Ladies Love Rock Stars: Taming the Bad Boys of Rock and Roll

by D'Ann Lindun

  She’d see Tom behind bars, or know the reason.

  Not only had he attempted to murder them, he had probably singlehandedly ruined what was left of her business.

  When word got out of all the disasters that had befallen Johnny, she’d never have another client. Her grandfather and father’s legacy destroyed by a man who had never loved her. Motivated by what? Jealousy over another man who also did not love her. If it didn’t hurt so much she’d laugh at the irony.

  She didn’t give in to depression very often—maybe it was the weather—but despair filled her. She was worse off than before Johnny and his crew had shown up on her doorstep.

  None of this was their fault in any way.

  On top of a ruined business, she now had an aching heart to contend with. Brought on by her own foolishness—she had no one to blame but herself. Johnny had only taken what she’d freely given.

  Shannon had warned her not to fall in love with him. How Montana thought she could sleep with Johnny and not lose her heart, she had no idea. Maybe she’d been alone way too long. One thing stood out in stark clarity—she didn’t do casual hookups well and would never do it again.

  As they dropped off the ridge, picking their way across a shale rockslide, Sunflower suddenly tensed, then neighed, his plea echoing through the mountains. When the gelding lifted his head again, Montana put her hand on his neck, silencing him. He looked across the valley, head high, ears pricked.

  No answer came.

  Montana followed his line of sight, but couldn’t pick out a horse among the trees and rocks. They weren’t far from where the horses had been tied and abandoned.

  “Do you see what they’re looking at?” Johnny asked.

  “No. I lost my binoculars in the fire.”

  “I did, too.”

  Montana nodded. She’d been so deeply asleep that when she woke to the cabin burning, she hadn’t thought to grab her rifle. Amateur mistake and one that could be deadly.

  A herd of elk burst out of the trees, stampeding along the opposite side of the valley.

  “Johnny—” Montana pointed “—look.”

  No matter how many times she saw this sight—a herd of elk running free—it awed and amazed her. Led by a big bull, a group of cows galloped as if their lives depended on it.

  What had spooked them?

  Or who?

  Sudden fear gripped her.

  “We’ve got to get off this ridge,” Montana said desperately. “We’re sitting targets out here.”

  No sooner had the words come out of her mouth than the shale hillside to her right exploded. A gunshot ricocheted through the peaks like summer thunder.

  Spooked by jagged chunks of shale hitting his flanks and hip, Sunflower lunged forward. Instinctively, from a lifetime of riding, Montana wrapped her legs around him. A roar filled her ears. She shot a frantic look at the rockslide above her. Jarred loose by either the shot or the noise, loose rocks came roaring straight at her.

  With a scream, she leaned forward onto the horse’s neck. The palomino lunged into a full gallop, tearing along the snow-covered trail like the hounds of hell were after him. Wrapping her fists in his mane, Montana held on for dear life as her trusty little horse carried her out of harm’s way.

  At the edge of the slide, she reined him to a hard stop, jumped off, hit the ground and belly crawled behind a boulder. A cloud of snow and dust filled the air. Where she and Johnny had just been stood a pile of gray shale rock higher than her head.

  Dear God.

  Was Johnny buried under that tomb?

  She didn’t dare shout. Was he dead? Hurt? Unable to defend himself, to be picked off like a Thanksgiving turkey?

  She had to help him.

  Get it together, Montana. A man’s life depends on you.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Johnny had only a second to see Sunflower gallop away before Gunsmoke reared and whirled to his left, his front legs suspended in midair over the canyon below, before coming down with a bone-jarring thud that unseated his rider.

  Johnny flew through the air, landing on his back. The wind rushed out of him faster than a pinpricked balloon. As if the volume were turned way down, he vaguely heard Gunsmoke and the mule’s hoof beats galloping into the distance. For a minute he lay still, wondering if he were dead.

  He stared at the gray sky, trying to suck in air.

  When he could breathe again, his first thought was of Montana. Where was she? Was she okay?

  He rolled onto his stomach.

  Particles of rocks and snow blinded him. He couldn’t see anything through the cloud of debris.

  Raising his head, he shouted, “Montana!”

  A bullet hit the ground near his head, throwing more dirt and snow into his face.

  “Fuck!” He scrambled back.

  The high-pitched whine of another bullet alerted him before it hit the ground, this time near his ribcage. So close he could almost feel its heat.

  “God damn!”

  Desperate for a place to hide, he lifted his head from the crook of his elbow to scan the area. A stand of pines grew several feet over the downside of the trail. With a lightning quick move, he flipped himself over the edge. For a moment he lay there, until gravity took over. Then he rolled the twenty or so feet to the trees.

  He slammed into one of the trunks with a grunt. “Damn.”

  Bullets pounded the ground around him and he curled into a tight ball, the smallest target he could make himself. He felt for his hunting knife strapped to his thigh. There! At least he had something. Although what good it would do against a high-powered rifle, he had no idea.

  Finally the rain of hot metal stopped.

  Johnny risked lifting his head a few inches to look around. The trail where he and Montana had been sitting was now hidden under a ton of rock. He knew she hadn’t been crushed; he’d seen her flee before the slide hit.

  He didn’t know if she’d been shot.

  Fear made his gut clench. “Something happens to her, Motherfucker, I’ll kill you.”

  Taking a chance, he peered around the trees. The other side of the valley appeared empty and silent.

  He knew better.

  A crazed killer waited over there, just hoping he’d move.

  Do and die.

  He had no place to go. Between him and the rockslide covering the trail lay twenty or thirty feet of open space. The trail in the other direction was shielded by trees, but a couple dozen feet lay between him and them.

  His only hope was to wait for nightfall.

  ~*~

  Johnny’s shout carried across the air.

  Montana’s heart sang. He was alive. Perhaps harmed, but still kicking. She fought the urge to yell back to let him know she was okay.

  She couldn’t give up her position.

  Glancing around, she realized she held a good spot. The shooter couldn’t hit her behind this boulder and the pine forest stood only a few feet off. The rock slide was a good fifty feet away with Johnny on the other side.

  Somehow she had to get to him.

  Cautiously, she peeked around the boulder in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the shooter.

  Tom?

  Was her one-time boyfriend shooting at her, trying to kill her?

  Why? Because she’d slept with a rock star five years after they’d broken up? It made no sense.

  Logical or not, it was happening.

  Scanning the opposite mountainside, she didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. No movement. No crazy killer brandishing a gun in her direction.

  Inching along behind the boulder, she moved closer to the rockslide and gauged the distance. About fifty feet. Not far. Unless someone had you in their sights.

  The pile of rocks stood about ten feet tall and maybe six feet wide. A huge obstacle. Somehow she had to go over or around it to get to Johnny.

  Climbing it and firing a gun at the same time was impossible.

  She turned her gaze to the bottom of the rock pile. Ru
bble covered the trail, ending just beyond it. Could she make cover if she skirted the mass of rock? The hillside was steep, dangerous. A misstep could send her cartwheeling to the valley floor hundreds of feet below.

  She shuddered.

  There was no choice. Johnny could be seriously hurt, even dying.

  She stood, leaned against the boulder, and stripped out of her orange vest and wind pants. No sense giving the shooter a more visible target.

  With one last look from the safety of the boulder, she took a deep breath. “It’s now or never.”

  Making sure she had a good grip on the gun, she took another steadying breath and sprinted for the rockslide. Half expecting to be torn in two by a bullet, she slid safely to the slide. Flipping to her butt, she sat on the trail, and using one hand to grip the unsteady rocks, she scooted around the pile of gravel.

  “Montana! Over here.” Johnny sat with his back against a pine tree. She couldn’t tell if he was injured.

  She took stock of the distance between her and the safety of the trees. A short distance, but filled with danger.

  Gasping, heart pounding, she saw no movement.

  Another sprint.

  Montana leaped to her feet and dashed toward Johnny. Two feet from him, she dove, sliding like he was home plate.

  His arms wrapped around her, holding her tight. “Are you okay?”

  Breathing too hard to speak, she nodded.

  “Thank God.” He kissed her head. “Son of a bitch.”

  When she could speak, she asked, “Are you hurt?”

  “Just my pride.”

  Slowly, Montana’s shakes subsided. She shoved the gun aside. “I think we just caught the train to Crazytown.”

  “We’ve been on it for days now, baby,” Johnny muttered. “And I’m about ready to step off.”

  “I hear you.” She looked over her shoulder. “I don’t know why that lunatic let me reach you, but I’d bet money he has us in his sights now.”

  “I’m guessing you’re right.” Johnny pushed to his knees and stared through a fork in the tree. “It’s probably best to try and escape during the night.”

  “Unless he has an infrared scope. Then we’re sitting ducks.” Montana wiped her dry mouth with her sleeve. “Do you still have the saddlebags? I could use a drink.”

  Johnny handed her water. “I could stand a liter of vodka myself.”

  Montana drank half the bottle and handed it to him. “You better finish that. You need to stay hydrated.”

  He swallowed the water and put the empty bottle back in the saddlebags.

  “We’re going to make a break for it,” she said grimly. “I’m not going to hide under a bush like some little bunny until he guns me down.”

  Johnny stared at her with an incredulous look. Then he laughed. Long and hard. “Oh, baby, you’re one fucking awesome chick.”

  How could his words thrill her in a moment like this? No time to dwell on it now. “We need to make a plan.” She hoisted the rifle. “I’m going to cover you while you run for it.”

  He frowned. “Like war games? Dash and duck?”

  “Exactly.”

  Shaking his head, he said, “There’s no way in hell I’m letting you stand and shoot while I run. That would make me a little bitch.”

  “Fine.” She handed him the rifle. “Take it. You shoot. I’ll run.”

  He rolled to his stomach and peered through the scope at the cliffs across the valley.

  “See anything?” Montana also looked over the expanse to the other side, but spotted nothing.

  “No.” He sat up. “I think he’s hiding, waiting for us to make a move. You ready?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  He grabbed her elbow. “Listen. I don’t think this guy is actually going to shoot us. I think he’s messing with us, trying to make me shit my pants.”

  Montana nodded. “I know.”

  Cupping the back of her neck, he kissed her hard. “If I’m wrong and he shoots my ass full of buckshot, run. Don’t stop. Don’t look back. Just get the hell out of here.”

  “I’m not leaving you.” Montana caught herself before she blurted, I love you.

  Silence hung between them. Something in his eyes seemed to return her feelings, but he said, “Go. Stay low.”

  His voice was husky.

  Montana sucked in a deep breath and held it. Now or never. Only about twenty or thirty feet lay between her and safety. Piece of cake. She’d made it around the rockslide; she could dash a short distance.

  Her heart pounded so hard she could hardly breathe.

  Without looking at Johnny, she waited until the first bullet exploded from his rifle. Like a track star, she bolted. Keeping low, she couldn’t weave, so she concentrated on making it to the trees.

  Behind her, Johnny’s gun went off. Once. Twice. Three times. The ricochets made the mountains rattle as if the peaks would come down.

  Answering fire landed on the hillside around her and zinged over her head. With a scream, she pushed harder, pumping her arms. Her lungs burned. Her legs wobbled.

  The trees seemed a mile away.

  Was Johnny behind her?

  She couldn’t hear him over her terrified pants.

  More gunfire.

  Johnny’s? Or Tom’s?

  Montana couldn’t tell. Please God, don’t let Johnny be hit.

  After what seemed like a marathon, she found the tree line and grabbed hold of a low- hanging limb for support. If not for the branch, she would have collapsed. Gasping, she turned around.

  Like some kind of warrior, Johnny ran sideways, firing the gun. Return fire hit the ground around his feet, sending puffs of snow and dirt into the air.

  When he reached safety, she launched herself into his arms. “You made it.”

  “Always bet on a cowboy.” He brushed his lips across her forehead.

  Before she could humiliate herself and declare her love, she reluctantly let go of him. They hurried deeper under the cover of trees.

  Adrenaline pumped through Montana, making her shake. Tears formed in her eyes and she brushed them away with her fists. “Damn.”

  Johnny placed the rifle against the trunk of a pine and took her in his arms. “Hey, Montana-girl. Don’t quit on me now.”

  His heart thudded against her cheek with rapid-fire speed. She wasn’t the only one jacked up right now. She lifted her chin. Wendall Weaver hadn’t raised a sniveler.

  “I-I’m not quitting. I’m just getting warmed up.”

  His chuckle vibrated through him. “I think I said that to you not so long ago.”

  “I remember.” This was treading on dangerous territory. A place she didn’t want to go. A tremor ran through her that had nothing to do with fear.

  By the look in his eyes, she thought he was going to kiss her again. And, God help her, she wanted him to. Not a quick, hard good luck kind of smooch, but a soul-searing, rock you to your boots kind of lip lock. She tightened her arms around him.

  A bullet smashed into the branches above, showering them with snow.

  “Fuck!” Johnny shoved her down and covered her body with his.

  Lying face-down on the frozen ground, with Johnny pressed on top of her, Montana felt desire flash through her, so hot and intense it made her insides boil. A big man lying on top of her might have had something to do with her lack of air, but the hard muscles in his legs, his broad shoulders and his hot breath near her ear all made her lower belly fold up like yesterday’s newspaper.

  Gradually Montana realized she wasn’t the only one feeling the heat. The hard length of Johnny’s erection pressed against her butt. She swallowed hard. If they weren’t being chased by a madman, she’d roll over and take him deep into her body until they were both sated.

  She squirmed. “Get off me.”

  “Keep that up and I’ll make you forget where we are.” His low, sexy voice sent another wave of heat between her legs.

  “Johnny—”

  Abruptly he rolled
off her, stood and pulled her to her feet. A bullet whizzed over their heads. In unison, they ducked.

  “We’ve got to get the hell out of here.” Johnny pushed Montana lightly. “Get further into the trees.”

  They dove into the pine forest.

  Among the cluster of trees they were safe. For now.

  “Do you have any bullets?” Montana asked.

  “Yeah.” Johnny dug in the saddlebags and reloaded the rifle.

  She looked around. “I don’t know how we’re going to get out of here. The trail is hidden by the trees for a while, but once we hit the ridge—”

  After the rifle was loaded, Johnny checked the scope. “We’re not running like pussies anymore. We’re going after him.”

  “What?” Montana stared at him in disbelief. “This isn’t some crazy war game.”

  He gave her a long look. “Isn’t it?”

  “I guess so.” She wrapped her arms around her middle.

  “We’re not going to hide anymore. I’m going to put him on the fucking run.”

  “How? There’s no way to get to him except cross the open ridge and the Hanging Bridge.” She shuddered. “Talk about easy pickings.”

  He considered her words. “Then let’s hunker down and wait him out. Sooner or later he’s got to move. I’m going to find out how much he fuckin’ likes being shot at.”

  “Johnny, no.” Montana put her hand on his arm. “What if you hit him? That’s murder. You don’t want to do that.”

  “It’s self-defense,” he argued.

  She shook her head. “You can’t risk the scandal.” When he hesitated, she tightened her hold. “Please. I don’t want you to do this.”

  Slowly, he lowered the gun. “What do you suggest?”

  “I think our best hope is to wait until nightfall and pray like hell he doesn’t have a night scope.” She nibbled her bottom lip. “Or there’s one other way. We can drop down the slope. It’s steep as hell and likely slick in the snow, but we can make it on foot. It’s a long walk, but we can make it to Durango by tonight.”

  “Although I’d like to blast his fucking ass from here to Kingdom Come, I don’t see a choice. Anything’s better than sitting here waiting to be picked off like virgins backstage at a concert. What about the horses?”