If Ever I Would Leave You: A Montana Rescue Prequel

by Susan May Warren

  Nope. Not going there. She knew better than to try and dream her way to happily ever after. Girls like her didn’t get those kinds of endings.

  Except, of course, if they had a rich uncle, like Ian. For a moment, her gaze stopped on a picture of Esme, her senior photo taken in the corral out back. Ian’s niece always possessed a sort of innocence in her pretty blue eyes, captured well in the picture, the back-dropped sun creating an almost halo behind her golden hair, glinting off diamond earrings. She wore a white blouse and ripped, faded designer jeans. Her bare feet and pedicured red-blush toenails peeked out from under the frayed cuffs.

  The girl betrayed all the hallmarks of a princess—pampered, yes, but also sweet, if not a little naive. A complete transformation from the homeless, thin, and desperate teen that they’d rescued a year ago. Now, Esme had a real future ahead of her. Sierra had helped her with every single one of her college applications, had corrected the grammar on her essays and made sure they went out in the mail.

  Now, the acceptance envelopes were piled on Esme’s desk in her room down the hall, waiting for her to commit.

  Sierra had stopped at the mailbox on her way to the debacle in the pasture and now pulled the mail from her satchel. She sorted through the envelopes and found yet another acceptance letter, this one from Cornell.

  Good girl. Probably Ian’s money helped a bit, although Esme had always taken school seriously, a trait she might have inherited from her uncle.

  Sierra headed down the hallway and stopped in front of Esme’s closed door. Considered for a moment, then decided to knock.

  No answer. Maybe Esme was out in the barn, or taking an early morning ride.

  She turned the knob, found it unlocked, and eased the door open.

  Stilled. A cold hand climbed through Sierra and closed around her throat as she stared at the form—no, forms—in the bed, two bodies, quiet in slumber under the floral comforter.

  Oh. No—

  She hadn’t exactly meant to let out a noise and now desperately wanted to back out of the room as something like a gasp or a whine burped out of her.

  Especially when the comforter flipped back and someone sat up.

  Not Esme, but dark-haired, wide-shouldered, track star and troublemaker Dante James. For a second they just stared at each other, his big eyes caught in hers.

  And then she took another breath and whirled, intending to flee.

  “Sierra!”

  She froze at Esme’s voice. Closed her eyes.

  “Shut the door and I’ll explain everything.”

  No. No—

  But she didn’t know what else to do. So she closed the door, turned.

  Thankfully, Dante had vanished, probably running for Esme’s bathroom, and now Esme sat up, her hair askew, her blue eyes big, holding the comforter to her neck.

  And Sierra couldn’t help herself. “Are you out of your mind?” She stepped toward Esme, her body practically vibrating with frustration. “Seriously?”

  Esme held up a hand, her eyes filling. “Listen—it’s not what you think—”

  “It looks like what I think—”

  “I mean, it’s none of your business, really, but Dante and I are in love. We’re getting married.”

  Oh, please. And Sierra jumped right over none of your business and onto— “I’m holding yet another college acceptance letter, and you’re telling me you want to marry this kid—”

  “He’s not a kid. He’s going into the navy in just a few weeks, and then—”

  “You’re going to college.”

  Esme had sat up and thankfully, she was dressed—in a T-shirt and sweatpants. And, come to think of it, Dante had also been wearing a T-shirt.

  Still. It didn’t mean anything. “You know if Ian caught—catches you—Dante is a dead man.”

  “He won’t catch us, because you aren’t going to tell him.” Esme chased her words with a smile. “Please, Sierra?”

  “Esme—”

  “Listen. I am going to college. But I love Dante and I’m going to be with him, even if we have to run away.”

  “Run away? Esme! Please, don’t do that. You’ll regret it forever. Talk to your uncle.” She left off the “or I will” part but put the message in her eyes, her raised eyebrow.

  Esme’s stance softened. “Okay. I will, I promise.”

  “I mean right now.” Sierra walked over to Esme’s dresser and added the envelope to the stack of other hopefuls. When she turned, she found Esme looking at her, stricken.

  Yeah, well, get in line.

  She schooled her voice, however. “Esme. I know you think you love Dante. And I get that—” And wow, did she, because for a second, she was right there, caught in young love, her brain tangled in the right nows and true loves and not thinking how her heart could shatter into a thousand pieces. Another stellar reason to keep her distance from Ian Shaw. “But Ian deserves better than this. And so do you. Promise me you won’t do anything foolish.”

  Esme scrambled across the bed and came over to Sierra, grabbing her arms. Her eyes found Sierra’s. They were watery. Earnest. “Okay.”

  Sierra raised an eyebrow.

  Esme’s sighed. “I love Uncle Ian—and yes, you’re right. He deserves to know about Dante. I promise, I’ll tell him. Tonight. At dinner, okay?”

  Dinner. And now Sierra felt profoundly sorry for Ian’s third party.

  However, she couldn’t be Esme’s friend without adding, “It’s more than that, Esme. You—” What? Have to watch out for boys who see a willing heart and take advantage? Have to save pieces of yourself or you’ll lose everything? Have to grow up and realize that happy endings are probably never really going to happen?

  Except, maybe for Esme, they would, because Dante had come back out of the bathroom and now came up behind her. His dark hair was tousled, he wore whiskers, and he had the bluest eyes, the kind that held Sierra’s gaze as he put his arm around Esme.

  “I love her,” Dante said. “And I’m going to ask her uncle for permission to marry her. Really.”

  “You might want to start by staying out of her bed before you’re married,” Sierra snapped, and he reddened.

  “It’s not like that,” he said. “We didn’t—”

  “I don’t want to know. I just think you’d better get out of here before Ian catches you.”

  He swallowed and then headed for, yes, the window, of all things.

  Oh, for Pete’s sake— “Stop. I’ll check the hallway—you can use the guest entrance. He’s in the barn, so don’t go that direction.” And now, she was aiding and abetting.

  Talk about losing her job.

  “Thank you, Sierra,” Esme said, throwing her arms around her neck. “I knew I could trust you.”

  Trust— “Um, just so we’re clear. You tell your uncle tonight, okay? Don’t make me get in the middle of this.”

  Sierra didn’t know if that was an empty threat or not. Because truly, she couldn’t imagine that awkward conversation. Hey Ian, guess what I found today when I was, ha ha, delivering the mail?

  “I promise. Really,” Esme said as she took Dante’s hand.

  Sierra looked away as they kissed and headed to the hallway. She walked down to the entry and spied Ian chatting with his jump partner outside, in the driveway.

  She gestured and Dante the skulker ran down the hallway the other direction, toward the back door.

  Oh, boy. Next time, no matter what her heart said, she did not work Saturdays.

  Chapter 3

  Today hadn’t gone at all how Ian had hoped.

  Sure, he had to congratulate himself just a little bit on the fact that he hadn’t belly dived straight into the earth but that he kept his head, caught his reserve.

  Only to land and discover Sierra irritated. No, flat out furious. And in that moment, despite her ire, he saw it—

  The niggle of hope that he was right. She cared about him—enough to be angry when she thought he might be risking his life. The kind of angry that m
eant she harbored feelings for her boss.

  Maybe he wasn’t making the biggest mistake of his life.

  But he’d blundered his request for her to join them at dinner. Obviously, his “dinner for three” needed some clarification, but when he’d finished with Jock and returned to the house, Sierra had gone.

  He’d looked for Esme, but she, too, had disappeared, which left him alone at the house congratulating himself on a feat that no one seemed to appreciate.

  Except for Jock, who declared him a smokejumping protégé and told him he could jump with him anytime.

  At the moment, Ian just wanted to be able to jump out of his truck and make it all the way up the walk to Sierra’s cute little yellow Sears and Roebuck house, knock on the door, and…well, ask his assistant out.

  Which should be a lot easier than it felt as he sat at the curb. For cryin’ out loud, he’d jumped from a plane—more, he’d met world leaders, even the president when he’d introduced his software to Congress, when they’d made it mandatory for every oil rig, every pumping station in the United States.

  He’d climbed McKinley. Had dived the barrier reef, had heli-skied Whistler.

  Frankly, it hadn’t even been this difficult when he’d asked Allison to marry him. Then again, he’d been a young twenty-two-year-old, and he’d suggested it during a study break, over popcorn, not even serious. Until she was, and then he found himself in over his head and committing himself to something he should have never let her do.

  But she’d been angry at her father and he seemed the best revenge.

  Ian blew out a breath, ran his hand through his short hair, and glanced at the house. Sierra’s little hatchback sat in the driveway.

  What if he screwed this up, too? He and Sierra worked so well together—what if he was simply reading too much into her reactions?

  Or, his own. Because yes, every time Sierra walked into his airspace, especially lately, he couldn’t tear his mind away from the way she smelled, could barely tame the urge to reach out, run his fingers through her long, silky black hair, cup her heart-shaped face in his hands, run a thumb over her cheekbone as he drew her close, his eyes roaming her face for a long second before he lowered his mouth to hers—

  Oh, boy.

  But it wasn’t just the desire to kiss her. It was the fact that he didn’t want her to go home at the end of the day. He longed to spend evenings on the sofa, tangled in an easy embrace, reading or watching a movie. He didn’t want to have to say good-bye to her laughter, the way it rooted inside him and lifted him out of a darkness that could too easily devour him.

  He wanted to be a part of her thoughts, those faraway looks she’d get when she didn’t know he was watching, the way she’d stare out into the mountainscape through her office window, cradling a cup of coffee. What was in those thoughts?

  He longed to find out.

  Ian opened the door and stepped out, took a breath.

  Headed up to the house.

  He knocked on the door and tried to figure out where to put his hands. In his pockets? Should he lean against the frame? He was still experimenting when the door opened.

  A girl—not Sierra—with long brown hair stood in the entry. Oh, Willow, Sierra’s kid sister. A little older than Esme, Willow looked like her hippie mother—wearing a tie-dye dress, her hair in braids, barefoot.

  “Is Sierra here?”

  Willow gave him a look up and down, then nodded and stepped back, shouting inside the house. “Sierra—your boss is here.”

  Oh, perfect. Ian shifted, shoved his hands in his back pockets, and gave Willow a wry smile.

  “Wanna come in?”

  Hmm. But she didn’t give him a choice, really, just reached out and pulled him in. Closed the door behind him and headed up the narrow stairs.

  The house smelled of cookies and his stomach growled. The tiny place had homey written all over it, the living room painted a cheery yellow, an old sofa covered in a patchwork quilt, watercolors in white frames hanging on the walls, a white-painted rocking chair in the corner, a bookcase made of bricks and two-by-fours along the wall, filled with novels.

  “Ian—sorry, I was just taking a batch of chocolate chippers out of the oven. They’re for the camping trip this weekend. Willow’s youth group is going up to the Loop to do some overnight hiking.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  “It will be. I’m a chaperone. I think Esme’s going...” Her voice trailed off and for some reason her face flushed.

  “Maybe I’ll go, too,” Ian said.

  And how—why—did those words come out of his mouth? But yeah, if everything went well tonight, he should probably figure out ways to be a part of her world, right?

  Except her face drained just a little even as she swallowed, nodded.

  Shoot. She was clearly still simmering raw feelings from this morning’s epic events.

  “Sierra—I’m sorry I scared you this morning. Really.”

  She looked at him, blinking. Then she sighed. “I just—anyway, you’re fine and that’s what matters, right?”

  A buzzer went off in her kitchen and she gestured with her head. “I gotta change racks.”

  He followed her into the cozy kitchen. A dozen cookies cooled on a rack on a small center butcher-block island.

  She grabbed her hot pads, opened the oven, and switched the sheets from one shelf to another.

  He stuck his hands in his pockets.

  “Please, have a cookie.”

  No, that’s not what he wanted, although yes, the smell could revive the dead. “Actually, I was hoping—well, um, you left so quickly today, and I wasn’t sure I was clear about tonight, so—”

  “I heard you, and changed the reservation to three, no worries.” She closed the oven, turned, pulled off her hot mitts.

  “I wasn’t—” He sighed. “Listen. I...I was hoping you’d join us.”

  She just stared at him. Then—oh please, let him be imagining it—what looked like horror crossed her face. “Oh, I don’t think...I mean, uh, well, I’d love to join you, but it’s Esme’s birthday celebration and—”

  “And you’ve been a huge help this year in getting her to this place. All those college applications and the way, when she first got here, you knew exactly what I should say, how I should approach her.”

  “You did fine on your own.”

  “No, that’s the thing. You really helped us connect, and I’m grateful and I just want to…say…thank you.” And shoot, that didn’t come out right at all. How did he tell her that she’d become so much more than his right hand, someone he desperately wanted in his life? “You seemed to care and—”

  “Of course I care. I…I know what it’s like to be a confused teenage girl.”

  She did? He didn’t know that, although he knew a bit about her years growing up in the commune with her flighty mother.

  “But I’m not her uncle. She loves you. It’s really important you remember that.” She offered him a tight smile and he frowned.

  “Okay.”

  “And I just think you two need to have dinner alone tonight. I mean, it’s her birthday dinner, and you have that gift for her—which I picked up at the jewelers for you, by the way. I was going to bring it out to the ranch as soon as I finished the cookies. Just a second.” She brushed past him toward the front door.

  “Sierra, wait—”

  Yes, he knew, deep inside, that it was possible she didn’t share his feelings, but he didn’t really expect her to stiff arm his dinner invitation.

  He followed her into the foyer where she was rummaging around her satchel.

  She emerged with a velveteen box. “It’s really pretty. She’ll love it.” She held it out to him. Didn’t meet his eyes. And if he wasn’t mistaken, her hand was shaking.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Just take it, okay?”

  He frowned, took the box. “Thank you.”

  “No problem. Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Shaw?”


  Mr. Shaw? What happened to Ian?

  And if that didn’t take a knife to his chest...

  But, if she was going to pull the Mr. Shaw on him, he would use his business voice. “I really want you to go to dinner with us tonight. It’s important to Esme. To…” Me. But that suddenly sounded so imperial, he couldn’t force the words out. “She’s leaving for college soon, and…” He blew out a breath and grasped for something that didn’t sound like an order. “Please?”

  And with that word, that soft, pleading tone, there he stood, naked, his heart beating in his open, raw chest.

  She caught her lip in her lower teeth, sighed. “Okay. Fine, I’ll be there.”

  It might be his imagination, but she sounded a little like when he’d asked her to attend his skydiving event. Dread thick in her tone followed by the slightest forced smile.

  Nice.

  “Super,” he said, without enthusiasm, feeling as if he’d already landed, splattered to the earth, and perished. “See you at seven.”

  And now, oh joy, she’d landed smack dab in the middle of Ian and Esme’s revealing, dramatic dinner. Sierra slid the last of the cookies onto the cooling racks, dropped the pan in the sink to cool, and headed upstairs.

  Because aside from the problem of how she’d gotten herself into this mess, she had nothing to wear.

  Although, with the fireworks on the agenda for the evening, probably she could show up in a burlap sack and it wouldn’t matter. Ian’s gaze would fall off her and onto Esme the moment she mentioned Dante, marriage, the navy and, well, hopefully Sierra wouldn’t do something stupid and blurt out what she’d seen this morning.

  She flopped onto her double bed, grabbed a pillow, and smashed it over her face, groaned into it.

  “Is that a scream of joy?”

  Sierra pulled the pillow away, found Willow standing at the door, her arms folded over her chest, grinning.

  “No. That’s a scream of horror.”

  Willow raised an eyebrow then came in, sliding next to her on the bed. “Ian Shaw shows up on your doorstep—finally—and this is horrible? What did he want?”

  “He asked me out for dinner.”

  “Yes, I can see where that’s a tragedy. Your dreams have come true—someone get a Kleenex.”