Montana Mavericks, Books 1-4

by Diana Palmer

  In one smooth, fluid movement, he hopped over the corral fence and walked over to her. “That one’s got a temper. He’ll cool down after a while.”

  “You tied him down.”

  “Have to with some of them.” Luke eyed the chairs. “Aren’t these too heavy for you to be hauling around?”

  Maris was trying not to look at his naked chest, but it wasn’t possible to look at Luke at all without seeing it, especially when it was such a large chest. The impressive muscles of his shoulders, arms and chest rippled when he moved, and his skin was tan and looked as smooth as satin.

  “They’re not too heavy,” Maris murmured, slightly breathlessly. “You’re very good with a rope.”

  The left corner of Luke’s lips turned up in an acknowledging half smile. “I’ve had a lot of experience. I wish you’d let me or Keith carry the heavy stuff.”

  “These chairs aren’t too heavy for me. I’ll let you know when something is. How long do you think it will take for that horse to calm down?”

  Luke shrugged. “Not long. I’m going to put a saddle on Mother while I’m waiting.”

  “She’s ready for riding?”

  “No, but she’s ready for a saddle. I’ll leave it on her for two or three hours. She has to get used to the weight of a saddle on her back and the stirrups bumping her during movement.”

  Maris was beginning to understand that Luke had a pattern in his training of the horses. She smiled over it. “You work like an assembly line.”

  That little half grin flashed again. “Guess you could say that. I’m pretty satisfied with the way things are going. ’Course, I’ve saved the worst of the lot for last. When Mother’s ready for riding it’ll go a little easier. As I told you before, I intend to move Bozo and the other stallions out of the herd. They’ll all be much calmer then.”

  “The stallions disrupt the others?” In spite of her determination to avoid looking directly at Luke’s chest, she spotted a two-inch scar near his left nipple.

  “The stallions are constantly aroused and keeping the herd, especially the mares, stirred up.”

  “Like when a bull is turned into the cows’ pasture,” Maris murmured absently, her thoughts on that scar.

  “Did you used to have a bull?”

  Putting Luke’s manly chest with its two-inch scar out of her mind, Maris sighed. “He was sold with most of our other cattle. That’s when Ray bought these horses.”

  Luke frowned. “Was he going to hire someone to do the breaking for him?”

  She merely shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said, sounding a little broken herself. The subject was defeating, one of the trials she had lived through with Ray without ever understanding why he did what he did.

  Bending over for the garden hose, she turned the spray on the chair. “Some of these things are going to need scrubbing with soap and water,” she remarked. “Anything wood will have to have a coat of furniture polish, as well.”

  Luke was almost sorry he’d suggested the yard sale. Already he could tell that Maris was going to make too much of it. Everything for sale didn’t have to look as though it had just come off of a showroom floor.

  He watched her for a moment, then began walking off, heading for the barn for a rope and a saddle to take out to Mother’s pasture. “See you later.”

  “Yeah, see you later,” Maris said under her breath. But she looked up to get another glimpse of Luke’s remarkable torso. A small groan rose in her throat. No man should look the way he did without a shirt.

  Maris was busily scrubbing a filthy table with a sponge and a bucket of warm, soapy water, when a car drove into the compound. A strange car. “Maybe that’s your friend coming to see the Corvette,” she called to Luke.

  The roan in the corral was behaving much better than the piebald, and Luke had been rubbing the animal down with the blanket. He turned to see the car and then grinned when Jim Humphrey got out. “That’s him,” he called to Maris. “Come and meet him.”

  Maris dropped the sponge into the bucket and dried her hands on one of the old towels she’d brought out from the house, along with a basket of cleaning supplies.

  The three of them met about midway between Jim’s car and the corral. “Hey, Rivers, you look half-broken yourself,” Jim exclaimed with a big grin. He glanced at Maris. “Hello, ma’am. Are you the reason this big galoot seems to be finally settling down?”

  Maris’s face turned beet-red. Luke quickly came to the rescue. “This lady is Maris Wyler, Jim, the owner of this place. I’m working for her.”

  Jim grabbed Maris’s hand and energetically shook it. “Glad to meetcha, Maris. Then you must be the proud owner of that Corvette Luke called me about.”

  Despite Jim’s hasty and certainly uncalled-for assessment of the situation, Maris couldn’t dislike him. He was a jolly-looking man with a cherubic face and a constant smile. She couldn’t help noticing the enormous diamond on his pinky ring, or his casual but unmistakably expensive clothing. Obviously, if Jim Humphrey liked the Corvette, he could afford to buy it.

  “It’s out behind the barn, Mr. Humphrey. Would you like to see it right away, or perhaps you’d rather come into the house and have something cold to drink first?”

  “Corvette first, cold drink later,” Jim boomed with a hearty laugh. “And for Pete’s sake, call me ‘Jim.’”

  Maris smiled. “If you wish. Luke, would you show Jim the car? There’s something I need to do in the house.” It wasn’t true. There was nothing she needed to do in the house, but she was suddenly nervous about the car, and Luke could probably handle it much better than she could.

  The two men walked off, talking and laughing. Apparently they were old friends and glad to see each other. Maris did go into the house, first so she wouldn’t look like a liar, and second because she was too flustered to return to her sponge and bucket of soapy water. Jittery, she moved from one window in the house to the next. What if Jim liked the car and actually bought it? How much would he pay for it? Would he make an immediate decision or ask for time to consider it?

  Oh, damn, maybe she should have gone with them. At least then she would know what they were saying about the car.

  To do something besides worry and fret, Maris made a pitcher of lemonade, using fresh lemons. It was almost an hour before she saw Luke and Jim coming around the barn, and by then she was totally frazzled. Springing to life, she fixed a tray with the pitcher of lemonade and three glasses containing ice cubes. Before the two men had reached the tiny patio at the back of the house, Maris had the tray sitting on the round table and she was smiling, as any sane and sensible person would be doing.

  “Is that lemonade I see in that pitcher?” Jim asked jovially.

  “It certainly is,” Maris replied. She filled the three glasses and passed them around. They drank and looked at one another and smiled at one another and everything seemed just peachy. “Well,” said Maris. “Would you like to sit down?”

  “For a minute,” Jim replied.

  They all sat around the table. “Wonderful lemonade. It’s not from a mix, I’ll bet,” Jim said.

  “No, I used fresh lemons.”

  “I can always tell the difference,” Jim said with unmistakable pride in his apparently trustworthy palate. “Well, young woman, I can tell you right now that I want that car. All we have to do now is settle on a price.”

  Relief washed through Maris, immediately followed by panic. “Uh…price, yes. Well…” She looked to Luke for help, but he was sipping his lemonade and ignoring her silent plea. To his way of thinking, it was Maris’s car and she should do the dickering. Of course, if old Jim should offer too little for the ’Vette, he might step in and help Maris out.

  “I’ll tell you about your car, Maris,” Jim said matter-of-factly. “The body can be repaired without too much expense, but Corvette wheels are costly and it has no tires. The standard engine in that model was a 300-bhp V8, but your ’Vette has the engine I’d hoped to see in it. It has the L-71 Tri-carb,
which makes it a 435-bhp. Plus, it has the four-speed manual transmission. Put it all together, and we’re talking power, young woman, power and speed.”

  Maris smiled weakly, grasping none of it. “I’m sure it would be a very pretty car…if repaired, of course.”

  “Pretty!” Jim guffawed so loudly, Maris jumped. “A Corvette is an object of rare beauty, Maris.” He talked on and on, using phrases like “independent suspension” and “cubic inches” and then talking about wheelbase measurements and front/rear weight distribution.

  Finally Jim ran down and stopped lauding the merits of his favorite automobile. His expression became serious. “The thing we don’t know is how much work the engine needs, Maris. How long have you owned it?”

  “Um…about two years.”

  “And it was running then?”

  “Oh, no,” Maris replied. “It never ran while we owned it. My husband traded—”

  Luke hastily interrupted. “That’s all beside the point, Jim. Maris never drove the car and I really don’t think she knows very much about it. Isn’t that true, Maris?”

  “Very true.” Thank God Luke had finally spoken. Why on earth had he been sitting there all this time without saying something?

  “Well…” Jim looked off into the distance, apparently pondering the matter. “I’m prepared to pay three thousand for the car.”

  Maris’s mouth dropped open. She had never even come near a figure that high. One thousand had been a hope, but certainly not three.

  “It’s worth more than that, Jim,” Luke said with a male-to-male laugh. “You know it, I know it.”

  “Thirty-five hundred,” Jim said, adding, “there could be damage to the undercarriage, Luke. Without putting it on a lift, there’s no way of knowing.”

  “Five thousand,” Luke said calmly.

  “Five!” Jim laughed. “You’re dreaming, Luke.”

  Luke sat there as cool as could be. “When that car is refurbished, it’ll be worth twenty-five thousand, maybe more. That’s something else we both know.” It was a bluff. Luke knew that classic automobiles carried a high value, but he’d pulled that figure of twenty-five thousand out of the air.

  “Yeah, but how much will it take to refurbish it? I’ll go four thousand, and that’s being damned generous, Luke.”

  “Forty-five hundred and we’ve got a deal,” Luke returned.

  Maris’s startled gaze was going back and forth between the two men. They were actually thrilled to be sitting here dealing on the price of her car! She would have accepted the three thousand and been glad to take it. But she could see that Jim had expected some debate on the price and would probably have been disappointed not to get it.

  Silently sighing, she sat back in her chair. Men and women were completely different creatures. Was it any wonder they didn’t get along? Or that they rarely understood one another?

  Jim stood up and offered his hand. “Deal!”

  Luke nudged Maris. “He’s talking to you, Maris.”

  “Oh!” Hastily she got to her feet and shook hands with Jim Humphrey. “Thank you.” Forty-five hundred dollars for what she’d considered to be just another piece of junk behind the barn. She could hardly believe it.

  Six

  That night before going to bed, Maris looked again at the five-hundred-dollar check Jim Humphrey had given her. “You’ll get the balance when I pick up the car, Maris. Probably in a week or two.”

  So she still didn’t have a large sum of money in her possession, but things were definitely looking up. If the yard sale was a success and then the horse auction, she could start running the ranch the way it used to function. From old accounting records and photograph albums, Maris had proof that the Circle W had once been a thriving, profitable operation. Her dreams went further than those old records and photos, though. It wasn’t that she yearned for wealth, but she did want financial security. Living in beautiful surroundings would be wonderful, too. When she was married to Ray, she’d never known one minute to the next what to expect. She’d make plans for the ranch, only to have him pull the rug out from under her. Now that she was on her own and getting out of debt things would be different.

  Maris put away the check, opened a window for fresh air, turned off the light and crawled into bed. Her body was tired. Other than sitting down for meals and to talk to Jim Humphrey, she had been on her feet and working at one job or another all day. She lay there thinking of all that was going on—the preparations for the yard sale, Luke’s work with the horses, the unexpected windfall of Jim Humphrey buying that old Corvette.

  A frown creased her forehead as a startling thought struck her: everything happening on the ranch was Luke’s doing! Because of that IOU, Luke had come up with the idea of him breaking her horses and holding a big whoop-de-do—his word—auction; Luke was the one who’d recognized the value of the Corvette and then just happened to have a friend who collected older-model ’Vettes; and last, it was Luke who had suggested the yard sale.

  Rather than feeling grateful that Luke had such a versatile imagination, Maris felt slightly wounded that every good idea to make money for the ranch had come from him. Where had her imagination been hiding? Why hadn’t she seen the potential of Ray’s junk?

  Agitated and suddenly not tired at all, Maris threw back the blankets and got out of bed. Finding her robe and slippers without a light, she put them on and walked through the dark house to the kitchen, where she stood at the window and stared out at the compound to ponder Luke’s involvement not only with the ranch but with her. The man had nothing of his own other than a pickup truck, and no one could ever accuse Luke Rivers of being dense or dull-witted. He recognized opportunity and didn’t hesitate to act upon it, and wasn’t a widow with a nice little ranch that could be a whole lot nicer a perfect opportunity for an unscrupulous man to better his lot in life?

  A dull ache began in Maris’s chest. Was that why he’d kissed her? Did he think her so lonely and vulnerable, so in need of a man, that she would be easy to woo into submission and ultimately some kind of partnership that would give him control of her ranch?

  But he was looking forward to leaving at the end of September, a voice in Maris’s head reminded. Anxious to return to rodeo.

  Another voice argued, That could all be an act to put you off guard.

  Was it an act? Was Luke unscrupulous? Was she a fool?

  Her business arrangement with Luke regarding the horses didn’t make her a fool, Maris decided. Neither did grasping his idea for the yard sale. And certainly she appreciated his assistance in selling the Corvette.

  But most definitely there was some of the fool lurking within her when she admired, with weak knees and a palpitating heart, his physique without a shirt, or responded with soft, pliant lips to his kisses.

  As she stared out into the darkness, her gaze lingered on the ground area lighted by the lamp at the top of a tall pole near the barn. Her chin lifted in a show of defiance, though there was no one to see it. There would be no more kisses between her and Luke, no more girlishly breathless glances at him while he worked with the horses. She would not be taken in by an unscrupulous man, however much he turned on the charm.

  Maris narrowed her eyes. Someone—it had to be Luke, as Keith had gone to bed several hours ago—was down by the barn. She squinted to see what he was carrying and couldn’t quite make it out. Why on earth was he still up, and what was he doing?

  Without further speculation, Maris sped from the kitchen and through the door into the night. Her slippers fell softly on the grass of the backyard lawn and then on the hard-packed dirt between the lawn and barn. Luke had gone inside and turned on a light. She found him in the tack room.

  Thinking that Maris had retired because of the dark house, he looked at her with surprise. “Anything wrong?”

  Her gaze darted, as though searching for something out of place, or missing. “What are you doing out here so late?”

  “Putting away the saddles I used on Mother and Zelda this aft
ernoon. Why?”

  His dedication annoyed her, probably because of her doubts about his scruples a few minutes ago. “You don’t have to work all night, you know,” she said tartly.

  Luke held up a hand. “Wait a minute. You couldn’t possibly be angry because I’m doing my job, so why don’t you just come right out and say what’s got your tail in a knot?”

  Maris’s head lifted until she was looking down her nose at him. “I don’t think you need to use that tone of voice with me.”

  “You can use any uppity tone you please but I can’t speak my mind? Forget that notion, Maris.” He brushed past her. “It’s late and I’m beat. Good night.”

  She stared, openmouthed because he would be so rude, as he headed for the tack room door, and felt fury solidifying in her belly. “Sometimes I think you forget which one of us owns this ranch and which one merely works on it.” She hurled the words at his retreating back.

  Luke came to an abrupt halt and then slowly turned around. “What’s that supposed to mean? Why don’t you cut the crap and tell me why you’re out here at eleven o’clock at night trying to pick a fight?” He took a step toward her. “Is that what you want, Maris, a no-holds-barred fight? Maybe I’ve been doing something that’s been rubbing you wrong. Or maybe I haven’t been doing something you want done real bad.”

  She was suddenly wishing she hadn’t come out here at all, let alone yelled at him. “I didn’t mean to pick a fight,” she said as haughtily as she could manage. “I saw you carrying something, and I merely wondered what you were doing out here so late.”

  “Yeah, right. When I told you what I was doing, what did you do?”

  “I…” She tried hard to remember. “I didn’t do anything!”

  Luke took another forward step. “You told me in a smart-assed way that I didn’t have to work all night. You were ticked when you walked in here, and since you were nice as pie during dinner, something happened to change your mood. What was it?”