The Climax Montana Complete Collection

by Reece Butler

  If he had married her mother and taken them back to Spain, would she have been any better off? She’d researched the area her mother said he came from. Men there still thought they had the right to control their women. Had she been drawn to Ted because of her ancestry?

  No. It was her childish need to be cocooned. She’d thought at the time Ted wanted her to improve because of his love for her. But it was just his self-absorption. As long as she acted to make him look better, she was acceptable. Have one hair out of place, and she was wrong.

  Never again would she change who she was for a man.

  Simon didn’t ask her to change. Why should he, when she was only visiting for a couple of weeks. Perhaps that was why she enjoyed him more than she’d thought possible. Ted insisted on separate bedrooms so she’d never slept with anyone but Nikki. Yet she felt so at peace with Simon that she’d fallen asleep in his arms last night, and again this morning.

  She removed the towel around her hair. It cascaded around her upper body. The mirror reflected a sensuous woman, one who looked happy to be alive rather than just getting by. Sleek and quiet Mrs. Ted Grant, invisible servant who gave her life for her husband’s career, was gone.

  She was wild and wicked Marci Meshevski, full of her own power and living life on her own terms. For now that included lots of hot sex with Simon MacDougal. Thanks to him, she’d begun the final stages in banishing her past life.

  She applied lotion, wishing it was his hands spreading it over her body. Once he got a walking cast and could bend, they could indulge themselves a bit more. He could also do more work, something he was looking forward to. Simon was not one to sit idle, and it was irritating him to no end that she could keep herself busy and he could only sit and fume about it. But fume was all he’d done, so far. That, and read that diary. She’d ask him to keep an eye out for any recipes she could use on the ancient kitchen stove.

  The honking of a truck had her scrambling into fresh clothes.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was midafternoon when Simon finally watched the truckful of happy kids drive away. Donny had arrived alone, which meant he’d stopped at the house to drop off Aggie and baby Sophie. Simon didn’t need a PhD to figure out why Donny had a spring in his step and a wide grin when he jumped out of the truck. He said he was later than expected because they’d taken advantage of a long lunch. Simon had given him a look that said he knew they’d grabbed a quick lunch and ate it in the truck on the way home. After putting Sophie down for her nap, he bet they did the same, only they didn’t do much sleeping. And he was sure Keith would have had time to fix the pump and join them in that bed.

  Marci didn’t stop waving good-bye until the truck was halfway down the long drive. Three ravens followed the truck, clowning around by swooping in loops and flipping onto their backs. They loved having children around, and protected them all.

  “Donny really appreciated having time away from the kids,” said Simon from the doorway as Marci finally turned. He gave her an encouraging smile. They had the rest of the afternoon to play, and all night beyond that.

  “We need groceries. Badly,” she said abruptly as she approached.

  Simon scrubbed at his head with one hand. “Yeah, I was going to shop after I had the Doc check my foot. You want to go now?”

  “You have to lie down and raise that foot.”

  “I’ll lie down if you do,” he said, leering. She gave him a quelling look.

  “I can go on my own.”

  He didn’t want to admit it, but he was tired. He also didn’t want to have hordes of people stop and ask him what he’d done to his foot. “You can find the way back to town?”

  “Yes.” She stuck her hands in her pockets and rocked back on her heels. “Um, do you have any cash? I only have ten dollars.”

  “Just tell them to put it on the MD Connected account.” She looked uncertain. He gave her a sly wink. “When a pretty woman drives up in my truck to buy groceries, they’ll look, but they won’t ask a stranger any questions.”

  She pursed her lips and scowled. “Not sure that I like that.”

  He grinned. “Welcome to small-town life. They’ll all check you out. A few may ask leading questions. Most will make wild-ass guesses and spread ridiculous rumors. Watch out for the old women sizing you up for their grandsons. The old men will pretend you’re not there, but when you go past, they’ll check out your very fine ass.”

  “Excuse me?” She opened her eyes wide, eyebrows raised, and leaned slightly forward.

  “Anytime there’s a stranger in town, especially one as pretty as you, tongues will wag. But it’ll be me they hassle, not you. So don’t worry about it.”

  “I’m not worried,” she insisted. “You have to live here when I’m gone.”

  She crossed her arms and hunched her shoulders as she said it, so he didn’t believe her for a second. She was worried, but wouldn’t let it bother her. Was it the scratch on her face that made her nervous about being seen?

  “I’ve got broad shoulders, Marci. I can take a bit of ribbing.”

  “Fine!”

  She stomped over to his truck and climbed in. He admired the way her jeans pulled snug. At least she’d changed out of those ugly sweats. Though he did like the way they came off so easily. She’d put on a bra, unfortunately, but it was just as well. He didn’t want anyone else checking out what he’d staked for himself.

  “Make sure you rest while I’m gone,” she shouted out the window.

  He waved as she drove off. He’d close his eyes for a few minutes just to humor her. Then he’d get back to reading Beth’s journal.

  * * * *

  Marci wiped her damp palms on her thighs every few minutes as she drove into town. She also had to swallow past the lump in her throat. She’d been nervous all her life, worried about what people thought of her. First it was because she was poor, and had no father. She thought marrying Ted would fix all that, but it got worse. Instead of just worrying about what others thought of her, she had Ted’s demands and expectations on top. How she dressed, carried herself, spoke…even where she looked. If Ted found out she’d looked at another man and he’d looked back, she was lectured to and shamed for hours.

  But it didn’t matter what anyone here thought about her. No one knew who she was, or why she’d come to Climax. She was just a woman temporarily taking care of an injured man. And maybe if she kept telling herself that, her heart might stop pounding in her chest.

  “I’m alive, and Ted is not,” she told herself. After that, she could survive anything. Anything but prison.

  She looked around, loving the wide-open scenery. She passed narrow dirt roads leading to ranches, most with hanging wooden signs announcing their name and brand. Hills sparsely covered with dark evergreens rose to steep, bare mountains on each side. Some still had snow on the north sides. The river below the highway wasn’t deep, but from what she saw it ran clear. She could understand why the busy road had been placed far from the fertile valley floor.

  She downshifted from sixty to forty, then to twenty-five. Like many small towns, Climax was divided by the highway that was also the main road. Businesses tried to grab tourist dollars as they came through. The hair salon and barbershop were for locals, though the Climax Roadhouse might draw in hungry people. Climax was over an hour from the large town of Dillon over a couple of high passes to the east, and a long way from the city of Missoula to the northwest. Nikki had driven her from Idaho Falls, the nearest big airport, at night. She’d been exhausted and, finally feeling safe, had slept the whole way. Nikki said the view from Badger and Big Hole pass were astounding. She’d have to wait until the passes were clear of snow, and Nikki had a day off, to see them.

  It was enough that she was driving someone’s pickup into town. She would finally show her scarred face to strangers. Simon didn’t count as he wasn’t going to judge her. If she could get a few groceries and get out with only the cashier seeing her, she’d be fine.

  She followed t
he example of every other vehicle in town and angle parked in front of Tanner’s Foodliner. The door had an old-fashioned bell that jingled cheerfully when she opened it, as if welcoming her. She kept her head down, minding her own business as she grabbed a rickety shopping cart. She had a mental list of supplies as long as her arm, but before she started pulling too many things off shelves, she had to know if they’d accept Simon’s credit.

  She’d thought things would be different here, but she had to shake her head at what little was available. Would she find anything that had been introduced after 1980? They didn’t even have herbal tea. Your choice was orange pekoe or nothing. There wasn’t even much that was advertised for microwave use. That didn’t matter since Simon didn’t have one in his kitchen. At least the store had Jell-O instant pudding. She could make a chocolate cake, rip it apart and mix it with chocolate pudding to make a mud pie. She needed to find shredded coconut and green food coloring to make grass to scatter on top. The boys would enjoy it, but Florrie might—

  “Help you, ma’am?”

  Marci jumped. She hadn’t heard anyone come up behind her. She turned to a middle-aged woman in jeans and collared shirt. Hard eyes flicked to Marci’s scar but she didn’t comment.

  “Simon MacDougal told me to get groceries and have them put on his account.”

  “Saw you drive up in his truck. You got any ID?”

  Since she hadn’t decided if she was going to stay in Montana, she hadn’t even tried to replace her driver’s license.

  “Not with me.” The woman gave her a closer look. Too close. Marci backed up a step. “Simon’s at the ranch if you want to call him.”

  “Just might do that.” She gave an abrupt nod and disappeared through a doorway hung with rows of bright colored beads. They made a clacking sound as they fell into place behind her.

  “So much for no one asking questions,” Marci muttered to herself. If Simon had gone to bed as she suggested, he’d never make it to the telephone in time. If there was no answer she’d tell the woman to wait a few minutes and call back. By then Simon could be fuming, but he could take out his temper on the cashier, not her.

  She started at the end closest to the entry door and skimmed past the shelves, picking out what she thought the children most needed. Milk, bread, peanut butter, jelly, hot dogs and buns. The shredded coconut was next to mini marshmallows, canned fruit salad, maraschino cherries and lime Jell-O. She picked up the Jell-O package. Yep, there was the recipe for that same too-sweet jellied salad. The door chimed when someone came in, but she didn’t want to gain attention so kept to her task.

  “You got a license to drive that truck?”

  Marci’s shoulders tightened at the harsh, demanding voice. She set the package back with trembling fingers and turned, head down. Heavy black boots, well polished, and dark creased pants. Oh, Lord. She looked up. He was the last person she ever wanted to see. Tall, blond, handsome, and deadly. Though he had his brown hat at a jaunty angle, the steel in his eyes proved the sheriff took no nonsense from anyone.

  “Yes, sir, but not on me.” She held her clammy hands loose at her sides. “Simon MacDougal said to get groceries and put them on his account, so I didn’t bring a pocketbook.”

  Actually, she didn’t own one anymore. Nikki offered to see what was available in town, but a pocketbook was one of those things a woman had to buy on her own. The sheriff’s green eyes bored into hers before dropping to check her out. He took in her stained tennis shoes, ill-fitting jeans, loose T-shirt, and too-big jacket that she’d borrowed from the row at Simon’s back door. The black-and-red check coat looked old enough that anyone familiar with the family might recognize it.

  “Best we step outside.”

  She heard the order that was politely phrased as a suggestion. She wiped her palms on her thighs and swallowed. He stepped back, barely enough for her to brush past. Her shoulders scraped past the buttons on his shirt. She clenched her fists to hide her shaking hands. Her chest was so tight she fought to breathe.

  This is ridiculous! she lectured herself. The sheriff of Climax, Montana, was not going to arrest her for murdering her husband. He was there because the shopkeeper called him instead of Simon to confirm her story. A long, sturdy arm reached over her shoulder to pull the store door open. The jingle of the bell sounded harsh rather than friendly. She blinked as she stepped into bright sunshine. A paw took her elbow to guide her. It was a light touch, but she knew if she tried to tug free, he’d clamp down tight.

  To her surprise he pulled open the passenger seat of Simon’s truck instead of the back door of the white four-door pickup parked beyond it. In case anyone might mistake it for a ranch truck, there was a large black-and-gold star on the door proclaiming the truck belonged to the Sheriff of Climax, Montana.

  “Have a seat,” he said, and she scrambled up. “Facing me,” he added.

  She adjusted herself to sit sideways rather than face the windshield. He was so tall her toes pointed at his thighs. Thick ones, below which were black boots perfect for stomping small women.

  She was not going to faint or throw up. He was just a helpful officer. Yeah, right! He surprised her again by putting a foot on the door frame and hunching over, forearm on his thigh. She’d expected him to use his size to intimidate her. Instead, he used his direct gaze.

  “Name’s Sheriff Max Gibson, ma’am.”

  “I’m Marci Grant,” she whispered. She cleared her throat and sat straighter to show she had nothing to hide. “Mrs. Grant. I’m a widow.”

  “What’s your maiden name, Mrs. Grant?”

  Expecting a question about Simon, she hesitated at this far more personal inquiry.

  “Be easier on both of us if you told the truth straight out.”

  “I’m not hiding anything,” she snapped, glaring up at him. “I just…” She exhaled, dropping her eyes. She’d spent enough time being questioned by cops that she could tell he already had a pretty good idea of who she was. This was the beginning of the end of her freedom. “Meshevski. Marci Meshevski.”

  “You the Doc’s sister?” She nodded. “She’s a good woman. Why hide it?”

  Now that the truth was out she could meet his eyes. He’d do what he wanted no matter what she said, so she might as well tell him the truth. She’d watched enough Cagney & Lacey episodes to know she might get better treatment that way. It wasn’t as if she was confessing to a crime.

  “After being invisible as Mrs. Ted Grant for twelve years I wanted people to know me as myself, not the town doctor’s little sister.”

  “Fair enough.” He took a good look at her face. “By people, you mean Simon?”

  Her ears burned. She hoped the truck cab was dark enough that the sheriff wouldn’t notice. His dry chuckle proved otherwise. He wasn’t behaving like the cops who’d forced her to go over her story again and again, trying to pick it apart. Her fear began to face, replaced by irritation. She hadn’t done anything wrong. One call to Simon would prove it.

  “You and your sister look a lot alike, once you take away the obvious.”

  “You mean that I’m eight inches shorter, brown to her blonde, and over eighty pounds lighter?”

  “You’ve got the same facial structure.”

  “Thank you for confirming we’re related. So, now that you know who I am, may I buy groceries?”

  “I knew who you were before Cindy called me.”

  That made her look at him rather than his uniform. His eyes were certainly green. They also had smile crinkles at the corners. Another surprise.

  “How?”

  “I’m the sheriff of a small town. My family have lived here for generations. Trust me, I have my ways.” He rose to his full height and held out his hand to help her down. “Tell Simon I expect him to host the next poker game since he can’t drive.”

  She had no choice but to take his well-callused hand. She hopped to the ground. “He’ll be getting a walking cast on Monday.”

  He snorted a laugh. “I don’t consider
that a driving cast. I want you behind the wheel until I say otherwise. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Stop by my office on Monday to pick up a temporary Montana driver’s license.” He tipped his finger to his hat, waved at someone inside the store, likely Cindy, and strolled down the street.

  “Well, I’m glad that’s over with,” she muttered to herself.

  Marci shut the pickup’s door with more force than necessary. Her stomach was in knots and her hands shook. She’d had a wonderful time with the children, but her fear wiped away all the pleasant memories. Would the fear ever end? She did not want to end up like Richard Kimble, running from so-called justice in The Fugitive TV show. But she couldn’t run, leaving Nikki alone and terrified for her. So she’d naively hoped to hide in this small Western town.

  Sheriff Gibson knew she was scared of him. Police officers didn’t like puzzles, so he’d want to know why. What if he contacted the police back East? She’d purposely left no forwarding address, and had instructed her lawyer to keep everything until she telephoned him. She had no intention of calling anytime soon.

  She re-entered the store, turning her back to shut the door. It echoed in her mind like the slamming of a prison cell. Keeping her head down, she shuffled to where she’d parked her rickety shopping buggy. She returned to her shopping, wanting to just get it over with and go home. Her chest was tight, her shoulders hunched. She could no longer pretend she was safe here. It was only a matter of time before they came after her. Cindy with the hard eyes wasn’t there, thank God. She was considering buying a magazine when a familiar voice greeted her. She turned to find Brenda smiling and holding her arms out for a hug. Marci almost broke down at the comforting touch.

  “I see you’ve met my brother.”

  Brother? Marci wiped her eyes as she looked at Brenda, who was wider than herself but no taller. “That big blond giant is your brother?”

  Brenda groaned. “He got the tall, blond, Gibson genes. I got my mother’s shape.” She patted Marci’s arm. “Don’t mind Max. He’s really a pussycat.”