Redeeming Her Montana Love

by Vella Munn

  “Do? For one, we deal with water leaks,” she blurted. “We also hide from tourists and escape the rat race.”

  “Plus we scrape paint,” Doc said. “We also chop wood, chase mice out of the cabin and bats out of the attic, replace shutters, screw down ridge caps, clean chimneys, replace old windows, repair siding.”

  He frowned at her. “Water leaks?”

  “Unfortunately. I mustn’t have gotten all the water out of the lines the last time I drained them.” She shrugged. “Ice swells. Old pipes don’t.”

  “You don’t have to tell me. You have cracked lines?”

  This was no casual question. He really wanted to know. Maybe she shouldn’t go into details but, darn it, his eyes had a great deal going for them. Besides, if she was going to hire him to right the dock—if he agreed to do the job—she needed to get to know him.

  “I’m not sure how much damage there is,” she admitted. “There are some products that promise to seal—”

  “They won’t work. To do things right, you need to replace all of the lines with something flexible.”

  “You sound as if you know what you’re talking about,” Doc said while she groaned. “Are you a plumber?”

  “Yeah.” He slapped at something on his neck, probably a mosquito. “I am. Licensed, bonded, and all that.” He addressed her. “If you want, I can give your husband some suggestions about how to go about it.”

  “Tell me.” She didn’t add that she didn’t have much confidence in her ability to tackle plumbing issues. More to the point, she didn’t have a husband.

  “How about you show me what we’re talking about?”

  “You’re sure? After all, the only thing you thought you’d be doing today is seeing if my dock is salvageable.”

  “How about we look at the problem first?”

  Feeling a little off balance, she nodded.

  Chapter Two

  NATE QUAID UNTIED the rope and used a long-handle hook to pull the boat along a felled tree until he reached the shore. After securing the boat to a branch, he scrambled onto the trunk and worked his way around the limbs.

  He wasn’t sure the dock was salvageable. It would be a different matter if someone had been doing routine maintenance.

  The big, black dog with a massive head and broad chest stood between him and the young woman. During his reckless and uncaring early twenties, he’d hung out with several streetwise men who owned pit bulls. After watching his one and only dog fight—and being appalled by the violence—he’d decided to keep his distance from the breed. The dog, taking its measure of him, wasn’t pure pit but neither was it a lapdog. The tail was still, the mouth open a few inches, the hairs on its back lifted.

  “Bruce,” the women said. “It’s all right.”

  Looking as if he wasn’t sure of that, the dog walked back to his owner. As a child, Nate had wanted a dog—what boy didn’t—but of course it hadn’t happened and by the time he was old and free enough to make his own decisions, he’d concluded a dog needed better than he could give him, namely stability. Still, he wondered if having one as a child might have made those years a little easier.

  “Give Bruce a few minutes,” the woman told him. “It takes him time to get used to someone new. Look, you don’t have to look at the problem as you call it. I’ll figure out something.”

  Did that mean she had to deal with things on her own? No wonder she’d put out a call for help with the dock. Judging by the older man’s cane, he wouldn’t be much help.

  Darn it, her busted pipe wasn’t his concern. All he’d wanted out of this afternoon was to relax in his own way after spending the past eight plus hours crawling under sinks and replacing ancient bathroom plumbing.

  However, there was something about Bruce’s owner…

  Just don’t go deeper than the surface with her.

  “I should be able to tell you what needs to be done,” he said to keep himself from circling that old and tired warning about not getting involved. He stuck out his hand. “My last name is Quaid by the way, Nate Quaid.”

  She wiped her hand on her jeans and then shook his. He felt a little grit in her palm but mostly the warm strength in her fingers.

  “Alisha Hearne.”

  She was about five inches shorter than him and slender but not skinny. Hopefully she wasn’t one of those women who counted every calorie. To his way of thinking, what was between a woman’s ears was more important than how her clothes fit.

  Who was he kidding? As a red-blooded man, a woman’s physical package would always factor in. Okay, yes that was shallow thinking, but it was honest.

  Now that she’d taken back her hand, he noted her nails sported chipped, silvery polish. Thanks to the sun, he could see reddish highlights in her collarbone-length, dark brown hair. He didn’t give much of a darn about what women did to their hair, but even he knew she’d gotten help to make it look like that. Conclusion, Alisha Hearne had money to spend on herself. Until recently he’d had no idea what that was like.

  “So you’re a plumber,” the older man said. “A person should always have a way to pay the bills. I’m a dentist.”

  “A dentist,” Nate said. “I’m impressed.”

  “No need to be. I’m retired.” He offered his hand for Nate to shake and introduced himself as Peter Stross. Given Peter’s disapproval of the way he’d operated one of the resort’s two new boats, he wasn’t surprised when Peter continued to study him. He wondered what the man would think if he knew speed was one of the ways he kept the walls from closing in.

  “I don’t want us to get off on the wrong foot,” Peter said. “I was young myself about a million years ago and had more energy than I knew what to do with, but if you’re going to be working over there”—he indicated the opposite side of the lake—“you need to understand there’s a different rhythm in the Rocky Mountains. Reverence pretty much says it. You want fast pace, head to where humans have made more of an impact.”

  On a visceral level, Nate hated being told what to do but he’d learned to keep his mouth shut. Most times deflection worked, which he did by asking if Peter and Alisha were related.

  “Neighbors.” Peter pointed at a barely-visible cabin.

  “You live here year around?” he asked. “You’d have to have snowmobiles.”

  “I suppose it’s possible,” Alisha said, “but I haven’t heard of anyone doing it. The conditions are pretty rough what with the snow and cold. These are summer cabins.”

  Interesting. A couple of coworkers had speculated that people who owned the private cabins must be rich and had expected to see opulent structures, but they were small, not primitive but not luxurious either.

  “The Forest Service manages these mountains,” Alisha added, drawing his attention and interest back to her. “I’m sorry. If you’re working at the lodge, I’m probably telling you something you already know.”

  “I don’t pay much attention to that part of the operation. Seems like there’s always Forest Service vehicles around.”

  She nodded. “It sometimes feels like that here. too. We lease the land from the Service. Regulations dictate the size of the foundation’s footprint, what kinds of materials we can use, the types of wood-burning stoves that are allowed. Every year someone comes around with a check list to make sure we’re following the regulations.”

  “Big brother.” It wasn’t a question.

  Peter grunted. “You’ve got that right. When I bought my cabin it had a wood shake roof. I wanted to change it to metal for fire protection, but back then the forest supervisor insisted that what I had looked more authentic. Blended into the setting. It took a number of forest fires, thankfully elsewhere, to get them to change policy.” He shook his head. “I’m telling you this in part because if you haven’t already, you’re going to come up against regulations you might not understand or agree with—like speed limits.”

  Peter, and maybe Alisha, wanted him to own up to breaking the law, but he wasn’t going to—not again.
He should have been more considerate of fishermen. However, his need for speed, and the sense of freedom that went with it, had won. Sometimes staying civilized didn’t seem worth the effort.

  Would Alisha understand?

  “Where’s the leak?” he asked to keep his thoughts in safe territory.

  Alisha’s mouth twitched and her hazel eyes narrowed. The two things told him she was aware he was trying to change the subject. As long as she didn’t know why, it didn’t matter.

  But what if she knew?

  Stop it! She’s nothing to you and she cares nothing about you.

  “At the back of the cabin,” she said. “A water line runs from the pump house to the cabin.”

  He started toward the small brown building with the steep metal roof and chimney. There weren’t any fences, nothing to separate the cabin from the surrounding wilderness. Alisha, Peter, and Bruce accompanied him. The day was cool but sunny, serving as a contrast to the snow still under trees and mounded around the cabin where it had slid off the roof.

  A quick scan told him parts of the house were in serious need of repairs. In fact, the longer he looked the more work he saw that needed to be done. For reasons he couldn’t comprehend, he wished Alisha hadn’t been saddled with so much responsibility.

  Not waiting for her to lead the way, he went around to the back of the cabin. Thanks to a large puddle next to the foundation, he had no trouble spotting what she’d been talking about. He didn’t have to look at the galvanized pipe’s underside to know he’d find a split there. He wasn’t the world’s greatest plumber—wasn’t the world’s greatest anything—but there was something empowering about having a body of knowledge that made dealing with the problem routine. Difficult, but doable.

  “Did you check to see if you’re getting water under the cabin?” He debated looking at her. Truth was he wanted to. But right now he needed to focus on assessing the damage, not risk getting distracted by her. She intrigued him, that was all. Nothing to spend time speculating about.

  She sighed. “No. I’d just turned off the pump when I heard you.”

  “Are you thinking there might be more problems than what we’re looking at?” Peter asked.

  If the rest of the plumbing had been installed with pipe such as they had at the resort, he’d bet on it. He could go ahead and drop the bad news on Alisha or wait until he’d done a thorough inspection.

  He was going to do that for her, wasn’t he? Blow his afternoon plans, such as they were, because of some woman he’d just met.

  Not giving himself time to question what had prompted the decision, he crouched and ran his fingers along the pipe’s underside. In his mind’s eye, he saw clear to the center where he had no doubt the pipe was rusting from the inside out. His fingers encountered a narrow split with ragged edges.

  “I want to see how things are set up inside,” he said.

  “Inside?”

  He’d put off looking into her hazel eyes long enough. Time to prove to himself that they hadn’t done anything to him. The three of them were now in shadow. Without the sun highlighting Alisha’s skin color and doing crazy interesting things to her hair, he assessed her features. She’d left her teen years. Life had begun to make its impact, not with wrinkles but a ‘so that’s how it is’ set to her jaw. Her eyes were a mix of determination, confidence, and something that might be sorrow. He wanted to know what was responsible for those conditions and more.

  Wanted to get to know this woman he probably had nothing in common with and might or might not be able to get into his bed.

  “Are you all right with my leaving?” Peter asked. “I have some chili on the stove and don’t want it to burn.”

  “We’re fine,” she said.

  Her reply was code for she didn’t need Peter playing guard. Nate wondered how she’d come to the conclusion that he wasn’t an axe murderer. Maybe she’d figured it was worth the chance as long as he dealt with her water issues, or Bruce was trained to attack, but more likely knowing he’d been hand-picked to assess her dock’s condition was why she was relaxed.

  That was him, Mister Dependable. Reliable to the max.

  As Peter left, she swung back toward him. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Something, an aliveness he’d seldom experienced, raced through him.

  “This is your last chance to cut and run,” she said. “I won’t beg you to do this but if you’re offering…”

  If he was offering, she wasn’t going to turn him down. He hadn’t said anything about a fee and as he watched her wrestle with the swollen door, he decided that if he decided he could do the repairs, which he knew he could, he’d only charge her for the parts.

  He didn’t ask himself why.

  Chapter Three

  THE CABIN SMELLED as if it hadn’t been used for a long, long time. Cold dampness had seeped into the walls, the windows needed cleaning, and dust lay on the surfaces. The kitchen, eating, and living area were all in the same space. Two open doors led to small bedrooms, the third to a tiny bathroom. He particularly liked the wooden beam going down the center of the ceiling and the crammed built-in bookshelf along the wall opposite a substantial wood stove. Native American styled blankets had been thrown over a couch. Several framed pictures of Mount Lynx during different seasons highlighted the wall to his left.

  “Did you take these?” he asked.

  “Guilty as charged. In my next life, I want to be a professional photographer, not that I have the patience to wait for the perfect moment.”

  “I like what you’ve done.”

  A quick smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “Thank you.”

  For longer than he wanted to admit, he stood there while the interior wrapped itself around him. He’d always believed he didn’t care where he lived, that any one of tens of thousands of cookie-cutter apartments would do the job, but there was something about this cabin. In some respects it was part of the wilderness all around. It blended into its awesome setting. There was nothing fancy about it, no upscale kitchen, no modern or expensive furniture. This was a place to come to relax, to read maybe, listen to music or rain on the roof, share a couch with a big, dark dog.

  To find oneself.

  To belong.

  Bruce pushed past him, paused so Alisha could pet him, then climbed onto a green recliner and tried to fit himself in the too-small space. The mutt planted his chin on his paws, and his gaze settled on Nate.

  Do you know what I’m thinking? Maybe you simply accept that you belong here and are part of Alisha’s world. It’s that simple for you.

  Alisha sighed and leaned against the kitchen counter. “I’m feeling a little overwhelmed right now, which is a condition I’m not used to. I guess I should be grateful that the refrigerator and stove work and the electricity’s on.”

  He positioned himself so his backside was against the counter opposite her. The kitchen was so small that only a foot separated them. He didn’t want to intimidate her. At the same time, he wanted to see how she’d react to his being so close. This was her space, her territory and he was intruding on it. He wanted her to be okay with that.

  “What shape is the electrical wiring in?” he asked when she stopped meeting his gaze and stared at his shoes.

  “Let’s don’t go there. One problem at a time.”

  “All right.” How had the question of what to do with his hands become a big deal? He wound up ramming them in his back pockets. “When was the place built?”

  She twisted her mouth to the side. For a moment she looked like a child unprepared for a test question. Then her features straightened and she became, not beautiful but striking. Regal despite her casual clothes. He concluded she was used to holding her own in social situations and didn’t like that it was different today.

  “I’m not sure. Sometime in the forties. Dad—my folks—bought it when I was twelve or thirteen. Obviously they didn’t do any major improvements.”

  “What do you mean, obviously?”

  “Maybe I shouldn�
��t have said that.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “That was my less than subtle way of saying my father only did what absolutely had to be done here.”

  “Oh.” He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know whether to make something of the fact that she referred to her dad as my father instead of a more familiar term.

  “Yes, oh.” She again rubbed her neck. “He didn’t hesitate to spend money on things that meant something to him. This—forget I said anything. I certainly didn’t mean to go there.”

  He’d spent too much time between walls today and needed to get moving so he wouldn’t think about them pressing in. At the same time, there was something about Alisha’s low tones that had him wanting to ask her more questions just to hear her voice. She was one-part pioneer woman, one-part business professional whose relationship with her father was complicated.

  Another something he didn’t understand.

  Head cocked to the side, she pushed her hair back from her neck. “Are you sorry you agreed to look at my stupid dock?” she asked. “If you hadn’t, you’d be enjoying your afternoon. Would you like a drink of water? I brought some.” She indicated the edge of the counter next to the sink where a five gallon water container sat.

  “Maybe once I’m done.”

  He had some beer on ice in the boat, but that could wait until he’d assessed the plumbing. Careful not to touch her, he slipped past her so he could reach the sink.

  When he knelt to look under the sink, she turned on the kitchen light. “Do you want a flashlight?” she asked.

  “Not yet.” A quick check told him everything from the compression coupling to the rubber gasket was in sad shape. It would be easier to start over than to replace parts. Either way the job would take hours.

  Did he want to commit?

  If he didn’t, he’d probably never see her again.