“Um...actually, we didn’t part company. I’m at the Prosperity Inn.” Which was only a few short blocks from the Bitter & Sweet.
“What are you doing at a hotel?” Kate asked, then answered her own question with a singsong “Oh.” Her voice softened to an excited whisper. “You should have said something sooner. Call me later.”
“It’s okay—he’s not here.”
“You mean he’s in the shower?”
“No, I mean he had to leave early this morning to go to work. I slept in.”
“It’s not like you to spend the night with a guy you just met.”
“Tell me about it.” As a rule, Lana waited for that level of intimacy until she was in a relationship. “I can’t believe I did this.”
“Hey, it happens. Did you at least enjoy yourself?”
Lana didn’t have to think long about that. Now that her headache was all but gone, other things bubbled into her mind. Good memories that made her whole body hum. “It was pretty special.”
“Ooh. Gonna share some details?”
“No!”
“At least give me his name? Maybe what he does for a living?”
“His name is Sly and I assume he’s a rancher. He must be, right? Who else has to get up at the crack of dawn to go to work on a Saturday? I don’t know his last name or anything else about him, except that he’s never been married. I said I was divorced.”
In the heat of the moment, she’d also mentioned that she couldn’t have kids. “We agreed that this was a night to forget our troubles and keep things fun and light.” They’d accomplished both goals, in spades. “I don’t think we’ll ever see each other again.”
“That’s so unlike you.”
“So you said.” As unforgettable as last night had been, Lana regretted what she’d done. She massaged the space between her eyes. “Remind me to never drink again.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. Look on the positive side—you’re back in the saddle, and a darned handsome cowboy put you there.” Kate hooted at her joke. “Besides, you needed to be wild for one night. Once you adopt a baby, you won’t be able to overdo the alcohol or stay out all night on a whim.”
“I never do either of those things.”
“You did last night. Listen, I have to leave for my mani-pedi, but if you need a ride, I can come pick you up in an hour or so.”
Lana supposed she could order breakfast downstairs and wait, but she wanted to change into fresh clothes. She also had a jillion things to do today—clean her house, grocery shop, do laundry, et cetera. “I’ll take a cab, thanks. Send me a picture of your nails.”
“Will do. Talk to you later.”
*
EARLY APRIL IN western Montana usually brought mornings cold enough to see your own breath. Yet this morning, Sly Pettit was sweating like a son of a dog. He also felt like crap. At thirty-five he was no longer able to shake off a hangover with a couple of aspirin as easily as he’d done at thirty.
“Sly? I said, if you’re feelin’ poorly, Ollie, Bean and I can handle the rest of the branding.”
Ace, Sly’s longtime foreman, was staring at him oddly, and Bean, a grizzled cowhand, wore a frown. Ollie, a rangy twenty-year-old kid Sly had hired for the spring and summer, shot him a curious glance.
Sly realized he was grimacing and smoothed his expression. When he’d met his attorney at the Bitter & Sweet Bar and Grill for dinner last night, he’d planned on staying about an hour, then heading home. Instead, he’d arrived home just shy of dawn. “I’m okay,” he said.
“Well, you look like you’ve been run over by a tractor and left for dead.” Ace blew on his hands to warm them and then shook his head. “It’s that trouble with Tim Carpenter, isn’t it?”
Bean said nothing, but now he appeared intrigued. Ollie, too.
Sly and his lawyer, Dave Swain, had met to discuss whether Sly should sue Carpenter. The whole idea left a bad taste in Sly’s mouth. Dave didn’t enjoy it either, and thought Sly should try to work things out with his neighbor, who owned the Lazy C Ranch, which was adjacent to Pettit Ranch. But Carpenter’s refusal to sit down and talk had left Sly without much choice.
“I’m not happy about it,” Sly said. “But that’s not why I look like hell. I’m hungover.”
The crew members chuckled.
“Been there more than a few times myself,” Ace said. “The way you’re sweatin’ out that alcohol, you’re sure to feel better in no time.”
Sly lifted the gate of the holding pen and Ace slapped the rump of one of the January calves they’d culled from the herd earlier.
As the calf loped from the pen and Sly herded her toward the calf table, he thought about the mess with his neighbor. Tim Carpenter had a chip on his shoulder a mile wide, mainly because Pettit Ranch was profitable. Not enough to replenish Sly’s all-but-empty savings, but enough to pay the bills. It wasn’t his fault the Lazy C continually struggled to stay solvent.
He and Carpenter had never been friends. Now they were enemies. All because a few months back, someone had poisoned Sly’s cattle. Two of his heifers had miscarried and had lost any chance of future pregnancies, and three others had died. As a grown man, Sly rarely felt powerless, but he had then. He hated his inability to help his animals as they sickened, as he’d watched them die and feared that others could, too.
Autopsies and tests had proved that his animals had been poisoned with arsenic. Neither Sly nor his crew had any idea who’d do something so heinous. Then by chance, Ace had spotted a small pile of white powder just inside the northernmost pasture fence off the private service road that ran between Pettit Ranch and the Lazy C. He’d tested the powder and determined it to be arsenic. Both ranches shared the road, and no one else had access. Who else but Carpenter could have set the arsenic there?
Still, Sly had given his neighbor the benefit of the doubt. He’d driven to Carpenter’s and attempted to question him. The first time Carpenter had ordered him off his land. On Sly’s next try, he’d pulled out a rifle and aimed it at Sly’s chest.
Which sure made it seem as if the man had something to hide. That was when Sly had quit trying to straighten things out himself and hired a lawyer. Not with the intention of suing, but to get Carpenter to cough up information that could shed light on what had happened. That plan had also failed, and now he really was on the verge of suing.
“Sly?” Ace was waiting for Sly to say something.
“I need to get to the bottom of this poisoning.”
Ace rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “You’re suing, then?”
Ollie and Bean looked down, as if the subject made them uncomfortable.
Join the crowd, Sly thought. “You all know how much those vet bills, tests and autopsies cost, and the cows we lost...” Sly shook his head. He wanted to be reimbursed for his losses.
The money he’d spent on all those things had been earmarked for a badly needed new drainage system. The existing one, installed some thirty years ago, functioned on a wing and a prayer. The next big rain could result in heavy flooding and wreak havoc on valuable lowlying pastureland. Sly and his men could do some of the grunt work, but they needed to bring in an expert. He’d considered taking out a loan to cover the costs, but as it was, the monthly payment on his mortgage was a strain. Any more debt and he’d be in over his head. He wasn’t about to jeopardize everything he’d worked for by borrowing more.
“The way things stand,” he said, “I don’t see any other options.”
“He’s a tough nut to crack, all right.” Ace pulled off his baseball cap and scratched one of his sideburns. “The Bitter & Sweet always brings in a live band on Friday and Saturday nights. I hope you spent some of the evening dancing off your troubles with a pretty girl.”
Lana was no girl. She was all woman. “I danced a time or two,” Sly admitted.
His foreman, who’d been married umpteen years, nodded approvingly. “Now and then a man’s got to cut loose and have some fun.”
Fun didn’t come close to describing Sly’s night with Lana, but he wasn’t about to talk about that. “Let’s get this job done so Ace can take the rest of the weekend off,” he said. When time and weather allowed, Sly and his foreman alternated weekends off. This was Ace’s weekend, and he and his wife had planned a trip to Billings to visit their college-age son at Montana State.
“Ready with that iron?” Sly asked Ollie.
“Ready, boss.”
The four of them spent the next few hours herding the calves one by one to the calf table so that the cows could be marked with the Pettit Ranch brand and then vaccinated. It wasn’t exactly rocket science, allowing Sly’s mind to replay the previous evening.
Over dinner, Dave had reluctantly agreed to prepare and file the lawsuit, but he was tying up loose ends for several other clients and needed ten days to put the suit together and file the papers. Shortly after the lawyer had finished his coffee and dessert, he’d left to get home to his wife and kids.
Sly didn’t have a wife or kids, or anyone to hurry home to. His life was uncomplicated, which was exactly how he liked it. He spent his days working hard to keep his ranch profitable and successful, and enjoyed spending his evenings either going out or relaxing alone in his quiet house. But the whole lawsuit business was unsettling, and last night he’d wanted to take his mind off his troubles. So he’d hung around the Bitter & Sweet, waiting for the band to play.
As soon as the cute blonde and her friend had sat down at a table across the way, Sly had forgotten all about his problems. He’d always enjoyed an attractive woman, and when the blonde had looked at him and smiled, something had sizzled between them. He had to meet her.
From the start, they’d hit it off. Lana was fun and easy to talk to, and her eyes had telegraphed that she was attracted to him. Best of all, she’d only wanted a good time. They’d agreed not to share their last names and had steered away from deep conversation.
A dozen dances and several drinks later, Sly had kissed her. Her warmth and enthusiasm had just about blown his socks off. Neither of them had wanted to stop, and before Sly knew it, he was walking her to the Prosperity Inn and paying for a hotel room.
Under regular circumstances he wouldn’t have acted so rashly. He rarely picked up a woman he’d never met before and taken her to bed. But his decision had turned out to be a damn fine one.
The sex had been phenomenal.
His only regret was that he hadn’t gotten her number. He’d thought about waking her and asking her for it before he left at the crack of dawn. But neither of them had gotten much rest, and she’d been sleeping so peacefully that he hadn’t had the heart to disturb her.
Just then, Sly’s daydream was interrupted when on the way to the calf table, one of the calves turned renegade and tried to run off. “Come back here, you,” Sly called as he and Ace cut her off.
When they caught her and steered her back, Ace took up the conversation where they’d left off. “The gal you danced with—you gonna see her again?”
“Probably not.”
The more important reason Sly hadn’t asked for her number was that getting involved with her would be a bad idea. His last girlfriend had accused him of avoiding intimacy, and then dumped him. Not because she’d taken up with some other guy, but because she was fed up with his so-called emotional distance.
She wasn’t the first woman to accuse him of that, but Sly had always been confused as to what “emotional distance” meant. In bed, he demonstrated plenty of emotion.
Maybe it had something do with the fact that he rarely brought the women he dated to his place. All his former girlfriends had complained about that, but hell, his home was his sanctuary and his bedroom was his private space, off-limits to all but his housekeeper, who cleaned it.
After his last breakup and a few months of self-imposed celibacy, Sly had finally figured out what women meant by emotional distance. He admitted to himself that outside the physical stuff, he’d never had a truly intimate relationship with a woman. Sure, he enjoyed giving and receiving pleasure, but he wasn’t about to put his heart on the line. With good reason.
People he cared deeply about tended not to stick around. First his parents, then his brother, then the girl he’d wanted to marry.
Why take the risk of getting too close? Sly wasn’t about to set himself up for that kind of heartache again.
“Now that you sweated that hangover out of your system, you’re lookin’ a sight better,” Ace commented some hours later, when they’d finished the branding.
“I suppose I’ll live,” Sly replied. “Go on now and have a nice weekend—all three of you.”
He headed for the house. Mrs. Rutland, his part-time housekeeper—with just him to feed and clean up after, he didn’t need her full-time—left at noon on Thursdays and Fridays, but cooked enough meals to last until Monday. After showering and changing, Sly filled his belly and then headed outside again to tackle the late-afternoon chores. He fed and watered the horses, giving Bee, his bay, her usual carrot. He checked on the stock and noted additional chores that needed doing the following day.
Then he flopped on the sofa with the remote. Nothing on the tube interested him, and his mind kept wandering to last night. As worn-out as he was, he felt oddly restless—too restless to hang around at home. He considered grabbing a beer someplace, but after last night he needed a rest from alcohol.
He called his sister to ask if she wanted to catch a movie. Dani didn’t answer, which wasn’t surprising on a Saturday night. She was probably out with her boyfriend of the month or her friends.
Sly hung up without leaving a message. He almost wished he had Lana’s number...until he reminded himself that it was better he didn’t.
Moments later he grabbed his keys from the hook by the door and left through the mudroom. He wasn’t sure where he was headed, but anyplace was better than sitting around here, thinking about a woman he didn’t plan on ever seeing again.
*
IT WAS LATE Sunday when Lana parked in front of the house where she’d grown up. It was a beautiful afternoon; the sun was slowly sinking toward the horizon, casting the distant, snow-covered Cascade Mountains in rosy hues. Spring was her favorite time of year, when the air smelled fresh and sweet, and life seemed to bud and surge everywhere.
Usually she looked forward to the noisy Sunday night dinners with her parents and her younger sister and family. But tonight, Lana was dreading it.
All because last Sunday, she’d finally told her parents about her decision to adopt a baby. She’d waited until two months after the social worker had cleared her as a prospective parent, and six weeks after she’d begun to actively search for a pregnant woman wanting to give up her baby for adoption. The social worker had given her the web address of a county-wide site called AdoptionOption.com, which put prospective parents in touch with pregnant teens who wanted to give up their babies. Although Lana visited the site daily, she had yet to make a contact that might work out. Discouraging, but she understood that the process would take time. Eventually she’d find someone.
Not wanting to keep such a big decision to herself, she’d told her sister first. That had been easy. Telling her parents, who tended to be old-fashioned, not so much. Lana had known they wouldn’t approve. Not of adoption itself, but of her decision to adopt as a single woman.
Apprehension had ruined her appetite and she’d barely managed to eat her mother’s delicious meal. She’d waited to spring her news until after dessert, when her niece and nephew had scampered off to play. She’d quickly delivered the news to her parents, then left while they were still digesting the news.
The fallout had come later, in a series of increasingly upset phone calls, one from her dad and too
many to count from her mother. All of them about finding a husband and then adopting. With their old-fashioned values about raising kids—values Lana had supported until Brent had divorced her—they didn’t understand.
“I would love to have a husband to help me raise a child, but I’m not even dating right now,” she’d explained. “Besides, I’m thirty-two years old, and I know in my heart that this is the right time for me to adopt.”
No amount of reasoning had changed their minds. So Lana was cringing at the prospect of another of her mother’s lectures tonight. She was banking on her parents having to behave in front of their grandkids.
Which was why, knowing Liz et al usually arrived about five, Lana was pulling up to the house a little later.
Crossing her fingers for a pleasant evening free of judgment and criticism, she crossed the brick stoop, wiped her feet on the welcome mat and walked into the house. She hung her jacket on a hook by the door.
The living room was empty, but through the window that faced the backyard she noted her brother-in-law, Eric, and her father lighting what looked to be a new barbecue grill. Connor, age six, and Emma, who had just turned four, were racing around the same pint-size log cabin Lana and Liz had once played in. There was no sign of Lana’s sister or their mother. They were probably working on dinner.
Lana was about to slip back out the door and head around the house to play with the kids when her sister called out. “Is that you, Lana? Mom and I are in the kitchen.”
No chance of sneaking away now. “I’ll be right there,” Lana replied.
Shoulders squared, she headed down the hall. Liz understood Lana’s aching desire to have a child, and supported her decision. Why couldn’t her parents be as accepting?
She forced herself to be cheerful, declaring, “Something smells really good,” as she entered the big, homey kitchen.
Her mother was sautéing mushrooms and didn’t look up. “I’m just finishing the rice dish. Why don’t you toss the salad, Lana?”
Not even a hello? Lana exchanged a glance with Liz, who shrugged. “Um, hi, Mom, it’s nice to see you, too?”
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