Her parents were safe. Peyton’s life couldn’t be better, and he had no worries where her stalker was concerned. Her brother’s junkie birth mother’s final overdose prompted the ER doctor to deliver Peyton prematurely, saving his life before his brain-dead mother was taken off life supports. His biological father was anybody’s guess.
Serena needed to find a way to make the past a non-issue in her life, too.
Somehow.
“What to listen to?” she murmured.
She picked the most upbeat playlist in her cache, then turned up the volume and was headed toward the tool shed-slash-tack room when Beau leapt to his feet and started barking. Her heart rate spiked and her mouth went dry. Would she ever not fear unexpected visitors?
She hurried to the barn door to see a taupe SUV with two women pull in. She didn’t recognize either woman, but her jitters subsided. Someone selling religion, salvation, or cosmetics wasn’t a threat. She stuffed her leather gloves in her hip pocket and headed their way.
“Hi,” a brunette with long, wavy locks called as she exited the passenger side.
The cowgirl princess in a pink western shirt, and skinny jeans tucked into the coolest turquoise and buff suede boots Serena had ever seen, advanced toward her with long, purposeful strides. Serena might have missed the slight hitch in her step if not for the silver ankle-bracelet, adorned with charms that tinkled like musical notes each step.
The driver was slower to get out. She was slim-borderline-skinny, swimming in an off-white, fisherman-style sweater, long, gray jersey pants, and a cream-colored fedora that set off her high cheekbones and thin but beautiful face.
A sweater? On the hottest day since I got here? “Hello. I’m Serena James. How can I help you?”
“Serena,” the brunette repeated. “So nice to meet you. Austen said you were beautiful. He didn’t do you justice.”
“Austen?” Her butterflies returned.
The thinner woman took control. “My brother. I’m Mia Zabrinski and this is Bailey Jenkins. She’s engaged to my brother, Paul.”
“My landlord.”
Mia glanced around. “Right. I forgot about that. Chemo brain.”
“We’re here—” Bailey started.
“Because I’m a nosy twin and that’s allowed. No matter what my brother says.”
Her honesty made Serena laugh. “Okay. Well, then, welcome. Would you like some iced tea?”
Bailey sprang into action. “We came bearing welcome to the neighborhood gifts. Tea and cookies from the new bakery in town. And some of Sage’s chocolate.”
She darted to the car and from the back seat pulled out a cooler bearing the Big Z hardware logo. “Is the picnic table still standing? My dad built it when I was a little girl,” she said over her shoulder as she walked to the backyard.
“You lived here?” Serena asked, following Mia, who, despite her outward-looking fragility, moved with grace and purpose. She’d been an athlete at some point of her life, Serena would have bet.
“Yep. This is the house I grew up in. When I graduated from high school, I moved west.”
Another light went off in her brain. Austen had mentioned his brother’s “second time around” girlfriend. Serena had gotten the impression Austen was less than enamored with Paul’s choice, but apparently Mia didn’t hold the same reservations. The two seemed like fast friends.
“California, Austen said. That’s where I’m from. The Redding area. But, now, you’re back to stay. Right?”
Bailey looked at Mia and laughed. “Why does everybody ask me that?” To Serena, she answered, “I am. I sooo am.” She held up her left hand and wiggled her fingers. “Newly engaged. Already planning the wedding. Very happy.”
Serena could tell by the glow in her face. She felt a moment of envy and wishful thinking that couldn’t be allowed. Men didn’t marry women like her. She looked toward the herd of alpaca still nibbling on their morning flakes of alfalfa. Women with an ark-size load of baggage.
“Where should I put this?” Bailey asked, hefting her armload.
Mia gave the picnic table a little jiggle. “I think the table is sturdy enough.”
“It should be. I crawled under it the other day and tightened as many screws as I could reach.”
“Resourceful,” Mia said. “I guess you’d have to be to live alone on a ranch and raise livestock.”
Serena shrugged. “I not only grew up on a farm, my brother and I were homeschooled by our parents who were both teachers. Mom and Dad were big believers in hands-on teaching of practical applications for our lessons. We designed and built shelves, storage boxes for feed, chicken coops. Plus, we sold wool and crafts and produce at the farmer’s market to help pay for college.”
Mia was the first to sit. She removed her hat, and Serena was happy to see a very short but attractive, Halle Berry-type hairdo. Mia ran her fingers back and forth through her short locks. “It’s so good to have hair again,” she said. “I assume Austen told you about me.”
“Breast cancer.”
She scowled. “I really hate that my illness has become my identity. I used to be Mia Zabrinski, lawyer. Or mom. Even wife was acceptable in certain circles. But, now, I’m Mia Z, cancer patient.”
“I remember my mother saying the same thing. It got so she wouldn’t talk about her health to anyone except my dad.”
She didn’t remember about the state of Mia’s marriage until she caught the look between the two women. To cover her gaff, Serena started toward the house. “Do we need ice or glasses?”
Mia caught her hand. “Relax. If Austen told you about my boobs, he told you about Ed. Our loathsome ex.”
“Our?”
“My husband was Austen’s best friend. He cheated on us both, but I was the one married to him at the time.” She sighed. “I’m finally past the point where that label—divorcee—bothers me. In my mind, I’m a recoveree—recovering from cancer and from a shitty marriage to a real asshole.” She grinned. “Sorry. Mom made us quit swearing around the kids, so I save up the bad words to use when I’m with adults. Is that wrong?”
Serena did an about face and sat. “Not in my book.”
“Pour the tea, Bailey. I like her. I think we’re all going to be good friends.”
Serena held the glasses as Bailey poured an aromatic tea over ice cubes. She inhaled deeply. “Raspberry?” she asked. The scent made her mouth water.
“Yes. I thought it would pair well with Sage’s new raspberry-macadamia truffles.”
Serena popped one into her mouth and closed her eyes to fully contemplate the complex, sweet and tangy flavor combination housed in a robust dark chocolate shell. “Oh, my God. This gives new meaning to decadent.”
“Yes,” Mia agreed. “Copper Mountain Chocolates is my new go-to ice breaker. Sage Carrigan is amazing. Have you met her?”
Serena shook her head.
“She’s wonderful,” Bailey said. “A strong, resourceful, independent businesswoman. Marietta seems to be the new Mecca for women like us.”
Serena was touched by the way Bailey included Serena in her ‘women like us’ comment. She didn’t make friends easily, but the few she held close were friends for life—and all were too far away at the moment. Mia and Bailey would be a good substitute… once she understood the motivation behind their visit.
“Will you show us your alpacas?” Bailey asked after they’d finished sipping and nibbling. “When Austen mentioned them at brunch on Sunday, I went a little fan girl. I love textiles, even though I have no aptitude whatsoever for knitting or crocheting. But felting is so hot right now in the craft scene and I have a thousand ideas for caps and hats made with artsy pins like the one Mia is wearing.”
Serena picked up the stylish straw fedora. Its woven leather hatband sported a beautiful but subtle pounded copper insignia of infinity adorned with small blue gems.
“Montana sapphires,” Bailey said, apparently hearing Serena’s silent question. “I’m going to be expanding my shop, B. D
azzled Bling, to showcase other Montana crafts and arts. I don’t suppose you spin or crochet?”
“Actually, I do. I keep a portion of the fleece to work in the winter. I still have some pieces that I brought with me. Do you want to see them?”
“Absolutely.”
She led them inside. “Don’t mind the mess. I still have a ton of unpacking to do. I decided to turn the dining room into my loom area.”
“When do you sheer the animals?” Mia asked.
“Spring. I’ll have to talk to growers in this area to figure out when that is.”
“Usually, May or early June. July, for sure,” Bailey joked.
Mia rolled her eyes. “Spring is crazy in Montana. One week the tulips are blooming, the next they’re covered in snow.”
Both ladies oohed and aahed over Serena’s scarves, berets, slippers, and mittens. “I would love to dedicate a wall to your work, Serena,” Bailey said. “These hats and scarves will fly out the door when the weather changes. And your felted beret is the bomb.”
Serena couldn’t stifle the feeling of pleasure and pride her new acquaintances’ praise brought. Working full time and helping her parents on weekends hadn’t allowed much time for her hobby. But the job she’d acquired with the Marietta School System was only part time, so any extra cash from selling crafts and wool would come in handy.
“Do you want to see the ’pacas?”
Bailey clapped with glee. Mia smiled, but Serena could tell the woman’s energy was ebbing. Still, Mia kept up—even as Bailey attempted to hug every alpaca in the herd.
It wasn’t until they were walking back to the SUV that Serena learned the true intent of their visit.
“My brother has not been himself lately, Serena. He told us at lunch he’s seriously considering staying in Marietta.” She sounded utterly dumbfounded. “Can you picture him playing cowboy on a ranch that runs itself when he’s not there?” she asked Bailey.
A self-sustaining cattle ranch? Was there really such a thing? Serena kept her opinion to herself.
Bailey didn’t answer, either.
“The fact is, Austen needs to go back to Helena,” Mia said. “He loves Marietta, but he’s always been too ambitious, too much of an over-achiever to settle for a small town life. We don’t want him to get too comfortable, right, Bailey?”
Bailey held up both hands. “Don’t ask me. My future brother-in-law barely tolerates me. I just came along to welcome Serena to the neighborhood.”
Mia frowned. “Well, I’ve been thinking about this, and if Austen’s serious about staying, then the only thing that makes sense is for him to run for a local office.”
Serena wondered if Peyton ever tried to craft her life in such great detail when he was talking to friends.
Mia went on. “Our local District Attorney is retiring next year, and I think Austen would be the perfect person to fill the job. Unfortunately, all that bullshit in Helena has tainted his reputation. People see him as a handsome, playboy politician with less than scrupulous morals. None of which is true, of course.”
Serena agreed with the handsome part. And she wasn’t easily fooled when it came to trusting people, but she trusted Austen.
“What he needs is a platform that connects with regular people. If you’d let him hire a PI to find your stalker and bring that person to justice, he’d have a golden ticket. People love a knight on a white horse riding in to rescue the damsel in distress.”
She’s a lawyer, too, Serena remembered, suddenly.
Serena’s back went ramrod straight. “I’m not a victim and won’t play one in this charade you want to create to buffalo the voters of Crawford County.”
Bailey’s eyes went wide and her lips smushed together as if trying not to laugh. Mia blinked in surprise, obviously not expecting Serena’s response to her generous offer of sainthood.
“Since you don’t know me, and your blabbermouth brother apparently only mentioned one small aspect of my life, you should also know I’m a college-educated professional currently employed by the Marietta School District. I am a strong, independent woman. I moved to Montana on my own, for God’s sake. The only reason I even have a stupid stalker is because I stood my ground and refused to be cowed by a bully. I don’t need some western knight in cowboy boots with a degree from Harvard fighting my battles… and I sure as hell, excuse my language, won’t play the victim for your brother’s PR campaign.”
She pointed to the table. “Thank you for chocolate. It was worth finding out my momentary lapse in judgment was so bad. If you’ll see yourselves out, I have work to do. Unlike your privileged brother’s place, my ranch doesn’t run itself.”
Serena was still fuming when the SUV reached the end of the driveway and drove out of sight. As part of her rental agreement she’d agreed to ride Paul’s daughter’s horse a couple of times a week. When better than now, she thought, yanking the cinch tight around Skipper’s belly. She’d pay her neighbor a visit and give him a piece of her mind.
Chapter Seven
“Fine. Yes. I’ll do it.” He listened a moment longer. “Mom, I can handle it. They’re kids, not insurgents.”
His mother had called to ask Austen to supervise his nieces and nephews at Paul’s house this afternoon so she and Dad could have a little break. No problem. Paul had a great pool, and how hard to could be to referee four kids for a couple of hours?
“I’ll be there at two,” he said before hanging up.
He glanced at his watch. What was Serena doing? Would she have time to take a break and go with him?
“No,” he muttered, pulling on his board shorts. He had to quit thinking about Serena. Bad enough he slept with her every night—in his dreams. Last night, they were swimming in a pool without sides. The concept made him nervous. Boundaries were what gave things depth and stability. Serena understood and showed him that the walls of the pool existed but were invisible. Using a giant needle and alpaca yarn, she helped him stitch a beautiful, rainbow-hued border around the pool.
Then, they made love. With slow, purposeful finesse.
“Feel better now?” she’d asked when they clung to each other, replete. “This will last a lifetime because alpaca wool gets stronger when it’s wet.”
When he woke this morning, that question was the first thing he would have asked if she’d been in his bed. “Is alpaca fiber stronger when it’s wet?”
He had no idea if that was true.
Why did calling her sound like such a good idea when it really wasn’t?
He’d just finished packing a change of clothing into his gym bag when Stuart’s Queensland Heelers, Jessie and Blue, started raising a ruckus.
He glanced out his bedroom window but didn’t see anyone pulling into the compound. Concerned that something might have happened to one of the animals, he pulled an orange tank top over his swim trunks, shoved his feet into a pair of sandals and hurried out the back door.
A familiar-looking pinto danced skittishly as the two dogs continued to bark. The rider seemed to have the situation in hand, dismounting with grace.
“Serena.”
A sweet, delicious feeling blossomed inside him. A smile appeared like magic on his lips. Only the fact he was wearing flip-flops kept him from breaking into a run.
“Hey, neighbor,” he hollered, signaling to Stuart to call off his dogs.
A whistle cut the air and both dogs took off for the barn.
Serena followed the sound, shielding her eyes. She smiled and waved her thanks to his foreman then looped Skipper’s reins around a metal post, leaving enough length for him to drink from the water trough.
“This is a nice surprise. How are you?”
“I’m good. Or, rather, I was until your sister decided I’d make the perfect poster child for your next PR campaign.”
“Huh?” He couldn’t wrap his head around her words because, honestly, lust flat-out set off a buzzing sensation in way too many parts of his brain and body.
Images from his dream flitt
ed across the mini-screen in his mind. Memories of making love with her surfaced as brilliantly as if they’d just done the deed. A warm breeze blew up his shorts reminding him just how easy it would be to get naked and make love with her again.
But the stern teacher look on her face shot down his fantasies, like a mid-air collision in some big screen, high budget film. “I. Am. Not. A. Victim,” she stated succinctly.
Those five words came in loud and clear. “I know that.”
“Then, why does your family think you’re hiding out here playing cowboy and I’d make the perfect rehabilitation project to get you back in the game?”
He groaned. “What? Who said that? Mia, of course. God damn it. She quit her job and moved in with the folks and she’s a hormonal mess with too damn much time on her hands. I’m going to kill her.”
He pivoted sharply, nearly wrenching his ankle when his heel slipped off the thick black rubber pad of his sandal. “Fuck. Where’s my phone?” He started toward the house. “I’ll call her right now. I don’t know what she said to you, but—”
Serena caught up to him and grabbed his arm. “Wait. First, we settle this thing between you and me. You can deal with your sister and future sister-in-law later.”
He stopped. “Bailey, too?” His temper spiked. Paul might have found a way to forgive and forget, but Austen wasn’t that magnanimous. “She’s signed on as Mia’s minion? What a suck up!”
Serena clapped her hands to her hips. “Seriously? You’re passing judgment on Bailey? You? The guy who gossiped about my personal life with your whole family?”
He blushed like he hadn’t since he was in fifth grade and Mrs. Cheever caught him looking down Belinda Jepperson’s shirt.
“Bailey isn’t my favorite person.”
Montana Cowboy Page 8
