into the open garbage can, the glass ringing loudly off the metal frame. “I swear Rocky is where people come to die. Makes it difficult to find anybody to spend time with.”

  The utter dejection in his cousin’s voice made Trevor laugh out loud. “What makes it difficult is the fact you’ve already dated all the women in the area and pissed off most of them, in this county and the next three over.”

  Jesse held his hands up in surrender, flashing a grin. “I can’t help it if I’m too much for any one woman to handle.”

  Rafe made a gagging noise from the doorway. “If anyone has any appetite left after that load of crap got delivered, get your asses in here and help. Trevor, I take it you’re staying for supper?”

  Trevor had his own place down the road, but he liked company too much to spend his evenings alone. “I’ll cook the vegetables and save your taste buds from Jesse’s slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am cooking methods.”

  Jesse snorted as he rose to join them in the kitchen. “You two have no idea what culinary marvels I’m capable of. I keep my talent on the down-low, kind of like Superman in the kitchen.”

  “No argument here—you’ve got a stomach of steel. We’re far too redneck for your class of cooking.” Rafe shoved a dirty plate into Jesse’s hands. “That’s why you get to wash. And get a move on, ’cause there’s nothing to eat off.”

  Trevor forgot his worries in the complaining and joking that followed. But one thing he didn’t forget was the pair of light-brown eyes that had burned into him with all the fire he liked in a woman.

  Intriguing. That’s what she was. Not only did Becky Hall have the answers he needed, she was easy on the eyes, and he wanted to find out what made her tick. It was a good combination—one that made him eager to return to the old rental house.

  Becky was going to find out just how determined he was to be neighbourly…

  Chapter Two

  Becky glanced at her watch for the third time since leaving the house. Today it didn’t matter how long the walk took, but if she was successful in finding work, she’d need to know for future trips.

  Living in the country would have its drawbacks, especially come the winter, but she was too grateful for the roof over her head to complain.

  A roof that needed work done before it rained again, but still…

  Hard facts were easy to ignore on a day like this. It was a gorgeous morning, with the sun peeking through the morning clouds and a whole lot of birds going absolutely crazy in the bush beside the road. It was easy to have a light heart when everything was so beautiful, in spite of the impossible list of things she had to accomplish once she reached Rocky Mountain House. And the impossible things she had to accomplish at the homestead. And the—

  She laughed. By this time she should be used to accomplishing impossible things before breakfast.

  It’d barely been a week since she’d arrived, but it felt a lot longer in some ways. She’d explored the ranch house, and all the land within an hour walking radius. She had a pretty good idea of what she could accomplish with a little hard labour, and that was the one thing she was more than willing to provide.

  This was a new start. A new chance to make a better life not only for herself —

  —but she couldn’t get ahead and dream too quickly. She was still working one step at a time to keep her head above water. But having the opportunity sent a thrill through her every time she realized how much her life had changed.

  Even this. Walking at the side of the road, quilt bag in hand and the urge to whistle breaking free as she strode along.

  If she wanted to whistle, she could.

  She pursed her lips and warbled back at the birds, the melody from her lips accompanied by their trills and chirps, and she didn’t worry about how it wasn’t womanly to be making such a loud racket.

  In fact, she increased her volume and swung her arms harder, head lifted high as she marched toward town.

  The honk of a vehicle horn directly behind her made her shoot nearly two feet in the air, heart pounding in panic.

  Only when she turned, she made sure no sign of her fear showed, smoothing her expression, especially as she recognized the truck slowing to a snail’s pace beside her.

  Oh goody. Her meddlesome rescuer.

  Becky kept walking, glancing into the cab as the truck pulled up beside her. The passenger window slid downward, the truck now rolling forward an inch at a time, keeping pace with her strides.

  “Hop in, rodeo girl.” Trevor adjusted the tan cowboy hat on his head as he flashed a smile.

  “No, thank you.”

  Any normal person would have nodded then driven on, but considering the man had climbed a tree to get her attention the previous day, she should have known a simple no wouldn’t be enough to get him to leave her alone.

  “If you’re going to town you may as well ride. I’m headed your way.”

  “It’s a nice day,” she said clearly, offering him a brief nod. “I’ll enjoy my walk. Thanks. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”

  She totally ignored him and went back to whistling.

  Well, not totally ignored, because it was difficult to forget that a massive four-by-four traveled exactly ten feet behind her, and no matter how fast she walked, or how much she dawdled, he stayed put.

  She covered another mile before turning to face him, arms folded across her chest as she glared at the truck and the stubborn man behind the wheel.

  He eased all the way up until he was in line with her again. The smile in his brown eyes matched the one creasing his lips.

  “Hop in, rodeo girl,” he repeated. “I’m headed into town, how about a ride?”

  “I don’t want a ride,” she insisted. “I really wish you’d leave me alone.”

  The sparkle of amusement faded from his eyes. “Oh, hey, if you’re worried about getting a ride with a stranger, you can call anyone you’d like to let them know you’re with me. But I promise I’m safe.”

  God. She was naïve—being worried about safety was the perfect excuse, although no way was she admitting she didn’t have a phone. “I’m happy walking, but thanks for the offer. I appreciate it.”

  “How about I loan you my truck,” he blurted out. “You can head into town on your own.”

  Shock made her feet come to a stop. “What is wrong with you?”

  “What?”

  She was tempted to take her bag off her shoulder and swing it at the truck. “You can’t just give me your truck, or offer for me to leave you abandoned at the side of the road. That makes no sense.”

  He shrugged. “Makes no sense to me that you’re walking when I’m driving the same direction you’re headed.” He tilted his head toward t
he seat. “Come on.”

  “I bet you were an annoying child,” she snapped, resuming her march. But now she stared straight ahead to keep him from seeing the smile she was having difficulty hiding.

  The truck was barely moving, inching its way down the highway. It was a good thing there was no other traffic, or they would’ve caused a traffic jam.

  “Are you new to town, or visiting?” Trevor continued as if they were having a conversation somewhere normal and not at the side of the road with him driving in a one-car parade. “If you’re sticking around, I can show you the sights. What’re you interested in?”

  “Being left alone?” she retorted. “But you don’t seem to understand that concept.”

  “Just tagging along to keep you safe,” he said, his deep voice tinged with amusement. “It can be tricky business, walking all the way into Rocky. I’d hate for you to get lost.”

  “The road doesn’t turn once between here and town,” Becky pointed out, glancing into the cab. She was losing her battle to keep a straight face.

  Especially when he gasped in shock, his face twisting dramatically. “No. Jeez, you mean those four right turns I’ve been taking my entire life aren’t necessary?” Becky snorted, and Trevor laughed, snapping up a hand to wiggle a finger at her. “I knew there was a sense of humour hiding in there.”

  She gave up. If he was going to be this persistent she might as well save her feet a bit of wear and tear. “Stop the truck. You win.”

  His grin grew wider as she hauled open the door and crawled inside. “Where to, rodeo girl?”

  Suddenly she wasn’t as certain. She had a whole bunch of places on her list, but she supposed the one that was the closest would be best.

  “Anywhere on Main Street would be great. Thanks.” She tightened the seatbelt over her chest and placed her bag in her lap.

  “So, Becky Hall, what brings you to Rocky Mountain House?”

  A perfectly civil question, and one she’d prepared for. “It was time to move out,” she said with complete honesty.

  Trevor nodded, his square jaw all the more noticeable in profile as he kept his gaze on the road, giving her plenty of time to study him. “There comes a time to do the next thing,” he agreed.

  She could agree with that. It was past time.

  “You have a job in Rocky?” he asked.

  “Nothing yet,” she admitted. “That’s what I need to do today. Drop off resumes, talk to people—get my bearings.”

  “I know a lot of folk in town,” he said enticingly. “What are you looking for? Maybe I can put in a good word for you.”

  “Right. You don’t even know me.”

  He laughed again, the sound echoing brightly in the cab, and somehow the sheer joy in it made little bubbles of happiness rise in her core as well, like the birdsong earlier in the day had lifted her spirits.

  “Sure, I know you,” he insisted. “You’re my neighbour. Plus, you’re determined enough to crawl on a second-storey roof even though you’re afraid of heights. And you’re stubborn enough to refuse to take the easy way out. I can honestly recommend you for a number of jobs based on those habits alone.”

  She leaned back in her seat and took a deep breath. “Okay, you can help me. You know anyone who’s hiring?”

  “Depends on your skills,” he said. “You got any training or certificates?”

  “No. Nothing official.”

  “What were the last three jobs you had?”

  She had to give titles to what she’d done? She’d done everything, and nothing. Cook and nanny. Teacher and nurse.

  Whore.

  “I can cook, and clean, and sew,” she replied firmly. She shouldn’t try to work with children—she bet too many questions would be asked to get those types of jobs.

  He nudged her arm lightly. “Did you sew that bag?”

  She curled her arms around the sachet. She shouldn’t have taken it, but leaving everything behind had been impossible. “Yes.”

  “That narrows it down then. You can quilt—which means first person you should talk to is Hope. Hope Coleman.”

  The familiar last name registered a second before panic set in. He’d been flirting with her, she was sure of it, and yet…

  And yet it’s not as if she hadn’t had first-hand experience with worse.

  “She your wife?”

  He’d just lifted a Coke to his lips, but the instant she spoke he was choking, a thin trickle of liquid running down his shirt before he wiped at his mouth and coughed hard to clear his throat. “Jeez, Rodeo, you did that on purpose.”

  “Did what? And why are you calling me that?”

  “Hope is my cousin’s wife, and she owns the quilt shop in town. And I’m calling you Rodeo because of this.” He ran a finger along the white fringe decorating the sleeve of her plaid shirt. “That’s what barrel riders wear to rodeo.”

  The fancy shirts with the tassels were like nothing she’d ever worn before, but they’d come cheap from the thrift shop she’d visited. All she could stuff into a bag for two dollars.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t rodeo. I just liked the shirts.” Even as she spoke, a touch of anticipation was rising. She could quilt. “Do you think Hope needs help?”

  “I happen to know she does,” Trevor assured her, turning at the first set of lights and heading down Main Street. “She’s expecting, so she’s looking for an assistant to ease the load.”

  He pulled to a stop at the side of the road, and she glanced over eagerly at a neat glass-fronted shop proudly declaring The Stitching Post.

  “It looks nice.” She turned to face him. “Thanks for the ride.”

  “No problem.”

  Only before she had both feet on the sidewalk, he had somehow gotten out and around the vehicle fast enough to offer her a helping hand.

  Before she could complain, or stutter uncomfortably, Trevor pulled the wind from her sails. “Let me introduce you,” he offered.

  It was too strong of an incentive for her to turn down. Add in that he’d been nothing but charming for the last five minutes, Becky decided to stuff away her reservations for the moment.

  “Thank you. Again.”

  “Just being neighbourly,” he said with a wink as he pulled open the shop door and gestured her forward.

  A small bell rang overhead as Becky eased past him, her body brushing his muscular frame in the tight doorway. She stepped quickly into the open to widen the gap between them, a riot of colour pulling her attention to the shop around her.

  It was amazing. Sample quilts hung on the walls, while row after row of bright cotton fabrics were arranged by colour families on sturdy shelves. Tables and books and buttons and…if she’d ever dreamt of heaven it would have started with a room like this.

  Becky pivoted in place and hoped with all her heart that Trevor’s good word would be enough to get her the job.

  Chapter Three

  The bell on the door offered enough of a warning that Hope was already approaching, her pale-blue eyes taking in Trevor and the newcomer he’d brought along.

  “You’re not who I expected for the first customer of the day, Trevor. Does Aunt Kate need something?” Hope came to a stop directly in front of them, transferring her load of patterns to the opposite arm as she examined Becky more closely.

  “Hope, I’d like you to meet Becky Hall. She’s new to Rocky, living in the rental on the quarter west of Moonshine land.”

  “Nice to meet you, Becky.” Hope glanced between them, probably trying to figure out how they knew each other. Being Hope, though, she tried to find a polite conversation topic. “Do you sew?”

  Becky nodded, but her focus was elsewhere. She seemed distracted, her gaze darting around the room. “This is amazing. Did you make all the quilts?”

  “Most of them. A few are local women who teach different techniques. If there’s anything that catches your attention, we might have a class you could join.”

  “I think Becky knows how to do a lot o
f this stuff, already.” Trevor slipped into the conversation since his mystery woman seemed more interested in scoping out the shop than selling her skills. “She’s looking for work,” he shared. “She’s good—you should hire her.”

  Becky’s head snapped toward him, a crease forming between her brows as if to warn him off.

  Hope’s demeanor changed slightly. A little less like she was talking to a potential customer, and more like dealing with a future employee.

  “Trust Trevor to get straight to the point,” she said with a laugh before waving him away. “Let us talk, then. We don’t need your help.”

  Maybe not, but he was too curious to do more than drift away a few feet and pretend to be fascinated with one of the mechanic magazines Hope had stashed beside a comfortable chair. It was obviously a place set up for men to relax while their women shopped, but it was close enough to the front till he could overhear their conversation without looking like he was listening intently to every word.

  “How about you tell me what you’re looking for, and we’ll take it from there,” Hope suggested.

  “Full-time work would be best, but part-time is fine.” Becky twisted to face the counter, showing that intense concentration he’d seen while she was ignoring him. “I can work days or evenings—my schedule is wide open right now.”

  “Have you worked in a fabric store before?”

  Becky hesitated before shaking her head. “No, but I know how to stock shelves and keep supplies in order. And I can help with questions when it comes to most quilt designs, as well as help gather the materials for people.”

  “What about the cash register, or ordering new supplies?” Hope leaned back, both hands pressed into her lower back. The move stretched the front of her jumper over the small round formed by her expanding belly, making it clear there was a baby on the way. “Sorry. I overdid it yesterday.”

  There was another pause while Becky looked over the machine, her nose wrinkling in the most adorable way. “I haven’t used that kind of register, but I’m sure I could learn it. And ordering—it depends. What system do you use?”

  Hope rattled off a list of numbers and letters that Trevor couldn’t make heads or tails of.