“What is it that you think I know about your sister?” Clay asked.
“Nothing.”
He raised an eyebrow and Tessa shrugged. “Renee explained that you were involved, so it’s possible you have some insight into what she was thinking during those last few months.”
Clay stared. “Tessa, there was nothing like that between us. We didn’t interact more than I do with any other guest.”
“You were the guide on almost every trip she took.”
“That isn’t unusual. If clients like a certain guide, they often try to schedule trips based on who might be leading it or make a special request, but there was nothing going on with Renee. I have a personal rule about that sort of thing.”
“You weren’t happy about Patrick Frazier flirting with me. I wondered if it was because...” She stopped and seemed to shake herself. “I guess not.”
Dear Reader,
When I was writing the first manuscript in my Hearts of Big Sky series, my heroine mentions a boy who broke her heart when she was in the second grade. And just like that, Clay Carson came into being. I thought, What happens to all those little boys who carelessly break little girls’ hearts? Are they still breaking hearts? Did they turn into bankers or doctors or something more unconventional?
One of the nice things about being a writer is that I can answer some of those questions.
Naturally, Clay grows up to be a decent, hardworking guy. He’s a determined bachelor who owns a successful outdoor adventure company near Glacier National Park. Everything is going well until a reckless client drowns on a white river rafting trip. He isn’t at fault, but he still feels responsible for the young woman’s death. Then the client’s sister shows up, wanting answers of her own.
I enjoy hearing from readers and can be contacted on my Facebook page at Facebook.com/julianna.morris.author. If you prefer writing a letter, please use c/o Harlequin Books,
22 Adelaide Street West, 40th Floor,
Toronto, Ontario Canada M5H 4E3.
Best wishes,
Julianna Morris
The Man from Montana
Julianna Morris
Julianna Morris barely remembers a time when she didn’t want to be a writer, having scribbled out her first novel in sixth grade (a maudlin tale she says will never ever see the light of day). She also loves to read, and her library includes everything from history and biographies to most fiction genres. Julianna has been a park ranger, program analyst and systems analyst in information technology. She loves animals, travel, gardening, baking, hiking, taking photographs, making patchwork quilts and doing a few dozen other things. Her biggest complaint is not having enough hours in the day.
Books by Julianna Morris
Harlequin Heartwarming
Christmas on the Ranch
Twins for the Rodeo Star
Harlequin Superromance
Bachelor Protector
Christmas with Carlie
Undercover in Glimmer Creek
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
To first responders and medical personnel—thanks for everything you do.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
EPILOGUE
EXCERPT FROM CAUGHT BY THE COWBOY DAD BY MELINDA CURTIS
CHAPTER ONE
TESSA ALDERMAN PARKED in the Carson Outdoor Adventures lot and gazed at the rolling hills and snowy mountains beyond. It was so beautiful, she wished a vacation was the only reason she was in Montana.
She flipped down the SUV’s sun visor and felt the familiar drop in her stomach at seeing her twin sister’s picture, which she’d taped next to the mirror.
Renee.
A selfie, taken a few weeks before her death, with a defiant, almost angry look in her dark eyes. But why those particular emotions? Her divorce had been long over and she’d received a cash settlement from her ex, outside of the community-property division. She’d been published. On top of that, she’d just become an associate professor in Renaissance and Gothic art at the private college where she taught, so her career had been on track. Brilliantly on track, as a matter of fact—she’d been the youngest professor in the college’s history.
Then suddenly, Renee had taken a leave of absence and left for an extended vacation in Montana, which was strange, because she’d never liked to travel. Just as strange, the college had believed she was in Europe, doing research to finish her second book. It was the only reason they’d allowed her to take the time when she was so new to her professorship.
Tessa pushed the visor back up and squared her shoulders. She’d searched for answers at Renee’s apartment when she and her parents had cleared it out, wanting to understand what had happened and why, yet she’d just ended up with more questions.
Now, Montana was the only place left to search, and Tessa was afraid there wouldn’t be any answers here, either.
A hotel courtesy van arrived as she got out. Six passengers disembarked and took backpacks from the cargo area. Tessa retrieved her own pack and gauged the weight. According to the information on the Carson Adventures website, a few pounds of food and equipment would be distributed to each person going on the trip. But that wouldn’t be a problem; she’d gone on many hikes in the past that required much heavier packs.
“Hello,” called a man’s voice. “Welcome to the Carson Outdoor Adventures Ranch. I’m Clay. Presuming you’re here for the four-day wilderness hike, I’ll be your guide.”
Tessa gave him a long look.
So that was Clay Carson, owner of the company and the man her twin had supposedly been dating on her extended vacation. He’d also been the guide on the rafting trip when Renee had died.
He was striking, with a strong bone structure, piercing gray eyes and dark brown hair. The image of a rugged outdoorsman. It was easy to see why her twin sister would have been attracted to him, less easy to understand how a woman as shy as Renee would have caught his notice.
Tessa sighed. She missed her sister terribly. Though not identical twins, they had been close, or at least she’d believed they were close until Renee had suddenly left Arizona and started participating in high-risk sports, sending bright little group emails to the family about everything she was doing. It didn’t make sense. As a kid she wouldn’t even jump off a high dive or go horseback riding, so how had she ended up dying in a whitewater rafting accident?
The others members of the group introduced themselves to Clay, and when Tessa didn’t step immediately forward, he turned toward her with an inquiring expression.
“Are you part of my group?” he asked.
“Yes. Tessa Alderman.”
Clay gave her a friendly smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Tessa. Everyone, let’s head over to the staging barn. We’ll go over your gear, discuss the guidelines, sign the paperwork and divide up the food and common equipment. Then a company van will take us to the trailhead and you’ll have the next four days to enjoy an incredible wilderness area.”
Though Tessa had mostly backpacked with friends and youth groups, she’d taken a few guided trips and knew the first order of business was getting the liability releas
es properly signed. But they’d also want to be sure everyone had brought the basics listed on the website.
“Do I really need the tent?” she asked when Clay reached her. She’d laid everything from her pack on the table. The other women had kept their personal items out of sight, but Tessa refused to be coy about the scraps of underwear she’d stowed in ziplock plastic bags.
“I’m afraid so.” A hint of a frown creased his brow. “You’re from Tucson, Arizona, right?”
She tensed. Tessa wasn’t keeping her relationship to Renee a secret...exactly, but she also wasn’t advertising it. However close, they’d been as different as two sisters could be. Not only that, Renee had kept her married name after getting divorced, so it seemed unlikely that Clay Carson would make the connection based on the city where they’d both lived. Actually, not even the same city, since Renee’s apartment had been in a little community outside Tucson.
Also, the accident had happened almost eight months ago. Tessa’s parents hadn’t brought a lawsuit against the company, so unless Clay Carson had been serious about Renee, he’d probably put it in the past. But it wasn’t in the past for her family; Renee’s death was a wound that refused to heal.
“I was born and raised in Arizona,” Tessa said, pushing the thought to the back of her mind. “The main reason I use a tent in the Southwest is to keep scorpions out, and they aren’t too common here, right?”
“That’s right, but the weather can change quickly in this part of the world, so you’ll need to bring it. Is the extra weight a problem?”
“No, I just wondered.” Tessa enjoyed camping and hiking, but she was careful. If a local guide told her a tent was advisable, she’d go along.
She’d researched Carson Outdoor Adventures and their safety record was excellent. Even when she’d called the sheriff’s office to ask about Renee’s accident, she had been assured there was nothing to suggest the guides or equipment were in any way to blame. To the contrary, the guides had gone above and beyond in the effort to rescue her. Yet, however nicely he’d expressed his sympathies, the sheriff’s responses had seemed guarded, as if he was holding something back. So maybe her next step would be requesting a copy of the report.
Surely she was entitled to see it as a member of the family.
* * *
CLAY ASSESSED HIS current group with a practiced eye.
The three couples had readily admitted they were new to backpacking. A few ounces here and there added up to pounds, so he’d recommended leaving various items behind in the lockers he provided for situations like this. They were cooperating. Nobody was allowed to dispose of anything on the trail, so except for food being eaten, if an item started out with a hiker, it stayed with the hiker.
As for Tessa Alderman?
She was a question mark. Her backpack seemed new, but her sleeping bag and tent had seen heavy use and she hadn’t brought more clothes and supplies than she needed, which suggested she was an experienced backpacker.
His biggest concern was her looks; two of the wives were already eyeing her with a hint of wariness. Having a striking single woman on a trip with couples had caused tension in the past, but other than giving a cordial nod to the others, she seemed to be keeping to herself.
“Rrrf,” barked his golden retriever, reminding Clay that he needed to find out if she could go along on the hike.
“Everyone,” he called to get the group’s attention. “This is Molly. If you’re allergic to dogs or have another concern for any reason, feel free to let me know and she’ll stay at the ranch, spoiled rotten by my aunt and uncle. They’ll love you for it, so if you have any hesitation, speak up. I will say that she carries her own food, water, bowls and other supplies in a doggy backpack, so no worries there. She even has her own bear bag.”
Laughter came from the group. “She’s okay with me,” one of them said, and the rest agreed with pleased smiles. As a rule, Molly was popular with his clients, especially first-timers who felt more comfortable going into the backcountry with a dog.
It was a good time to talk about encounters with predators, so Clay did a quick review of how to respond if a bear or other animal crossed their path.
One of the women shifted her weight from one foot to the other as he finished, looking nervous. “How often does that happen? I know bear attacks are rare, but what about wolves and mountain lions?”
“Hey, I’d love to see a wolf,” her husband said. She dug an elbow into his side. “From a distance,” he added hastily. “But don’t worry, hon, you can run a lot faster than me.”
Clay waited until the chuckles had died down. “Actually, as I mentioned, running generally isn’t the best response.” He gestured to the can attached to his belt. “This is bear spray, and I carry a backup can, as well. Groups are safest out there because we talk and make more noise, which alerts animals to our presence. But I’ve never had a problem, even with all the times I’ve gone out alone. I’m not saying that nothing can happen, but the truth is, most wild animals are shy of humans. Especially wolves. We just need to keep a close watch. If we see any predators, it will likely be from a distance.”
“Zz-z-zro-o-o-om, zoom,” a child’s voice interrupted and Clay looked up to see his three-year-old nephew run into the barn.
“Whoa, pal.” Clay grabbed him before he could careen into one of the guests. “What are you doing out here?”
“He wanted to give one of his pictures to Uncle Lee and now he’s running away from a bath,” Aunt Emma said breathlessly. “Derry, you little scamp, you’re covered in finger paint.”
Derry giggled as Clay swung him high in the air and into Emma’s arms. She and Uncle Lee had moved here to help his brother with Derry. Having more family on the ranch was great, though he felt bad for Andrew, who’d never expected to be raising a child alone. Clay did what he could, but Aunt Emma was the real lifesaver.
“Sorry for the interruption,” Aunt Emma apologized to the group. “We’re going, Derry. Tell everyone goodbye.”
“Bye-bye,” Derry said over her shoulder, waving his little hand.
He received waves and a chorus of “byes” in return.
Clay grinned at his clients when they were alone again. “All right, let’s divide the food and common equipment and get going. When you repack everything, be sure to put the heavy items at the bottom so the weight rides on your hips. Like this.”
He demonstrated with the contents of his own pack. They set to work and were soon returning to the parking lot.
Uncle Lee met them at the large passenger van. He’d become one of Clay’s drivers, delivering groups to trailheads and picking them up. After thirty years in the US Navy he didn’t like being idle, so in between he supervised the kitchen staff as they prepped for the backpack trips and the evening ranch barbecue, which were part of several afternoon day hikes and horseback rides. Aunt Emma helped, too, though Derry kept her pretty busy.
“I see our Derry has marked you,” Uncle Lee said, grinning.
Clay shrugged at the finger paint, which had rubbed off on his sleeve, and the small, faint handprint on the front of his shirt.
He noticed that Tessa sat in the back of the van with Molly next to her. Molly often had her favorite guest on a hike, and today it seemed that she’d picked Tessa Alderman.
It was interesting. Not that Clay disliked Tessa—they’d barely met—but there was an expression in her cool blue gaze that he didn’t understand. At least she hadn’t fought him on the question of bringing her tent along. Tents weren’t optional at any time.
They ate an early lunch at the trailhead, then Clay gathered the group together and went over the remaining rules.
“I know I’m repeating what’s on our website,” he explained, “but this is a protected wilderness and Carson Outdoor Adventures is committed to being ecofriendly. So don’t discard any wrappers or other items. We take our trash out with u
s, and anything with a scent, even something like soap or toothpaste, needs to be placed in bear bags and suspended in the air at night. But don’t worry, I’ll take care of getting it up there. Let’s go.”
Clay took the lead.
Though Tessa Alderman didn’t have a hiking partner, she didn’t try to stay with him. Instead, she remained at the rear of the group with Molly, who he’d carefully trained to be voice-command obedient. At regular intervals, he stopped and talked about the sights they were seeing or to answer questions. It helped him assess how the group was doing without being too obvious, and gave individuals who were less fit an opportunity to rest.
He hadn’t made up his mind about Tessa. She seemed watchful, reminding him of the corporate representative who’d come out to evaluate Carson Outdoor Adventures. Gunther Computer Systems had been interested in a long-term contract to send their executives on backcountry retreats, but they’d pulled out of negotiations following the rafting accident the previous September.
On the other hand, maybe it was just wishful thinking to wonder if they were interested again. Still, they hadn’t completely shut the door on doing business with him, even saying they’d look into it again “next year.”
Clay let out a harsh breath.
The worst part was that he felt responsible for the accident. He’d run it over and over in his mind, trying to think of what else he could have done.
There had been other problems since, including from the insurance company, which was still doing spot audits of his liability releases. They’d just done an audit, in fact. It frustrated Clay, and yet how could he blame anyone for wanting to be sure that he and his company were good risks?
“What’s that?” asked Ginny, breaking into his thoughts. She was the guest who was especially nervous of large predators. They were at a promontory and she was pointing at something a hundred feet below in a small meadow.
Clay admired Ginny’s willingness to try something new, despite her fears. Truth be told, he’d rather have someone who was cautious and watchful, than a guest who was cockily certain nothing could happen to them. But he also didn’t want her to be so afraid she didn’t enjoy the trip.
The Man from Montana Page 1
