Rocky Mountain Home

by Vivian Arend

  Rocky Mountain Home

  Vivian Arend

  Rocky Mountain Home

  There’s no distance you can run to escape the past.

  Too stubborn to face his sins, Jesse Coleman bolted from the Six Pack Ranch, only to fall straight into the arms of a beautiful stranger. Twelve hours later, the seductive firebrand is nothing but a whiskey-laced memory—but one powerful enough to convince Jesse tracking down his elusive lover is worth the effort.

  Darilyn Hayes figured it was her lucky night when the sexiest cowboy in Alberta interrupted her annual drink-until-I-fall-over wake. At least until four weeks later when she discovers she’s pregnant and her one-night-stand is nowhere to be found. Still, as she’s shared with her devoted blog readers, Dare has dealt with life’s not-so-gentle surprises before. She’ll make it on her own.

  When an internet picture gone viral leads to their reunion, Jesse’s floored by Dare’s news. She’s very clear she’s not looking for a commitment, but screw that. He’s going to do the right thing by her and his unborn kid. The fact they lit the sheets on fire is a bonus, but with a baby on the way, both their lives are gonna change.

  Jesse’s got a ton of family to reconnect with, including his estranged twin. Dare holds family loosely—even though she loves them—because she knows too well how fragile life can be. Between her and Jesse, they’ve got enough baggage to open a store.

  But they still have a shot at forever— if they’re willing to fight for it.

  This final novel in the series contains the following:

  A sexy, dirty, cocky-as-hell prodigal son Coleman with massive bridges to rebuild. A woman able to see to the heart of the matter yet bold enough to speak the truth. A family of extraordinary resolve and endless love. A wedding or two. And babies—oh lordy, the babies…

  Six Pack Ranch

  Rocky Mountain Heat

  Rocky Mountain Haven

  Rocky Mountain Desire

  Rocky Mountain Angel

  Rocky Mountain Rebel

  Rocky Mountain Freedom

  Rocky Mountain Romance

  Rocky Mountain Retreat

  Rocky Mountain Shelter

  Rocky Mountain Devil

  Rocky Mountain Home

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  Prologue

  February, somewhere in rural Alberta

  Jesse Coleman was lost.

  He cursed as he spread the old-fashioned road map in front of him on the dash, the dim light from the overhead lamp not helping as he peered at the thin lines representing secondary roads. He’d grown up driving the back roads of rural Alberta, but mostly in the central parts. He was far enough out of familiar territory that with the snow falling like a thick curtain, he could barely find his own ass.

  GPS was no help, and he gave up. No way he was making it any farther tonight. He needed a place to get off the road and out of the snow.

  He was shoving the map back in the glove box when, miracle of miracles, headlights appeared behind him, coming over the rise. At least it meant he wasn’t completely screwed. The truck slowed as it passed him, people with unfamiliar faces offering a friendly wave as they sent a swirl of fresh fallen snow flying skyward.

  Jesse threw his truck into gear and hauled ass, horse trailer and all, following the red taillights like a beacon.

  Fifteen minutes later the snow slowed enough to let the lights of a motel sign shine the first hope on his miserable evening. It wasn’t going to be pretty, but it was better than sleeping in his truck.

  A small shelter with a fenced paddock stood behind the main office, so he got his horse settled, then slipped into the room he’d been given at the end of the motel row.

  A single glance was enough to confirm what he’d already suspected. “Jeez. End of the fucking world, and I’ve found it.”

  Puke-green bedspread. A black velvet painting screwed to the wall over the bed—classy. The wood paneling on the lower half of the walls was so bashed up it looked as if someone had taken a hammer to it. One shelf hung on the wall with a two-foot-long bar under it, a few metal coat hangers tangled in a mess. The carpet—threadbare and stained.

  He didn’t dare look in the bathroom.

  Still, one night was all he needed.

  “I’ve slept in worse,” he told Morgan.

  His dog didn’t seem to believe him as the animal worked his way around the entire room before picking a spot by the door to curl up. As if to say he was ready to leave anytime Jesse came to his senses and said the word.

  Jesse patted Morgan on the head, rubbing the golden retriever behind the ears affectionately. “I hear you, but I need a drink. No, I need a couple of drinks,” he told the dog. “Stay, and be good. Tomorrow we’ll figure out how to get to our new home.”

  Morgan thumped his tail once then put his head down and closed his eyes.

  End of the world, all right, but even in the boonies there was bound to be liquor.

  The rooms stretched in a long arm west of the motel office. On the other side was a small café and bar. Jesse paced past the closed sign in the café door, headed for where music was spilling from behind the neon-lit saloon sign.

  The words he’d said to his dog haunted him as he pushed through the door. Home. They didn’t have one right now, and this bar just made it all the clearer they weren’t in familiar territory.

  The place was not much more than three stools at a high counter, a couple of tables with hard wooden chairs and a dartboard on the wall. A large-screen TV hung over the bar, a hockey game in progress, but Jesse’s attention shot straight to the redhead at the counter, glasses lined up in front of her as if she was settling in for a long, intense bout of drinking.

  Sounded like a fucking great idea.

  The wind caught the bar door, slamming it shut behind him, and all eyes turned in Jesse’s direction. Two old-timers nursing drinks in the corner. The bartender behind the counter.

  Her…

  The woman’s gaze brushed him, lingering on the bruise beside his eye before slipping down his body then back up, her lips twisting into a smile. He offered one in return.

  Buxom redheads were his favourite.

  Her hair was braided back, the long length of it pulled forward to rest over her plaid-covered breast. Tight faded jeans, working leather belt. Light brown leather half-boots that looked worn and comfy.

  She must have felt his gaze lingering because she glanced up to offer him a glimpse into grey-green eyes, a smattering of freckles over her nose and cheeks. Then she ignored him, motioning at the bartender as he brought forward yet another glass.

  Jesse was intrigued. He made his way next to her. “Looks like a party in the making. Want a little company?”

  “Knock yourself out,” she offered.

  He settled onto the barstool and waved at the bartender. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

  The grey-haired man stepped forward and held out a hand. “Then you’ll be giving me your car keys.”

  Sounded as if some serious drinking was about to happen. Fine by him.

  “I’m staying.” Jesse showed his room key.

  Bartender didn’t move. “That decreases your chances of freezing in a snow bank, but I still want your keys. You can pick them up at the front desk in the morning.”

  Whatever. He tossed them over before leaning closer to the redhead to offer his hand. “Jesse.”

  “Dare.” She shook his hand, her grip strong, and her palms rough enough to prove she wasn’t wearing the cowboy gear as a costume.

  “A working woman. I like that.”

  Dare took a sip from the lone glass of water in front of her, amusement r
ising. “You look the type who likes a lot of things about women.”

  Jesse shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a happy guy.”

  This time she looked him over for longer, her gaze lingering on what was soon to be a spectacular blue-purple bruise by his eye. “You like getting in fights?”

  “Sometimes, but this?” He stroked a finger down the side of his face. “Farewell present from my cousin. Disagreement.”

  She met his gaze. Judging. Weighing him. “Oh. That thing guys do.”

  “Express our opinions with our fists? Yeah. It’s a pretty natural form of communication for most men.”

  Her gaze dropped and she stared at his lips. “You fighting over a woman?”

  He honestly didn’t know how to answer that. “Not a fight, but there was definitely a woman involved.”

  She snorted. “I bet. There’s always a woman involved.”

  Jesse took the opportunity to admire her in more detail. Her hair shone in the lights above the bar, the deep auburn highlights flashing as she moved. A slight indent showed on the crown where she’d been wearing a cowboy hat, and his interest grew even stronger. “So, Dare, why’re we having a party?”

  “It’s a wake,” she corrected him. “Ten years they’ve been gone, and five since I started the tradition. But you don’t need the details.”

  “Whatever you say.” He eyed the drinks lining up in front of them. “I’m not going anywhere tonight.”

  He might have been curious, but he didn’t need to know what she was commemorating. He knew what he was saying goodbye to, and he could finish most of the alcohol on the shelf without putting a dent in his pain.

  Jesse lifted the first glass of amber liquid, three full fingers in the tumbler. Raised it in a salute to Dare. “Here’s to forgetting everything except the pretty lady by my side.”

  Her lips curled at the corners, but she touched glasses with him before tipping the drink back and finishing it in a few swallows. Her throat moved smoothly, and he stared, mesmerized, until she lowered the glass to the counter with a solid crash.

  She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before pointing at his glass. “You drinking or watching?”

  The whiskey was smooth—far too smooth to be tossed back like a dirty shot. He took a little more time and let the liquid linger on his tongue, looking her over with appreciation. “We’re not going anywhere tonight,” he pointed out. “There’s no need to rush.”

  Dare nodded once. “I usually do this by myself. I forgot there’s conventions involved with social drinking.” She picked up the second glass. “To the guy who reminded me it’s okay to slow down and taste the whiskey.”

  Another toast. Another touch of their glasses together. This time she rolled the liquid over her tongue before she swallowed, eyes closing as she lifted the glass in an additional silent, internal toast.

  As for Jesse, this one was for his twin brother, Joel. His other half—although that hadn’t been true for a good long while. Their separation, his own damn fault.

  He finished the drink and lowered the glass to the counter a little harder than he should have, the bartender keeping a careful eye on them.

  Two more whiskeys sat on the counter. Dare motioned toward them. “I’ll pay. I like the company so far, and it’ll be no fun if you have to stop before we’re finished.”

  “I have no problems lasting. I’ll take you to the finish line.”

  When she smiled, her eyes lit up, a dimple denting her right cheek. By the time they’d finished their third glass of whiskey, Jesse was tempted to lean over to take a taste of her.

  “Your local bar?” he asked.

  “Hell, no.” She stared into her glass. “I tried drinking too close to home the first year, and my brothers showed up. Where’s the fun in that?”

  Jesse took note of the information. She had family somewhere. “Good to know you’ve got someone looking after you.”

  She raised a brow. “Do I look as if I need a babysitter, sweetheart? Last time I checked I was a big girl. I can make my own damn mistakes.”

  He rested his arm along the back of her chair as they tipped the next drink, the liquid tingling against his throat and gums as he took the hit. Dare turned toward him, half laughing, her eyes bright as she met his gaze, and for a second Jesse couldn’t breathe.

  Right then he could have sworn he was twelve feet tall and invincible.

  They put their glasses on the counter at the exact same moment, and a sudden crack echoed. Dare cursed, lifting her fingers to her mouth, her glass lying broken in pieces on the counter.

  “You okay?” Jesse asked as the bartender slipped over to clean up the shards.

  Dare pulled back her hand and examined it as she wrinkled her nose. “I’ll live.”

  “Not your fault,” the bartender consoled her. “Looks as if we got a bad batch of glassware—next drink is on the house, okay?”

  “No worries.”

  Jesse slipped his hand off the backrest and onto her shoulder. “You need a Band-Aid?”

  She held up her hand, the minute cut barely visible. “It’s fine. Unless you wanna kiss it better?”

  Oh, that he could do. He slid his fingers into the heavy weight of her auburn hair. Her mouth opened slightly, her tongue slipping over her lips as she stared. There wasn’t a single sign of retreat anywhere about her.

  Jesse leaned in to brush their lips together for a split second. Teasing, taunting. Just to prime her senses.

  She caught him in a full-on hug, wrapping her arms around his neck and keeping him close as her lips parted and let him in.

  Instead of a brief taste he got the equivalent of chugging a full twenty-sixer of the essence of Dare. Instantly higher than a kite, his mind reeled as he slid his tongue against hers, upper bodies close enough the soft curve of her breasts pressed against his chest.

  When they pulled back, they were both breathing hard. Staring at each other, hunger and desire rising. He was rarely tongue-tied, but right then for the life of him he couldn’t think of a thing to say.

  The bartender saved him, the clink of glasses against the tile countertop jerking their gazes apart as they turned toward the noise.

  “This round your liver gets a reprieve,” the man joked. “Either of you want anything from the kitchen? They’re closing down soon.”

  The only thing Jesse wanted was to take Dare back to his room and strip her. He’d be happy feasting on her all night long, but it was too soon—far too soon—to make that kind of comment without sending her running.

  “Just the drinks.” Dare waited until the man walked away before grabbing the skewer from her drink, the one that held three maraschino cherries.

  Jesse glanced at his own drink, horror sliding up his spine. Some god-awful fruity concoction sat there instead of the whiskey they’d been consuming like water.

  Time to make the best of a bad situation. He ignored the drink, wrapping his fingers around hers and lifting the cherry-laden stick to his lips. He made eye contact as he tugged the first red-bomb off with his teeth then bit into it.

  Her smile widened, heat flaring between them.

  “You stole my cherry. Now you gotta marry me,” she warned.

  Jesse damn near choked in mid-swallow, checking quickly to see if she was serious.

  She offered a cheeky grin then pulled the second cherry off the stick, rolling it against her teeth with her tongue in the lewdest way as she looked him over. His body went tight, and he decided right then and there the party was not ending in the bar.

  “If I took your cherry, of course I’ll marry you,” he promised.

  Everything about Dare was lush and sensual, and she proceeded to drive him wild. They clinked glasses then shot back the drinks, sticky sweetness filling his mouth. Pressure rose as the sugar hit his bloodstream.

  She moved quickly to the next drink, which didn’t look quite as mind-numbingly sweet.

  He’d had just enough alcohol for his mind to start rambling. No way
was she a virgin. Not with how she’d laid her hand on his thigh, rubbing in taunting circles. Never quite all the way to where he needed her, but bold enough to state she had more than drinking on her mind.

  The sugar rush from the last drink sent his system skipping into overdrive, and he caught her by the hand and pulled her with him toward the tiny open space by the jukebox masquerading as a dance floor.

  Bartender shouted after them. “Machine’s broken. Just hit the numbers you want.”

  They leaned against the glass front to pick their favourites. Jesse slipped his arms on either side of her as she pointed to the playlist. Dare responded by pressing her hips back into his, and happily, his cock got harder.

  She turned on the spot and slid into his arms, her body warm against his. Garth Brooks crooned in the background, but Jesse was fixated on the woman in front of him.

  “There’s another glass on the counter,” he warned.

  “Three more to go, but I don’t mind a moment to stretch my legs.” She slipped her hands around his neck and pressed their bodies together. “So, Jesse. Can you handle your liquor? Or should we cut you off now so you’ve got enough get up and go for later?”

  Nice. Blunt and to the point. “You coming back to my room?”

  She shrugged, easing closer, one leg on either side of his so she was damn near riding him. “Your place or mine. We’re probably next door to each other.”

  “Good. Then we won’t have to worry about our neighbour complaining about how much noise we’re making.”

  “You think we’re going to make a lot of noise, do you?”

  “Oh, darlin’, I’m quiet as a mouse, but I have a feeling it’s the kind of night you need to do a little screaming.”

  Jesse twirled her, raising her off the floor before resettling her on his thigh. A throaty purr escaped her, and he damn near stumbled.

  “Screaming orgasms are fun.” She stroked a finger down his cheek, eyeing the bruises. “Maybe you’ll be the one screaming, though, and not me.”