Surviving Love (Montana Wilds Book 1)

by Willow Summers

  The thunder of sound cut off. He firmly planted a foot on the ground and braced a hand on his thigh. “Bad day?”

  “No, actually. Great day. Last day, in fact. I staged a whole scene for my departure. Yelled at the boss and everything.”

  Mike looked over his shoulder toward the café. He grunted out a chuckle. “I can’t see Doug getting worked up.”

  “No. He was nonplussed.” Christie shrugged before hooking a thumb toward the bus. “I gotta run. You going to be at the thing tomorrow?”

  “Hop on. I’ll take you home.”

  Christie paused, glancing over the large bike. Then over the large shoulders of the man she now thought of as a brother figure. Once upon a time she would’ve salivated for the chance to snake her arms around that rock-solid middle. Now the idea was gross.

  “Nah. Sara would probably stick a knife in my ribs or something.”

  Mike grinned. “You chicken?”

  “No. You’re the only barnyard animal here.” She stepped toward the bus. “But seriously, I gotta go. Last time I missed the bus, I found a bar. That was not a pretty evening.”

  “Hang on.” Mike fished out his phone and tapped the screen. A moment later he lifted it to his head. “Where are you?” He listened for a moment, glanced at the sinking sun, and then looked out over the street. “Well, can you take a detour and pick Christie up? She needs a ride.”

  “I don’t need—”

  Mike nodded, grunted, then lowered the phone and tapped the red end button. Apparently the grunt was a goodbye cue. He adjusted so he could slip the device back in his pocket.

  “How does that not get broken?” Christie said.

  “My pants are looser than yours. Greg’s not far. He’ll swing by and grab you.”

  “I take the bus every day, Mike. It’s really not a big—”

  The bike roared to a start. “What’s that? Didn’t hear ya!” He grinned at her before centering the bike under him. In an elevated voice to edge out over the growl of the Harley, he said, “Sara would skin me alive if I passed by and didn’t look after you. See you tomorrow.”

  The bike revved once before Mike pulled away from the curb.

  “Wait! Where am I supposed to wait for him…” Man and machine rumbled on, having left out some very important directions.

  Christie sighed and glanced at her wrist again. She could still make the bus if she hurried.

  She blew out a breath.

  If she took the bus, Greg would’ve made the trip for nothing. That wouldn’t be cool.

  The question was, how long would Greg take?

  “Bus would probably be faster,” she muttered.

  “What’s that?” Karen, the toy shop owner, passed by holding the wrist of a struggling toddler. Amazingly, her smile at Christie wasn’t forced.

  “Nothing. Sorry.” Christie stepped back, out of the way. She received a kind smile as the patient woman mostly dragged her screaming toddler up the street. That kid had tantrums nearly every day. Christie did not know how Karen dealt with it.

  She kicked at a rock and swung her body toward the right. Then left. Movement eased the boredom sometimes. It also made one look like a fool.

  She dug out her phone and gently fingered the screen. A picture of the Milky Way lit up, sliced in half by a crack she still hadn’t fixed. A moment later, as she was restarting her game of Candy Crush, the purr of a motor announced a hefty red truck. She glanced up, wondering why the red automobile was stopping in front of her, until she recognized the driver.

  A delighted grin lit up her face as she practically danced to the curb. The driver’s-side door opened and closed. Cowboy boots tapped the ground as a tall, well-built man came around the hood with tight Wranglers and a faded T-shirt doing nothing to protect him against the receding chill of winter. His dusty green eyes, the color of faded dollar bills, took her in before crinkling at the corners. He flashed her his customary lopsided grin. “Howdy,” Greg said. “Heard you were stranded and in need of saving.”

  “Yeah, right. Overprotective Mike happened to see me as he was passing by. He offered me a ride on his death trap.” Christie threw up a hand for a high five.

  Greg raised his as well, and then let it hover in a type of salute. In a deep voice mocking bad westerns, he said, “How.”

  “That is so not PC. You’re going to get your ass kicked one of these days.” A giggle tumbled out of Christie’s lips. “What’s that?” She pointed at the shiny truck.

  His grin turned into a full spectacle. His broad shoulders caught her gaze for a moment as he hooked his thumbs in his pockets, flaring his elbows to the sides. “New digs. Just got it last week. C’mon, I’ll take you for a ride.” Greg opened the passenger door and held out his hand.

  “You guys are treating me like a sack of potatoes. The bus would’ve been fine.” She rolled her eyes. “I would’ve been halfway home by now.”

  “Don’t worry about it. This truck is made for hauling. Potatoes, chicks—whatever.” He shook his hand at her. “The bus is nowhere near this comfortable.”

  Smiling, because she loved Greg’s goofiness, she took his large, calloused hand and allowed him to hand her into the truck. Only, it was higher than normal vehicles, and she couldn’t easily swing her butt in.

  “C’mon, Smith, in ye get.” She felt a firm hand on her butt before a strong shove catapulted her into the cab. Her face slid against the leather before she righted herself and slapped the hair out of her face.

  “You okay?” He stepped up into his seat and paused, his smile dwindling.

  “Jesus, Gibson, you been eating your Wheaties? Since when can you lift all my weight with one hand?”

  “You weigh about as much as a fruit fly.” Scarlet bled into his cheeks. “Sorry about that. Touching your butt. I thought it’d be less intrusive than grabbing your sides.”

  She held up her hand as confusion colored her voice. “You thought touching a private part, and damn near the private part, was less intrusive than touching a part I willingly show to people on a hot summer’s day?”

  “The sides are problem areas for women, am I right? You don’t have an ounce of fat on you, but if you did, and your sides were at all squishy, you’d probably be embarrassed, and then I’d get slapped. Or, with you, kicked in the nuts. So yeah, I figured your butt was the better way to go. Or waiting for your clumsy ass to finally get up there, but I got places to be…”

  She laughed and shook her head. “Anyway, so why the new truck?”

  His gaze covered her a moment longer, delving into her eyes in a way that had her squirming uncomfortably. “Hello?” she badgered. “Earth to simpleton.”

  “Simpleton reading you, loud and clear. Go ahead, Earth.”

  Warmth and giggles bubbled up through her middle. “Truck? ’Splain, please.”

  Greg finally turned his eyes away and slipped the truck into gear. “I like nice things.”

  “Since when?”

  Greg’s head cocked to the side as the truck rolled to a start. “Hmm. Not sure. Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.”

  “Yeah, right.” Christie slung the seatbelt around her as Greg navigated onto the highway. The dashboard felt smooth under her palm. She inhaled deeply. “I love the new car smell.”

  “She’s got all the bells and whistles. I wanted the best and I didn’t mind paying for it.”

  She heard the pride ringing through his voice. Having known him for a few years—he was a permanent employee on the dude ranch and Mike’s best friend—she knew that he didn’t come from much. His parents were only a step above poverty when he came into the world. Two years later, his dad ran out on them, financially sinking his mother further still. From what Christie heard, Greg was extremely intelligent, but hadn’t been able to apply that academically because of the price tag. Instead, he’d worked his way up from the bottom at the ranch, applying elbow grease to his smarts, and making a name for himself in the ranching community. Next to Jake, Greg was the best horse hand
ler in the county.

  “You get a raise?” Christie asked, turning toward him. She had a feeling that this was a defining moment for him—she needed to let him fully express it.

  He shrugged minutely. “Something like that.”

  “Really? You’re going to be modest? You know I’ll just ask around and get all the juice.”

  A suppressed grin tweaked his lips. “I’m managing everything to do with the horses, now. Buying, selling, stables, guest interaction…”

  “Oh wow.” She reached over and patted his thick shoulder. “That’s awesome. Congratulations! When did you find out?”

  “A few weeks ago.”

  “And I am just hearing about it?” Christie frowned and slid her lip through her teeth. “Did you tell Sara?”

  “Didn’t have to. All operational decisions go through her before being approved. No one wants to mess up her system.”

  “Right, right.” Christie drummed her fingers on the door handle. “I wonder why she didn’t mention anything. I like to be in the know, as everyone is aware…”

  Greg shrugged and glanced out his window. If she didn’t know better, she would think he was embarrassed. Odd.

  “No comment about me looking into your life, huh?” she pressed, leaning forward to see more of his features. “No smart-ass comment?”

  His grin didn’t resurface. He shrugged again.

  Uncertainty niggled at her insides. Suddenly, there was a heaviness to this conversation she couldn’t interpret. Something weighed on his actions and hinted at a deeper meaning in his secrecy. She didn’t know if it was because of her, or something else in his life.

  Backing off, she turned in her seat to face front. “So she, huh? This truck is a girl?”

  “Of course. Can’t go around talking about a truck like it was a man. What’s wrong with you?”

  “And why can’t you, sexist?”

  Greg scoffed. “It’s a truck. I have to take care of it.”

  “And you don’t take care of other guys? You don’t watch Mike’s back?”

  “Sure, I watch Mike’s back.” Greg turned the wheel into a gravel driveway a dozen miles outside of town, and a mile from the nearest bus stop. “But I take care of a woman. Or…at least…I’d like to.”

  A surge of butterflies swarmed Christie’s insides. “Aww. Aren’t you sweet.” She patted the dashboard. “So the truck is like a puppy, is that it? You’ll try to take care of it, and if you succeed, you’ll get a girlfriend?”

  Greg shook his head and knocked the truck into park. “Something like that.”

  “Well. Best of luck, Chuck. And thanks for the ride.” Christie pulled at the handle. The door stayed shut.

  Greg swung his door open and got out.

  A moment of aggravated panic arrested her. She searched the plethora of buttons at her disposal, found one that looked like a lock, and poked it. Her window jerked down. “Dang it!”

  Greg crossed around the front, slow and purposefully, his weight shifting from side to side like a lumbering bear. The wind rippled the front of his white T-shirt in the valley between his pecs and attempted to affect the sleeves, tight around his biceps.

  “Hur-ry…” Christie poked another button, lighting it up. She tried the handle again. Nothing happened. “Shit!”

  Greg curved around her side, looking out toward the mountains. His dark hair ruffled and danced.

  “What the hell, truck? Women shouldn’t hate on other women. We gotta stick together!” Christie jerked at the handle again before shouldering the door. She jabbed every button in sight, finally getting one that clicked. The lock on the top of the door popped upward. She snatched at the handle again, but grabbed empty air. The door swung open, revealing a straight-faced Greg. His dusty green eyes surveyed her.

  She sighed. “Not fair. I couldn’t figure out how to unlock the door.”

  “So I gathered. Not real bright, are you?” He held out his hand. “Ma’am.”

  Her irritated growl didn’t match her smile. “Thank you.” She took his warm hand and allowed him to help her out of the truck. “Next time I’ll get out in time, though. Maybe fast enough to open your door. What would you say then?”

  “I would say thank you, since you’d bested me in the gentleman department. Of course, you’ll never do that, because I am awesome, so you should just give up and take it like a chick.” He shut the door behind her. “Hear that? Take it.”

  “Jerk.” Christie laughed and fished her keys out of her handbag. She felt his presence behind her and rolled her eyes. “Our deal doesn’t extend to the door.”

  “Take it.” He waited beside her as she fit the key in the lock of the tiny one-bedroom house. Technically, it was an unused shed poorly turned into a house while ignoring all the building codes, but it was cheap and it did the job. It was hers—until the rental agreement was up—and that was more than she could say about any other place she’d ever lived.

  She took her key out of the lock and pushed open the door. Turning to Greg, she opened her arms so he would lean down for a hug. His big arms dwarfed her waist and his warmth made her shiver, realizing how chilled the weather had become.

  “How are you not freezing?” she asked, leaning back and waiting for him to do the same. The skin on his arm felt cool to her touch. She put her hand in the middle of his chest, then laughed as his pecs turned into boulders. “Easy, killer. Just trying to figure out the cause of your genetic enhancement. Are you made of lava? Or, I know—” She snapped. “You’re a shape shifter, right? Like from Twilight.”

  “Admitting I knew what you were talking about would make me a laughing stock of this county.” Greg smirked and stepped away. He put his hands into his pockets and glanced past her. Inside.

  “Okay. Well, thanks for the ride!” Christie threw him a wave and tramped into her house. Without a backward glance, she pushed the door shut. Then paused.

  Blowing out a breath, she braced both palms against the worn wood, then leaned against the barrier for a moment, getting her bearings. Emotions, past and present, sifted down and settled around her, pushing and pulling. Warring with each other.

  She turned and fell back against the door, breathing deeply and searching for that balance. She needed to find the calm of solitude. The safety of it. To shed the fear.

  ***

  Greg blew out a breath and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. That hadn’t gone as he’d hoped. New job, new truck, more money, and just about ready to put an offer on his dream house—didn’t girls love all that stuff?

  Or maybe she didn’t know about the house. He needed to be better at sharing his achievements.

  Still, shiny new truck with an extended cab for kids or sex or a drum set—whatever.

  He slipped his hands into his pockets and scuffed his shoe against the ground.

  Good thing she didn’t have a peephole. She’d be able to see him standing there like a goon, trying to summon up the courage to knock on the door.

  Hell with it.

  He took three steps and raised his fist, ready to knock. Tense arm braced, he slightly leaned in and…dropped his hand with an exhale.

  She’d say no. He knew she would. She didn’t let people into her home for some reason. It was like Fort Knox, protecting the most beautiful, pleasantly witty woman in the world. She’d say no, and he’d give away that he wanted more than friendship. That was the kiss of death. When a girl got a whiff that her guy friend wanted to knock boots, she hiked up her skirts and ran for the hills. That was Getting a Girl 101.

  Although, in a year of pursuing on the sly, he still hadn’t gotten any closer than a hug, a handshake, or a punch in the arm. He shouldn’t have asked her on a date those couple times. It had put her onto him. Women had long memories. Like elephants.

  They could stomp on a man like an elephant, too.

  He turned toward the truck and stared off into the distance. An image of her smile drifted into his memory, then the feel of her body as she pressed against
him in that tight hug. Warmth seeped into his middle as other parts stiffened.

  She really was a beauty. Those brilliant blue eyes, mischievous and kindhearted, sparkled right before she made him feel like a dummy. He liked smart women. She was funny, too. Perky and upbeat. She always had a quip to lighten anyone’s day.

  For the millionth time, he wondered why she was so closed off. Was it him?

  Another memory surfaced—her outside Sara’s hospital room nearly a year ago after the…incident. Christie had stopped, stared at nothing for a second with glistening eyes, and scowled. Then she’d swallowed, taken a deep breath, and shook herself out. After that, she was like an archangel, handling Sara and those around her with a practiced hand and a knowing, haunted look in her eye while working with Jake on how to get the best revenge. A woman didn’t know how to do all that off the top of her head. She must’ve lived through something terrible. Life changing.

  Greg climbed into the truck and layered the top of the steering wheel with his forearms. The raspy bark of a raven sounded from a tree to the right. The great bird studied his truck with a beady black eye.

  The girl even had attack birds. Fort Knox mixed with Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds. Horrifying stuff.

  Greg turned the key with a shake of his head. Whatever had happened to her, she hadn’t explained, not even to Sara. From what Greg had heard, the few times Christie had broken down, she quickly wiped her face, and a moment later found a smile to beam at the world. She didn’t stay down for long.

  Before he pulled out of the shoddy excuse for a driveway, Greg sent a last glance at that broken, disheveled door. Maybe she didn’t let anyone in her house because it was too like letting someone into her soul. She hid behind that old, decaying door, praying it held up through winter, never asking or accepting help to fix it, and never allowing anyone to pass through to the girl inside.

  Greg knocked the truck into reverse.

  Or maybe it was just him.

  Try Yes, Please

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