Where was the dry, humorless professor he could easily dismiss as not his type? The stack of books beside her bed appeared to contain novels.
By arching his neck he could see half a dozen eclectically framed photos on the carved plank mantel. Family shots.
One, in particular, caught his eye. A wedding. The bride was beautiful in western attire. The groom grinned as if he’d won the Lotto. But, it was the elegant woman in tailored green silk, who held his eye. Meg. Her smile so serene it made him want to dance away with her into the night.
“Here you go,” Meg said carrying two crystal highball glasses in one hand, and an expensive-looking bottle in the other. She’d shed another couple of layers, revealing form-fitting yoga pants and a long-sleeve, white thermal shirt. She’d also donned a pair of black Uggs.
“I promised Ryker I’d drink this on New Year’s Eve.” She set the glasses on the end table beside his chair and held the bottle up to inspect it. “I’m not much of a drinker, but I am a pushover for expensive booze. Good thing you’re here to keep me from hurting myself.”
He was amazed she had the energy to crack a joke. “Are JJ and Annie okay?”
She peeled away the paper seal and opened the lid. “I made them instant cocoa. They’re sitting at the counter, looking ready to fall asleep. I figure we have a few minutes before we need to get them upstairs to bed.”
We. He couldn’t remember the last time someone used that word with him in mind. Since well before Laurel returned. He’d been alone a long time. But never more alone than he’d felt the past four months.
Meg poured two fingers into each glass then handed him one. When he lifted it to his lips, a whiff made his nostrils twitch and burn. He took a sip and waited for the burn he knew would follow. “Oh, that’s smooth,” he said, drawing out the word.
Meg tossed back a gulp. Her too-blue-to-be-true eyes opened wide for a second before her face scrunched up and she gasped, “Holy moly. This isn’t tequila, is it?”
Hank laughed so loud Mystic startled. She stared at him unblinking then she made a cooing sound.
Meg stepped into Mystic’s range of view.
“Hello, baby girl. Merry Christmas.”
Then, Mystic did something he’d never seen before. She smiled. Not a gas bubble. Not a random testing of facial muscles. She smiled, like she was meeting an old friend she hadn’t seen in a very long time.
The two stared at each other for several heartbeats. Then Mystic wiggled her little butt and made that unmistakable sound…because what goes in must come out.
Meg lifted her glass in a toast. “Here’s to you, Grandpa. I’m going to check on the big kids.”
Chapter Four
‡
Twenty minutes later, Meg nursed the final dregs of her brandy while seated on a stool at her kitchen island. Fatigue and post-trauma let down were sinking in. She’d sleep like a rock tonight—even with five strangers in her house.
After changing the baby, Henry had left Mystic kicking and squirming on the plush rug in front of the fire as he helped the older kids get ready for bed. Meg didn’t know if the children were always that well behaved or if they were merely in shock. She’d witnessed some of the major bedtime scenes her nieces and nephews threw over the years. Rarely did bedtime go this smoothly.
“Done,” Henry said, clomping slowly down the stairs from the loft—exhaustion showing in the bend of his upper back and heaviness of each step. “Teeth brushed. Prayers said. All tucked in. Annie said to thank you for the snowflake nightlight.”
Meg made a thumbs-up gesture. “I set Bravo’s backpack in the guest room. He went potty and brushed his teeth but he refuses to go to bed without his ‘pullon,’ whatever that is.”
Henry walked to the leather love seat where sleepy, worn-out Bravo was sprawled. “It’s a kind of diaper. He doesn’t like that word. Sounds too babyish. Right, kiddo?”
He scooped up the child, who threw his arms around his grandfather’s neck and hid his face in Hank’s neck, but Meg saw the little reddish-blond head nod.
“He was potty trained when Laurel and the kids got here, but all the stress has been tough on him,” Henry said, walking to the guest room. “He’s been waking up with nightmares since his mother died and sometimes has an accident.”
Meg had turned down the bed and left the lights on, but she’d forgotten to turn on the nightlight her parents used when they were visiting. Unfamiliar surrounding often meant stubbed toes or unnecessary shin bruises, so Meg did her best to protect her guests.
She slid off her stool and followed them into the room, which still contained a few of the previous owners’ decorating foibles—such as horseshoe-shaped light switch covers, a wagon wheel fan light and a Riders of the Purple Sage nightlight, which cast silhouettes of horseback riders on the wall.
“Completely understandable,” Meg said, taking the light from the built-in desk drawer on the far side of the room. “I remember you giving a speech one time about the legacy you were trying to create for your daughter and her children. You described her so beautifully. She seemed like a very, very special person. I’m truly sorry for your loss.”
His gruff grunt could have been an acknowledgement of her lame attempt at sympathy or from the weight of shifting Bravo to the bed.
“Where will Mystic sleep?”
Henry tenderly brushed back an overly long lock of hair from the little tyke’s brow before Bravo turned on one side and popped his thumb into his mouth. “For some reason, Mystic sleeps best in her carrier. I don’t know what I’m going to do when she outgrows it.”
“We left it in my room. Let me grab it for you.”
Meg checked on the baby, who appeared to be communing with the fire at the moment, on her way past. When she returned, Henry had picked up Mystic and was rocking her in his big man arms.
Meg had never seen anything sexier. She swallowed against the tightness in her throat.
“Just set it there. I’ll change her one more time before we turn in. Do you want to sit a minute?” he asked.
“I’m afraid if I do, I might never get up,” she admitted. But she could tell he wanted to talk, so she curled into her favorite spot at the end of the sofa closest to the wood-burning stove. She kicked off her UGGs and tucked her stocking feet under her, drawing the beautiful gypsy throw her mother had given her for Christmas across her knees.
“I know what you mean,” Henry said, sitting across from her. “I feel like I just crashed a helicopter on a mountain in the middle of a blizzard.”
She couldn’t help but smile. His chagrin seemed mixed with humility.
“I’ll tell you a profundity I’ve tried to embrace many times in my life—accidents happen.”
“Lately, I’ve been starting to think it’s personal. Or that was true until you showed up. Now, I’m reminded of just how lucky I am. There’s no way I can possibly thank you enough, Meg. You saved our lives.”
Gratitude. She’d never handled praise or overt displays of appreciation well. “You’d have done the same for me. As a wise man once said, ‘Watching out for each other is what we do in Montana.’”
He gave a soft snort, presumably recalling the words of the speech he’d delivered on the steps of the State Capitol during a wolf protest. Meg had watched the event on TV. She’d been so moved by Henry Firestone’s delivery and passion and compassion.
“None of us want to kill wolves for sport. We still want to continue what we’ve been doing for a hundred-plus years. As a good neighbor to our south, Yellowstone should know and respect that. Some of us have been in business just about as long as the Park has been open.”
Henry heaved a sigh then sat forward. “I need to lie down before I fall down. Could I ask one more small favor? You said you’re always up early. If by some slim chance Mystic doesn’t need a bottle before dawn, would you please wake me up before Annie and Bravo? Santa brought them each a present and I don’t want the kids to see me setting them out.”
Her
heart melted like one of the fast-burning emergency candles she kept in both the bathrooms in case the electricity went out. “Brilliant idea. Will do.”
But, first, she thought, I’ll do a little Santa-ing of my own. She couldn’t whip up anything fancy or personal—who knew she’d wind up with five extra souls on Christmas Eve? But her generous family had sent far more gifts than she could use and some of them—or parts of them—might work for the kids.
For Henry? Well, that was another matter all together.
*
She’d just finished wrapping the last gift when her cellphone began to hum and vibrate. The image on the face of it belonged to her mother. “Hey, Mom, pretty late for you. Did Paul and Bailey arrive safe and sound?” The newlyweds had been determined to spend the holiday with both sets of parents, even though this meant flying to Arizona on Christmas Eve morning.
“Yes. They beat the storm without a problem, but I just got off the phone with Mia and she said a blizzard is pummeling Marietta. She was worried about you, but her phone service is sketchy so I told her I’d try. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Great. Had a little excitement earlier. A helicopter went down about a mile from here. Luckily, everybody onboard was okay. They’re spending the night with me until help can reach them in the morning.”
“Or next week,” Mom put in. “Your dad and I got snowbound in a cabin above Spring Creek during a blizzard once. I thought we were going to be there until summer.”
“Was that before I was born?”
“If my math is correct, it may the reason you were born.”
Meg laughed. She’d heard that story before and always loved the romance of it. Now, here she was snowbound with a handsome man…and four kids. Somehow that picture didn’t look quite so romantic.
As if reading her eldest daughter’s mind, Mom asked, “So, tell me more about this rescue. Was the pilot a man? Does he have a family? Is his wife there, too?”
“He’s a rancher. His name is Henry Firestone. Dad might know him. He was flying his four grandchildren to the hospital. The youngest is just four months old. She spiked a fever and he panicked. Whatever was wrong, her fever broke while I was carrying her off the mountain. She looks just fine, now.”
“Oh, my goodness. That sounds harrowing. They’re lucky to be alive. Is the helicopter totaled?”
“Hard to say. It was dark and blowing snow when I got to the scene. Henry will probably walk back to check it out once the storm passes.”
“Thank heaven you were there, dear. I don’t want to think how dangerous it was for you, but I know you’re experienced. Get some rest and call me tomorrow…oh, wait, we’re going to be four-wheeling with friends so we might not have service, but we’ll catch up soon. I love you.”
“Love you, too, Mom. Give everybody a hug and a kiss for me. Have fun tomorrow.”
She turned off the phone and collected the packages she’d wrapped. She hoped the Speed Cube she’d bought for eleven-year-old Hunter and forgot to include in his package would interest JJ. Annie was getting a book Meg had picked up for Emilee before Mia mentioned that her daughter had read it three years ago. Meg added a pretty notebook and matching pen to the stack because having a special place to record her most personal thoughts was something Meg had loved at Annie’s age.
For Bravo, she’d wrapped a coloring book of dinosaurs, with its own box of colors, and a bag of plastic cowboy and Indian figurines she’d picked up on a whim at the National Museum of American History last spring when she took Mia’s kids to D.C.
Mystic was tough…until Meg remembered the stuffed wolf pup she’d gotten from one of her students. Would Henry take offense given his stand over the years?
Meg didn’t kid herself that the joy she derived from shopping for gifts for her nieces and nephews made her good mother-material. But for the last year or so, she’d made an effort to spend time with all four to get this now-or-never urge to have a baby out of her system.
Did she have what it took to be a single mom? Some days, she was positive she could handle motherhood with panache. At other times, she worried that she was too committed to her career to be a good mother.
Luckily, she had a few months left before her self-imposed deadline. And this unexpected exposure to an infant might be a gift in its own right. Can I handle a baby?
She was looking forward to trying her hand with Mystic—even though the experiment lacked one crucial component: she wasn’t alone.
As she distributed the gifts on the living room mantel, which she’d adorned earlier that week with pine boughs and red ribbons, it occurred to her that Henry Firestone and his grandchildren might be here longer than overnight. If their rescue took several days—a distinct possibility if things in the valley were as bad as her mother indicated—she’d get some hands-on practice with four kids, from age zero to thirteen.
The only variable she wouldn’t have in real life was a man like Henry to share the load. She wondered what it would be like not to be alone?
She let out a long, deep sigh.
She’d tried and failed at enough relationships to know she probably would wind up alone. Not surprising, she guessed, given the fact her Big Sky Mavericks call sign when she was a kid was Lone Wolf.
Maybe there was no escaping one’s true nature, but the scientist in her needed to push the limits and experiment. Once, before it was too late.
*
From the shadow of the bedroom doorway, Hank watched Meg glide naturally around her rustic furnishings. The silence broken only by the occasional snap and crackle of the logs in the fire. The wind gusts seemed to hit less frequently than they had earlier in the night.
He hoped that meant the worst of the storm had passed. The thought of what could have been still sent an icy shiver down his spine. He knew how lucky they were to be alive, even if Meg—his angel in snowshoes—tried to downplay her role in their rescue.
He’d slept hard for an hour or so—his usual pattern since Laurel arrived, bringing birth and death in quick succession. He worried too much, slept too little and cried more than he had in all of his forty-nine years combined.
Sadness and grief were part of life. Hank understood that. His little sister passed when he was a kid. His parents died a few years apart in his early thirties. His wife had a fling with one of Hank’s fellow Search and Rescue mates. Why Glory chose a player like Ken Morrison, Hank would never understand. For Laurel’s sake they tried counseling and managed to eke out another couple of years, but the Grand Canyon that separated their dreams grew more obvious with each argument. Finally, Gloria and Laurel moved to San Diego the August before Laurel started first grade.
Hank did his best to get past that loss. He dated half a dozen women but not a single one interested him enough to introduce her to his daughter who spent every summer with him on the ranch. Eventually, Laurel was old enough to decide where she wanted to live and she picked Montana.
She married Jacob, a fine young man who intended to carry on ranching when Hank was ready to retire. But a freak accident took Jacob’s life. And Laurel left Montana again—JJ and Annie in tow—to escape her sadness.
For years, Hank felt his long list of losses entitled him to anger—and he’d nursed his grievance by training his anger on one cause: the re-establishment of wolves in Yellowstone. For a time, he’d kept that cause’s beautiful, outspoken figurehead, Dr. Meg Zabrinski, in his crosshairs. Except at night, when she slipped into his dreams on a regular basis. Too bad his fantasy life had no basis in reality.
The irony of being rescued by the woman his cause had demonized over the years made him a little ill. He looked toward the beautiful vaulted ceiling. Had Laurel had a hand in picking his guardian angel? If so, she was presently laughing her ghostly butt off in heaven.
Meg stooped to pick up one of Annie’s stockings. Her expression looked amused—or bemused, as if she couldn’t quite believe she had a houseful of unexpected guests on Christmas Eve.
A gust of wind hit
the house reminding him they might be her guests for longer than one night. He cleared his throat to alert her of his presence then stepped into the living area.
She appeared surprised to see him up. “Did I wake you? I’m sorry. Just wanted to make sure the gifts you brought were in sight when the children wake up. I added a few others, too.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
Her shoulders, which he just then realized were as well-toned as the rest of her body, lifted and fell. “I have a bad habit of buying gifts for my nieces and nephews then forgetting I have them, so I buy more. My family calls it my absentminded professor mode.” Her soft laugh felt very natural, as if she didn’t take herself as seriously as people might think. “All except for Mystic. I had to wing that.”
She looked toward the bedroom. “How’s her fever?”
“Ninety-nine-point-two.” He ran a hand of frustration through his hair. “I was sure she had some deadly infection like Hantavirus. My house is old and there are mice. Whatever this was it came on so fast and furious…” He threw out his hands. “Crazy. I know. And what’s really hard to wrap my head around is I don’t remember being this reactionary when I was a new father.” He frowned. “Of course, I had Gloria, my wife, to bounce things off back then. If anybody was going over the top, it was Glory, so I had to stay calm.”
“Didn’t you say you were talking with people on your shortwave radio?”
He nodded. His brain wouldn’t turn off but his body was exhausted, so he dropped heavily onto the bigger of the two sofas. She continued fussing with the placement of the gifts on the mantel. The GoPro camera he’d bought JJ was a little too big to rest safely on the ledge so she moved it to the flagstone hearth, far enough from the heat Hank didn’t have to worry about the plastic housing melting.
“I can tell you from experience that nothing breeds panic quite like a committee with unlimited resources. It’s easy to spend other people’s money. People hear the word helicopter and think nothing of revving it up for a quick trip to the hospital.”
Montana Maverick Page 5
