Christmas With the Kings, Kings of Montana Bonus Book

by Vanessa Bartal

  Chapter 9

  As she had promised she would, PJ went to make her report to Ivy the next morning. Ivy smiled happily when PJ arrived, shooing Coy away to go to work. With the other brothers occupied with their sick wives, the ranch was in the hands of their foreman, Tanner, but Tanner had questions for one of the brothers and Ivy deemed Coy the brother in charge today.

  “I don’t want to leave you,” Coy said.

  “Coy, I’m fine,” Ivy protested. “You’ve got to get out of here or you’ll go stir crazy.”

  “But you’re going to go stir crazy,” he protested.

  “Not today. PJ is going to keep me entertained.”

  Coy gave PJ a dubious look, wondering what could possibly be so entertaining about her. When he couldn’t find anything, he shrugged and headed out of the house.

  “Poor man,” Ivy commented. “Being stuck with a fat pregnant invalid hermit of a wife.”

  “The only true word in that sentence was ‘wife,’” PJ informed her. Even in her convalescence, Ivy looked like a fashion plate from a pregnancy magazine. Somehow she had managed to do her hair and makeup, causing PJ to feel like a frump in comparison. She gave a self-conscious pat to her ever-present ponytail and cleared her throat. “First things first, your horses are doing okay. I plan to go out and do some work on their feet today. The one we discussed is still favoring that leg pretty badly. I’m going to give him some relief and make him more comfortable.”

  “Poor little baby,” Ivy said, swiping at a tear. Tenderhearted at the best of times, pregnancy had made her even more emotional. “Now get to the good stuff. What happened with Ethan?” She grinned, waiting.

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Ivy echoed. “That can’t be. He came here for you last night. Start there. What happened?”

  “He said he’s going to break up with Chrissy. He’s realized she’s a…”

  “Language,” Ivy warned, laying a protective hand over her unborn baby.

  “I was going to say he realized she’s not a nice person,” PJ said. Ivy rolled her eyes in disbelief and PJ continued, smirking. “So, he tried to make a move.” She paused, letting the suspense build for Ivy’s benefit.

  As PJ had predicted, Ivy gripped her pillow and leaned forward interestedly. “And…”

  “And then I told him I had zero experience with men and I would only be with Mr. Right.”

  Ivy blinked at her. “You’re kidding, right? You didn’t really say that.”

  PJ nodded. “I’m afraid I did. Apparently, in dating, there are some lessons you learn really quickly. For instance, I knew the second the words were out of my mouth that they were a horrible mistake.”

  “Oh, honey,” Ivy said, her tone oozing sympathy. “You never, ever mention forever to a man like Ethan. Maybe on your wedding day you can talk about commitment, but only if he brings it up.”

  PJ laughed and shook her head. “I’m a lost cause, Ivy. I say everything I think, all of the time. What man wants that? They all want a girl who knows how to say the right thing, and when to say nothing at all. That’s not me.”

  Ivy opened her mouth to reply when the slamming of a door gave her pause.

  “Baby sister!” a voice boomed.

  Ivy lay back, the blood draining from her face. “He’s here,” she announced.

  PJ considered herself to be fearless, but even she held her breath as one of Ivy’s fabled brothers thundered down the hallway and into his sister’s room. Without pausing to take off his shoes, he bounced onto the bed and gathered Ivy into an all-encompassing hug.

  “How’re you doing, darlin’?” He kissed her cheek.

  Despite her earlier fear, Ivy rested her head on her brother’s shoulder with a smile. “I’m good Grant, really. There was no need for you to come all the way out here.”

  “Of course there was,” Grant argued. “That Yankee you married doesn’t know the proper way to take care of you. I’ll have you back on your feet in no time.”

  PJ was horrified. The last thing Ivy needed was to be on her feet. “You can’t do that. The doctor said she has to stay in bed until the baby is due.”

  Grant released Ivy and rolled onto his back, giving PJ a sweeping glance. “And who do we have here?” he asked.

  “Grant, you’ve heard me mention PJ, our farrier.” Ivy’s voice held a hint of smug satisfaction. PJ was the first female farrier she had ever encountered, and she knew the introduction would shock her unflappable brother.

  Indeed, his eyebrows shot up so quickly they were in danger of flying off his face. “No kiddin’, you’re a farrier?”

  “I prefer the term ‘horse-hoof manicurist’,” PJ said.

  Grant blinked at her, not sure if she was serious. He looked at Ivy in question. “That a northern thing?”

  “Having a sense of humor? Apparently,” PJ answered. “Yes, I’m a farrier.”

  Grant gave a whoop of laughter that PJ swore shook the chandelier above the bed. She thought it was miraculous that Ivy had turned out to be sweet and feminine. By all rights, she should be a bruiser who carried a bat for protection. How else could she have survived a childhood with her five hoodlum older brothers?

  “I should get back to the horses,” PJ commented. “I want to work on that hoof.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Grant volunteered, scooting off the bed.

  “No, there’s no need,” PJ said. “Really, you should stay and visit with your sister.”

  “What for? I’ve satisfied myself she’s okay. I’ll come back later when the Yankee is here and give him a hard time about putting her in this condition.”

  “That sounds super,” Ivy said dryly. “Take him, PJ. I really want the horses to get better.” She bit her lip worriedly.

  “Don’t worry, baby,” Grant said, shooting Ivy a tender smile. “I’ll show your farrier what to do.” With that, he picked PJ up, threw her over his shoulder, and carried her from the house.

  Ethan was tired. He hadn’t slept well, tossing and turning as he replayed his encounter with PJ. He had been stupid and a coward and a stupid coward. Upon learning PJ had never been romantically involved with a man, he should have immediately volunteered to be the first. Why hadn’t he? What was wrong with him?

  Then, after finally slipping into unconsciousness, a knock had awoken him. It tuned out that Chrissy actually was sick, which might explain her foul mood and extraneous sleep habits. Contrary to what he might have guessed, she didn’t like to be coddled when she was sick. After asking if he had any pain reliever, she had immediately stumbled back to bed.

  Concerned, Ethan had followed her only to be told in no uncertain terms to leave her alone and let her sleep. He had checked on her once since then, only to be told the same thing. If he ever wrote a book on dating, he would include a chapter on relationship tests, and two of those tests would be illness and travel.

  Now he was bleary-eyed, sipping a bitter brew one of the brothers had made and tried to pass off as coffee. They should have assigned coffee making to him; he did it for Belle every morning she was in New York.

  He blamed exhaustion for the mirage he suffered after his first sip of the “coffee.” Surely he was imagining the sight of PJ slung over some barbarian’s shoulders. In true PJ fashion, she wasn’t kicking or screaming. Her face rested in her hands, her elbows propped on the brute’s back. His sluggish mind started to put the pieces of the puzzle together and he realized the giant was one of Ivy’s notorious brothers.

  Ethan had heard of the brothers, of course. Who hadn’t? They were infamous. Two years ago, after trying and failing to convince Belle that she worked too hard and needed a vacation, they had somehow rerouted her and Cam’s flight to a private island off the coast of Georgia with the instruction to “Enjoy some southern hospitality.”

  Unfortunately they made two mistakes. First, they underestimated Belle. Second, they gave their credit card information to the airline. After only thirty seconds of interrogation, a weeping clerk g
ave the information to Belle who used it to fly her entire list of authors to the island for an all-expenses paid vacation. Then after the long weekend was over, she sent the brothers a thank-you note with the message, “You were right—a vacation was just what I needed. Thanks for the hospitality.”

  To Ethan’s knowledge, that was the last time the brothers tried to prank Belle.

  He gave up trying to drink the battery acid, tossing it instead off the side of the porch. He set his mug on the rail and trotted down the steps toward the horse barn that PJ had just been carried into. By the time he entered the barn, PJ was on her feet and wearing a pair of leather chaps over her jeans. The brother stood back watching her with a little too much fascination on his face. Ethan joined him at the fence rail and PJ looked up with a smile at his approach.

  “Good morning, Ethan,” she said cheerfully. “Have you met Grant Honeywell?”

  “Only by reputation,” Ethan said. He stuck out his hand and Grant shook it, his meaty paw almost encompassing Ethan’s.

  “You’re from New York,” Grant said, looking Ethan up and down.

  Ethan looked down at his jeans, t-shirt, and the flannel shirt he wore for warmth. “What gave me away?”

  “The flannel is too new and expensive,” Grant replied. Turning his attention back to PJ, he spoke again. “What are you going to do now, sugar?”

  “Watch and learn,” she said, causing Grant to grin. Ethan watched the byplay with a growing sense of alarm. Grant was obviously interested in PJ. What was her reaction to him?

  Soon, however, watching PJ took on its usual fascination and he forgot all about Grant Honeywell as he studied PJ’s deft movements with the horse, trying to figure out what she was doing. After a while he gave up trying and asked. “What are you doing?”

  “First I’m cleaning the hooves. I use this hooked knife to clean out the inside. Then I use these,” she held up what looked like the world’s largest nail clippers, “to trim the edge of the hoof and round it off. Finally I file it with my rasp.” She pointed to a large metal rasp.

  “How do you know when you’re done?” he asked.

  “Balance, it’s all about balance. Think of the tires on a car. You want them to wear evenly. It’s the same with the hooves. You have to take each horse’s stance into account, filing more or less on certain stress points.”

  She finished cleaning the hooves. Ethan didn’t know much about horses, but even he could see this one was in pain. It held its right front hoof in the air, refusing to put any pressure on it. Next she took out a wad of putty, or at least it looked like putty to him. She pressed it into the hoof, securing a piece of Styrofoam over it.

  “What’s that?” Grant asked the question this time.

  “Dental plaster. I think it’s set now.” She removed the Styrofoam and cut off the excess plaster. When that was done, she traced the hoof on a sturdy piece of foam padding, then cut it out and secured it over the hoof with duct tape. As soon as she was finished, the horse set its hoof down and started walking.

  Grant gave a whoop of joy that startled the horse. PJ sidestepped its back hoof when it jumped and Ethan shot Grant a disparaging glance.

  “That’s brilliant, sugar,” Grant said. “I’m going to go tell baby sister all about it.” Apparently he had the attention span of a gnat because he ran off without another word like a kid who had just discovered a new toy.

  There were two other horses in the enclosure with PJ. Ethan remained rapt as he watched her clean their hooves and attach new shoes. On the front feet of the remaining horses, she attached the heart-shaped shoes he had watched her make the previous morning. The memory harkened him back to the intense moment they had shared in her workshop so that when PJ finished her work and looked up, she was mesmerized by his intense expression. She stalled, taking her time stepping out of her chaps. At last she had no more reasons to remain in the pen, so she put her foot on the fence rail and swung up.

  Ethan stepped up, stopping her progress so she sat on the fence, waiting. He rested his hands on either side of her, almost touching her but not quite.

  “PJ, I have something to say,” he began.

  She waited breathlessly while he tried to get out whatever it was he had to tell her.

  “I’m sorry about yesterday.”

  A blush warmed her face as she remembered her amateurish admission from the day before. Why had she blurted what she was feeling without thinking it through? “Don’t, Ethan. Yesterday wasn’t your fault; it was mine. I shouldn’t have said what I did. It just popped out. I wasn’t measuring you for wedding tuxedos, I promise.”

  He smiled. “I know. I failed to take into account that you haven’t had much experience in these matters, and I overreacted.” His hands inched closer, brushing her thighs. “I’d like to try again, if you think we could.”

  “I…I don’t know,” she said uncertainly. She still wasn’t sure about him, wasn’t sure she could trust him. She had the feeling she would only fall in love once in her life. She didn’t want to waste that once on the wrong person.

  “Here’s my dating philosophy,” Ethan said. “Dating should be a time of getting to know each other to figure out if you’re with the person you want to be with. If you take it slow and have fun, what’s the harm?”

  “It sounds so easy when you say it like that,” she said.

  “It’s not easy,” he said. “And since I know you’re a big fan of honesty, PJ, I have to tell you that I’m usually a big jerk when it comes to women. But I’m trying to change—I want to change.”

  The admission shouldn’t have made her like him more, but it did. She smiled and brushed his hair out of his eyebrows. “I have trouble imagining you as a cad, Ethan,” she said.

  “Maybe because no one has used that word since the thirties,” he suggested, pinching her thigh.

  She lightly shoved his shoulder. “I don’t think you’re allowed to make fun of me yet.”

  “Trust me—that starts from the beginning and never ends.” He moved slightly closer, drawing her further into his embrace. “I have one important question for you.”

  “What?” she asked, slightly breathless with his proximity. Somehow she was able to smell his cologne over the heavier smells of leather and manure, and it smelled heavenly.

  “What do you want for Christmas?”

  PJ froze, taken aback. Christmas! Was that really coming up in a few days? No one had asked her what she wanted for Christmas since she was a little girl, which was probably the last time she had received a present. And now a handsome man was asking her what she wanted.

  “Nothing,” she said hastily. She didn’t want him to buy her anything.

  “Come on,” he said. “Don’t say that. Everyone wants something.”

  She cast her eyes about the room, searching for an answer. “I’ve had my eye on a new awl,” she remarked.

  Ethan laughed. The sound rumbled through his chest and vibrated against her knees. “A new awl. That’s definitely the first time I’ve ever heard that response. Where does one get awls? Is there an Awls-R-Us in Montana?”

  “No, and please don’t get me anything.” Her instinct was to tell him that she was uncomfortable with such displays, but she learned her lesson about saying too much.

  “We’ll see,” he said with a secretive smile. He picked up her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing her palm. He noted with interest that her hands were calloused and the feeling intrigued him. He had never dated a woman who performed manual labor for a living.

  She rested her palms on his shoulders and looked down at him from her superior height on the fence rail. He was very pretty for a man. She had always pictured herself with a cowboy because those were the only men she knew. Ethan brought out her natural insecurities as a woman. How could he be attracted to her with her jeans, t-shirt and ponytail? He should be with someone like Chrissy, someone who knew which color shoes to wear after Labor Day and how to use a straightening iron on her hair.


  “Ethan, can I speak to you?”

  They turned to see Cam in the doorway, disapproval in his tone and expression. PJ hurriedly dismounted the fence and turned to her work with a detached expression while Ethan plodded slowly behind Cam.

  Cam led him to the office and closed the door. Sitting down, he indicated the chair across from his desk and Ethan sat. He remained silent, waiting for Cam to speak, until he couldn’t take the tension anymore.

  “How’s Belle?” he asked.

  “Convinced she can put in a full day of work,” Cam said. He shook his head. “That woman makes me crazy.”

  Ethan grinned. “Did you tie her to the bed again?”

  “Didn’t have to. She’s too weak to get up. I’m worried about her.” He scrubbed his hand tiredly over his face.

  “I’ve never seen Belle sick before.” In the six years Ethan had worked for her, she had never taken a day off work for illness.

  “Neither have I,” Cam said. “And I never want to again. It’s no fun to see someone you love in pain. Which brings me to you.” He paused, leaned forward and clasped his hands on the desk, clearing his throat. “You know I’m no good at discussing matters of the heart.”

  “Why is that? You’re a famous romance writer.”

  “One of life’s little ironies. The point is that you’re good people, Ethan. Belle and I like and trust you. But PJ, well, she’s like a little sister to all of us. We’re protective of her because she needs protecting. She’s not as tough as she seems.”

  “I don’t think she seems tough at all,” Ethan replied. “I think she’s sweet and soft and beautiful.”

  Cam blinked at him. “You’re really smitten.”

  Ethan smiled. “I really am.”

  “But you’re three years older than me, and PJ is just a kid.”

  “Maybe you feel that way because you’ve watched her grow up, but believe me when I tell you she’s not a kid anymore.”

  Cam grimaced. “That’s enough. I prefer to think of her as a kid. Just don’t hurt her.”

  “I’ll try,” Ethan promised.

  “Don’t try,” Cam warned. “Don’t hurt her.” The words or else were implied.

  The roundabout threat hovered in the air between them. As a distraction, Ethan glanced at the foot tall stack of papers to his right. He frowned as he picked up a list detailing a cow’s parentage.

  “Cam, don’t tell me you’ve been inputting all this information by hand.”

  “Yes, and I’m way behind. I need to work, but Belle’s so sick…” He trailed off and frowned at the large stack.

  “You can’t be serious,” Ethan said, dumfounded. “There’s a program that will let you scan this, and it even sorts it for you and puts it in a spreadsheet.”

  Now it was Cam’s turn to be amazed. “Where can I order this program?”

  “You can download it now. Here,” he stood, moved Cam aside, and began typing. When he realized Cam was hovering, he suggested he go check to Belle while everything in the office was set up.

  Two hours later he returned to the house, checked on Chrissy, found her still asleep, and went down the hall to Belle and Cam’s room.

  Cam was sitting beside the bed, reading to Belle. Because it was a typed manuscript, Ethan wondered if it was his newest book. Cam usually put out a book a year under the guise of Suzanne Rey. His true identity was such a closely guarded secret that only Belle, Ethan, their boss, Nancy, and Cam’s brother, Cade, knew about it.

  “Did you get everything set up already?” Cam asked.

  “I set it up, scanned your paperwork, and created a series of spreadsheets for you. I also interfaced your files so they’ll share information with each other, sort themselves, and delete any duplicate information. And I created a backup in case your system crashes.”

  “Ethan, that’s incredible,” Cam said.

  “See, didn’t I tell you he was the best assistant ever?” Belle croaked.

  “I believe you, now more than ever. You just saved me at least six months of work,” Cam said. He eyed Ethan with an odd, calculating look.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Belle said. “Ethan is mine.”

  “But, sweetheart, I thought what’s yours is mine.” Cam leaned forward to nuzzle Belle’s cheek.

  She laughed and wiggled away from him. “That applies to everything but my assistant. Get your own Ethan.”

  “Maybe I will,” was Cam’s cryptic reply.