Montana Hero

by Debra Salonen

  “Yes,” he said with satisfaction.

  The article was less than a year old. He skimmed the key words: wildfire, fatality, and horses. A horse died? Brady frowned. He liked animals a lot more than he liked people.

  Aloud, he read, “Benson carried the victim more than a mile across smoldering terrain to reach help. Unfortunately, the woman, identified as sixty-eight-year-old…blah, blah, blah.” He read silently for a another couple of paragraphs then picked up again, “…Bensen was unable to get the halter off the second animal and it later got hung up on a branch in the fire’s path.”

  Brady shuddered. “Eiouw.”

  “Eiouw what?” Mom asked, from the doorway. “What are you reading?”

  His hand hovered over the delete key, but he knew she’d check the computer’s browser history and find the page if he made her suspicious. “I searched Flynn’s name. I found an article about him. A horse and a lady died.”

  Her face got a look he knew well.

  “Read it for yourself,” he said, scrambling to his feet. “I’m going to the bathroom. I don’t want to be disturbed.”

  Mothers. They got upset for all the wrong reasons.

  Chapter Seven

  ‡

  Happy Hour at Grey’s Saloon on Friday night had been a regular deal for the SAR crew since before Kat got hired. She’d stopped going after getting cornered by their boss who’d made a flagrant and unwanted pass at her. He must have known she was considering filing charges because he’d apologized on Monday, blaming a bad mix of beer and prescription drugs.

  She’d agreed to drop it because Ken had been smart enough to make sure the contact took place in a dark corner with no one around, and Grey’s was not the kind of place that believed in cameras.

  In the spirit of a new beginning, Kat brought up the idea of resuming the practice. Unfortunately, thanks to Brady’s suspension, she’d forgotten about the gathering until Rebecca texted a reminder that morning.

  Luckily, a young mom in her apartment complex was a licensed babysitter. She took children of any age. Brady didn’t object because the woman had good Wi-Fi and she let him play games on his iPad to his heart’s content.

  Plus, Kat had agreed to his blackmail price of lasagna from Rocco’s Italian Restaurant.

  The hubbub that greeted her the moment she opened the door made her pulse quicken. She’d missed people, she realized.

  “Kat,” a voice called. “We’re over here.”

  Rebecca. Good, Kat thought, another woman.

  Kat never liked walking into a bar unaccompanied—something a good Southern girl just didn’t do. But codes were different in Montana, she told herself. And it’s not like she had a date…or a lover…or…anything. Her gaze swept the room until she spotted the broad shoulders and wavy brown hair she hadn’t been able to get off her mind.

  “Here you go, Kat,” another voice called. “I saved you a seat.”

  “Janet,” Kat said, slipping into the chair at a table already packed with pitchers of beer and a dozen or so glasses. “This is a surprise. How are you feeling?”

  Everyone knew her so-called “flu” had been a power play to send a message to Flynn.

  “Good enough to work today. Since you were out, I didn’t think it was fair to make Rebecca hold down the fort alone.”

  Dig, dig, dig. “That was nice of you,” Kat said, keeping her tone pleasant. She wouldn’t stoop to Janet’s cattiness. “Hi, everyone. Did you all manage without me?”

  Everyone had something to say on the subject…except Flynn, who joined them a few seconds later. He nodded with a smile but kept his thoughts private. Only his eyes showed any hint of the interest she thought she’d detected the last time they were together.

  “Beer? Or…beer?” he asked.

  “I believe I’ll have a beer. Thank you.”

  The roar that followed lifted her spirits. She’d had a rough day, juggling Brady’s sudden uncooperativeness, her inability to get answers about what was going on with Molly O’Neal’s case, and the lingering memory of the news article Brady had shown her last night.

  Flynn’s replies to the reporter who wrote the article had touched her heart. Flynn obviously blamed himself for not saving the old woman’s life, despite the coroner’s report that put her cause of death as a concussion, not smoke inhalation. She could picture the scene so clearly she’d fallen asleep with tears in her eyes.

  She pushed the thought away when Flynn, who’d volunteered to buy the next round, returned with a frosted mug for Kat. He poured the golden liquid so the inch of foam stayed in the glass instead of boiling over. “Nice job.”

  “Thanks. I used to tend bar in college.”

  “I waited tables.”

  He leaned in closer so they didn’t have to shout. “How’s Brady?”

  The scent she’d come to recognize as pure Flynn found its way to her nostrils above and beyond the smell of beer and bodies.

  “Grumpy. We both spent too much time online today. I’m taking him to the Natural History Museum in Bozeman tomorrow. He loves that place.”

  His expression turned wistful. “I did, too, as a kid.”

  “I beg your pardon? I thought you grew up back East?”

  He nodded. “I did, but my dad loved Montana. He bought ten acres along the river just outside of town. We’d camp there every summer, Dad, my brother and I. Some of my best childhood memories are of this state.”

  “Wow. I had no idea. I told you my mom was the same. She only spent a few months here, but that was long enough to leave a big impression. When her mind started to unravel, she’d often talk about going home to Marietta. Funny, huh?”

  “Interesting. You should ask Molly if she remembers your mother. I spent some time at the hospital today, and, let me tell you, Molly O’Neal is one sharp octogenarian.”

  She took a healthy swallow of beer. She’d been hoping someone would bring up the subject of the elderly woman they’d helped, even though she knew they weren’t supposed to talk about clients or cases outside of work. “What’s going to happen to her?”

  Flynn shook his head. “I don’t know. I gave Molly’s granddaughter a list of repairs that need to be made to make that old house a little safer. It’s amazing Molly hasn’t broken a hip…or worse.”

  The intensity of his frown made Kat wonder if he was remembering another old woman who suffered something worse.

  “How’s the house hunting going?”

  He made a low growl. “Ryker says I’m too picky. Mia thinks it’s a matter of being in the right place at the right time, which, she says, is how she and Ryker met.” He laughed. “Ryker says she tried to kick him off his own land. He tells people he was damn lucky she wasn’t packing.”

  Kat laughed. She’d seen Mia around town and couldn’t picture the diminutive woman with a .357 Magnum. But she was a sucker for a good love story, and from what she’d heard, all four of the Zabrinski children had experienced an arrow from Cupid’s bow in the past year or so.

  Although in Bailey and Paul’s case, the two had been high school sweethearts who broke up, married other people, and then found their way back to each other.

  “One of Brady’s classmates is Chloe Zabrinski. Paul’s daughter. Do you know if her mother lives around here? I’m always curious about how people handle custody matters.”

  “She was living in Bozeman, but I believe she’s in Atlanta, now. Her husband got a big promotion. Mark and Chloe didn’t want to move, so they’re with Paul fulltime.” He paused. “Don’t quote me on that. It’s hard to keep up with that family.”

  Kat smiled. She’d done her best not to “cyber stalk” the family, despite the fact some members—like Austen, Mia and Paul—appeared in the Courier regularly or shared personal milestones like baby showers, engagement parties, Save-The-Date announcements, and, photos from the groundbreaking of their new home all over social media.

  She held up her index finger as a thought struck her. Should I have remembered this soon
er? Are pieces of my brain falling victim to plaque buildup? She ignored the gloomy voice in her head and asked, “Didn’t I see a photo of you and your brother with a stringer of trout on Throw Back Thursday?”

  He cocked his head. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Facebook.”

  He shrugged. “Ask Ryker. He claims he got his love of photography from a camera Dad gave him one summer when we came to Montana.” He took another drink of beer before adding, “He’s working on a collection of old shots he found in some stuff our mother sent. Should be pretty cool…even though Ryker says I look like I’m in training to be a Unabomber. Apparently, I glared a lot.”

  Kat laughed. But when she looked around she spotted Janet staring at them. “Who wants to beat me at a game of pool? I’ll buy,” Kat called out, jumping to her feet.

  Brad and Jeff nearly tripped each other trying to beat the other to the table. Was she glad or disappointed that Flynn didn’t raise his hand?

  Glad. Two beers loosened her self-control to the point where not flirting with him would have been next to impossible. Better to hang out with the guys she knew and trusted.

  Tonight was about fun and games and celebrating a new boss who was a thousand times better than their old boss. And that’s all she planned to think about. Not the future. Not the past. And most definitely not the attraction she felt toward Flynn Bensen.

  *

  Flynn fought to keep his attention on the boring conversation he’d somehow gotten pulled into with Janet Haynes, the one member of his staff who didn’t pretend to like him.

  “I heard your brother is involved with one of the Zabrinski girls. Mia, right? Count your lucky stars it wasn’t Meg,” Janet said, invading Flynn’s personal space in a way he didn’t mind at all with Kat but felt repelled by when Janet got too close. “That woman is one vindictive beech.”

  She changed the word but her meaning was clear.

  “I’ve met Meg several times and that’s not a word I’d use to describe her,” he said. “She’s helping to raise four children whose mother died. So, kind, friendly, and family-oriented are the words that come to my mind when I think of her.”

  “Well,” Janet said huffily. She pulled back to a more appropriate distance. “You must not have heard about her vendetta against Ken Morrison. Pure spitefulness. The two of them got it on when he led a backpacking trip one summer, and twenty years later she calls foul. Starts tossing around the R-word.” She spelled the four letters under her breath. “They had consensual sex. Kenny told me all about it. You know how young gals are attracted to a man in uniform.”

  Flynn looked down at his red shirt and jeans—he hadn’t had time to launder his khakis. “Not really.”

  The man’s file told a different story. “I take it Morrison never made a pass at you or acted the least bit inappropriately?”

  Janet downed the remaining two inches of beer in her glass then reached for the pitcher. “I’m a big girl. Consulting…I mean, consenting…adults should be able to do whatever they want without it becoming news, right?”

  “Even if they work together?”

  “Damn right. As long as their personal relationship doesn’t get in the way of their working relationship, whose business is it?”

  He’d naively spouted the same bullshit when he and Darla started dating. And look how well that turned out. Darla managed to hang onto her job while Flynn moved halfway across the country.

  As attracted as Flynn was to Kat, he’d made up his mind to keep his feelings for her in his dreams. Was it a little weird how he’d traded a nightmare he couldn’t fix for hot sex with a woman he couldn’t have? Probably. He’d be paying some shrink overtime if he had the time and money for psychotherapy.

  Janet picked up the empty pitcher as if she were going to take it to the bar for a refill. Instead, she shoved it his way. “New guy pays. It’s tradition.”

  A boldface lie, but he didn’t call her on it. He used the excuse to leave the table. He headed toward the pool table instead of the bar and handed the pitcher to a waitress as she walked past. If Janet wanted to risk a drunk driving citation, she could do it on her own dime.

  “Could I get a glass of water?” he asked the attractive young server, tucking a five-dollar bill under the pitcher. “I’ll be over there watching the game.”

  “The roust, you mean?” the woman asked with a saucy wink. “Kat’s killer with a stick.”

  Intrigued, he elbowed his way through the crowd for a better view.

  “Six in the corner pocket,” Kat called as she aimed the cue with careless but obvious precision.

  Snap. Whap.

  “Nothing but net,” Brad said with a groan. He rubbed the top of his smooth dome as if it were a crystal ball that might somehow predict a different outcome. “Why do I always buy your ‘I got lucky’ routine?”

  Kat flashed Brad a sweet, completely unapologetic grin. She glanced Flynn’s way, too. An internal trigger of primal desire made his breath catch in his throat and his groin tense. So much for good intentions, he thought. Damn. She wasn’t making this selfless-monk routine easy.

  “Flynn.” A familiar voice yodeled above the bar noise.

  “Tucker.” Flynn waved and headed toward the entrance. Flynn had texted Tucker an invitation to join him at the bar after his appointment with the orthopedic specialist. When Tucker didn’t reply, Flynn had assumed the appointment left him too wiped out.

  Half a second later, Flynn realized Tucker wasn’t alone. Amanda Heller, Molly O’Neal’s granddaughter, held the door open so Tucker could move forward on his crutches. When she stepped in behind him, Flynn swore every male head in the place swiveled like a bobble head dog.

  Skintight jeans showcased the six-foot blonde’s America’s Top Model legs to perfection; apparently, her ruby stilettos were enough of a rarity they created a buzz among the women, too.

  “Amanda. Good to see you again. Come join us.” Flynn pointed to the SAR team’s table where the others had gathered to re-hash Kat’s win.

  After the usual chaos of rounding up two extra chairs and moving empties to make room on the table, Flynn introduced the new arrivals. “Amanda is Molly O’Neal’s granddaughter. Tucker’s the crazy person setting up the new zip line you probably read about in the paper.”

  Kat returned in time to catch the tail end of the introductions. “Amanda? So nice to meet you. I’ve been off for the past couple of days. How’s Molly?”

  As the two discussed Molly’s prognosis, Flynn flagged down the waitress for another pitcher and two fresh glasses. “So, Tucker, what did the bone doc say?”

  Tucker made a face. “Sprained, not broken.”

  Before Flynn could clap his pal on the back, Amanda coughed, pointedly.

  Flynn blinked in surprise when his friend’s cheeks turned a dull red. Have I ever seen The Full Mountie blush?

  “Apparently in my case, a sprain is the new broken. He’s making me wear this ugly freakin’ boot he stole from Frankenstein’s closet,” he said pointing to the oversize molded plastic boot crisscrossed with straps.

  “For how long?” Flynn asked.

  Tucker took a healthy gulp of beer. “Just long enough to go bankrupt.”

  Flynn frowned. As close as they were, certain things—like personal finances—didn’t come up all that often. Tucker seemed to travel in five-star elegance and never denied himself a new toy if one caught his fancy, so Flynn had assumed his friend made good money in his off-season gig.

  “Surely your investors will understand.”

  Tucker shrugged. “We’ll see.” Guy-speak for “Not here. Not now.”

  Flynn had to ask. “What are you going to do?”

  “Humble myself and beg the Goat to come rescue my ass.”

  Goat. Justin Oberman.

  Flynn swallowed hard. This would break an unwritten rule that said: Never mess with another team member’s off time.

  Tucker turned toward Amanda. “So, funny coincidence. Amanda
’s grandmother sees the same occupational therapist as I do. Turns out we’ve both been hijacked by circumstances beyond our control. Right, Amanda?”

  The woman in question took a small sip of beer. “Hijacked. Good word. Mother ordered me to stay here until Grandmother dies or…” she paused dramatically. “Hell freezes over. Whichever comes first.”

  Flynn noticed Kat’s look of utter mortification.

  Before he could reach out to squeeze her hand, Tucker let out a loud hoot and slapped the table. “Sounds like my mother’s side of the family. What is it about money that turns people into such assholes?”

  He held out his glass and everyone at the table toasted—even Amanda, who added, “The Heller-O’Neal clan takes dysfunction to a new level.” She grabbed the now-empty pitcher and cried, “Next round’s on me.”

  Kat turned her empty glass upside down. “Sorry. I hate to run, but I promised my son lasagna from Rocco’s.” She consulted her phone. “Our order should be ready.”

  Flynn stood. “I’ll walk you out. I didn’t get a chance to ask you about the status of those grants you’re working on.”

  A lame excuse, but the only one that came to mind. He missed seeing her in the office. A lot more than he wanted to admit.

  “I haven’t shot anybody, yet, but I’ve come close a couple of times.” She waved to her workmates and paused to rest a hand on Amanda Heller’s forearm before leaving. “Really good to meet you, Amanda. I’m so glad your grandmother has family here, now. If I can help in any way, please call. Molly has a special place in my heart.”

  She smiled then started toward Flynn. The crazy riot going on inside him took every ounce of effort he possessed to keep his reaction from showing on the outside.

  “I’m glad you could make it tonight.”

  “Me, too. I’ve missed these Friday night get-togethers.”

  Was it his imagination? Or did her tone hold an element of wistfulness, too.

  “The office isn’t the same without you.”

  She pulled her keys from her purse. “Three days of home-schooling reminds me of why I’m not a teacher.” She rolled her eyes. “And this historical monologue thing Brady is doing may well kill us both.”