Betting On The Maverick (Montana Mavericks: What Happened At The Wedding 3)

by Cindy Kirk

  The rest Margot had planned to last an hour max lasted much longer. For two straight days Brad refused—absolutely refused—to let her help him with any of the outside chores. He’d been solicitous and kind but firm.

  Worse, he’d brought out the gentleman card. Since they’d arrived home on Sunday, he hadn’t touched her in any intimate fashion. Not unless you counted an occasional squeeze of the hand or a touch on the shoulder, actions that only fueled the flames of desire burning inside her. The mulish expression he wore whenever she pressed for more told her protesting was pointless.

  Resigning herself to being pampered, Margot used the time to sort through her dad’s papers. Tasks that made her miss her father more and spiked her worry. Although Boyd could be self-centered at times, she’d begun to fear something bad had happened to him. Otherwise, he’d never have stayed away so long.

  When the mountain of paper and the sadness began to close in and feel overwhelming, Margot pulled out her laptop and opened her blog. For several minutes she worked on a new post titled “Good to Great: Improving Your Riding Skills.” As the words flowed, she felt her emotions begin to settle.

  She’d barely finished the post when Brad strolled into the room.

  He gestured to several brown sacks overflowing with paper on the floor next to her chair. “What’s all this?”

  “More of the same. I went through another drawer of my dad’s file cabinet.” Margot shook her head. Her mother had handled the family’s financial affairs. It was apparent her dad hadn’t known what he should throw away so he’d saved everything. “These sacks are primarily filled with old bank statements, utility bills and receipts for every transaction he’s completed since my mother’s death. Everything can be burned.”

  The barrel out back had been kept busy the past few days incinerating all the needless records her dad had kept. Margot knew once Boyd returned, he’d refuse to let her touch any of his papers so she had to make the best use of his absence.

  “I’ll get a fire started in the barrel after lunch.” Brad’s curious gaze settled on the laptop. “What are you working on now?”

  “My blog.” Margot scheduled the post she’d just finished and swiveled in her seat to face him. “I offer barrel-racing tips and other information to those who share my passion for the sport.”

  “Impressive.” Brad grabbed two Cokes from the fridge, handed one to her then sat down. “You like doing stuff like that?”

  Margot started to shrug but stopped herself. She loved to blog. Why not admit it? “I do.”

  “Maybe that could be your next career,” he said in a casual tone. “That and running boot camps.”

  “It’s a definite possibility.” Margot popped the tab on the can and took a long drink. “You should have heard my dad the last time I was back when I mentioned I believed teaching was in my future plans.”

  The look on Brad’s face was almost comical. Knowing how Boyd could be, he was clearly struggling with whether to ask for further details. He finally gave in to curiosity. “What did he say?”

  “Gave me the old ‘those who can’t do, teach’ lecture.”

  Brad rolled his eyes.

  For some reason his response made Margot feel better.

  “Anyway, all that is a ways down the road.” Margot took another sip of soda. She hadn’t realized she was so parched. “Once I’m healed, Storm and I have unfinished business. Number one or bust.”

  “You’ll be a success in whatever you do.” Brad leaned back in his chair and studied her. “You’ve got brains, talent and incredible drive.”

  “Thank you,” she stammered, touched by the look of respect in his eyes.

  “Now that you’ve got your five-year plan solidified, let’s talk food. I’m starving. How does wings from Buffalo Bart’s sound for lunch?”

  “Sounds good,” she said. “As long as we have something more nutritious this evening.”

  We.

  There it was again, the ubiquitous “we.” More and more the word found its way past her lips. Though Margot had shared quarters with plenty of females over the past few years, she’d never had a male roommate. She thought men would be more difficult. Not Brad. To her surprise, he was surprisingly easy to live with...at least so far.

  She shifted her gaze and found him staring. Her body began to hum, even though she knew with absolute certainty nothing was going to happen.

  She needed to rest. Recharge. Margot had heard him say those words so often since Sunday she had his response to her overtures memorized.

  His lips lifted in a slight smile as if he read her thoughts. “Feel like going out this evening?”

  For a second, Margot thought she must have misheard. Hallucinated. But he gazed at her so expectantly it was apparent he had posed the question. “What do you have in mind?”

  She didn’t know why she asked. She really didn’t care where they went or what he had planned. After being homebound the past two days, even the possibility of a trip to Wal-Mart made her heart race with excitement.

  “We have several options. Oh, I almost forgot.” Brad pulled out the rolled-up stack of letters and advertising circulars protruding from his pocket and dropped them on the table. “I got the mail from the box.”

  Margot glanced at the pile. She’d almost decided to leave sorting through it until later when an iconic torch peeking out from between two envelopes caught her eye. She gave the glossy paper a tug. It was a postcard with a picture of the Statue of Liberty.

  “Don’t worry about that stuff now.” Brad’s voice seemed to come from far away.

  Her breath clogged her throat. She had to swallow several times to summon enough moisture to speak. “Brad. Look.”

  Something in her tone must have alerted him because he immediately leaned close, his brows pulling together. “What is it?”

  “It’s from my father.” Her heart pounded so hard in her ears she could barely hear herself speak. With trembling fingers she lifted the postcard so Brad could see the picture. She’d have known the handwriting on the back anywhere. “No return address but it’s clear that he’s alive. Or at least he was when he wrote and sent it.”

  Margot was glad she was sitting because the relief that washed through her had turned her knees to jelly.

  Brad’s hand, which had been lifting a can of soda to his lips, stilled. “About time he wrote you.”

  But Margot had seen the name and address on the card. Her heart stumbled because her joy was laced with pain. “It’s addressed to you.”

  “Me?” Brad choked on the soda. “Why would he write to me?”

  Without a word, she held out the postcard.

  His jaw set in a hard tilt as he lifted it from her fingers.

  “Brad,” he read aloud. “Take care of the ranch. I wanted you to have it. I won’t be back. I’m settled and content. Boyd.”

  “He’s alive.” A war raged inside Margot, the overwhelming relief fighting a losing battle with rising anger. “He has settled somewhere and is content.”

  The word tasted foul on her tongue.

  Brad held up the card. “This doesn’t make sense.”

  “Content,” Margot spat. “While I’ve been worried sick about him, he’s been somewhere enjoying life and being all...content.”

  “This doesn’t make sense,” Brad repeated. Puzzlement blanketed his face. He reread the postcard, checked the name and address. “Why write to me and not you?”

  “He must still be angry at me.” Margot blinked back tears, the knowledge that her father held her in such little regard a dagger to the heart. All she’d done was express concern about his drinking and urge him to get help. For that horrible act, he’d cut her out of his life.

  She blew out a breath and forced herself to focus on the positive. “He’s alive and safe. That’s what ma
tters.”

  “He put you through hell and he sends me a postcard,” Brad ground out, tossing the missive to the table.

  The anger on Brad’s face didn’t surprise her. She was feeling pretty steamed herself. What surprised Margot was that the anger was for her.

  Margot scrubbed her face with her hands but her eyes remained dry. Her emotions were far too tangled for tears. While part of her was relieved her father was alive and apparently well, there was a profound feeling of loss. Not only for the love he obviously didn’t feel for her but for the life they’d once shared on the Leap of Faith.

  When her mother died, Margot had been devastated. The person she’d loved most had left the ranch one afternoon to pick up supplies in town and never returned.

  Her mother’s car had slid off an icy road and tumbled down a ravine. It had been two days before the search team found the car. Margot had been grief-stricken but also angry. How dare her mother leave her? It wasn’t rational to feel abandoned. Logically she understood her mother hadn’t chosen to leave.

  Not like her father. He’d deliberately walked out on her and the life he’d worked so hard to build. Leaving had been a choice for him.

  “Honey.” Brad pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her. “It’s going to be okay.”

  The comforting warmth of his embrace barely touched the chill that permeated every atom of her being.

  “I’ll pack up my things.” Her voice sounded flat and lifeless even to her own ears. But it mirrored how she felt inside. Though her father was alive she was on her own. Because he didn’t want her. “It’ll take me a few days to find a place to stay, so if you could give me to the end of the week, I’d appreciate it.”

  “What are you talking about?” Brad’s voice was rough with emotion as he held her at arms’ length, his puzzled gaze scanning her face.

  “This is your home now, not mine.” She tried to smile but her lips were trembling too much to hold it for more than a second. “I’m sure you’ll be very happy here.”

  “You’re not moving out.” His jaw was now set and his face had taken on that mulish expression she’d seen so often the past two days.

  “I was only here because I thought this was my home.” She tried to take a step back but his arms remained locked around her. “Now we both know for certain that the Leap of Faith belongs to you.”

  “We don’t know squat.” His eyes flashed green fire and the look on his face dared her to disagree. “You’re not moving out on the basis of a few scribbles on a postcard. I’ll let the sheriff know what we’ve discovered but that doesn’t mean we won’t keep looking for your father. In the meantime, you’re staying put.”

  “Since when are you the boss of me?” Margot countered.

  She wasn’t Brad Crawford’s latest charity. From an early age she’d been taught to pull her own weight, to stand strong and make her own way. Perhaps her dad had been preparing her for the day he’d walk out of her life without a backward glance or a single word of explanation.

  Unexpectedly, the tears that had been frozen inside her broke free and filled her eyes.

  “I care about you, Margot.” Brad’s soft words were like a balm on her shattered heart. “We’ll figure this out...together.”

  “There’s nothing to figure out.”

  “You’re not leaving.”

  All of a sudden, all the fight went out of her. She swiped at her cheeks. “If I stay—and it’ll only be while I’m looking at other options—I’ll pay for my room and board.”

  “You don’t need—”

  “That’s the only way I’ll remain under your roof.” She lifted her chin.

  He opened his mouth as if to argue but closed it at the determination in her voice. “If that’s how you want it.”

  Of course that wasn’t how she wanted it but this whole situation left her with little choice. “That’s how it has to be.”

  His gaze turned thoughtful. “I can see if my parents need someone to help out in the General Store.”

  “Thanks.” She placed a hand on his arm. “I have something else in mind. But for it to work, I’ll need your help.”

  The gaze that locked on hers didn’t waver. “Whatever you need.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The postcard set several wheels in motion almost immediately. Fortunately, Margot didn’t need to waste any time developing a plan to raise enough cash to pay for her room and board. She already had the pieces in play. The best part was it involved earning money doing what she loved.

  By the time Saturday rolled around and Leila stopped over, Margot felt steadier. And while the thought of her father’s actions still stung, she no longer felt like crying every time she thought about him.

  The day was a pretty one for October, offering up a brilliant blue sky. The snow from last week had pretty much disappeared with only scattered patches remaining in shady spots.

  Leila, who’d stopped over to say goodbye, would have no difficulty making the drive to Kalispell tomorrow to catch a flight back to Atlanta. Her time in Rust Creek Falls had come to an end. While Leila was champing at the bit to get back to the big city, Margot was sad to see her leave.

  “I’m going to miss you,” Margot told her friend, buttering a slice of pumpkin bread.

  They were seated at the kitchen table. Slices of the bread Margot had made that morning sat between them, along with a carafe of coffee.

  When Leila had first arrived, Margot had made them both hot cocoa—Leila’s favorite—then brewed a pot of the chicory blend to enjoy with the bread.

  “The time went by so quickly.” Margot sighed and sat the bread knife down. “Too quickly.”

  “For you, maybe,” Leila said then chuckled. “Anyway, I’ll be back at Christmas.”

  “Forgive me if I don’t believe that tall tale,” Margot said in a dry tone.

  “I realize it’s hard to believe—okay, impossible to believe—that I’d willingly return in a couple of months, but it’s true.” Leila held up her fingers in the Brownie salute. “I promised the folks I’d try to swing it. My father was thrilled. You know how dads are with their daughters. He wants me—”

  As if remembering Margot’s situation, Leila paused. Two bright spots of color dotted her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” Margot kept her tone light. No way was she spending her last few minutes with Leila whining about her father not loving her. If she let it, the realization would suck all joy from her life.

  Boyd was alive and safe. He was even content.

  Knowing that had to be enough.

  Margot shook the cobwebs of emotion from her head and changed the subject. “I really enjoyed meeting your cousin. She’s a real sweetie.”

  “Sierra? The family contacted you about lessons already? That was fast.”

  “Her mother called and her dad brought her over yesterday.” Margot smiled, recalling the young girl’s eagerness. “She was so excited. And she adored Storm.”

  Leila picked up another piece of bread, although she’d already told Margot two was her limit. But unlike her hostess, she ignored the butter.

  “You let her ride Storm?” Leila asked then took a bite.

  Margot nodded. “It’s important for Storm to stay in top shape. I can ride him uphill at a walk. We can trot, especially if Brad isn’t around.”

  At Leila’s quizzical glance, Margot smiled.

  “He’s afraid I’ll fall.” Margot gave a snort of amusement. “If I fell off a horse while it was simply trotting I’d deserve to get my head cracked open.”

  “I saw the barrels in the corral,” Leila said slowly.

  Margot could see by the confusion in her eyes that her friend still didn’t understand. “The doctors told me I couldn’t race. That’s where Sierra comes in
. It’s good for Storm to keep in practice.”

  “Did you set the barrels up yourself?” Leila asked, a little too casually for Margot’s liking.

  She shook her head. “Brad set them up for me.”

  “That was nice of him.”

  Margot ignored Leila’s speculative gaze. She wasn’t sure what to think—much less do—about her growing feelings for Brad. He was starting to matter to her and the realization scared her. “He’s a nice guy.”

  Leila pushed her mug and bread plate aside. She leaned forward and rested her arms on the table. “How is he?”

  “Doing fine,” she told her friend. “He thought he was getting a cold but he must have knocked it because this morning he woke up feeling great.”

  Leila expelled a frustrated breath. “I wasn’t referring to how he is physically...well, okay I was, but in a deeper sense.”

  The wicked smile her friend shot her did the trick. Suddenly all was clear.

  Leila was asking about her sex life. Her nonexistent sex life. Although the sizzle between her and Brad was definitely still there, he’d been keeping his hands to himself and frustrating the heck out of her. “We, ah, still haven’t...”

  “I gave you the condoms.” Clearly puzzled, Leila studied her. “Have things turned cold?”

  Actually, Margot thought, things were hotter than ever. She found herself struggling to explain something she didn’t fully understand herself. “I told you about my episode on the drive back from the ranch.”

  “That was almost a week ago,” Leila pointed out.

  “Brad was concerned about me.” Margot found herself rising to his defense. “For a couple of days afterward he insisted I rest and recharge.”

  “Okay, that enforced rest was over, what, on Wednesday?”

  “The day the postcard came.” Margot saw no need to go into more detail. When her friend had first arrived, she’d explained the situation to Leila.

  “Oh.” As if not knowing what to do with her hands, Leila eyed the cup. She picked it up and took a sip. “In a way getting it was good, right? You know your father is safe.”