Montana Maverick

by Debra Salonen

  “Does it feel too soon?” he asked, his low, smoky growl her only warning before he rolled them over.

  His weight could have felt restrictive or overpowering, but, instead, an intoxicating sense of pure animal lust freed her senses. She writhed and bucked, inviting him to mate with her. He rose to his knees, his hands grabbing her hips with firm intent.

  Were they half-asleep? Half-dreaming? Maybe they were channeling their inner wolves. Whatever the impetus, they did what came naturally, each thrust bringing her closer to that pinnacle of no return.

  With one hand on the top of her shoulder, he reached around with the other to squeeze her breast, as his grunts grew harsher.

  The small sun radiating at her core went to supernova stage, exploding a few seconds later just as Henry cried out in completion.

  Lungs gasping for air like long-distance runners, they dropped to the mattress, intimately connected.

  “Best dream ever,” Henry murmured in her ear. “I could get used to this.”

  Meg tried to smile but the tumultuous emotions crashing through her brain left her oddly choked up. The phrase I-love-you danced dangerously close to her lips. But Meg didn’t use love words haphazardly. She was a scientist. She required proof that any connection between them was real, mutually meaningful, and right for them both.

  Right?

  She stifled a cry and pulled back the covers. “I have to use the bathroom.”

  She jumped out of bed and remembering too late they weren’t in her bedroom. She had to hunt for her robe on the floor because the clouds must have returned, obscuring the moon.

  The chilly air made her skin blister with gooseflesh as she tiptoed barefoot into the guest bath. Her mother’s southwestern nightlight above the sink provided enough light for her to pee and wash up without turning on the fixture over the mirror.

  She used a paper cup from a dispenser to take a drink. The icy water helped clear the mushy fog of sex and hormones from her brain. She flattened both palms on the laminate countertop and looked at her reflection in the mirror, taking in her messy hair, slightly puffy lips and the satiated look in her eyes. She ran a thumb over her bottom lip the way Henry had.

  She did love him. No doubt about it. But, God damn. Did her timing suck or what?

  She took a deep breath and let it out with a long, angst-driven sigh.

  Snip, snip, he’d said. No more babies for Henry.

  She put her hand flat against her belly. Could she trade one dream for another? Give up her life-long dream of having a baby in exchange for the love of a fabulous, decent, sexy man? A man who did right by his daughter, his grandchildren, and his convictions?

  He’d do right by his woman, too, but she knew in her heart of hearts he wouldn’t do what she needed him to do—have his vasectomy reversed.

  Would that be feasible? Or even possible? She doubted it. No. She didn’t have time—even if Hank would try.

  Reality stared her right in the face. If she admitted her feelings for Henry, she’d have to give up her dream of having a baby.

  A familiar cry caught her attention. Mystic.

  Meg shot out of the bathroom to her bedroom where the baby squirmed and fussed, as if to say, “Hey, lady, you want a baby? Here I am. What are you waiting for?”

  Meg’s eyes filled with tears when she leaned down to pick her up. “Hi, sweet thing. Are you wet and hungry?”

  Mystic’s cry intensified until Meg cradled her in the crook of her arm and bounced her lightly. “I’m here. It’s okay. Shh. Shh. Momma’s here.”

  The words were out of her mouth before she realized what she said.

  Meg’s heart thumped so loudly she was sure she might be having a stroke or something. She changed Mystic’s diaper then carried her into the kitchen to prepare a bottle.

  Feeling emotionally drained, Meg returned to the bedroom and sat on her bed, pulling her beautiful mint and gold throw over her feet as she fed the baby. Hank must have added a log before he went to bed, she realized as she stared at the beautiful firelight.

  Mystic suckled greedily, eyes wide-awake.

  Meg looked at her. How, she asked herself, could a stranger’s baby fix a hold on my heart in two short days?

  “You are a sweet treasure, little girl,” she whispered. “You’ve stolen a big chunk of my heart, and that makes what I have to do so much harder.”

  Meg swallowed against the shard of regret in her throat. “You see, I came to the mountains to figure out if I’m mother material or not. And you, Miss Angel, have made me believe I can do this. I’m not afraid to be a mom, anymore.”

  The irony wasn’t lost on her, but she’d never been one to settle. Could she compromise on something this big?

  “What am I going to do, little one? If I set aside my dream of giving birth and take up Henry’s offer of becoming part of your family, there might come a day when I look back with regret. I could wind up resenting you—the sweetest baby on the planet—even though the decision was mine completely.”

  Meg wanted to think she was a bigger person than that, but she’d been a student of human nature too long to completely deny the possibility.

  “As much as I think I love your grandpa and truly care about you and your siblings, I’m afraid I might be too stubborn to give up on my dream,” she admitted, even though her stomach turned over at the thought of never seeing Henry Firestone and his family again. “But you will always have a piece of my heart, little girl. I will never forget you.”

  Meg’s throat was too tight to say more, but in her mind, she added, “I will always, always love you.”

  Mystic put one hand up, trying to touch Meg’s face. When the baby’s tiny fingers closed around Meg’s thumb, she pressed the baby’s knuckles to her lips, fighting back tears.

  Mystic’s eyes closed, and her sucking sounds became more sporadic.

  Meg told herself to stay awake a few minutes longer and put Mystic back in her carrier. But, without meaning to, she rolled to her side, instead, the baby curled to Meg’s chest. Her eyes closed and she gave into a blissful, if conflicted, exhaustion.

  *

  Both Meg and Mystic were sound asleep, the bottle fallen to one side, when Henry tiptoed into the room. He stood a moment, his heart bleeding internally.

  When would it stop, he wondered? First, he was handed the chance of a lifetime when his daughter returned home to Montana to stay, only to have all that possibility and happiness snatched away when he figured out by “stay” she meant to die. Then, Laurel entrusted him with her four, most precious gifts, never expecting someone to show up determined to take away half of his family. Now, the woman who connected with him on a level he never dreamed possible revealed a hidden agenda to which he couldn’t—physically or emotionally—commit.

  Life baffled him at times. He just didn’t get it.

  Why Meg? he asked himself as he walked to her bed and smoothly transferred Mystic to her carrier. Why did I have to crash on her mountaintop? Why does she have to be so good with the kids, so kind and wonderful?

  Why couldn’t she remain the stiff, brainy mouthpiece for the opposition so he could pretend she was the enemy? Why did I have to fall in love with her?

  He dropped a soft kiss on Mystic’s smooth brow then returned to Meg’s bed to cover her with the thick down comforter he found hanging on a quilt stand in the corner.

  He kissed her, too. Tenderly, but with deep, aching regret.

  Before he left, he switched off the baby monitor.

  Chapter Nine

  ‡

  Meg opened her eyes to the gray light of day…and realized instantaneously she was in the wrong bed. As she looked around at the cold fire, the jumble of quilts on top of her covers and the fact she was only wearing her robe, she figured out what happened.

  Mystic’s midnight feeding. She must have fallen asleep while Mystic drank her bottle.

  Since neither the baby nor the bottle was anywhere in sight, she had to assume Henry came in at some point
and put Mystic in her carrier and covered up Meg with her grandmother’s quilt.

  She stretched, smiling as unfamiliar twinges reminded her of the great sex she’d shared with Henry last night. She’d experienced a connection so intense she couldn’t believe they occupied the same plane for years and never jumped each other’s bodies.

  She glanced out the windows. Apparently, she’d forgotten to close the curtains to her deck. On a clear day, she would see Yellowstone in the distance. Today, the misty fog enshrouding them lingered, but she thought she detected a hint of sunlight trying to break through the clouds.

  She rolled over and grabbed her tablet from the bedside table. A quick look showed a strong signal. A tap of an app brought her the forecast. Thirty percent chance of snow, clearing tomorrow.

  A reprieve, she thought. One more day with the Firestone family. One more night in Henry’s arms.

  She flew out of the bed and dashed to her bath. As she showered, she revisited all the sensitive spots Henry had discovered and brought to life.

  She blushed remembering how brazen and uninhibited she’d been with him. After her rocky introduction to sex at age nineteen, Meg didn’t take another lover for nearly five years. She told herself she was being discriminating.

  In truth, she didn’t trust her judgment where men were concerned. That she’d erred so disastrously with her first lover—a man who posted her name to his public list of conquests—made her overly protective of her reputation.

  She wondered what would have happened if Henry Firestone had been her first?

  Probably best that he wasn’t, she thought. I never would have graduated because I would have wanted to stay in bed with him all day.

  Humming a Jennifer Lopez tune about someone’s first love being her last love, Meg got dressed then went in search of her temporary family.

  Annie was hunkered down in the recliner with her nose in her new book. She looked up and smiled as Meg walked by on her way to the kitchen where Hank stood, elbows deep in dishes.

  Bravo occupied a stool at the counter, a cereal bowl in front of him. Neither JJ nor Mystic were anywhere in sight.

  “Good morning,” she said cheerfully, heading straight to the coffeemaker. “How is everyone today?”

  Bravo mumbled something that sounded like “Good,” but earned him a stern look from his grandfather when small chunks of cereal dropped to the countertop.

  She wanted to walk up behind Henry and squeeze him in a tight hug from behind. What was it about a big rugged man doing household chores the struck her as so damn sexy? But she didn’t. She didn’t want to draw attention to the change in their relationship until she had a chance to talk to Henry about where he saw them going with this.

  She’d made up her mind to stay on track with her plans, but that wouldn’t preclude them from being friends. Long-distance friends, granted, once she was back at the university, but…they’d figure it out.

  “Is JJ still sick?”

  “Lethargic and listless, like Mystic was after the fever passed, but I think he’s on the road to recovery.”

  Meg tilted her head. His tone seemed flat and listless, too. “How do you feel? You’re not coming down with the flu, are you?”

  “No.”

  Monosyllabic grunts? How teenage boyish. Was he hurt that she left him so abruptly last night after they made love? No post-coital chitchat? She would have liked to wake up in his arms this morning and showered together, too, but that didn’t happen. She wasn’t going to pout about it.

  “So, the weather app says one more day of snow. What are we going to do to pass our time? Build a snow cave?”

  Bravo applauded. “Me. I wanna. Can I, Grandpa?”

  “‘Fraid not, kiddo. We’re taking off this afternoon.”

  Meg coughed, her sip of coffee going down wrong. “You are? How?”

  “I hired a snowplow. He’s busy this morning, but he’ll get started on your road around one. He figures it’ll take him at least an hour, maybe longer. Then, I was hoping I could either borrow your truck—smart move, by the way. When I looked in your barn this morning, I was expecting to see a Prius.”

  “That’s what I drive in Missoula.”

  His snort seemed a little insulting. As if she’d just proven something unflattering to him.

  “Well, four-wheel-drive is a good choice for the mountains, and with the bench seat, we could fit all six of us, if you’d consider giving us a lift home.”

  A cold chill passed down her spine. This was so not how she pictured this morning’s conversation. What happened to their heartfelt declarations of passion and need?

  “Umm…sure. I can take you home. What’s the rush, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  He finished rinsing the soup pot then turned it upside down in the sink and wiped his hands. He grabbed his smart phone from the countertop and walked toward her, fiddling with something on the screen.

  “This was sent yesterday, but I only got it this morning.”

  He handed her the phone to read the text message.

  “Hank. Mom’s lawyer will be in touch soon. We want Bravo and Mystic to come back to CA. Please don’t fight us on this. They’re my kids. PS: dumb trick with the helicopter. You’ll be lucky if CPS doesn’t take away the older kids, too.”

  Meg nearly lost the few sips of coffee she’d swallowed. Her hand shook when she passed the phone back to him. “How’d he find out?”

  Henry’s low growl seemed tempered by the fact Bravo was watching them. “Let’s check on Mystic and I’ll explain.”

  She set her cup on the counter, and then helped Bravo off the stool. “Want to watch a movie?”

  He nodded with enthusiasm. “The cold one.”

  She rolled her eyes the same way she had yesterday when he asked to see Frozen…again. “You’re a little crazy, you know that, right?” she teased, giving him a quick squeeze.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Why do you like that movie so much?”

  His thin shoulders lifted and fell. “I just do.”

  “Good point. Some things defy explanation.” Like the way she felt in Henry’s arms and the sick feeling she had knowing he was about to take his family and leave, even though she’d made up her mind to let them go.

  She closed the door to the guest room behind her but didn’t latch it tight. Bravo and Annie were engrossed in the show, and JJ was still upstairs. Their talk would remain private.

  “Wow. You’ve had a busy morning,” she said, glancing around. The children’s backpacks were stuffed and neatly lined up against the closet doors. His duffel seemed packed as well. The bed was stripped, the entire room neater than when they arrived. “I feel like a real slacker.”

  “I woke up early. Bravo had an accident. The pull-on leaked. Since I was washing sheets, I decided to do this bed, too. They’re all in the dryer. I’ll make them all before we leave.”

  Her insides made the same rollercoaster heave-ho as earlier. She walked to the overstuffed armchair she’d moved from her parents’ home where Mystic’s carrier rested. He’d dressed her in a fuzzy, pink and brown one-piece sleeper adorned with frolicking monkeys. The built-in “shoes” were designed to look like dance slippers. Meg had never seen anything more adorable in her life.

  I wonder if I’ll have a girl?

  The question reminded her of her decision. She still needed to have the morning-after talk with Henry, but, first, she needed to find out about his dilemma.

  “So, bring me up to speed,” she said, folding her arms across her middle as she rested her butt against the dresser.

  Henry walked to the west-facing window and looked out. On a clear day, his view would have been one of distant peaks and trees. This morning, the gray mist pressed inward, as if wanting to keep them from leaving.

  “I tried calling David as soon as I got the text but my call wouldn’t go through. I couldn’t figure out how he’d have heard about the helicopter crash, until I remembered his Facebook page.”

&n
bsp; He fiddled with his phone while he explained. “When Laurel first moved here, she’d post photos of the kids for him and links to local news, including this page.”

  She walked to where he was standing.

  She recognized the Search and Rescue header. The logo was the same one she remembered from the pamphlet she’d received in the mail when she signed up for her first Wilderness Survival course. She’d never visited the online site, but she saw at a glance SAR was up-to-date and connected to all the current social networking sites. And the first thing you saw on the opening page was a blog by Division Commander Kenneth Morrison with the headline in Santa-suit red: Local Rancher’s Doomed Christmas Eve Flight.

  The image of a totaled helicopter didn’t look anything like Henry’s downed bird, but it made her heart rate spike, even as she spotted the fine print that read: “stock image.”

  When she looked at Henry, she saw the barely contained anger burning behind his calm expression. “He named you?”

  A muscle below his left eye twitched. “Yes.”

  “And this showed up on your son-in-law’s Facebook feed.”

  “I assume so.”

  She gave him back the phone.

  “Don’t you want to read it? According to Ken, you’re a well-meaning risk taker with no regard for your personal safety. We all survived by the pure grace of God.”

  Her fingers clenched as her old anger seeped into her limbs like a virus. “Can we sue?”

  He snorted softly. “It would be your word against his.”

  “That’s what they said last time,” she muttered.

  He cocked his head. “What are you talking about?”

  She brushed the question away. “Doesn’t matter. We need a plan. I’ll call Mia. Your son-in-law can’t just show up and demand the kids. She’ll know what to do.”

  She turned to go in search of her phone, but Henry stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Wait. I appreciate that. I was going to ask for her number, but I don’t want to pull you into my fight. I know you have a life…and it doesn’t include us.”