The Rancher's Proposal (The Montana McGregor Brothers Book 3)

by Paula Altenburg

“For what it’s worth, I asked Posey to marry me, too.”

  “That makes you as big a dumbass as me, then.”

  Zack thought about taking offense and decided he couldn’t. “What makes you say that?”

  “How do you plan to support her?”

  “I’m going to talk to Weldon about working for him.”

  Luke stared at him. “You won’t sell your shares in the Wagging Tongue to him, will you? He asked me about mine the day of the memorial service and I told him no.”

  “I’m not selling my shares. I might take out a loan against them someday, though. I hope to buy into the Running River. Meanwhile, I’ll help Jake out here with the Wagging Tongue. I’ll handle the books for him.”

  Zack turned to go. Between the online classes he taught, things here at the ranch, his problems with Denise and this new commitment to Mara, Luke had his hands full.

  He stopped and turned back.

  “Do you really love her enough to marry her?” he asked. “It’s not that super-powered brain of yours talking crazy shit and warping your judgment?”

  Luke grinned, looking younger and more carefree than he had in years. Confident, too.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I really do. What about you and Posey?”

  “My brain doesn’t have any super powers warping my logic and it doesn’t talk shit. My judgment’s just fine. I love her and I’m going to marry her.”

  Just as soon as she told him she loved him, too.

  Chapter Twelve

  “How many cups of chocolate chips do we add? What does the recipe say?” Posey asked.

  Weather-wise, September was shaping up to be as miserable as the last few months had been sunny and bright. It was a cold, dreary, wet Saturday and she was running out of options for entertaining two restless boys. They’d already used up the hour for video games their uncle Jake had said they could have.

  Mac, sitting at the kitchen table under the rain-splattered window, consulted the cookbook with the single-minded intensity of a neurosurgeon in the middle of a delicate operation. “It says two cups.”

  “Why can’t we use three?” Finn asked. He was on his knees on a chair, peering into the mixing bowl.

  Posey stood between the two boys. She’d placed a tray lined with parchment paper off to one side. No-bake cookies had seemed like a good way to keep the boys occupied on a rainy afternoon while the girls were down for their naps.

  Now, she wasn’t so sure. She joined Finn in staring at the bowl and its contents. Why was the dough so dry? Why wouldn’t the energy balls stick together?

  So far, the only energy she’d expended was in trying to mix the ingredients with a spoon.

  The clock on the kitchen wall told her it was almost three, which meant the girls would be awake soon. Zack, who was helping move cattle this weekend, usually arrived around four. It was the highlight of Trixie’s day. Posey’s, too.

  But, while Trixie adored Zack, she’d developed a two-year-old’s version of a crush on ten-year-old Mac, who was unfailingly tolerant of both little girls. He had far less patience for Finn, who as Zack promised, could be a handful. Even so, Mac had never once lashed out at his younger brother.

  Yet the anger was there. Posey had learned to look for the signs in her ex-husband and she sometimes glimpsed them in Mac. It made her not trust him with the younger children, especially Finn.

  “Mac knows he’s not allowed to hit anyone smaller than him,” Zack had said when she expressed her concerns during one of their evenings on the porch. “He’d never hurt Finn.”

  “Why not teach him it’s not okay to hit anyone at all?” Posey asked.

  Zack’s blue eyes had gone dark in one of his rare, serious moments. “Because the world isn’t a perfect place, Posey. We aren’t going to pretend to him that it is—especially since he’s experienced the truth—but he’s got to have a few rules to live by. One of those rules is that, under certain conditions, he’s allowed to stand up for himself, because he matters, too.”

  Now, with the boys back in school and October in sight, she was willing to concede that maybe the McGregors understood boys better than she did. Despite her earlier reservations, it was plain that Mac was a great kid.

  “I doubt if we can add one cup of chocolate chips to this mess, let alone three,” she said to Finn.

  “We could mix the dough with our hands,” Mac suggested.

  Why not? They’d have to form the cookies into balls anyway, and she’d already made sure they washed them.

  Her phone rang.

  That would be Eleanor. Posey had agreed to participate in a quilting project the local Catholic church had taken on as a fundraiser.

  She slid the bowl toward Mac. “Here. Add the chocolate chips and help Finn get them mixed in for me, please.”

  The phone continued to ring. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and swiped her thumb across the screen without bothering to look. “Hello, Eleanor. We’re in the middle of making cookies. Can I—”

  “Hi, Posey.”

  All of her distraction disappeared. The boys were forgotten. “How did you get this number?”

  “I’m your husband. Why wouldn’t I have it?”

  She smiled for Mac, who’d lifted his head and was looking at her, to let him know everything was fine. She moved into the entry between the kitchen, the front door, and the stairs, and lowered her voice.

  “You’re not my husband, anymore. Don’t ever call me again.”

  Her heart was swooping and plunging so violently she barely got the words out. She tried to find the icon to end the call but her hands were shaking too hard.

  “Hang on,” Trevor barked at her across the tinny line. The storm outside interfered with the reception. “I’m not calling for you. I want to talk to my daughter.”

  Posey’s thumb hovered over the red icon. Slowly, she returned the phone to her ear. She prayed she wouldn’t pass out. “She’s two. What will you talk about? And she’s not your daughter anymore, remember? You gave her up.”

  “Only because your uncle pressured me into it. How well do you think that’s going to stand up in court?”

  Her uncle had warned her that Trevor would be back. Repeatedly, as a matter of fact. Posey closed her eyes. It made the dizziness worse. “How much do you want?”

  “There’s that sense of entitlement I’ve come to admire,” Trevor said. “Everything’s not always about money—but I guess you wouldn’t understand that, since you’ve always been able to buy whatever you want. Including a judge. Why shouldn’t I be allowed to see my own daughter?”

  Something snapped inside Posey. She’d never been about money. If that was what it took to protect Trixie from him, however, she had plenty to spare. She’d fight him to the very last penny. “Stay away from Trixie. Stay away from both of us.”

  “I will once I’ve seen her. Once I’ve seen you both. I just want to make sure you’re doing okay,” he said, sounding so concerned Posey might actually have bought into his act if she didn’t recognize it for what it was. Fool me once, shame on you… “I regret letting myself be pressured into giving you both up.”

  So that was his game. He planned to argue he’d given up his parental rights under duress.

  “How much?” she asked again.

  “Why don’t we talk about that when I get to Grand?”

  He hung up on her.

  Posey stared at the dark screen. A distressing fact settled in, swirling around in her brain. She’d crossed the entire country to be rid of him, and yet, he knew where she lived.

  She couldn’t stop shaking.

  A small sound behind her warned she wasn’t alone. A quick glance confirmed Mac was watching her from the doorway to the kitchen. His expression gave nothing away as to how much he’d overheard. How long had he been standing there?

  “The chocolate chips won’t all mix in and Finn’s eating the dough,” he said.

  She’d had panic attacks when she was a little girl, after her mother had died, and s
he hadn’t understood what death was. She hadn’t had one in years, but she felt one coming on now. She focused on him and her surroundings, sucked in a deep breath and counted to five, then slowly released it.

  Life began to register again. Sheets of rain, driven by wind, slapped the front door. Upstairs, one of the girls stirred. Trixie usually woke first. It wouldn’t be long before she had Lydia awake, too.

  And Zack would be here any time. That thought calmed her more than anything else. He was her happy place.

  She pulled herself back together. “The dough won’t hurt Finn. It’s supposed to be eaten raw anyway. Can you help him roll it into little balls while I get the girls out of bed?”

  “Sure.”

  Mac gave her one last long, considering look that reminded her of his uncle Jake. Then, footsteps dragging, he returned to the kitchen.

  She dropped onto a stair and put her head between her knees. She should really call her uncle and let him deal with the phone call. He’d know what to do.

  But she should know what to do by now, too. Trevor couldn’t extort money from her forever. She’d be better off spending it in court, as Uncle Bart had advised her from the start.

  She considered confiding in Zack so she’d have someone to talk to, but he had enough on his plate. He’d already done too much for her. She didn’t want to return to a position where she was emotionally dependent on someone else, either. When she’d come to Grand she’d sworn to herself she’d never rely on a man again, and yet, here she was.

  Waiting for Zack to make everything better.

  The loud bang on the front door made her jump, scaring her half to death. Upstairs, Trixie started to wail. It was only three o’clock. Zack wasn’t due for another hour.

  An ugly possibility presented itself. What if Trevor was already in Grand?

  She rushed to the door. A peek through the peephole confirmed it was Zack. The second wave of panic receded as he blew in with the rain and the wind, shoving the door firmly closed behind him with his shoulder.

  “We go most of the spring and summer without a drop, then boom, it arrives all in one smash,” he grumbled good-naturedly, sluicing water off his coat sleeves and shaking his wet, hatless head like a blue-eyed, ginger-maned lion. “It’s impossible to get any work done in this. I’d kiss you, but I’m soaking wet.”

  She was too glad to see him to care. She threw her arms around his neck, wedging into the front of his half-unzipped, bright yellow rain jacket, and inhaled another deep, steadying breath. He smelled of the outdoors. He felt solid. Safe. Maybe she shouldn’t rely on him as much as she did, but there was no harm in absorbing his strength through osmosis.

  She lifted her face and demanded the kiss he’d been about to deny her.

  “Hey,” he said, laughing. “What did I do to deserve a welcome like this?” He glanced over her head and up the stairs. Trixie hadn’t stopped crying. Lydia, who usually woke up in a far better mood, took exception today and joined in. His face fell. “Or should I be asking what the kids did to make you so happy to see me?”

  “The kids have been great. You can help me with the girls, though,” she said.

  She dashed upstairs ahead of him, relieved not to have to explain about the phone call she’d gotten, while he stopped to kick off his boots.

  She wasn’t going to allow Trevor to destroy what she had growing with Zack. She’d stand up to him on her own when he arrived. She’d tell him she’d take him to court rather than give him another dime or let him anywhere near Trixie.

  Because she finally saw that this wasn’t only about money—she’d already given him plenty. It was about domination.

  Lydia slept in a playpen in the spare bedroom. Normally, she was happy to sit and entertain herself while Trixie demanded Posey’s immediate attention. Today, however, she was crying with equal persistence, meaning her diaper was likely dirty.

  Since Posey already knew how this would play out, she headed for Lydia and allowed Zack to take charge of Trixie. She bent down to lift the little girl out of the playpen.

  “Lydia needs her diaper changed,” she called out to Zack, mainly because his reaction always made her laugh. The toddler immediately stopped crying, her tears turning to smiles, as if she enjoyed the joke, too.

  “You touched her. She’s yours,” Zack called back. A few seconds later she heard him say, “Dang it, Trixie. You need yours changed, too. What did I ever do to you?”

  The last of Posey’s terror wafted away. A sense of rightness settled in. It was amazing how a small moment like this could have such a profound effect on her mood. Zack didn’t feel any need to dominate her or anyone else. She didn’t soothe some inner ego of his. He didn’t want her for her money, either. She was confident of that.

  He was the first man in her whole life who wanted her simply for herself. She loved him so much she ached.

  And she wanted so desperately to be worthy of him. She could handle this on her own.

  *

  It was Zack’s night to stay in, which normally was no big deal because he and Posey saw each other every day, but he couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong with her.

  It nagged at him through dinner.

  “How did things go at Posey’s today?” he asked Mac, who was playing with his tablet before bed.

  Mac was out of sorts because he wasn’t allowed to spend the night in the barn with the foal Jake had bought him.

  “Horses are herd animals,” Jake had patiently explained. “You’re part of his herd, but you aren’t all of it. If he’s scared by the storm, it’s best if he learns to rely on the other horses for security.”

  Mac shrugged in response to Zack’s question. “Okay, I guess.”

  Then why did Zack have all these misgivings?

  Maybe he felt that way because Luke was riding some kind of crazy train right now. He was convinced he was in love with the local dance instructor—who he’d met on the rebound after breaking up with his fiancée—and while that might well be true, Zack worried about him and the lack of foresight in the decisions he was currently making. It was so unlike him.

  All he could say was, thank God Jake remained steady.

  Posey, too, played a major part in what kept him off the same crazy train Luke was engineering. She was the strongest person he knew—even if she didn’t know that about herself—which was why he was worrying about her now, too. He was all for the reception he’d gotten that afternoon, but he hadn’t earned it. Not from Posey.

  Therefore, something was wrong.

  Zack finished reading a story to Finn, who’d fallen asleep partway through, then tiptoed out into the hall.

  Mac waited for him. The boy wore a plain white T-shirt and Dr. Strange pajama bottoms. Zack’s throat closed over. Mac’s mother, Liz, had been almost as big a geek as Luke and she’d passed it on to her sons.

  “Posey got a phone call this afternoon, right before you got there,” Mac said. “It made her sad and kind of angry. I thought you should know.”

  A ball of lead dropped in Zack’s gut. If it had upset Posey enough for Mac to register it, he had a good idea who the call had been from. In truth, it surprised him it had been so long in coming. And it would explain the zealous reception he’d gotten from her. She was afraid and didn’t want him to know.

  “Thank you for telling me,” he said to Mac. No good would come from letting an anxious ten-year-old see how worried he was. “I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ve got it from here.” He clapped the boy on the back. “Lydia and Finn are asleep. What say you and I make one last trip out to the barn to check on Thunder before bed?” Thunder was the name Mac had given his foal.

  Mac’s face lit up in an expression of joy too rarely seen. Zack would worry more about him too, but Mac idolized Jake and Jake understood him. That horse had been the perfect gift for a boy who needed something to care for. All Zack could do was make sure Mac broke a few of Jake’s rigid rules and had fun.

  He wedged the baby monitor into h
is back pocket. Downstairs, he and Mac donned raincoats and boots in the utility room, then ran for the barn through the storm.

  Zack flipped on the switch near the door, flooding the center aisle of the barn with warm light. Mice skittered away from the glare and into the shadows. He breathed in deep. It was warm and dry inside and smelled of horse and hay. Rain rattled on the steel roof.

  He couldn’t imagine a better environment than a ranch in which to raise kids. Mac and his sister and brother were finally settling in. The Wagging Tongue was where he’d raise his own family.

  And his family now included Posey and Trixie. Whatever that phone call Mac overheard had been about, Posey wasn’t going to deal with it alone.

  The far end of the barn had been divided off into a pen that opened onto the paddock. Because of the storm, the horses had taken shelter inside and huddled close together. The foal was on its feet by the rail that separated the pen from the interior stalls, head down in a resting position, but tense enough in body that it was obvious the storm made it nervous.

  Mac rubbed its nose through the wooden slats while Zack swung onto the top rail of one of the interior pens to sit and wait and decide how he was going to raise the subject of that phone call with Posey.

  If her ex-husband thought he could bully her into reviving their marriage, he was in for the shock of his life.

  Zack’s biggest concern was over the tactics he might use to try and persuade her. She likely worried along the same lines. He hated thinking of her all alone tonight, with a storm wailing outside to heighten her fears.

  Another smaller but also important concern jumped up and down in his brain, refusing to be ignored. It stung a bit, too. Why hadn’t she confided in him?

  What did she not want him to know?

  He gave Mac a half hour before it was plain he’d stay out here all night if Zack let him. It was equally plain that Thunder was going to be fine. He didn’t have the same confidence about Posey and her state of mind. He couldn’t shake something Dan had once said. “The farther she’s run, the more trouble the ex tends to be.”

  He couldn’t wait until morning to find out how worried about her safety he should be. He was going to call her and ask her flat out.