Montana Maverick

by Debra Salonen

  “No,” she said, sitting upright. “Not possible. I never get sick.”

  Although she usually got a flu shot and this year she’d decided against it because she didn’t want any desiccated flu virus floating around her pre-pregnancy body.

  “Well, that may be, but you’ve never been exposed to Mystic’s supergerms before.”

  “I can’t be sick. Mia’s expecting me.” They’d made plans to drive back to Marietta together and spend a few days catching up.

  “Not anymore,” Henry said. “I’ll call her to reschedule when we get to the ranch. No reason to expose another family to this contagion.”

  Meg wanted to argue. Nobody gave her orders. She was a leader, not a follower. An alpha without a pack.

  The thought repeated on a loop in her mushy brain. An alpha without a pack.

  Suddenly, something soft and fuzzy poked between her shoulder and the door.

  She looked down. Mystic’s stuffed wolf. The one Meg had wrapped up for her on Christmas Eve. The thing—now named Wolfie—never left Annie’s side.

  Meg’s vision blurred. She tried to look behind her, but her muscles wouldn’t cooperate. “Thank you, sweetie,” she said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Wolfie made a decent pillow. She positioned the plush stuffed animal between her head and the window and closed her eyes.

  The next thing she knew the truck had stopped and a gush of cold made her shiver violently. “Brrr.”

  “I know. Sorry, love. I left you sleeping here with the truck running until the kids and I made sure the house was warmed up. Annie helped me get your bed ready. It’s time.”

  Apparently, someone had helped her topple sideways so her head was in the driver’s seat. Henry leaned across her to ease her into an upright position. She blinked against the bright sunlight that sent white-hot shards through her brain.

  Between winces, she tried to look around, despite the fact her head was spinning. First impressions bounced around but few stuck. Big white box of a house. Old but well tended. Two-story. Huge porch. “Where’s the snow?”

  He put one of her limp arms around his neck and scooted her closer to the door. “All around us. Family legend has it that Grandpa Firestone camped on the property his first winter and picked the place with the most protection to build his house.”

  “Smart guy.”

  “He was. Innovative. I’ll show you around when you’re feeling better. Now, grab hold. I’m carrying you.”

  “What?” she cried, pushing with all her feeble strength against the massive shoulders bunched beneath his heavy jacket. “I’m no featherweight. You’ll put your back out. I can walk.” She hoped.

  “Do you have to argue about everything? This is non-negotiable. Annie took your boots inside already. Hang on.”

  She gulped in a breath of frosty air and ducked her head as he back up with her cradled in his arms like an oversized Mystic. The deep red of the setting sun made his hair appear lighter. He hadn’t shaved that morning and the day’s growth was sexy as hell, she had to admit. He looked strong and a little bit dangerous.

  “Are you sure about this, John Wayne?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  His grin went deep and low and tied her insides into a big pink bow.

  “Hang on.”

  To someone out of her line of vision, he said, “Can you get the door?”

  “Yep,” a voice answered before the solid thud of the truck door sounded behind them.

  JJ. Darn, she liked that kid. Always present. Ready to help. She wished…

  Meg closed her eyes and pushed the thought away. She’d made up her mind. She was going through with her plan…just as soon as she was well enough to drive. “Did you get hold of my sister?”

  “Yes,” he said, mounting the first of two low steps to the covered porch.

  She looked up. Narrow siding, thick with numerous coats of white paint told her there must be an upper deck. She imagined the view someone would have of the Silver Springs Ranch sprawling in every direction. She wanted to see more but was afraid to look—afraid she’d fall in love with Henry’s home, too.

  “Annie is brewing you a pot of herbal tea. She said her mother always made it whenever anyone in the house got sick. And here she is to open the door for us.”

  The white wooden screen door complained—or greeted her—with a funny squeak.

  “Your door is talking to you.”

  “It always does. No amount of oil on the hinges works for long.”

  She felt Henry’s so-what shrug and envied him for it. Control freak that she was, she’d never mastered letting go.

  I could use a little more whatever in my life, she thought, closing her eyes.

  As much as she wanted to check out Henry’s home, the throbbing was back in her brain. A moan slipped through her lips without permission.

  “Oh, poor baby. I’m so sorry you got this, Meg. But, luckily, it seems to run its course fast.”

  The room he carried her to was on the first floor, thank God. He helped her stand long enough to strip off her heavy outer coat, but she started shivering instantly. “In bed, sweetheart. Clothes and all. Annie, did you find the hot water bottle?”

  Meg hadn’t seen one of those in years.

  “Uh-huh. It was under the upstairs’ sink. JJ’s filling it with water from the pot filler.”

  “Ooh. Dangerous. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  Meg heard the sound of his boots on the hardwood floor as he hurried away. A few seconds later, a small, cool hand touched her brow. “Are you okay, Meg?”

  Meg forced her eyes to open. Annie’s worried expression touched her heart. “I will be, sweetie. Where’s Wolfie?”

  Annie’s beautiful little face lit up. “Right here.” She produced the stuffed animal from behind her back. “I asked Mystic if it was okay that he slept with you until you’re better and she said yes.”

  Meg pictured the conversation between the two sisters and smiled. It took all the energy she had, but Meg managed to poke her hand out from beneath the heavy quilt to pull the fuzzy beast close to her heart.

  “Better. He’ll watch over me. Wolves are very protective of their families.”

  “Like Grandpas.”

  “Yes. Your grandpa would make a great wolf.”

  “Wow. That’s high praise coming from Meg Z,” Henry said as he took Annie’s place at her bedside. “I’m going to put this down by your feet. Laurel’s feet were always cold. She said it helped.”

  Meg blinked and looked around. “Was this your daughter’s room?”

  Henry finished what he was doing and returned to her side. She closed her eyes to focus on the warmth near her icy digits. Even with thick socks, her feet had felt frozen all day. “That’s nice. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” His tone was warm and filled with kindness…and worry.

  Nobody worries about me, she thought. Maybe Mom and Dad in a general way, but not like this.

  “I’ll worry until you’re back to your feisty self.”

  I said that out loud?

  She hadn’t meant to. She wasn’t complaining. She prided herself on being independent, self-actuated, the strongest of her siblings.

  But, lately, she’d wondered if that were true. Over the past year, Mia had dealt with breast cancer, a divorce and moving two teens to a different state. Somehow, her sister managed to keep her family together and fall in love with a great guy.

  There was only one small glitch to Mia and Ryker’s long-term plans. Mia couldn’t have any more children, and Ryker just turned thirty. Presumably, he’d want a child at some point.

  But, as far as Meg could tell, they weren’t letting Mia’s hysterectomy slow down their plans to make a life together. And both of her brothers had found mates who seemed to complement them in every way.

  Everyone has a pack but me, she thought, squeezing the toy wolf a little tighter.

  “You asked me about the room,” Henry said, dist
racting Meg from her pity party. “This was originally a formal dining room, but it hardly ever got used. So, after my dad’s second stroke, Mom had it converted to a main floor bedroom.

  “Dad couldn’t handle the stairs, and Mom wanted him close so she could keep an eye on him during the day.”

  Made sense, Meg thought, relaxing just from the warm embrace of his voice and knowing he was looking after her. Probably learned that from his mother.

  “After Dad passed away, Glory and I moved in with Laurel. We’d been living in the bunkhouse, but Mom said this place was too big and empty for her. So, we took over the upstairs and Mom made this her room.

  “When I decided to try the agro-tourism market, I hired a contractor to enlarge the bath and bring the place up to ADA code. His decorator wife made it cutesy-cutesy.”

  He paused and his voice changed when he added, “Unfortunately, my first guest was Laurel.”

  His sigh broke Meg’s heart. She couldn’t imagine how painful it must have been to watch your child die.

  “But, don’t worry,” he said with an obviously fake heartiness to his tone. “Hospice brought her a bed and took it away after she passed. What you’re sleeping on is the fancy pillow top mattress the decorator insisted I buy. You’re the first person to sleep on it.”

  He planted a quick, chaste kiss on her brow. “Sleep well. We’ll all be checking on you.”

  His parting comment made her heart lift and fall in the sweetest way. Then, she positioned her feet closer to the hot water bottle and let out a long, deep sigh.

  So, this is what it’s like to be loved by a family of your own.

  *

  Hank checked to make sure his phone was in the breast pocket of his Carhartt vest before he started for the back door. He glanced at JJ, who was sitting at the big plank table playing with the gift Meg had given him.

  She’d made an impact on each of their lives. They’d all miss her if he let her leave. Was he the world’s biggest fool not to try to fight for her? Probably, but what Meg wanted was simply more than he could give.

  “Jazz, I’m going to make sure the horses have enough feed and the cows’ water isn’t frozen. Call me if Meg wakes up, okay?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “The baby monitor is on, right?”

  JJ glanced up. “Uh-huh.”

  “And—”

  “Bravo and Annie are watching that stupid movie Meg gave them for the hundred and twentieth time,” JJ said, shaking his head.

  Hank bit back a grin. Damn, I love this kid. “I couldn’t do this without you, Jazz. You know that, right?”

  “You could if Meg stayed. How come she won’t?”

  “It’s complicated,” Hank said. “I have to get my chores done.”

  He turned and walked away like the coward he was.

  A baby of her own. That’s what she wanted and who was he to deny any woman her dreams? He had everything he’d ever wanted. He looked around with a feeling of pride and accomplishment.

  It hadn’t come easy. He’d made sacrifices. A marriage that might have held together a few years longer if he’d been able to compromise.

  “I could probably stand the winters,” his young wife had begged him over and over, “if you’d take Laurel and me somewhere once in awhile. Disneyworld. Florida. You could hire someone to watch over the place while we went somewhere as a family.”

  Glory was right. He could have. But he’d always found some excuse. Finally, she got tired of asking and turned to Hank’s SAR buddy, who had a reputation for hitting on lonely, dissatisfied women.

  Hank and Glory nearly broke up when he found out about the affair. A braggart like Kenny couldn’t keep a secret to himself for long—especially when he’d scored against the person Ken considered his rival on the Search and Rescue team.

  But Hank was too stubborn to give up on his marriage. He’d booked a flight to St. Petersburg, Florida, where they took a shuttle to one of the many giant hotels situated along St. Pete’s beach.

  Hank hated every stinking minute of the trip. The weather was too hot. Too muggy. Glory spent the whole time by the pool in a tiny bikini getting ogled by old men in bad toupees. Their toddler got stung on the foot by a stingray that was invisible in the fine white sand.

  A year later, Glory left for good. “Laurel and I are moving to California, Hank. You can have her every summer for as long as she wants to come.”

  Glory visited a couple of times over the years after JJ and Annie were born, but she and Hank didn’t have much contact until Laurel’s funeral. Although parts of that sad event were a blur, he’d somehow managed to host his ex-wife’s large blended family for four of the most difficult days of his life.

  The morning they were set to leave, Glory had pulled him aside and told him, “You’re a good man, Henry Firestone. Probably the best I’ve ever known. Too bad our timing was so messed up. I wanted to see the world and you had your world right here in front of you from the very beginning.”

  Then, she’d kissed him on the mouth and walked away.

  Timing, he thought, breaking apart a flake of alfalfa for the young mares in the pen closest to the barn. “When hasn’t my timing sucked?”

  His phone rang as he headed toward the “bunkhouse” where his foreman, Andy Morgan—a twenty-something cowboy with an even younger wife and new baby—lived.

  The bunkhouse had lived up to its name since the year Laurel was born. Mom and Dad—mostly Mom—decided she wanted her son and his family closer to home, so they hired a construction crew to modernize the place into a small, but adequate two-bedroom and one bath house. Far enough from the main house to feel independent but close enough to help when Dad collapsed the first time.

  Andy and Jenny had been visiting her parents in Livingston on Christmas Eve when Mystic spiked a fever. Luckily, they’d made it back safely the same night and were able to watch over the place while he was away.

  He didn’t recognize the number, but since it was local, he answered. “Hello,” he said, stopping at the corner of the barn to take the call.

  “Hank. It’s Ken Morrison. I’ve been calling Meg Zabrinski’s number for the past couple of hours and she’s not answering. Are you still at her place?”

  “Nope. Snow plow got through about four hours ago.”

  “Oh. Do you know where she is?”

  “Yep. Sound asleep in my guest room. Caught the same bug my granddaughter had.”

  Ken made a chortling sound. “Wow. First, she saves your ass, and then you get her sick? Way to go, man.”

  Hank’s blood boiled but he refused to give Ken the benefit of knowing he got under Hank’s skin. “Why do you want her?”

  “Well, to tell you the truth, I used to know her. Long time ago. We haven’t talked in years. I thought we might get together again.”

  Over my dead body.

  “I suggest you wait a couple days, man. At least until she’s not puking her guts out.” A gross exaggeration but Hank knew his ploy worked when Ken made a gagging sound.

  “Good point. Well, tell her I called.”

  Never. “Will do.”

  Before he could end the call, Ken asked, “She…um…never mentioned what happened between us, did she?”

  “You mean the way you cleaved her from the group of students, singling her out because she was young and inexperienced and vulnerable, then you took her virginity and bragged about it in the most public way possible at the time? I suppose nowadays you just blog about your conquests, right?”

  Ken didn’t answer for a moment. “I…” He let out a hostile expletive. “I guess we can’t all be as perfect as Henry Firestone. Oh, and, by the way, the Forest Service Office is closed till the new year, but I’ll make sure they know about the helicopter that crashed on their land on Christmas Eve. I’ll even give them a bid on what my team will charge to recovery it. You might want to start lining up some financing, Hank. Unless you’re hoping that rich professor you’ve got sleeping in your house will make you a loa
n.”

  Hank turned off his phone and took off walking again. He detoured past the bunkhouse. He was too pissed off to make small talk.

  He used an ax to open up a frozen trough for the thirty-five Highland Cattle he’d invested in a few years ago. Although some of his old-time ranch pals joked about his Scottish minis, Hank loved the resilient, adaptable beasts. They ate natural grasses and weeds his father’s herd never would have touched.

  And, to Hank’s profound surprise, he’d turned a profit from meat sales in his first year. Health-conscious people in the know went nuts over highland steaks, which were naturally lower in fat and cholesterol than regular free range beef because instead of adding subcutaneous fat to keep warm, highland cattle added another layer of downy hair.

  As he headed back to the house, he saw a big white SUV slow on the main road then turn into his long, snow-packed drive. His house may have missed the brunt of the recent storm but the rest of the ranch was a wind-swept postcard from Siberia.

  He didn’t recognize the high-end vehicle or the woman behind the wheel, but once she hopped out and marched toward him, her gaze never leaving his, he had a name.

  “Mia Zabrinski, right?”

  He took off his thick, lined glove to shake her bare hand.

  “Yes. How’d you know? Meg and I don’t look anything alike.”

  “That’s true, but you both have that same take-no-prisoners glint in your eyes.”

  She threw back her head and laughed. “I love that. You’re cool. Where’s my sister?”

  “In bed. Sicker than a dog.” He motioned for her follow him. “You must not have gotten her message.”

  “I did, but I was already on my way here and, well, what can I say? We’re Zabrinskis. Once we make up our minds to do something, we never go back.”

  “Humph,” he grunted, despite his best effort not to show how disappointing he found her declaration.

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Oh, nothing. Sorry. Your sister is…amazing. Really. I owe her more than I can ever repay. You have no idea.” He opened the door. “Come in. Can I get you a soft drink? Coffee? Tea?”

  “Don’t suppose you have any cocoa…naw, forget it. I’ve put on six pounds since Thanksgiving.”