by D'Ann Lindun
He looked over his shoulder. “You staring at my fine ass?”
Hiding her hot face with the covers, Montana giggled. “No.”
“Liar.” He pulled the covers away. “Look all you want.”
The look in his eyes sent a quiver straight between her legs. Her giggles disappeared. “Johnny…”
For a moment, his hot gaze roamed her nude body. His eyes darkened and she thought he might make good on his threat of climbing back into bed with her. The idea was extremely appealing.
She wet her lips.
He stared into her eyes.
“As bad as I want to get back in this bed right now,” he said, “I can’t.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Because if I do, we’ll be here all day.”
Montana’s eyes fluttered shut. “I know.”
“There’s no question of which I’d rather do,” he said in that low, sexy voice she loved. “But we better get out of here before we can’t.”
She sighed deeply and forced her eyes open. “I’m getting up.”
He grinned wickedly. “So am I, baby. So am I.”
The evidence of his desire was on full display and Montana gulped. “Okay, let me get out of here so I can get dressed.”
When he turned away, she reached for her clothes. A perfect day and night coming to a close. Melancholy filled her and she pushed it away. She had more than most women who admired Johnny ever would—memories to last a lifetime.
She stuffed two thick ham sandwiches into her saddlebags, and added bottles of water, chips and trail mix. They’d be back at the main camp by nightfall and would eat dinner there. She placed a box of ammunition in the other side, checking to make sure the weight felt even.
Satisfied, she looked at the fire once more to make sure it was out, then did a slow perusal of the room. Everything looked clean, neat and ready for the next person. The Marsh family might have guided hunters last hunting season. She’d forgotten to ask Evan or Charlie.
Either way, the cabin was set for whoever needed it next.
Johnny came through the door carrying their saddles. He placed them near the door, where they’d be safe until they came back. “Ready?”
She positioned the saddlebags over her shoulder. “Yes.”
He held out his hand. “Give me those.”
“I’m capable of carrying them,” she said.
“I know you are, but let me have them.” He obviously wasn’t taking no for an answer, so with a shrug she handed the leather bags to him.
Hoisting her rifle, she slung the strap over her shoulder. “I guess that’s it then.”
Johnny advanced two steps with a predatory look in his eye. Montana inhaled as his lips brushed hers. Just a quick touch, the kiss still made her toes curl and her stomach tighten.
Her eyes fluttered shut. “Johnny—”
“You keep saying my name like that and we’ll never get out of here.”
Giving him a wry look, she adjusted her rifle and stepped to the door. “You keep kissing me and we for sure won’t get out of here until spring.”
“That wouldn’t be all bad,” he said with a long look. “But rock on.”
Locking the cabin securely behind them, they set out into the storm. Icy particles pushed by a heavy wind blew into their faces.
Johnny grabbed her elbow. “Should we wait it out?”
Montana shook her head. “No. We don’t know how long the storm will last and it could trap us here.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
Montana gasped as bits of ice stung her cheeks. She pulled her ski mask from her pocket, tugged it over her head and readjusted her sunglasses. She glanced at Johnny. Dressed similarly, they looked like a pair of pumpkins in their hunter orange.
She gave him a thumbs-up and turned away.
They zigzagged up the granite shelf, taking care not to slip on the slick rock.
By the time they reached the top of the granite ridge, Montana was breathing hard. She paused to catch her breath in the thin air. Already the trail had an inch of snow, making it difficult to see the narrow path. They had to press on.
Ducking her head, she plodded forward.
As they walked along the ridge, the wind pushed hard, fighting them back. Montana looked for signs of the horses, but enough snow had covered the trail that spotting tracks was impossible.
Once they left the ridge, the storm didn’t seem as fierce. Wind whipped the pines, making them howl mournfully. The snow hadn’t covered the trail here and the tracks of the horses were easy to spot in the soft earth.
Moving at a good clip, probably a trot, they’d stayed in single file. Montana noticed something odd about one of the hoof prints and knelt to take a better look.
“What are you doing?” Johnny asked from behind her left shoulder.
She pointed to a set of distinctive tracks. “This horse has a chip broken on his front hoof. Those don’t belong to either of the horses you or I rode, or the mule, although the shape looks like one of mine that the rest of the crew took out…but that makes no sense.”
Johnny gave her a blank look. “Broken hoof?”
“A piece of this horse’s toe is missing,” she told him. “This animal lost a shoe somewhere and probably broke part of his hoof on a rock.”
“So? It’s probably the one Tom rides.”
“Pretty small horse for a big man like him,” Montana mused.
“Who else would have an axe to grind with either of us?” Johnny asked.
“Nobody I can think of. Charlie and Evan certainly wouldn’t be involved in anything like that. And I can’t see them condoning Tom hurting us.” Montana pushed to her feet. Johnny seemed oddly quiet and Montana took a long look at him. “Johnny?”
He shook his head. “Nah. It’s too farfetched to even talk about.”
“What? Tell me.”
He dug in the saddlebags and withdrew a bottle of brandy. After unscrewing the lid and taking a deep draw, he offered it to Montana. She took it and sipped. The liquor slid down her throat into her belly. Warmth spread through her limbs down into her fingers and toes.
Johnny took back the bottle. Instead of lifting it to his mouth, he studied the contents. Slowly, he began to speak. “There was more than the urge to hunt elk that brought me here.” He lifted his gaze and the pain there was raw and unfiltered. “Right before we left L.A., my ex-wife broke into my house and attacked me with a letter opener.”
Montana thought of the thin red line she’d noticed on his chest but not asked about. “She cut you?”
“Yeah.” He turned the bottle in his hands. “Not to kill me, but she wanted to scare me a little.”
Appalled, Montana stared at him. “Why?”
Johnny sank down on his haunches and drew a figure in the ground with a twig. “Soon after I married Teal she asked if I’d produce an album for her. I thought, why not? She has a decent voice and it made her happy, so I couldn’t see the harm.” He tossed the twig aside and rubbed out the figure he’d just drawn. “Not too long after the album was in the can, I walked into the studio and found her fucking my best friend.”
“I’m sorry.” Montana wanted to touch him, but sensed he didn’t want her right then.
“Yeah. I fired Keifer and divorced Teal.” He took another drink. “Bitch’s desperate for the CD she recorded and has done everything in her power to get it from me.” He indicated his chest. “Including poking me with a letter opener when flashing her pussy didn’t work.”
“What does this have to do with your hunt? Or with me?” Montana’s heart pounded. Some of this she’d learned from her search on the internet, but hearing it firsthand was painful. So was the realization she was nothing to him but a rebound screw. She fought tears. Later, when she was alone, she’d give in to them, but not in front of him.
“Joel wanted me to get out of town while my security system is being updated. We came here to hide.”
“I see.” But she didn’t really. “You think your ex-wife followed you
to Colorado, tracked us to the cabin and stole the horses like a thief in the night?”
“Told you it was farfetched.” He chuckled without humor. “Teal’s idea of roughing it is a four-star hotel. And I doubt she can ride.” He paused a moment. “Horses, that is.”
A pang of jealousy shot through Montana so hard it rocked her. She knew he’d been married—who didn’t?—but thinking of him sexually with another woman now turned her stomach.
“You think she’d go so far as to kill you to get her music?” To her surprise, Montana’s voice sounded normal.
“In the heat of the moment, like stabbing me with a letter opener, yes. Flying to Colorado, riding into the mountains and stealing horses, no.”
“What about hiring someone to do it?” Montana shook her head. She was losing it. Buying into such an idea was pure craziness.
“Doubtful.” He drank again. “I’m sure it’s your nut job ex, not mine, hiking like a pair of mountain goats.”
“Probably,” Montana said. “But why? Tom doesn’t care who I see. We’ve been broken up for years.”
“Ego, baby. He doesn’t like you being with another man. And he really doesn’t like it being me.”
A fuzzy memory fought to surface. A figure. A stick. Someone hitting her. Knocking her out. Montana sank onto the cold ground. “Johnny, did Tom leave the cabin the other night after we did?”
He frowned. “I don’t think so. Why?”
She touched her forehead. “I think someone bashed me in the head.”
“What?” Johnny stared at her as if she’d lost her mind.
“I can’t be certain, but I think someone might have cracked me on the noggin.” She furrowed her brow, trying to remember, but the action hurt her still-sore forehead.
“Baby, I think we’re making ourselves nutty with all these theories. You ran away from me and tripped, remember?”
“Yeah. I know.” She didn’t want to be reminded of her flight. Still, an uneasy feeling lingered. She pushed to her feet and indicated the tracks again. “I’m guess it’s Tom riding a small horse.”
Johnny screwed the cap back on the bottle and replaced it in the saddlebags. “Yeah. Probably.”
As she turned away and headed down the trail, Montana’s thoughts churned. The odd tracks stuck in her mind. Why would Tom be on one of her horses? Especially such a little one. He wouldn’t.
By now the gelding, along with all Montana’s other horses and mules, would be back in her pasture.
She thought of the horses she’d seen at the Marsh camp. Evan’s bay. Charlie’s sorrel. A big pinto she was certain Tom rode. The guy stood over six feet tall and weighed at least two-fifty. He’d ridden all his life and wouldn’t choose a small horse. She hadn’t paid special attention to any of them, but she was also sure none had chipped hooves. A horse without shoes on this rocky ground would go lame very quickly.
Her thoughts turned to Johnny’s ex-wife. She sounded like a real winner. What had he seen in her? Montana recalled pictures she’d seen of the big-breasted blonde. Sex. Apparently the woman could sing, too. Johnny had had a lot in common with her.
Was Johnny still in love with Teal?
He’d divorced her, but the pain when he talked about his ex had been obvious. Montana knew the heartache of being cheated on, and she hadn’t even been married to Tom when he slunk around behind her back.
Getting over that kind of betrayal would be tough, if not impossible. No wonder Johnny still had hurt in his eyes when he talked about the woman he’d loved enough to marry.
Montana had been a temporary interlude to help him forget.
Her stomach twisted into a tight knot. She wasn’t completely naïve; she knew Johnny wasn’t in love with her, but being the bed buddy to help him get over his wife stung. Tears formed and she blinked them away. Crying in front of Johnny was not an option.
Shannon’s words rang in her ears…whatever you do, don’t fall in love.
Too damn late.
She’d stepped onto that bridge the first time she slept with Johnny. Turning around mid-stream was impossible. In a day or two he’d go back to his life and she’d be left with a broken heart.
She stiffened her shoulders. No sense crying over things she couldn’t change.
~*~
By the time they’d walked a couple hours, Johnny was mad enough to spit guitar picks. He hadn’t liked Tom Kerrigan from the moment he’d laid eyes on him. When he’d found out the football player was Montana’s ex, he’d instantly despised the guy.
Unwilling to examine that too closely, he let it go, chalking his feelings up to guys who both had their eye on the same chick. Montana swore her ex didn’t have designs on her. Johnny had to disagree. Jealousy had been coming off the football star in waves so strong Johnny could smell it. He wanted Montana bad.
Fuck that!
The jerk wasn’t getting his hands or any other body part on his girl.
His girl?
For now. When he went home was another matter. He couldn’t figure a way to keep seeing Montana when she lived in Colorado and him in L.A. They’d had fun. Best to leave it that way.
The trap Teal caught him in was too fresh to go there again. He’d lost his right arm because of her. He couldn’t afford to lose anything else.
Like his life.
Had Teal gone so far as to strand him in the snowy mountains? He snorted. Ridiculous. What he’d told Montana was true—if it didn’t include room service, Teal wasn’t interested. He didn’t think she’d ever been around a horse and doubted she could saddle one, much less ride through the rugged terrain with a guide. Absolutely not alone.
Would she hire someone to do her dirty work?
Highly unlikely.
He couldn’t see how hurting or killing him would do her any good. His Last Will and Testament didn’t include her and she had no way to get her CD upon his death. The whole notion of Teal having anything to do with this was absurd. No, their long walk lay squarely on the shoulders of Tom Kerrigan.
Johnny passed the time thinking of all the ways he could hurt the man when he caught up to him. Pain would be involved. A beating would be too good for him. Maybe he’d sue for physical distress. He thought he was in pretty good shape, but walking above ten thousand feet had him longing for his old buddy Gunsmoke.
Montana didn’t seem to have any such problems. She strode out with her typical determined walk. His gaze caught and held on her hips as they swayed. Damn, she was sexy. Walking would be next to impossible if he didn’t get his mind off her long legs wrapped around his waist and onto the task at hand.
The woman had his mind on his cock like none other. He loved the ladies and he loved sex, but he couldn’t remember being this crazy for a chick. Not ever. Not even Teal’d had him so constantly worked up.
If the storm hadn’t chased them out of their little love nest, he would have been perfectly content to stay wrapped up in Montana’s arms all winter long. The CD, the band, Teal—they all seemed so far away and unimportant when he was with Montana.
What kind of spell had she cast over him?
He’d never been willing to put music second to anyone. The idea that he could freaked him out.
Deep in thought, he didn’t notice Montana had stopped until he stumbled into her back.
“Shit.” She shot him a look of aggravation.
“Sorry.”
“Not you. Look.” She pointed with her rifle. They’d left the trees and stood on a high mountain trail overlooking the same deep valley where he’d seen the herd of elk. That seemed so long ago now. Wind whipped the snowflakes again, making visibility poor.
“What am I looking at?” He peered through the blizzard but didn’t see anything other than swirling gusts of snow.
“Our horses.”
“What? Where?”
She pointed with a jabbing motion. “There. Across the valley. By those big pines.”
He lifted his binoculars and searched until he spotted the missing
equines. “I see ’em. They’re tied to a tree.”
“What?” She pulled her own field glasses from her coat pocket and sighted the animals. “Damn it. You’re right. I thought they’d holed up because of the storm, but it looks like Tom decided to leave them instead. Good thing we saw them there. I lost the trail a ways back because the snow’s too deep.”
“Great. Let’s go grab them,” Johnny said.
She gave him a grim look. “It’s not that simple.”
“Why not?”
She heaved a sigh. “We have to either go to the main camp and backtrack, or cross Hanging Bridge. If we go to camp it’s a long walk back straight uphill.”
“Let’s go the shorter way,” Johnny said immediately.
“With this snow, the Hanging Bridge will be slick and dangerous.” She sounded like she was about to have a root canal. Heights didn’t bother him. But the sooner he had a hot meal and a soak in the hot springs, the better.
“We’ll go slow,” he urged.
“Okay,” she agreed with obvious reluctance.
“Hey.” He grabbed her sleeve and hauled her against him. He covered her surprised gasp with a kiss. Although he would have loved to deepen it until they were both weak in the knees, he released her. “Chin up, okay?”
“Okay.” She adjusted her rifle on her shoulder. “Let’s go.”
Johnny didn’t think he’d ever met a woman like Montana in his life. No drama. No tears. Just doing what had to be done. Tough didn’t begin to describe her. But she tempered it with a soft touch and a kind heart.
Remarkable.
He tried to imagine any of the women he knew in this situation. Impossible. They’d be in hysterics—wringing their hands, sobbing and falling apart.
Teal would have lost her mind over this kind of thing. Hell, she lost it if she broke a nail.
Even Adrian would be all worked up.
His respect for Montana, already high, grew by leaps and bounds. She was one of a kind. The kind a man would be proud to call his own.
They walked for about thirty minutes with only the mournful cry of whipping wind filling their ears. Johnny wished he had a way to duplicate the sound. A synthesizer could mimic it, but imitation wasn’t as eerie or soul wrenching as the real thing. Maybe he’d work on it for the song he’d been playing around with.
