Little? She fought back a smile. She might not be the most experienced twenty-nine-year-old in the world when it came to sex, but surely making love with someone as hot, gorgeous, and manly as Tucker Montgomery would be better than a little. She’d already had the minimalist version of passion with James. She was ready for the whole shebang—whatever that meant.
“Oh, crap, the cement truck’s already here,” Tucker said, motioning Amanda toward the parking area that had been set up by the mess tent. “I hope I’m not too late.”
She parked, jumped out of the car and dashed around to the passenger side. Yanking open the door, she held out her hand. “Give me the box. I’ll run it up and drop it in the hole.”
“No way. This is my superstition, not yours.”
“Let me help.”
Tucker was so damn tired of needing help he wanted to shove her out of the way and run up the hill. Of course, he couldn’t do that. He looked over her shoulder as the giant rotating truck began to back up. A loud beep, beep, beep pierced the still mountain air.
“Shit.” He shoved the box into her hand, closing both of his hands over hers. “Cross side up.”
Her smile held a hint of satisfaction and something he couldn’t identify. Gratitude? Maybe. He had a feeling people—her family, for sure—didn’t trust Amanda with things of import. Fools. “Go. You can do it.”
To his shock, she leaned in and kissed him, fast and hard, the way he kissed when he was making a point. Then she turned and took off running in those ridiculous high-heeled boots. “Oh, good God,” he muttered, holding one hand to his eyes to block his view. “She’s going to break her leg. Is my f-ing insurance even set up?”
Of course, he couldn’t take his gaze off her as she trotted with surprising grace up the steady incline. For a girl who appeared for all practical purposes to be utterly useless outside her natural element, she seemed to be making good time.
But would that be enough? Would the driver see her? Would the workers—who might not even speak English—help her. He had to get up there.
“Bless your heart for driving a boat of a car, Miss Molly,” he mumbled, thankful for the spaciousness to move his ungainly boot in and out of the passenger side with relative ease. He pulled himself upright and hung on the door of the giant sedan for a few seconds to get his balance.
The stiff breeze, a good ten degrees cooler than the air temp on the valley floor, felt refreshing, invigorating. He hopped around on his good foot to grab his crutches. Once he felt steady on the uneven gravel parking area, he started after her.
“If you re-tear this, Tucker, you will require surgery and that means six months of rehab...minimum,” his doctor had warned.
Moving as fast as he dared, he kept one eye on the action, which was only a few dozen yards away, but given the incline and rough terrain felt like ten miles.
This launching site would be the final destination for all zippers as well as their initial introduction to the lines. A practice zip would eventually take them to a “soft” landing spot two hundred feet away with just enough drop in elevation to whet their taste for the adventure to come and teach them how to brake. Once proficient, the zippers would be transported in six-person crawlers higher up to make their first zip across a two-hundred-foot deep crevasse.
“Hey, what’s your rush,” someone said jogging to Tucker’s side.
Justin. Thank you, Lord.
Tucker stopped, slightly out of breath and too embarrassed to admit it. “Amanda’s going to break her neck. Go get my time capsule. We can put it in the next hole. Ona will never know.”
Justin looked at him as if he’d lost his marbles. “Time capsule? What are you talking about?”
“Ona sent me a Cajun good luck charm. FedEx brought it yesterday but we were still waiting on the inspection. When you texted about the pour, I had Amanda run me up here as fast as we could in her grandmother’s land yacht.”
Justin burst out laughing. “Okay. Got it. No problem. I’ll make sure Ona’s charm gets in.”
“Cross side up. That’s important.”
Justin dashed away, nimble as his namesake—Goat. Although Tucker had to admit the name didn’t really apply at the moment since Justin’s mountain climbing gig was on hold pending an investigation into a dangerous climb that he’d refused to lead. When several people on that climb perished, Justin hadn’t hesitated to share his thoughts on what went wrong. Something that made him a pariah with his former sponsors.
Tucker considered himself pretty damn fearless when it came to fighting fires, but nobody he knew could free climb sheer granite walls until he became a minute speck barely discernable by the naked eye the way his lithe and nimble friend could. Tucker didn’t know what this controversy would mean in the long run for his friend’s climbing career, but Tucker was damn thankful to have Justin here running the show.
He let out a sigh of relief when he saw Justin catch up to Amanda. He could see them arguing but couldn’t hear a word over the rumble of a second cement truck idling in line. The concrete guys all huddled in readiness to shovel the wet cement into the hole and spread it around the four-foot square base as soon as the wet concoction started down the chute.
At the last possible second, Justin snatched the box from Amanda’s hands and dove for the hole. Luckily, the plan called for six inches of cement to go into the hole as a base for the pole that would then be raised in place using winches and pulleys.
Tucker held his breath as he saw Justin check the box then reach into the hole as far as he could. A second later, with the help of two concrete guys, he popped back to his feet.
Justin spun around to give Tucker a thumbs-up gesture at the same moment Amanda kicked him in the shins and stormed off.
Tucker was still laughing when Amanda reached him. “Your friend’s a glory hog. That was my job.”
“He didn’t want you to get dirty.”
“You didn’t trust me to do it right.”
It struck him that he and Justin accidentally had hurt her feelings. Did society girls suffer from wounded pride the way normal people did? “I was afraid you were going to break your neck or get run over by the cement truck.”
She crossed her arms and glared at him. “I’m tougher than I look. You have to be to survive in a family like mine. Next time you ask for my help, forget it.”
He moved closer and did something he knew he’d regret later. He grabbed her firmly by the shoulders, letting his crutches fall. Balancing all his weight on his good leg, he pulled her to him and kissed her. Hard, but not fast. The opposite of fast. He took his time to experience every damn nuance, like how she resisted him for three and a half seconds. And how, when she gave in, her mouth softened and her lips parted to invite him in.
The thought crossed his mind that this was one of those I’ll-remember-this-moment-forever sort of thing. Was it? Would he never forget the first time he kissed Amanda Heller?
Of course not. She was just a pretty girl who kissed like a damn siren luring him to the wicked rocks where he’d crash and burn. There was nothing special about her, he told himself. Other than her taste, maybe. Honey sweet but with some intangible something all her own.
But even if Amanda was different from all the others he’d kissed—and enjoyed—over the years, she most definitely wasn’t a long-term prospect. God, no. Not that he was looking for a forever love—something he knew existed because Ona and Twig had been inseparable right up till the day he died.
But even if Tucker bought into that happily-ever-after fantasy, he had way too much on his plate to get involved with Amanda Heller—even for the short term.
Too bad he had a feeling that decision was completely out of his hands. Her kiss told him she might be up for a little tryst he decided to call: “Roommates with benefits.”
Chapter Five
Amanda couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment the roar of the tractor carrying the humongous pole separated itself from the roar in her brain from her mind crying, �
��No, stop. Don’t kiss him.” But the second the words took hold, she stepped back, nearly losing her balance and almost taking out a crutch-less Tucker Montgomery, too.
He hopped a couple of steps, trying to regain his balance.
“Oh, sorry,” she said, grabbing his muscular upper arms to steady him.
She’d never in her life kissed someone with arms as beefy and strong has his. She’d always dated brainiacs who sat, thought and talked for a living. Being in the arms of someone bigger than she had its charm. Her body hummed a tune that hadn’t been played in a very long time. She couldn’t even remember the last time she and James slept together. What does that tell you? a voice very much like Molly’s chirped in her head.
She expected him to say something about the kiss, but like the little boy he sometimes reminded her of, his gaze shifted from her to the action taking place behind them. Once she was sure it was safe to let go, she dipped down for his crutches.
“Here.”
“Thanks.” He had to shout to be heard over the noise.
He slipped the padded portion under his armpits and leaned forward, perfectly balanced on his good foot.
When she’d been in his arms, she’d experienced the oddest feeling—as if her feet weren’t touching the ground. She couldn’t explain it. He wasn’t that much taller than she, nor could he possibly be strong enough to sweep her off her feet—with one good foot. And, yet, she halfway expected them to waltz down the hillside into the privacy of one of those tents she’d seen when she pulled up.
She put her palms flat to the sides of her head and shouted, “This is hurting my ears.”
He looked between her and the action, obviously aware of the fact he’d kissed her then abandoned her without a word.
“Sorry,” he mouthed.
He pointed to the big tent and made a drinking motion. “Five minutes,” he said, holding up his hand to wiggle his fingers.
She had a finger she was tempted to give him, but she didn’t. A Heller didn’t resort to obscene gestures, even if their feelings were a bit scuffed up. She pulled out the June O’Neal Heller shrug—cold and dismissive—before turning on one heel. On cement, the spin worked great. On gravel? Not so much.
A faint crunching sound sent the fear of a broken heel through her. She practically tiptoed to the entrance of a massive white tent filled with long, rectangular serving tables and folding chairs.
“New shoes tomorrow,” she vowed under her breath once she could hear herself speak. Hiking boots. Tennis shoes. Something that belonged in this brutal environment.
Not that she belonged here, but the right shoes would help her blend in. After all, she’d been the odd-man-out her whole life—tall and willowy compared to her perfectly proportioned sisters. When she was fifteen, an agent for a modeling company approached her about doing some practice shots.
The woman even contacted Amanda’s mother trying to sell June on the benefits. “Modeling can help your daughter build confidence and learn how to play up her best features.”
Amanda’s father went ballistic. “Hellers don’t strut their assets on a catwalk. You’re going to college. Period.”
But I’m in Montana, now, she thought. What Andrew Heller didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
She entered the tent expecting to find it empty, but to her surprise a woman and her young son sat at one of the tables, possibly doing homework. The woman looked up. Kat Robinson. They’d only met once, but they’d talked on the phone several times regarding Molly’s welfare and healthcare choices.
“Hello,” Amanda called, changing direction toward their table. “It’s Kat, right? Amanda Heller.”
“Of course. Good to see you again. This is my son, Brady.”
Brady didn’t look up, but he made a guttural sound that might have been “Hello.”
Amanda looked at the pages of lined paper spread about the table. “Homework?”
“Sort of. Genealogy worksheets. Family groups and individuals. Brady’s obsessed with researching his family tree,” Katherine said. The color rose in her cheeks when she added, “Tucker may not have mentioned it, but we were recently reunited with my birth father, Roger Zabrinski. We’d never met.”
Amanda shook her head. “No. He didn’t say anything.”
“Flynn asked him to keep the news on the down-low while we let all of the extended family know. There are a lot of Zabrinskis around, including a branch in Detroit.”
Amanda told herself not to feel slighted that Tucker failed to have shared this interesting bit of gossip with her. They may see each other every day, but they weren’t dating.
One kiss does not a relationship make. Still she didn’t want to think about all the secrets James had kept from her over the course of their relationship.
“There’s a giant pot of coffee on the table. It’s fresh. I just made it.”
“And doughnuts,” her son added.
“As well as fruit.” Kat grinned. “Justin runs a very healthy ship.”
Amanda poured herself a cup and returned a minute later. Rather than risk spilling on their papers, she chose the adjacent table. “Speaking of healthy eating, I took Grandmother to meet with a nutritionist the other day. I remembered you mentioning that your mother tried a number of different diets after she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. Did any help?”
Kat whispered something in her son’s ear then carried her no-spill thermal mug to a spot across from Amanda. “Not really, but that might have been because Mom loved to start new things, but rarely stuck with anything long enough to see any improvement. How’s Molly doing?”
“Not bad. The nutritionist believes part of Molly’s disorientation, memory issues and lack of balance might be attributed to both poor nutrition and too much potassium.”
“You’re kidding? That’s amazing.”
“I talked her doctor into putting her on a strict diet, which she complains about to anyone who will listen, but I swear I’ve seen an improvement in her cognitive abilities in the past few days. She even cracked a joke the other day...at Tucker’s expense.”
Kat applauded. “I love it. I’m so happy to hear this. How’s the house coming?”
They talked remodeling and eldercare and the best place to buy practical shoes. Amanda realized she’d missed having girlfriends in her life. Once she agreed to marry James, she’d had less and less time to be a friend.
“Tell me more about what it was like to find your birth father.”
“Roger’s a sweetheart,” Kat said.
“He’s taking us to Disneyland,” Brady put in, surprising Amanda, who’d forgotten he was even there. “Both parks, not just the main one,” he added as if expecting his mother to contradict him.
“And every ride,” she agreed with a sigh. “I’m more interested in whale watching on the porch of his Malibu home, but I’m prepared to be a good sport.” She looked at Amanda and said, “Roger reminds me of Tucker in some ways—a little boy at heart. It’s the part I love best about them both.”
Amanda pictured the childlike glee on Tucker’s face when he talked about the zip line. She hadn’t realized how difficult it must be on him to turn over control of this all-important setup to someone else—not because he was afraid it would be done wrong, but because Tucker threw himself into whatever he was doing with passion.
Have I ever loved my work passionately? Or anything else about my life?
She loved the city. New York was her favorite place on the planet. Except for the parts she didn’t like: waiting in lines, streets perpetually torn up, delivery van drivers with major attitude, the cost of even the simplest thing. She didn’t miss those aspects. And she definitely wasn’t looking forward to living with her parents while she looked for a new apartment.
She’d given up her Soho loft when she moved in with James. Everyone said it was the best way to know if they could cohabitate without bloodshed. As if a Heller would resort to violence. That’s what connections in high places were for.
&nb
sp; She’d just gotten up to refill her coffee when three men walked into the tent, their voices louder than necessary. Flynn Bensen, Tucker Montgomery and Justin Oberman—Central Casting’s surefire pick for a Montana version of the Three Musketeers.
“I did not,” Tucker protested, trying to trip Justin with his crutch.
“You did. You made the sign of the cross and kissed your imaginary rosary when they started filling in the last of the cement.” Justin Oberman hopped over the rubber tip as adroitly as a child jumping rope. “I was watching you because of that whole time capsule thing. I thought maybe you were losing it.”
Flynn put a hand on Tucker’s shoulder to keep him from losing his balance. “Just admit you’re a superstitious religious zealot, Tucker. You know what Goat’s like when he starts chewing on something.”
Once he made sure his friends weren’t going to square off in a wrestling match, Flynn turned to walk straight to Kat to give her a feet-off-the-ground hug. He leaned down and whispered something private in Brady’s ear, too.
“Okay,” Tucker said, huffily. He gave Amanda a plaintive look so put-upon she almost burst out laughing. “I was raised with a cross in one hand and a voodoo doll in the other. Are you happy? I like to cover all my bases.”
Justin smiled. “Thank you. That’s all I wanted to hear. I’m not even going to mention the fact you wrote Amanda’s initials in the wet cement and not mine.”
Tucker’s cheeks turned the cutest shade of pink Amanda had ever seen on a man. “You can write your whole name on the next one, for all I care,” Tucker muttered, maneuvering past a few chairs. “If I’d known it was a big deal, I’d have auctioned these off to pay for the damn thing.”
He paused, a light going off in his eyes. “Wait a minute. I am paying for the whole thing. I can put whatever I want on the bases.” A devilish gleam appeared in his eyes. “Oh, boy, just wait and see.”
Amanda guessed she must have been grinning like a fool because everyone in the room, except Brady, was staring at her. He inscribed my initials in the base of the first pole? Why would he do that? Apparently his friends were wondering the same thing.
Montana Rogue (Big Sky Mavericks Book 7) Page 6
