Big Sky Seduction

by Daire St. Denis

“Nope.”

  “So where do you think they got your name?”

  “I have no idea.” She reread the email. “And what do you think they mean by, ‘a certain type of buyer’? it sounds like code for something.”

  “I was just reading an article about all the celebrities who are buying up ranches in Montana.”

  “Like who?”

  “Letterman, Dennis Quaid, Michael Keaton, Harrison Ford...”

  Gloria swiveled her head toward Faith in surprise.

  “What?” Faith smiled sheepishly. “So I follow celebrities? They’ve got nice places and people with nice places like to hire people like us.” She pointed between the two of them.

  “I bet it was one of the guys from the fund-raiser I threw for Daisy’s bakery last year,” Gloria said, still stuck on the question of who would have recommended her for a celebrity-style job in Montana.

  “That could be it.” Faith moved closer, reading the screen over Gloria’s shoulder. “But you’re not even at the best part yet. Go to the last page.”

  Scrolling to the final page of the contract, Gloria read through the terms of payment. “It says 2.5 percent of the sale,” she murmured. “Are you kidding me? No flat rate?”

  “Nope.”

  “Do you have any idea what ranches this size go for?”

  Faith took control of the mouse and went to a file she’d been working on only fifteen minutes ago, a property comparison analysis, showing her the recent sales of ranches of comparable size and location.

  “Holy crap,” Gloria whispered.

  “You said it.” Faith’s smile was wide. “And I have a feeling if we do well, get a big-time, celebrity buyer, we could get more deals like this, don’t you?”

  Gloria considered the situation she was in. This seemed like a godsend. But there was her father. She couldn’t leave him, not alone in her place. “Maybe you should go. You’ve got enough experience to handle it.”

  Leaning over her shoulder, Faith pointed to a line in the contract. “They’re asking for you, Glo. Not me. I can stay here and hold down the fort.”

  Leaning back in her chair, Gloria considered the possibilities. With one contract she could earn enough to float the company for six months and to give both herself and Faith a nice little bonus. If the contract led to more high-end work, they’d be set. But the thought of leaving her father alone? It didn’t seem like a good idea.

  With a hand on her shoulder, Faith said softly, “Your father made his mess, Glo. You’ve got to let him clean it up.”

  “I know, but...”

  She squeezed her knotted shoulder muscles. “You’re the child in this situation, not the parent.”

  Faith was right. She had to take care of herself, otherwise there was no way she could help her father. But even though that made sense logically, her heart was having a hard time with the idea.

  “I’ll keep an eye on your dad...and your place. I promise.”

  She considered the offer for a little longer, knowing she should decline it but then...what the hell? Opportunities like this only came around once in a lifetime. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to fly out to Montana to make sure this is legit,” she said finally.

  “Nope. Wouldn’t hurt a thing.”

  Gloria grinned. “Okay, then. I’ll do it.”

  “Yeehaw!” Faith slapped her on the back. “Montana...here you come!”

  * * *

  DILLON AWAITED MAX Ozark’s arrival. He was Half Moon’s only real estate agent. He was also the mayor and owner of the Gold Dust Hotel, not because he was particularly ambitious but because none of his three occupations actually kept him occupied. Max had called him earlier in the day to let him know that Gloria had checked into the hotel and he’d be bringing her out to the ranch that afternoon.

  Arriving early to the ranch, he saddled up one of the spirited stallions to go for a ride. Urging the horse into a trot then a canter, he rode across the expanse of grassland and up the gentle side of the bluff. It was a hot day for May and the heat led to thoughts about the fiery redhead. She’d be so out of place here where rolling hills, pastures and streams replaced high-rises. Where the Beaverhead National Forest edged the land instead of Lake Michigan. It’d be interesting to see how she handled it.

  It’d be interesting to see how she handled him, too.

  Would she be surprised to see him? Nah. She must have put two and two together when she read the contract. Who else did she know in Montana?

  The fact she had signed so quickly and was here only a week after he’d sent it, told him one thing. For as much as Jamie claimed Gloria didn’t like him, he knew differently. Not that the damn bet he’d made with his cousin mattered. Dillon had only made the bet out of habit. When they were kids, he and his cousins made bets over everything, from penny poker to who could catch a greased pig or be first to pole-vault over the creek. Chuckling, he gazed out at the Wells property, Silver Tree Ranch, it wasn’t quite as big as the ranch he’d grown up on, but it sure was pretty with the hills and gullies, the forests and streams and the mountains in the distance. The Cross place, Mountain Shadow Ranch, was adjacent to Silver Tree, and Dillon and Kenny had basically become best friends because of proximity. They’d gone to school together, pulled typical teenage stunts together, started riding bulls together. That was when the rivalry started, taking the place of friendship as they vied for better times, titles and women.

  Char, for example.

  He and Char had dated first, then, next thing he knew, she was marrying Kenny. That had hurt more than he cared to admit and he’d still be pissed at Kenny over it if it wasn’t for that thing that happened two years after they married. Then Char split, just up and left, and Dillon and Kenny reverted to being the close friends they’d started off as, never speaking of Char again.

  Now Kenny was gone, and the decision about whether or not he should tell his friend about what happened was moot. It was all too late now.

  When Dillon reached the old homestead, now fondly called the Doghouse, he pulled up on the reins and turned the horse. They were standing on high ground overlooking the ranch buildings in the distance: the big log house that sat on the edge of the pond, the winding creek and forest to the west. It sure was nice. But there was no way he could keep it. He just couldn’t. As long as whoever bought it kept it running like it was meant to run and made sure the hired hands who were the backbone of the place stayed on because there were fewer and fewer places for hired help to go for decent jobs these days.

  With a hand to his hat, he craned his neck to check the road. Sure enough, a couple of cars were making their way along the mile-long gravel lane that led up to the ranch. If he took a shortcut across the creek, he’d make it back shortly after they arrived. With a gentle nudge with his boots and a clicking sound with his tongue, he urged the horse forward, picking a careful trail down the slope of the embankment to the creek below, making switchbacks to lessen the grade for the animal. After making it to flat ground, he followed the creek, looking for a shallow place to cross and then located a game trail through the woods that headed in the general direction of the compound.

  Once the buildings were in sight, he rode directly to the barn, dismounted and led the animal inside where a ranch hand named Curtis was mucking out stalls. “Can you take care of this one for me?” Dillon asked. “Max is here.”

  “Sure thing.” Curtis, a stoic young man of few words, looked less than thrilled at the mention of the real estate agent’s name. Dillon didn’t blame him.

  He gave the horse a pat on its neck, passed him off to Curtis and then made his way to the end of the barn where a wash station was set up. He washed his hands and splashed cool water on his face and neck. He could almost see Gloria’s look of disdain at the image he painted. Why the hell did the little redhead’s disdain amuse him so much?


  Damn, he was acting like a kid about to go on a first date.

  One thing was clear: he couldn’t wait to see her again.

  4

  WITH HER PHONE in one hand and her notebook in the other, Gloria took pictures of the enormous ranch house. More like a lodge than a house, it was gorgeous. Much newer than she’d expected, too, which was a good thing because staging it alone was going to take a ton of work. She snapped another picture of the kitchen before following Max Ozark into the living room. No. Not living room, this was what you called a great room.

  The vaulted ceiling was crisscrossed with wide solid beams of wood. West-facing windows lined the entire wall. She stopped to admire the view of the pond right out front with forest and mountains in the background.

  “It’s spectacular,” she said before snapping a bunch more photos.

  “It has potential,” Max said, chewing on the toothpick that had been stuck in the corner of his mouth during the entire tour.

  Gloria leaned against a wall, opened her notebook and added to the growing list of things that needed to be done: declutter, clear out furniture, clean windows, get new rugs, art and lighting. She made a rough diagram of the room and blocked where the new and/or repurposed furniture would go. She’d already made rough sketches of each of the eight bedrooms—yes, eight bedrooms!—plus their attached en suites. Then the enormous kitchen, the gigantic dining room, the den, the foyer, the two half baths on the main floor. Sighing, she closed the book. “What does someone need eight bedrooms for?” she muttered to herself, trying to imagine the sort of buyer they would be looking for.

  “The original owner had planned to run the place as a dude ranch.”

  “What happened?”

  “He died.”

  “Oh, sorry. Did you know him?”

  “Yeah. He was young. Cancer.” Max shook his head, sadly. “Everyone thought he was crazy for building this.” He gestured toward the house at large. “Including my client. He inherited this place and probably figures it’s too big to keep.”

  Gloria blinked and suddenly saw the place through new eyes. It was perfect for a guest ranch. “So what kind of buyer are we looking for? Someone who wants to run this as a business?”

  “Either that or we find some high roller with money. Could be a celebrity type or just some bigwig corporate type who wants to pretend to be a cowboy for a few months out of the year. As long as they’d be willing to keep the place running like it is now. That’s important to my client.”

  “What about a really big family?” Gloria turned a circle, imagining kids growing up here, adults growing old here. It seemed...idyllic.

  “No one around here can afford something like this. We could throw a for-sale sign on the place and you know what would happen? Same thing that’s happened to 80 percent of the places around here, one of those big corporations will buy it, leaving this brand-new house to rot, treating the land and the livestock like a factory.” He shook his head. “The client doesn’t want that.”

  “Hmm.” Gloria held her pencil to her lips. “It’s going to be a lot of work to attract the kind of buyer you’re looking for.”

  “What are we talking?”

  “Well...” Gloria went back to her notebook. “Everything’s pretty new, but I’d like some higher-end appliances in the kitchen. Paint everything, give it a fresh look. Most of this furniture has to go and we’ll need to bring in truckloads more, just to fill the place.” She glanced around. “A few new light fixtures would help. Then there are all the accents, rugs, art, decorative items.” She closed the book, envisioning the kinds of things she’d put in this room. “If you want a high-end buyer you need to use high-end materials. It’ll be expensive and there are no guarantees.”

  Max nodded, walking around the room and checking it out as if trying to imagine it through the eyes of a multimillionaire. “I’ll double-check with my client, but I’m sure he’ll tell you to go ahead.” He paused and regarded her. “The question is, are you up to tackling this sort of job?”

  Excitement. That was what Gloria felt as she contemplated the challenge the ranch house presented. However, she was also a realist. “I’ll be honest, Max. Back in Chicago I could do it. I’ve got the contacts there—contractors, furniture suppliers. Here?” She shrugged. “I don’t know where to start. We’re out in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Well, now, we may be isolated but I imagine Butte’s got what you need in terms of furniture and supplies.”

  “What if we can’t rent? Can your client afford what I’m talking about?

  “We can ask.”

  Not for the first time, Gloria wondered who the mystery client was.

  “So,” Max prodded. “What do you think?”

  She smiled. “I think it’s an exciting proposition.”

  “Good, glad to hear it. You come highly recommended.”

  She did? She was just going to ask who’d recommended her when Max nodded toward the window. “I just saw the client ride past. Why don’t we go talk over the fine points with him and then he can take you on a tour of the rest of the property.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Already Gloria’s mind was spinning with ideas, a southwestern theme infused with modern touches. The log home, with its warm honey tones, would be ideal for brightly colored furniture and accents. With her head buried in her notebook, jotting down the ideas before she could forget them, she followed Max back outside to the yard.

  When she glanced up, all she saw was a big man striding toward them, the sun at his back blinding her so that she couldn’t make out his features.

  “Hi, Gloria. Glad you came.”

  That voice. She recognized that voice.

  Oh, no.

  She shielded her eyes from the sun and his features came into focus. She pointed at him as if he was an apparition, not a flesh-and-blood man. “Dillon?”

  “That’s me.”

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  He took a couple steps closer. She stumbled back.

  “What do you mean what am I doing here?”

  “I mean. What. Are. You. Doing. Here?”

  He frowned. “This ranch is mine. For now. Until you help me sell it, that is.” He opened his arms wide. “Welcome.”

  Gloria could not believe it. She propped her fists on her hips. “You tricked me into coming here?”

  “Tricked you?” Dillon tilted his head to one side, the wide brim of his cowboy hat hiding his eyes. “Is that what you think?”

  “Yes, that’s what I think.” Gloria angled her chin up at him. Good Lord the man was big. She’d forgotten how big he was. “For what reason, I can only guess.”

  The real estate agent cleared his throat and Dillon turned to him. “Give us a few minutes, will you, Max?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Dillon waited until Max was out of earshot before taking a measured step toward her. “Tell me, who did you think was behind the contract?”

  Gloria bit down on the end of her pencil. “Well...”

  “Who do you know who lives in Montana, besides me?”

  “Oh, um...”

  “Anyone?” With each step he took toward her, his voice became lower.

  “I thought you lived in Wyoming,” she said with a lame laugh.

  “Why would you think that?”

  Before answering, she took a moment to think about it. She had a vague recollection of Dillon telling her where he hailed from—twice—so why didn’t she remember? She’d like to believe it was because she didn’t care, but that wasn’t exactly true.

  God, I’m an idiot...

  He frowned, as though he’d heard her unspoken words, and then he removed his hat and raked his fingers through his thick dark brown hair before positioning it back on his
head.

  Why did such a simple act have such a profound effect on her? Maybe it was because she was so aware of him whenever he was around—his presence, his size, seriously the man just took up too much space—it made her uneasy. So, when he spoke in that melodic, ambling drawl of his, the words just strolled right on by.

  Because you’re too busy checking out his package.

  Oh, God! Gloria tore her gaze from the front of Dillon’s well-fitting jeans. Had he caught her? It was hard to tell with the brim of his hat shading the top half of his face. She faked a scowl, hoping to cover her lapse in concentration.

  “Look, Gloria. I’m selling this ranch and I need a stager. You’re the only one I know.”

  She tilted her head back so far it felt as if her neck might snap. He was doing this on purpose, coming closer, making her feel so...small. Her instinct was to back away, but she didn’t. She stood her ground. “There’s this amazing thing called the internet and all you have to do is type the word stager into a search engine, and you’ll get a whole list of people. It’s amazing.”

  She may not have been able to read his eyes, but there was no mistaking the taut line of muscle along his wide jaw that told her he was clenching his teeth. Yep, he was clenching his teeth, all right, because when he spoke, it was through those closed teeth. “I may not have grown up in the big city, but that doesn’t make me stupid.”

  “I never said—”

  “No. But you implied it.”

  Gloria opened her mouth to refute his claim and then stopped because, while she couldn’t see his eyes beneath his hat, she felt the intensity of his stare, daring her to deny the insult.

  “I’m sorry.”

  That muscle along his jaw tightened again and Gloria found herself fighting an irrational urge to touch it, run her finger tip along it. Lightly. She clenched her hands into fists instead.

  “Look, Gloria, I have no idea what I did to you to make you think I’m some asshole with an agenda. But here’s the deal. I saw how efficient you were at the fund-raiser you threw for Daisy. According to Jamie, you pulled that event off in less than a month. You’re organized, professional and experienced. You can get the job done and that’s what I need.”