by D'Ann Lindun
“I’ll reschedule the interviews,” Joel said. “Consider it done.”
Weighing his options, Johnny shrugged. “Where? Someone is sure to leak wherever I go. Teal’s settlement gives her plenty of money to follow me anywhere I might hide.”
Joel frowned, then snapped his fingers. “Colorado.”
Johnny brightened. “Aspen? Fuck, yeah.” He’d partied hearty there a few times. The locals weren’t kidding when they talked about a Rocky Mountain high. “Telluride?” A lot of his celeb friends had second homes in the mountain getaway, although he’d never been there.
“No, not Aspen or Telluride.” Joel stopped plinking on the piano and faced him. “You remember how to hunt?”
“Animals?”
“Yeah. Elk, deer.” Joel held his fingers over his head like a pair of antlers. “You know, things with horns? Antelope, buffalo. That sort of thing. I went to college with a woman whose father guides big game hunts. I’ll track her down and ask if he will hide you for a week or two. That would throw Teal off your trail. And give you time to have your security system updated.”
Johnny’s first instinct was to refuse. Hunting wasn’t high on his list. But then he thought twice. As a kid he’d bagged a lot of blacktail bucks hunting with his old man in the Cascade Mountains. Making records and touring had kept him away from the sport for many years, but maybe it was time to revisit it. Teal, or reporters, would never think to look for him in the wilderness.
“I don’t want to go with a group,” he said. “I can’t deal with a crowd begging for autographs and that shit. If I go, I want a private tour with my pop. It’s been a long time since we’ve hung out.” He loved his fans, they’d made him, but sometimes they wanted more than he could give.
“That’ll probably cost an arm and a leg,” Joel, always money conscious, grumbled.
“I don’t care about the fucking coin,” Johnny said. “Call this chick and see if her old man can fit me in.”
“I’ll set it up,” Joel said. “Keep a low profile until you can leave town. I’ll order a new security system installed while you’re gone. In the meantime, load your guns and keep them next to you at all times in case Teal tries to break in again.”
“Yeah, because I need a murder on my hands,” Johnny said. “That would do wonders for my career. Not to mention yours.”
“You better hope she doesn’t kill you. Because if you’re dead, you’re not going to have a career to worry about,” Joel shot back. “I’m going to hire a bodyguard. Maybe two.”
“I don’t want a fucking bodyguard.” Carrying his drink, Johnny moved to his couch, flopped onto it and felt around for the remote. The Seahawks were playing today and all he wanted to do was watch his hometown team score a few touchdowns. “I don’t need a babysitter. I can handle Teal.”
“Sounds like she’s the one handling you. Or at least your dick.” Joel stood, walked to the bar and poured Diet Coke into a tall glass, squeezing a lime into it. “Next time she might chop it off. Or worse, tear it loose with her teeth… if you let her close enough.”
A shudder crawled up Johnny’s spine. He was extremely attached to his cock. He’d hate to lose it. “Instead of a bodyguard, how about sending over a couple of chicks to keep me company?”
Joel glared at him. “A girl is what got you into this mess. Can’t you think with the head on your shoulders instead of the one between your legs? Just this once?”
“You sound like a bitch,” Johnny said. “Man up, for Christ’s sake.”
“Somebody’s got to look out for you.” Joel sounded hurt.
Next to Keifer, there’d been no one Johnny trusted more than Joel. He’d watched his back for the last five years. But he was a worrywart, always looking at the glass as half empty. Sometimes Joel’s constant pessimism drove Johnny nuts. Still, he knew his manager only wanted to help. “Sorry, man. I didn’t mean that.”
“Yeah, you did.” Joel sighed. “Remember those underage groupies in London? Who got you out of that mess?” He tapped his chest. “Me. That’s who.”
“Sure, man. I remember.” He couldn’t forget because Joel wouldn’t let him. Thirty years old and treated like a fucking child half the time. When had he become unable to run his own life? A couple of weeks in the wilderness sounded better by the minute. He could clear his head, and forget Teal, Keifer and the relentless press. Breathe on his own for a change. “Shouldn’t you call this chick to see if I can hang in Colorado?”
“I’ll do it immediately.” Joel pulled his phone from his pants pocket and began scrolling. Johnny had no doubt Joel could get the president on the line if Johnny suddenly had an urge to talk to the big guy.
He flipped on the TV and surfed through the channels, looking for his football game. The morning had been a real bitch. Hopefully the afternoon would shine a little brighter.
CHAPTER TWO
Montana Weaver stared in disbelief at the balding, paunchy man she’d known since kindergarten. She fought the urge to reach across the desk and scrub his glistening head with a Kleenex. “You can’t mean that.”
Aaron Rawls tapped his pen on his enormous cherry-wood desk. “I wish I didn’t.” He sighed heavily. “It’s not my decision, Montana. It’s the board. We’ve had so many defaults that they’re cracking down on anyone who’s more than three months behind. My hands are tied since you’re almost there. If you don’t have all overdue payments to me by October first, we have to start foreclosure proceedings.” He pushed a piece of paper across his desk at her. “There are late fees and interest, too.”
She scanned the page, finding the total at the bottom right side. Her hands shook. “That’s barely a month to come up with ten thousand dollars.” The pale beige walls seemed to shrink in on her as she fought to breathe.
“Do you have any hunters coming in this fall?” Aaron looked as if he wished he were anywhere but here. A trickle of sweat ran down the side of his face into his pristine white collar.
“No. Just a small group of fishermen later this month.”
The three couples’ fees would barely pay expenses. After groceries, gas and someone to help out, there wouldn’t be much left. She did a mental rundown of her assets: enough in the bank to make it for a couple months. Twelve horses, six mules. A five-year-old pickup. Stock trailer. Her century-old farmhouse. Four guest cabins that had been remodeled last year.
The reason for her crushing debt.
To compete with the seemingly dozens of other similar places springing up daily, and to keep out-of-state tourists coming to her Colorado ranch, she’d had to update her accommodations. She’d borrowed heavily for the refurbishing.
Business hadn’t matched her expectations. This summer had been the slowest ever with an even lazier fall. Normally, she guided plenty of big game hunters who paid enough to get her through the long winters. But this year she didn’t have a single booking.
“You could sell part of your land,” Aaron suggested.
“Never.” Not an option.
One hundred acres of prime mountain acreage had been in her family for five generations. For as long as she could remember, someone had been trying to wrestle it away from them. Her ancestors had fought off land grabbers from day one. She’d be damned if she would be the one to lose her family’s land.
Aaron tapped his expensive pen on the desk again. “Sell the horses and mules?”
She ignored his impatience. This was her life on the line. “You know the price of horses,” Montana told him. “They’re rock bottom right now. Only killers are buying and I’m not sending a single one of my horses to any Mexican slaughterhouse.”
He stared at her without blinking through round frameless glasses. “Can you get a loan from a family member or friend?”
Her mind raced over possibilities. Everyone she knew was in as bad financial shape as her. There wasn’t anyone to ask for help.
“No.” The lights seemed to dim, and she swayed. “Can I refinance?”
“Not until you
’re caught up.” Aaron licked his thick bottom lip.
She was screwed to the wall. No way out. Nowhere to turn. Slowly, she stood and shook his damp, limp hand. “Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”
“Take care, Montana.”
“You, too.”
Somehow she made it outside and leaned against the red brick building to steady herself. Late September sunshine should have warmed her, but she shivered so hard her bones rattled. She’d been warmer in a blizzard.
The double glass doors of the bank burst open and Aaron rushed toward her, waving his chubby lily-white hands. “Montana, wait.”
Had he changed his mind, and she had to come up with the money even sooner? Dread filled her, but she straightened and lifted her chin. Wendall Weaver hadn’t raised a quitter. When Montana’s mother left them both heartbroken and lost, he’d refused to coddle his six-year-old daughter, insisting she stand on her own two feet. But her father had loved her without fail until his death four years ago.
“What is it, Aaron?”
He gasped like a fish out of water, his face red. “After you left, I had an idea that might help you.”
A tiny spark of hope fought for life. “What?”
“I shouldn’t share this, but I heard the Marshes have more hunters than they can handle. Maybe you could take a few off their hands.”
She’d never taken a handout in her life, but if it saved her land and her horses, she’d force herself to talk to her neighbors. “I’ll do that.”
He headed back to his office, calling over his shoulder, “Good luck.”
Montana walked to her blue Ford dually with her head high. Only after she’d climbed inside and closed the door did she rest her forehead on the steering wheel. Without any way to pay the bank, she’d known the trip to town was likely fruitless. Her faint hope for an extension had been extinguished quicker than a lantern in a windstorm.
“What do I do, Dad?” she asked out loud. “I’m out of options here.”
Of course he couldn’t answer, but Aaron’s suggestion nagged her. The Marsh family ran an outfitting business, and although Montana refused to hunt bear or big cats like they did, both guided deer and elk hunts.
With a resigned sigh, she started the engine and turned toward home.
Halfway down the block, she decided pride be damned. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing to ask the Marshes if they had an overabundance of hunters. Losing the business her family had built on blood, sweat and tears would be a hell of a lot worse.
~*~
Colleen Marsh poured two cups of coffee and handed one across the granite bar in her kitchen. She didn’t offer cream or sugar because Montana didn’t require either. Tall, slim, with reddish hair sprinkled liberally with silver, wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, her friend was the quintessential western woman.
Montana wished her mother had been like Colleen. The kind to stick around when times got tough.
Colleen took a seat on an oak barstool opposite her. Sunshine fell across the bright kitchen. “How’d your summer treat you?”
“Slow.” Montana sipped her coffee. “Dead, actually.”
“The economy’s keeping families closer to home nowadays,” Colleen said. “On so-called staycations.”
“I guess.”
Colleen studied her over the rim of her mug. “You have any hunters coming in?”
Here was the moment of truth. “No.”
“Damn.” Colleen eyed her with sympathy. She didn’t have to be told what that meant to Montana as far as surviving the winter. “We’re down, too.”
Montana’s stomach dropped. “You’re not booked full?”
“Not even close,” Colleen said. “Only about half. I’ve heard all the outfitters in the area are slow this year.”
Damn, damn, damn. There went her last hope to save her land and business. Her shoulders sagged. Dad would be so disappointed to witness her colossal failure. To cover her dismay, Montana sipped more coffee. She set down her cup. “Will you be okay?”
“Yeah.” Colleen stared out the window at the San Juan Mountains in the distance. “For another year anyway.”
“You’re a year ahead of me. The bank plans to foreclose at the end of the month,” Montana admitted.
“How much?” Colleen said immediately. “I have enough put away I can float you a loan.”
“I can’t accept.” Montanan shook her head. “I’d just owe two instead of one. And if I can’t pay my mortgage, I can’t pay you either. I won’t bring you down with me. It would kill my dad, but I’m going to have to sell.”
“Oh, honey.” Colleen rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Ordinarily, I’d tell you not to worry about paying me back, but we’re in deep, too. So bad that the boys are going to guide Tom Kerrigan.” At Montana’s stricken expression, she reached across the table and grabbed her hand. “Honey, we have to. I was going to tell you—”
“I understand.” Montana swirled her cup. Her ex-boyfriend. The creep. She forced her thoughts away from him. How had she gotten herself in such a mess? Upgrading the cabins hadn’t been an option. They’d been falling down. Without refurbishing they weren’t livable. Maybe she could rent them to the ski bums who would soon descend upon the valley. An ad in The Register wouldn’t cost too much. Worth a try.
While she was at it, she’d check if the ski area would hire her to take sleigh rides around the village. If so, she could bring in a little income through the winter months. If all else failed, she’d apply to be a ski instructor.
Somehow she’d find a way to stay in her home and not lose the horses.
The thought of working for someone else depressed her. Punching a time clock and being on a schedule was something Wendall Weaver had loathed and refused to do. He’d instilled a similar way of thinking in his daughter.
She sighed. Maybe she should put her environmental science degree to use and go to work for the Forest Service. A shudder ripped up and down her spine. It would be like prison.
~*~
Montana accepted the fishermen’s check and generous tip with a grateful smile. She waved until they drove out of sight. They had been a good group—easy to deal with and fun to boot. She wished she had another ten like them.
The horses and mules grazed peacefully in the bottom pasture. A cold breeze blew off the mountains, stirring the few leaves remaining on the gold and red aspens. Winter had begun to gather speed. The bitter old man would be here soon.
The resort had turned down Montana’s application to run sleigh rides, and she’d yet to hear back from the ski school. With a sigh, she patted her Border collie Boots’ head. “Come on, boy. We have work to do.”
She’d picked up her bucket filled with cleaning supplies when her cell phone rang. A California number she didn’t recognize. With a mental shrug, she hit ON. “Hello.”
A male voice she didn’t recognize said, “Montana Weaver?”
“Speaking.”
“This is Joel Ernstein.” He paused, and when she didn’t immediately respond, he continued. “We went to college together.”
“I remember.” Memories of a shy, quiet man filled her head. She’d befriended him, so clearly out of his element in a wilderness survival class all environmental science majors had been required to take. Shortly after that class, he’d changed his major to business, but they’d remained friends in spite of their vastly different interests. She hadn’t heard from him since graduation. “Joel. What a nice surprise. What are you doing nowadays?”
His rich chuckle carried across the line. “You probably won’t believe it.”
“Tell me and I’ll let you know if I buy it or not.”
“I manage a rock band.”
“What? Seriously?” Montana laughed. “Good for you.”
“It keeps me busy,” he said.
“I can only imagine.” Montana couldn’t picture the geeky guy she’d known in college as a manager of a band. Running a retail store? Sure. Or a bank? Yes. Either seemed more likely.
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“I’m wondering if your father still guides big game hunters.”
A familiar pain ripped through her chest. “Dad died four years ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Joel said.
“Thank you. Were you calling to set up a hunt?” She held her breath. Was this the answer to her prayers? Or just an out-of-the-blue social call?
“If your father has passed, then who—?”
“Me. I took over when he died. I’m bonded, licensed and legal,” she said.
Joel was silent so long she feared he’d hung up. “Can you handle a temperamental rock star? And his entourage?”
Her first reaction was a resounding hell no. In the past she’d refused to deal with celebrities and their overblown egos. Her own brush with fame had convinced her she didn’t want anything to do with the lifestyle. But she hadn’t been looking at foreclosure then.
“I can,” she said. “Mind telling me who we’re talking about?”
“Cowboy and the Silver Star Band.” He said it so proudly, one would think he was the lead singer.
It took a minute for Montana to recognize the name. She’d seen the singer on entertainment shows with one girl or another hanging on his arm, but she’d rarely listened to his music. Her taste ran more toward Blake Shelton and Luke Bryant than rock-and-roll. Cowboy and the Silver Star Band had one song on country radio, but it hadn’t stuck around long enough for her to memorize the lyrics. She could set her price high enough to pay the overdue mortgage, and if he refused, nothing gained and nothing lost.
“How many total?”
“Four. Cowboy, two of the band and me.” Joel paused. “I assume you understand we will require absolute privacy and security.”
“Of course.” Montana doubted the wildlife would beg for autographs. She sure the hell wouldn’t. Being a groupie of any kind wasn’t in her makeup. “You understand this is a primitive backcountry hunt, right?”
“How primitive?”
“Wall tents set on platforms. Campfires and Coleman lanterns.”
“Jeeps and four wheelers?”
