Montana Beau: Montana Cowboys

by Hildie McQueen

  Sunny finished her meal and took both his and her empty containers and shoved them back into the bag, then placed them in the trash. "There, that was an easy clean up. Which reminds me. I didn't see dishes and such on your list. Other than two coffee cups, there isn't anything in the kitchen. You need glassware, plates, silverware and such."

  "I will consider what to do about that. I expect the caterer will bring those things."

  "What about a toaster?" She smiled at him and waved to the counter. "You could toast those bagels in the fridge that look about two years old."

  "They are only a couple weeks old," he replied, relaxing. "Fine. Make a list of what is needed. I'll have my administrative assistant order them."

  "I have plenty of room in the budget you gave me. I don't mind doing it," she responded, already walking in a circle, her gaze scanning the counters and cabinets.

  He waited for the look. The flirty glance to convey propriety. The way most women tried to ingratiate themselves with a rich bachelor.

  "I'll help you shop for stuff, we can do it together.” He'd heard it plenty of times from every woman he dated.

  The designer ignored him and, instead, looked at a small plastic watch on her wrist. "Oh, goodness. I better hurry, I want to visit the puppy before they close up for the night.” She grabbed her bag and, without more than a distracted wave, was gone.

  The next morning, Sunny rushed to her car, the alarm had not gone off so she'd packed make up and hair products into an oversized tote bag.

  "No, no, no. Not today," Sunny exclaimed and slumped over her steering wheel. Once again she turned the key in the ignition to a light clicking noise. "Come on!" She slapped the dash, turned the key and the engine hummed to life.

  "Yes!" She did a little dance in the seat and shifted to drive. The entire morning had been a fiasco, between the clinic calling to inform her that her stepfather had a rough night, to one of the painters calling in sick and now the stupid car.

  By the time she arrived the painters would be waiting.

  The dog's surgery was done early that morning. The vet had called to tell her the dog was resting comfortably, however, she wasn't sure what time she'd have to pick it up as the call had been interrupted by her stepfather's nurse.

  Once she arrived at the house, she'd call back.

  There were moments in everyone's life when a certain scene makes someone hesitate and pay attention. As if Beau Forrester's property wasn't breathtaking enough, the sight of him on horseback certainly took one's breath away.

  He galloped along the road toward the stables, a natural in the saddle. The beautiful animal's long strides making short work of the morning's exercise. Rider and horse disappeared as Beau guided it to the corral near the stables.

  Sunny wasn't sure he'd seen her as Beau hadn't acknowledged her in any way, but given the moodiness of the man, it didn't surprise her.

  Hopefully he'd dress and leave. The rough start did little for her mood and she didn't need him hanging around.

  The man's good looks were distracting enough, his austere nature even more so. The night before, sharing dinner, she'd wanted to get to know him better, and she had.

  He bristled at the idea of a woman wanting to take over any part of his life, he didn't like to show any weakness, but at the same time, he was generous and quick to share. Oh, and she'd learned he was not soft-hearted when it came to dogs.

  That was all she needed to know about the man she'd never see again after another week.

  A couple of men waited for her by the back entrance.

  Sunny walked in and placed her belongings down in the kitchen. Just as she opened her laptop the front doorbell rang.

  "Furniture delivery," a burly man said looking past her seeming to measure the doorway with his gaze. Where do you want it brought in?"

  "This door is fine." Thankfully, one thing was on track that day. The furniture for two guest bedrooms had arrived right on time.

  The men carried a large box past and Sunny read the description. "Oh no, these are wrong." She motioned for the men to put the box down. "I didn't order cherry wood."

  With uncaring expressions the deliverymen waited for further instructions.

  "Let me double check the order. Please, wait a minute.” Sunny rushed to the laptop. As she scanned the order, a text came through from the vet.

  The little dog had to be picked up by that afternoon. If she left him over the weekend, it would an additional cost six hundred dollars.

  She'd ordered the pecan wood. "Take it back. I'll call the company about exchanging it."

  Just as she reached for her phone, it rang. The display made her blood run cold. It was the hospital.

  "Mr. Stilton just suffered a minor stroke." The nurse's voice sounded as if it came from a narrow tunnel. The call ended, her trembling thumb over it. She'd hung up. "Shit!"

  She motioned to the deliverymen to move back.

  "Please take the furniture back, it's the wrong color." Sunny wanted to scream when they gave her a quizzical look.

  At this point tears poured down her face. Her hand shook so bad she couldn't push the right buttons.

  "We're here to deliver. You have to make arrangements for it to be picked up and returned," one of the men, a burly, bearded man who was obviously less intimidated by a crying woman spoke up, his gaze anywhere but her face. He shoved a clipboard to her. "Sigh please."

  Sunny sniffed and wiped at her tears. "Fine, whatever, then put it in the room where all the boxes are stacked. Find a way to squeeze it all in."

  One of the painters came and watched. She held the clipboard out. "Once they are done, sign for it, please. I have to go. I have a family emergency."

  "No way," he backed away without taking it. "I am not signing for nothin'."

  "Oh my God," Sunny covered her eyes with one hand.

  She signed the papers, placed the clipboard on the kitchen counter and rushed to her car, which, of course, was blocked in by the truck.

  Suppressing the urge to bawl, she sniffed and turned the key in the ignition.

  Nothing happened.

  Not even a click.

  Chaos greeted Beau when he walked into the house. A painter argued with a man about signing something. Furniture was piled haphazardly in the front room, blocking the hallway to his bedroom.

  On the kitchen island, an open laptop and coffee cup next to it. On the floor, were a couple bags. One had toppled over and what looked to be makeup and hair products spilled from it.

  He approached the men. "What do you need signed for?"

  "The furniture," the man replied. "The woman signed the wrong paper."

  The painter nodded. "She's having some kind of mental crisis or something, ran out crying."

  Shit.

  Beau eyeballed the furniture. Looked to be bedroom furnishings. "Put the furniture in the first bedroom down the hallway to the left. Once that is done, I'll sign.” He stalked off to the front door not waiting to hear any excuses.

  At first he didn't see her. When Beau rounded the delivery truck, her car came into view. It was an older, silver, Kia SUV. Sunny sat in the driver's seat staring straight ahead not moving.

  He knocked on the window and she jumped. Instead of lowering the window, she opened the door, but didn't move to get out of the car. "My car won't start."

  "You are needed inside. After your work is complete for the day, you can call a tow company or whatever."

  She bit her bottom lip, but not before he caught the quiver. He prepared for her excuse after the attempt to get sympathy. "My stepfather just had a stroke. I have to go see about him. I will come back as soon as possible. Please..."

  "Miss Stilton, that is not my problem, but something you should consult with your company about." He turned away and walked back to the house hearing the slam of her car door.

  He went to his bedroom to get dressed for work, not wanting to spend any more time dealing with whatever happened with the woman. Yet he kept going back to w
hat she'd said.

  Why would anyone care what happened to a stepparent? It wasn't as if the man was blood. She'd seemed genuinely upset. Either that or she was a good actress and experienced in getting men to fall for her tricks.

  Half an hour later, when Beau walked back into the front rooms, the painter who he'd spoken to earlier came toward him. "Mr. Forrester, the men want your signature. They're outside."

  "Where's Miss Stilton?"

  "A taxi came and took her somewhere."

  Beau forced a neutral expression. "Fine. Call it a day. Everyone go home."

  He and the woman would have a serious conversation in person. Either she'd take the job seriously or she’d be fired that evening.

  Chapter Six

  The first thing he noticed upon arriving at home that evening was a bouquet of flowers on the kitchen counter. Next to the vase was a small florist envelope. Beau read it.

  I want to try again.

  I love you,

  Carla.

  He dropped the note and put his bags down. Music came from the direction of his bedroom. He'd noted the designer's car in the driveway. He’d thought she'd left it because it didn't start, but now he wondered.

  If it was Carla in the bedroom, then perhaps he'd allow her to spend the night. It would be a mistake since the woman wanted a commitment, but having sex would be a good way to spend the evening. Only if she agreed to keep it casual.

  With purpose, he walked to his bedroom only to stop at the doorway at what greeted him.

  The room was empty. In the center was a dog bed upon which a small, black dog was curled up. It lifted its head at seeing Beau and wagged its tail.

  On one side wall atop a ladder was the designer. She was edging while singing off key to the song playing from a tiny speaker on the floor next to a can of paint. He couldn't help but notice her long, shapely legs as she wore stained sweat pants cut off at her knee.

  Her stepfather must have made a miraculous recovery by the looks of it.

  "Miss Stilton." Beau was angry. Not only had she ruined his plans for the evening by not being Carla, but also now he didn't have a place to sleep.

  The fact that the dog seemed comfortable, for some reason, annoyed him even more. "Come down, please."

  Her rounded eyes met his and he noticed a splash of color on her nose. "Hello."

  Hello? That's what she had to say? He swallowed and took a breath. "Where's my bedroom furniture?"

  "In the bedroom on the other side of the house.” She bit her lip. Now he saw it was a nervous gesture. Which, of course, was also very sexy. "Your clothes, however, are still in here." She pointed to his closet.

  "I see." He took a step closer to her; the reason he wasn't sure.

  "I didn't move it because all of it will be back in here tomorrow morning.” She couldn't move back or she'd back into the wet wall.

  "I am not pleased you left today." He wanted to upset her, to not feel the damn urge to reach out and touch her.

  Sunny let out a shaky breath. "I understand." When she swallowed, he noticed the slender neck, her fast breaths. "My stepfather is better, so I came back to get some work done. I'm so sorry."

  He ignored her words. "I don't mix business with pleasure. However, I feel compelled to break my own rules."

  When her gaze went to his lips, he took it as an invitation. He cupped the base of her head and held her steady as he leaned toward her. The touch of their lips immediately sent his body to full alert.

  Although she placed her palms flat on his chest, she did not push him away. He deepened the kiss, leisurely pulling her against him until their bodies were flush.

  The moment felt too perfect, her body fit too well against his so instead of stopping, he wrapped his arms around her and dove in to her.

  She opened her mouth allowing him in and shuddered. Their tongues tangled in the lover's dance until he could barely stand to keep from pushing her to the floor and laying over her.

  The dog whimpered, breaking the spell.

  "Oh." Sunny pushed away and gulped. "Oh, goodness. What happened? Sorry...umm, yeah. I better go."

  She rushed to the center of the room, yanked up the startled pup, bed and all, and hurried away, leaving Beau alone with what he now realized was some sort of country music.

  Great. He stalked from the room just as his phone rang.

  He lifted the cell phone to his ear. "Carla? Thanks for the flowers."

  "Shit, shit, shit." Sunny drove home ensuring to not swerve too much in case the little dog was prone to car sickness. Instead, it seemed content to rest in its bed and watch her with interest. "What did I just do?" she asked the dog who seemed to listen. "I let him kiss me. I don't even like the man. He's an ass. Am I that lonely? Wait, don't answer that. Of course I am. I haven't been on a date in months. I haven't had sex in almost a year.” She petted the dog's soft fur. "Don't listen to me. You're too young to know what I'm talking about."

  She pulled into the hospital parking lot and looked to the slumbering dog before cracking the windows. It was chilly, but the dog had blankets over it, so she didn't worry about it getting cold as she headed to check on her stepfather. Her mind was awhirl with how she'd handle the situation with Beau Forrester the next day.

  The best course of action, of course, would be to pretend it never happened. It was more than likely just a moment, didn't mean anything. Two single people, music and all that.

  However she couldn't stop thinking of how good his body felt. He was oh-so-perfect. The muscles under her palms were hard, his heartbeat so strong when she'd been against him. Oh, and that expensive scent he wore, intoxicating to every single sense.

  It killed common sense apparently.

  The swoosh of the automatic doors gave way to the disinfectant smell of the hospital as she walked to the nurse's station. "Good evening, Laura and Peggy," she greeted the women who smiled in return. "I brought you these."

  She placed a small tray of cookies she'd picked up on the way in front of them. "How's Dad?"

  Peggy, the older one frowned. "He's resting. It seems he's a pretty resilient man. The stroke was mild and he's expected to be perfectly fine in a couple of days. You can stop by for a moment, but don't wake him if he's asleep."

  Blinking back tears of relief, Sunny entered the dim room and moved to the bed. She peered down at the sleeping man and gulped back the urge to cry.

  He was all she had left. Had taken the place of a full-time parent after her mother died. They'd only been married two years. Sunny was six when her mother was killed in an automobile collision with a drunk driver.

  Douglas Stilton had fought her mother's family to adopt Sunny. Once getting custody, he'd then taken the task of single parenting, never failing her. Present at every event at school, he'd even taken vacation days from his job at the local appliance plant to chaperone field trips and volunteer for school fairs. Although they'd never had a lot of money, she'd never wanted for anything. Her stepfather always put Sunny first.

  It was unfair now that at only fifty-seven, his health had deteriorated so quickly after suffering a heart attack. He was too young to be so ill.

  Her stepfather had remarried when Sunny had gone off to college. His wife, Beth, was a precious woman who now sat in the room asleep in a chair facing the bed. Sunny pulled up a blanket that had slipped from her lap and Beth's eyes opened.

  "Hello, sweetie." Beth whispered. "What are you doing here so late? Go get some rest. I'll call you if there is any news. He'll be just fine, was already complaining and asking to go home."

  After spending a few minutes with Beth and kissing her stepfather's brow, she left.

  Sunny could barely keep her eyes open, but managed to pack orders to be mailed the next day. After a long, hot shower and feeding the dog, she carried the pup to the bed with her and promptly fell asleep.

  Thankfully, the Kia gave her no trouble the next day. After the stress of the night before, she was grateful for the fairly uneventful morning. She
drove into the estate lands following the driveway around the house to park in the usual spot, noting a Porsche was parked at an angle, which meant she had to park in front of a garage.

  She lifted the dog and carried its bed under her arm, wondering how to handle asking Beau Forrester about the dog being there during the day with her. Then there was the issue of the kiss. Hopefully he'd not mention it. If he didn't, she would ignore it as well.

  "And you are?" A woman stood in the kitchen holding a bottle of water midway to her mouth. Although it was only nine, her artificially streaked bob and makeup looked beauty shop perfect.

  "I'm Sunny, the interior decorator." Sunny proceeded to smile past the knot of dread in her stomach. "How are you?"

  The woman lifted a brow. "I wondered when he'd get something done." She walked past Sunny toward Beau Forrester's bedroom.

  The pup growled and Sunny patted its head. "I know right?"

  Moments later, both Forrester and the unnamed woman emerged. The blonde hung on his arm in an obvious attempt to show ownership, as if walking to his bedroom hadn't been enough. Sunny held back the eye roll and, instead, concentrated on giving the painters and the just arrived delivery men instructions.

  Her cell phone chimed and she ignored it, making coffee while the woman chatted about some party she would be attending.

  The furniture company ensured they'd correct the mistake and would be there the next day to switch out the furnishings. Relieved at one item being completed off her To Do list, she set up her laptop on the island as far away as possible from the couple and began scanning for kitchen items.

  "Miss Stilton?" Beau had obviously asked a question, which she'd not heard.

  "I'm sorry, did you ask something?"

  The woman let out an exasperated huff, which, of course, he didn't hear, or pretended not to anyway.

  "I asked if my bedroom would be completed today."

  The mention of his personal space brought vivid memories of the night before and she looked away from him for a moment, studying the now blurred laptop screen. When she lifted her gaze to him, the corners of his lips curved. The man knew exactly what he was doing.