by R. C. Ryan
Within minutes, exhausted by the long flight, lulled by the warmth of the fire and the wonderful aroma of onions in a skillet wafting on the air, she was able to blot out the thought of the storm raging outside, and the appointments she would miss, and was soon drifting on a cloud of contentment.
Chapter Four
Vanessa’s head came up sharply as she jolted awake. She’d been asleep only a few minutes, but it was enough that she felt a quick rush of embarrassment at her lapse.
She turned her head to see Matt stirring something on the stove. She breathed deeply, feeling suddenly ravenous. She picked up her wineglass and strolled to the counter, where she perched on a wooden bar stool and watched Matt work.
He looked over. “Hungry?”
She nodded. “I didn’t realize how much until now. Something smells wonderful.”
“Yancy’s chili. And I have some bread warming in the oven.”
A giant rumble of thunder had him looking at her. “Sounds like the storm’s directly overhead now. This should be the worst of it before it blows past.”
She tried to take comfort in the thought that it would soon be over, but the sound of rain lashing the windows had her shivering.
Seeing it, Matt nodded toward a plaid afghan tossed over the end of a bunk. “Wrap that around you. It’ll keep the cold at bay.”
“Thanks. I think I will.” She crossed the room and draped the warm plaid around her shoulders before returning to the counter.
Matt rummaged through some containers in the supplies he’d brought and gave a murmur of pleasure. “Here it is.” He uncovered a plastic bowl filled with greens, before uncorking a bottle of liquid. “Yancy makes the best salad dressing in the world.” He glanced at Vanessa. “I dare you to find one better in Chicago.”
“That’s a pretty bold bet.” She shot him a knowing grin. “We have hundreds of fine restaurants in the Windy City.”
“I’ve sampled a lot of them. But none could compare with Yancy’s dressing.”
She thought about arguing, but instead glanced around. “Will we eat at the table, or here at the counter?”
“Let’s use the table.” He nodded toward a cupboard beside him. “Dishes in there. You’ll find silverware in that drawer.”
While she set the table, he filled two salad bowls with greens and set the container of dressing beside them.
Vanessa carried them to the table.
Matt dropped the oven-warmed bread into a basket and snagged the bottle of wine before crossing to the table.
After tasting Yancy’s dressing, Vanessa gave a sound of approval. “Oh, that’s wonderful.”
“I thought you’d like it.” Matt broke off a piece of crusty bread. “This is home baked, too.”
“Your cook could work in any fine restaurant in the country. What keeps him at your ranch?”
Matt grinned. “You’ll have to ask him. He’s got quite a tale to tell. But I suspect Yancy wouldn’t be tempted to leave Montana for twice the salary.”
He pushed away from the table and returned minutes later with two steaming bowls of chili. On a tray between them were dishes containing shredded cheese, red pepper flakes, snippets of green onion, and crispy crackers.
“Before you start eating, I’ll bring you a glass of water.”
When he set the glass in front of her, she shot him a look. “Do you think this is my first taste of chili?”
“It’s your first taste of Yancy’s chili.” He dug in and was finishing his second spoonful when he heard the quick gasp of breath across the table.
He looked up in time to watch Vanessa down the water in one long swallow.
“That was—” she reached for a word to describe the eye-watering heat “—really spicy.”
“The wranglers refer to it as Yancy Martin’s gut-burning masterpiece.”
“An apt description.” She laughed as she attempted a second bite. This time, prepared for the quick burn, she merely smiled before adding a little cheese, onion, and cracker to the bowl. “But I have to say, this may be the best chili I’ve ever tasted.”
Matt looked at her with new respect. “Any woman who can dig into Yancy’s chili has to be a lot tougher than she looks.”
“Thanks.”
While Matt polished off a second bowl, Vanessa finished her first before sitting back and sipping her wine. “That was incredible. From the salad dressing to the chili. A really unexpected treat.”
“I’m glad you liked it. I hope you won’t take offense at the fact that the chili was a gift from the wild.”
At her blank look, he smiled. “The meat was venison. A deer I tracked on the South Ridge a few months ago. Yancy managed to turn it into steaks, hamburger, and stew meat.”
“Are you hoping to shock me?” She resisted touching a hand to her stomach, though the impulse was strong.
“Maybe. A little. But in truth, I think you ought to realize that there’s another valid reason for killing animals in the wild. Though it may not be necessary in Chicago, here in Montana we not only care for the land, but we live off it. Deer are plentiful, and though some ranchers hunt them for sport, my family only kills enough to eat.”
“Now that you’ve brought up the fact of sport hunting, I have to ask: Shouldn’t it be regulated, for the sake of preserving wild species?”
He stared into his glass. “That sounds noble. But what about the rancher who can barely make ends meet by ranching? Is he to be denied the chance to open his land to hunters who pay very generously for the privilege of sleeping under the stars and stalking their prey on a range in Montana?”
“Again, you make it all about profit.”
He glanced over. His eyes narrowed slightly. “And you make profit sound like a dirty word. For every successful rancher here in Montana, there are a dozen barely hanging on. There are ranches, many of them in the same family for generations, being auctioned off every month. Do you know what that does to a man whose only dream was to carry on the work of his father and grandfather? I’ve seen proud men reduced to tears because they’ve lost everything. So, if opening their land to hunters, or turning their places into dude ranches so city folk can experience life on a working ranch, helps pay the bills, I say more power to them.”
Vanessa bit her lip. “You’re very persuasive. You’d probably make a very good trial lawyer.”
“Just hoping to give you another point of view.”
“You have. And I intend to take it under advisement.” She shoved away from the table. “Since you cooked, I insist on cleaning up.”
As she filled the sink with hot water and began washing the dishes, Matt surprised her by walking up beside her and picking up a towel.
“I said I’d wash them.”
“I appreciate that. And I’ll dry.” He reached over her head and returned a bowl to the cupboard.
Vanessa went very still, feeling a tingle along her spine.
When he returned a second bowl, the back of his hand brushed her hair and she experienced little pinpricks all along her skin.
It had to be fatigue. And the fact that she was jumpy because of the storm. Still, it had her holding herself stiffly until he’d put away all the dishes.
“How about a fresh pot of coffee?”
She merely nodded.
A short time later she carried two cups of coffee to the footstool positioned between the two rockers in front of the fire.
Matt followed with a plate of brownies.
As the storm blew itself out, they sat by the fire, nibbling Yancy’s homemade brownies, sipping coffee, and taking opposing sides in the discussion about wild animals.
At least, Vanessa thought with a sigh of relief, they were no longer arguing. Rather, they both seemed to be enjoying the give-and-take, and the satisfaction each time one of them made a valid point in their favor.
As the fire burned low, Vanessa stifled a yawn.
Matt pointed to the bunk bed in the corner. “Let’s face it. Burke isn’t getting here to
night. If he could get through, he’d have been here hours ago. You can bunk there.”
“Where will you sleep?”
He pointed to the pullout sofa bed.
She needed no coaxing. She barely had the energy to slip out of her shoes and suit jacket before draping the plaid afghan around herself and dropping onto the bunk.
She’d expected the bunk to be hard, and it was. But she was too tired to care. She was asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow.
Matt added another log to the fire and filled his cup with coffee before adding a splash of his grandfather’s fine Irish whiskey. Easing off his boots, he settled himself into the rocker and nudged the footstool to a more comfortable position.
The rain gentled to a steady patter on the roof.
He leaned his head back, enjoying the sounds of the night and the hiss and snap of the logs on the grate.
He’d expected to resent this intrusion on his privacy. Always before, he’d treated this alone time in the hills as his sacred right, especially after a long overseas trip. And this cabin was much more to him than a simple range shack. It was his very private domain. His haven. And had been, since the loss of his parents. But he had to admit that he’d enjoyed the spirited debate between himself and this woman. Vanessa Kettering. Nessa.
His lips curved into a smile. Nessa. The nickname suited her.
She was bright. Sharp. Quick with a response to every question he’d thrown at her.
And gorgeous.
He turned to glance at the woman asleep across the room. She’d drawn the plaid afghan up to her chin. Even with her eyes closed, he could see them. A rich maple-sugar brown that could sharpen with anger or go wide with fear. And when she smiled, they crinkled at the corners. That smile did something to his heart.
His first impression of her had been all wrong. With those long, long legs, the city suit, the designer shoes, and that mane of blond hair dancing in the breeze, she’d looked as out of place stepping out of Burke’s truck in the wilderness as a prom queen at a mud-wrestling match. But once they got down to the business that had brought her here, she’d been an able opponent.
He had to admit that he’d actually enjoyed their little tug-of-war. And wouldn’t mind going another round or two in the morning.
That admission had him smiling.
He drained his cup and got to his feet. Across the room he set the empty cup in the sink before turning to the pullout sofa bed.
He preferred to sleep naked. But out of deference to his guest, he simply stripped off his shirt and peeled away his socks.
Climbing beneath the covers, he lay listening to the soft patter of raindrops on the roof.
It took him longer than usual to fall asleep. He tossed and turned, trying in vain to get comfortable. But an hour later he was still wide awake and crossing to the window to stare out into the darkness.
He absently reached for one of Nelson’s fine cigars and held a flame to the tip. Smoke curled above his head as he studied his beloved hills, which were shrouded in darkness, looking like silent sentinels keeping watch over the herds they nurtured.
As a boy, he’d dreamed of traveling to exotic places to escape the tedious work that he and his brothers were expected to share. It had seemed, to a boy of twelve, that there were too many adults directing his life, taking away any chance of making his own choices. And yet the older he got, the more he learned, and the stronger his bond with this land and his family became. He’d traveled the world and hadn’t once found a place that compared with this.
It was his roots. His anchor. His passion.
He stubbed out the last of his cigar and made his way back to bed, lying as still as possible, listening to the soft, steady sound of breathing from the figure across the room.
He was intrigued by her. Fascinated with her quick mind.
Who was he kidding? It wasn’t her mind he’d coveted.
Not only was she absolutely beautiful, but the entire time they’d been debating, he’d had to fight an overpowering desire to kiss her. That admission made him feel like a teenager with a crush on some hot movie star. And the fact that her mere presence in his space had him thinking things better left alone just added to his discomfort.
Sometime in the small hours of the night he finally fell into a deep, exhausted sleep. But only after assuring himself that he would find a way to send Vanessa Kettering back to Chicago first thing in the morning, even if it meant slogging through waist-high mud to do it.
And then he could return to the business of enjoying his wilderness.
He could savor the solitude that he’d always craved. The solitude that had always managed to soothe his lonely, restless soul. A soul that yearned for something…something indefinable triggered by the loss of his parents that no other relationship had since been able to fill.
Chapter Five
Vanessa awoke and lay very still, fighting through the last cobwebs of sleep. After a few moments of confusion, she remembered where she was. A cabin in the hills of Montana. And then a second thought. Matthew Malloy.
Keeping the blanket hugging her like a shield, she peered around in the dim light of the fire’s embers. Spotting the figure on the sofa bed across the room, she tossed aside the blanket and made her way to the tiny bathroom.
She couldn’t recall the last time she’d slept in her work clothes. She felt rumpled and thoroughly uncomfortable as she undressed and stepped under the shower’s spray. Though the water was only lukewarm, it wasn’t cold enough to have her shivering. Minutes later she dried herself and wrapped a towel around her hair before dressing in the same wrinkled clothes she’d slept in. Then she tossed her head and finger-combed her hair, letting it fall in soft waves about her shoulders.
She made her way to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. While it perked, she crossed to the fireplace and struggled to add a log to the embers. When she’d finished, she watched as a thin flame began to lick across the dry bark. Satisfied, she stepped back with a smile.
“Not bad for a city slicker.”
Matt’s voice had her swiveling her head to give him a startled look.
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m usually awake at dawn. I’d have helped you with that log, but I didn’t want to scare you and have you drop it on your foot.”
“I probably would have. So thanks, I think. At least I managed by myself.” She gave a self-conscious laugh, knowing he’d been watching her struggles. “Well, barely.”
“You did just fine. You wrangled a log half your body weight into the fireplace. That takes some doing.”
At his words of praise, she felt an unexpected glow.
When he stood up, she found herself gaping before she managed to look away. He was barefoot and naked to the waist, his denims unsnapped and low on his hips.
“I heard the shower. I hope you gave the water time to heat up.”
“I didn’t know it would get warmer.”
A smile teased his lips. “You took a cold shower?”
“Not cold, exactly. But not really warm.”
“I apologize. I should have warned you. The water tank is heated by the fireplace.”
“Gee. Thanks for not telling me sooner.”
“You’re welcome.” He crossed the room and paused outside the door to the bathroom. “But thanks to your efforts, I get to enjoy a really hot shower.”
“Just remember. For that, you owe me big-time.”
“I’ll figure a way to pay you back.” He shot her a wicked grin.
When he closed the door, Vanessa let out a long, slow breath. She could think of one way he could pay her back. What a gorgeous body. All sculpted muscle and sinew. A body so toned, he could be a poster boy for a major weight-training company. If this was any indication of what Montana cowboys were like, she wanted more.
How had she not noticed last night? She must have been a lot more travel weary than she’d realized.
He looked over with a grin. “I’ve got to say, the smell of that coffee has me starving.”
“Me, too.” She felt a quick rush of guilt, knowing it wasn’t food she’d been thinking about.
“Since you made the coffee, I’ll rustle up breakfast.” He moved around the stove and grabbed a skillet, then went to work frying sausages and eggs with the ease of someone who knew his way around a kitchen.
“Something tells me this isn’t your first time cooking for yourself.”
He shrugged. “When you grow up on a ranch, you’d better know how to take care of yourself. There’s nobody trailing behind to cater to your needs.”
“How about your mother? Is she a good cook?”
He paused for just a fraction before flipping the eggs onto two plates. “My parents died when I was twelve. An accident on a snow-covered road.”
“I’m sorry.” Vanessa accepted the plate from his hand and led the way to the table. As he sat across from her, she added, “I lost my mother when I was fifteen. Cancer.”
He met her look across the table. “It never goes away, does it? There’s always a shadow lingering somewhere in our mind.”
She nodded.
For a few minutes they ate in silence, feeling an odd sense of shared pain.
Matt shoved back his chair and retrieved the coffeepot, topping off her cup and then his own.
When he sat down he leaned back. “Do you live at home, or do you have your own place?”
“I live with my father. I toy with the idea of getting my own place. But so far I’ve resisted, since I travel between Chicago and DC so often. We really enjoy each other’s company. Often my dad works so late, I may as well live alone. But when he does manage to get home for supper, it’s nice to have the time to visit and catch up on life.”
