by Jane Porter
She was so sick of being sad. So sick of being hurt. Ben McAllister wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t. She should be over him by now. But kind of hard to be over someone she loved deeply…
She swallowed hard and forced her attention to Shane. She looked him in the eyes. “Hearts get broken all the time. I’ll be fine.”
“Yes, you will.” He smiled then, but the smile was kind.
Reaching into his leather satchel he pulled out a card. He placed it on the table between them before beginning to gather his things. “Should you ever want to get a cup of coffee, or talk books, or teaching—I used to be a high school history teacher—call me.”
Jet watched him walk away, and take the still empty table by the bay window. He put down his tea and pulled out his laptop.
She turned to look at the business card he’d left on the table.
Sean S. Finley
Writer.
Stunned, Jet picked up the card. Sean S. Finley. The Sean Finley?
The card included a url for a website, a New York City PO Box, and a phone number.
She looked across Java Café to where Shane was spreading books around his laptop.
Couldn’t be.
Could it?
She left her table, crossed the café to reach his table. “You’re Sean?” she asked, flashing the business card at him.
“Sean is my pen name.”
“You’re him.”
“Yes.”
Her mouth opened, closed. “You could have told me.”
“I did.”
“Before I kept gushing.”
He flashed a lazy white smile. “It was kind of nice to hear.”
“I feel so stupid.”
“Don’t. Writers need feedback.”
“Hmph.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. At least she tried to glare at him but it was impossible when he smiled up at her like that. “Were you really once a teacher?”
“I was.”
“Were you a good one?”
More white teeth. His dark eyes flashed. “I’d like to think so.”
“Why did you stop teaching?”
“I sold my first book.”
“Heartbreak & Heaven?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Was that really the first one you wrote, or just the first one you published?”
“First one I wrote and published.”
“Do you ever miss teaching?”
“Sometimes.” His lips curved. “Like now. I always enjoyed the teacher staff room.”
“Yeah, me, too.” She knew she sounded mournful. “But when you’re the only teacher in a one room schoolhouse, there isn’t much of a staff room.”
“Let’s go to dinner Friday and you can tell me all about it.”
Her pulse leaped. Her stomach somersaulted. The Sheenans would not be happy if they knew she was having dinner with him but, at the same time, this wasn’t just any writer, this was Sean S. Finley. A literary rock star. A literary rock star that looked like a real rock star.
His dark eyes gleamed. His lips curved up in what could only be described as wicked. “We can swap teacher stories,” he said.
Her heart was out of control. Doubt and misgiving warred with curiosity and fascination. “I’m still pretty new.”
“And I’ve been out of the classroom for quite awhile. But we can talk books. And ideas. And what brought you to Marietta.”
She shouldn’t say yes.
She shouldn’t.
And not just because Harley and the whole Sheenan clan would have a fit if they knew, but why risk making a fool out of herself? God knew she’d probably gush again, and talk about his books until he wanted to crawl under the table and die, but at the same time…she couldn’t say no. He was one of her favorite writers. His books lined her keeper shelf back home in Visalia. How could she not want to talk to him more? Learn more about what he was working on now?
She smiled ruefully. “Okay.”
“Where do I pick you up?”
“This isn’t a date. Maybe I should meet you there.”
“I was thinking we could go to Livingston. Have dinner at the Gallatin Steakhouse. Heard it’s good. Have you eaten there?”
“No. But I’ve heard good things about it, too.”
“I’ll make a reservation, and there’s no point driving separately. Unless, you’re more comfortable, and if that’s the case—”
“It’s fine.” She hesitated. “I’m not uncomfortable. I’ll text you my number and my address and then you can let me know what time the reservation is for, and when you’ll pick me up.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
He shouldn’t be doing this.
He shouldn’t involve her.
Shane gave his head a slight shake as Jet walked away and he opened the Word document on his computer, the one labeled DR 17, his personal shorthand for Douglas Ranch, Chapter 17.
But he didn’t start working immediately. Instead he found himself staring blankly out the window, at a distant point across Main Street.
She wasn’t what he’d expected.
He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. It was obvious to all, she was pretty—cheerleader, homecoming queen pretty—with thick, gleaming, brown hair that hung past her shoulders, and light golden brown eyes with very black lashes. Her cheekbones were high and her lips were full and she had a flawless cream complexion. He’d anticipated that she’d sound much the same…a sweet, rather bubbly young woman without much to say.
But the moment Jet had opened her mouth she’d talked books and writing, and she proved to be well-read, too.
She had a mind of her own. Opinions. He liked that she was interested in history, as well as the world around her.
He liked her.
Which made him kind of hate himself for using her.
He was taking her out Friday to get information. Their dinner wasn’t about her, but about her connection to the Sheenans, specifically Brock Sheenan.
Jet’s sister, Harley, had married Brock Sheenan, the oldest of the five brothers, a couple years ago. The Sheenans were a wealthy, ranching family and had been ranching in Paradise Valley since the turn of the century, and Shane was living in the Sheenan homestead now, having leased it for a year. The lease would be up end of March, and at that time Shane would return to New York to finish his book. The book hadn’t come together yet, there were pieces missing, but Shane was finding it difficult to focus on the Douglas ranch murders when there was another story surrounding him, one far more personal, one that had begun to haunt him night and day.
Shane exhaled slowly, aware that his pulse had quickened.
The Sheenans.
He could never think of them without a hard, tight knot forming in his gut. His chest was just as tight. Anger rolled through him, but then it was always there these days…simmering.
He hated them. Despised them. And yet after nine months living in their house, he was almost consumed with them.
They were far too compelling. But after all this time he shouldn’t find them so compelling. Their mystery should be gone. The strangeness and novelty fading.
But the opposite had happened.
After spending nine months in Montana, he was more intrigued—and conflicted—than ever.
The family was universally admired. Well, maybe not Trey. He was the Sheenan who’d spent four years locked up after a fistfight killed a man. But the rest of the family, they were liked, and celebrated. Troy had given back the town the historic Graff Hotel, and Cormac had shifted his publishing and media companies from California to Marietta, filling a huge, old brick building on Main Street with the corporate offices.
Shane had learned a fair amount about the Sheenan brothers, and yet it was Brock, the eldest Sheenan, that remained the biggest puzzle. He was elusive, and distant, and yet he was the one that might be able to unlock the Sheenan secrets…that would possibly know what Shane wanted to know.
But Brock lived high in Para
dise Valley and rarely came to town. If the Sheenan brothers wanted to see him, they went to him, on his ranch. Brock was the first to have moved out of the Sheenan homestead, and it was Brock who’d cut his father off as soon as he’d left home.
For eleven years there had been little communication between Brock and his father, and it wasn’t until he’d married Harley that his new wife brought the two together again. By that time, Bill Sheenan was dying, and Harley managed to bring about a reconciliation between her husband and father-in-law, but from what Shane understood, it was probably too little, too late.
Shane wanted to know about the feud between Brock and Bill Sheenan.
Shane wanted to know about Brock’s relationship with his late mother, Catherine Sheenan.
Shane wanted to know why Brock had become so antisocial and had removed himself almost permanently to his Copper Mountain ranch, high in the Absarokas.
The Sheenan family might be well-liked in the Marietta and Paradise Valley communities, but they weren’t without their secrets and feuds.
Shane Swan was part of those secrets and feuds.
Only the Sheenans didn’t know it yet. They didn’t know anything about him, other than the fact that he was a writer working on a book about Montana history and he needed a place to work for nine months.
And all of that was true. He was a writer, and he had a nice deal for a book about the Douglas ranch invasion, a crime that had never been solved, but writing about the unsolved murders was really just an excuse to come to Crawford County and live in Paradise Valley, and observe the Sheenan family.
The family that was supposed to have been his family.
The family that chose instead to give him up.
Chapter Two
Jet couldn’t focus. How could she after that conversation with Shane Swan, aka Sean S. Finley, New York Times bestselling author of six books? Books she’d read. And loved.
She did try, though.
She’d even shifted her chair, attempting to block him a bit from her view, but she could still see him in her peripheral vision at his table, his big muscular torso angled over his laptop, long lean fingers tapping away at the computer keyboard, thick black lashes shadowing his strong cheekbone.
Just looking at him made her feel a dozen different things—none of them emotions she wanted to feel. He was altogether too mysterious, too interesting, too complex, too exciting. Better to pack her things up and head back to Kara’s house on Bramble Lane where Jet was renting a room. Jet’s sister, Harley Sheenan, had found the place for Jet after she took the job teaching at the one room schoolhouse. Harley had also found the job for Jet. Harley was very much the classic first born, big sister, always taking charge, always doing the right thing. And in this case, the right thing was finding a job for her wayward, younger sister in the States.
Jet dragged her attention back to the one page essay in front of her, but almost immediately it wandered again.
So hard to concentrate with Shane at the window table.
But she had to concentrate. Semester ended last Friday and report cards were due to go home this week. She really wished the report cards had gone home before she’d started. It was awfully hard to judge progress based on the five and a half weeks she’d been in the classroom.
But she was grateful to Harley for reaching out about the teaching position in the first place. Jet had still been in Holland at the time, playing au pair for relatives in South Holland, outside Rotterdam. Jet hadn’t gone to Europe to babysit, but to have a series of adventures, and she had. For four months. For four amazing months, she’d had an incredible time and then money ran out. Europe was so much more expensive than she’d anticipated and rather than return home, she’d gone to Holland where she played nanny for lots of second cousins in exchange for room and board. By Christmas, though, Jet was feeling restless and Harley’s email about the teaching position outside Emigrant Gulch caught her attention.
Apply, Harley emailed. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
When Jet didn’t immediately respond, trying to image herself in Montana, teaching in a remote, historic, one room schoolhouse halfway between Marietta and Emigrant Gulch—she’d had to Google the towns, they were so small—Harley shot off a second email. What do you have to lose, Jet? It’s only for six months and at least you’d be getting paid.
That second email sealed the deal. Her savings was gone and her credit cards were full. She needed a paycheck.
Jet applied, was interviewed over the phone, and then interviewed again via Skype, and, after a background check, hired. Ten days later she was on a plane for Bozeman, arriving two days into the New Year.
After five and a half weeks in the classroom, she could honestly say she loved the job. While it was far more work than she’d anticipated—preparing five different subjects for six different grades was insanely time consuming—but she also had considerable freedom in terms of how to teach the subject matter, and she loved that. Jet loved kids and teaching. She found it really creative and fulfilling; and it was exhilarating not having administration hovering over her, judging her work, or criticizing her efforts.
There was talk that this was the last year for the Crawford County schoolhouse, as members of the community argued that taxpayers’ dollars would be better served by putting the children on a bus and sending them to Marietta, but Jet hoped the school board would vote to keep the schoolhouse open—and not for her sake, but for the sake of history and tradition.
Across the café, a phone rang. Jet glanced at Shane, watching as he answered. He leaned back in his chair, one muscular arm crossing his chest, the other holding the phone to his ear. Inky hair framed his strong brow and high cheekbones. His neatly trimmed black beard highlighted his jaw and beautiful mouth—
Sighing, she quickly stacked her books and papers and slid everything into her leather backpack and headed out of Java Café before she could look at Shane again.
She should have left a half hour ago.
Outside, Jet breathed in the cold, winter night, her breath clouding in the frigid air, and walked briskly to her car parked a couple blocks away, over by the mercantile. It was already dark even though it wasn’t even five-thirty yet but she glanced up as she unlocked her car door, as if the jagged mountains, or snowcapped Copper Mountain, would be visible. If it was a clear night and the moon full, she would have seen Copper Mountain’s peak rising behind the domed courthouse, but tonight’s heavy clouds promised more snow. With or without snow, the turn of the century town was postcard pretty.
She could see why Harley had fallen in love with Marietta—well, okay, Brock Sheenan and his adorable twins—but also this community. Marietta, a little over a half hour from Bozeman, seemed to have everything, and although Harley had warned her about the cold and snow and ice, Jet loved it, preferring the dusting of white, to Central California with its months of gray from the tule fog, which could blanket the San Joaquin valley from November through early March.
The only time Jet didn’t love the cold was on the days the wind howled down through Paradise Valley, rattling the single pane windows in the one room schoolhouse. On those days the one hundred and seventeen year old, wooden building shook and shivered and everyone inside shook and shivered a bit. The kids rarely complained, though, hardened to Montana winters. Jet just pulled on her knit gloves and continued teaching, peeling her layers off as the day warmed.
It was a short drive from downtown to Kara’s house on Bramble. Four blocks at the most, and it was a pleasant surprise to see Kara’s car in the driveway. Kara, a Crawford County district attorney, worked long hours, and Jet really enjoyed Kara’s company when she was around.
But entering the house, Jet heard voices coming from the living room. Kara wasn’t alone. Quietly closing the door, Jet thought she recognized the voices. Sounded like one of the Sheenan brothers. “I want him out. I’ve wanted him gone since December.”
“I don’t think you have grounds to evict him,” Kara replied. “B
ut if you’ve gone to a month to month lease, just don’t renew for the next month.”
“So he’d stay another thirty days? Hell, no. I want Swan gone.”
Swan. Were they talking about Shane?
Jet chewed her lip, suddenly uncertain if she should leave, or continue to her room. She didn’t want to interrupt, but there was no way to get to her room without passing the others.
She opened the front door again and this time closed it hard, announcing her arrival, before walking briskly across the hall floor.
She paused in front of the living room, feigning surprise when she spotted Troy and Cormac Sheenan with Kara.
Conversation broke off and all three glanced her way.
“Hello.” She smiled brightly. “Don’t let me interrupt,” she added. “I’m heading to my room to finish grading.”
“We’re just about finished,” Troy said, rising. He crossed the room to give her a quick hug. “How are you? How was your day?”
He was tall, like all the Sheenans, and she had to tilt her head back to see his face. “School didn’t burn down. Kids got home safely. I’m still standing.” Jet glanced from Troy to Cormac. Cormac was on his feet, too, but he was frowning. He definitely wasn’t happy. “How are two of my favorite Sheenans?”
“Good,” Troy answered. “Just getting some advice.”
“Kara is good for that,” Jet agreed. “Talk on. I’ll be at my desk, working, so I won’t be in your way.”
In her room, Jet dropped everything on the desk, and then peeled off her coat and kicked off her shoes before flinging herself on the bed, aware that Shane was the one renting the Sheenan house. He’d been on the Sheenan ranch in the foothills since last spring and, from the sound of it, Troy and Cormac no longer wanted Shane there.
Were they evicting him? Or was something else happening? They’d clearly come to Kara for legal advice so whatever it was, it had to be serious.
Jet knew it was none of her business but she couldn’t help worrying. The Sheenans had welcomed her into their family six weeks ago and they’d gone out of their way to include her in their Sunday dinners, special occasions, and family birthdays. If something had happened, she wanted to know, especially if there was something she could do to help.
