“I don’t know,” Daisy said, her stocking feet tucked underneath her robe-clad bottom. His brother’s girlfriend looked like a greeting card with her steaming cup of hot chocolate hovering at her lips. “I’m betting on Clifford tonight. He’s feeling his oats.”
“If that’s what he’s feeling,” Brooks replied flatly, “we need to rethink what we feed him. He stinks.”
Porter laughed. They really should call it a night. They had a group coming in from Bozeman in the morning, and the cattle had to be fed before that, which meant dawn patrol.
But honestly, the living room with the dark leather couches and colorful, southwestern-print area rugs felt cozy and warm. His own small guesthouse next to the barn was cold and empty in comparison.
He put his feet on the edge of the heavy wood coffee table and looked over at the fire. It had been a long day. A strange day, with the middle school field trip that had turned into something resembling a Las Vegas prize fight. Justine Banks… The teacher’s name kept nagging at him. He actually knew a Banks. His physical therapist’s fiancée was one Jemma Banks, whose sister had moved here from Missoula last year.
He rubbed the stubble on his chin. Thanks to Marietta being such a small town, information like this was as free-flowing as its river with the same name. He’d talked to Jemma at the Mistletoe and Montana Christmas tree auction last year, and she’d mentioned being excited that her sister was settling in, and her family would be together for the holidays.
So, if this was the same sister, Justine was relatively new to town. He knew that much. And she was beautiful, he knew that, too. He also knew she’d taken in a little boy who liked to fight and wanted a crooked nose just like his dad.
He sighed. “Well…I’m gonna hit the hay.”
“It’s eight thirty, grandpa,” Brooks said.
“I know what time it is, and I also know how it’s going to feel when my alarm wakes my ass up at five.”
“Don’t pay any attention to him, Porter,” Daisy said, taking a sip of her cocoa. “He’s usually asleep by nine. And snoring.”
“I don’t snore.”
“Okay, babe.”
Porter stood with a grunt. “Good night, asshole. Good night, Daisy. Clifford, come on.”
The dog looked up, but not before getting a bat on the nose from Elvira. A parting gift that elicited a surprised yelp.
“Ha!” Brooks slapped his thigh. “Told ya.”
“You need to get a life, brother.”
Porter walked over to the coatrack where his Stetson hung, and his knees popped. Shit, he did sound geriatric. Sometimes he wondered how long he’d be able to keep this up. This breakneck pace of trying to run a working ranch and a business at the same time. Other men his age were starting to slow down, starting to settle down, with wives and kids. Families to keep them grounded. Porter had grown up watching his father run from relationship to relationship, trying to find that soft place to land, only to fall flat on his face. Nope. Porter had decided a long time ago that he wasn’t going to chase anyone or anything. Nothing was worth that kind of heartache.
Clifford trotted after him, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor. From the kitchen, the old wall phone rang, its hollow bringgg! reverberating through the house.
“I’ll get it,” Brooks said.
Porter grabbed his hat and jammed it on his head—then put his Carhartt jacket on and turned the collar up. Outside, the wind whipped the trees back and forth, and the wind chimes were going batshit crazy. If this kept up, they might get some early snow.
Turning, he tipped his hat at Daisy. “See you tomorrow.”
“Good night. Sleep tight.”
He opened the door to a frigid blast of air and a few stinging drops of rain.
“Porter,” Brooks said behind him. “Wait. It’s for you.”
Frowning, he looked over at his brother who had the receiver stretched from the kitchen. Nobody he knew would be calling the main house at this time of night.
“I probably got myself on some kind of list,” he mumbled. “Tell them I’m out?”
Brooks put the phone back to his ear. “He’s not in right now.” Then after a pause, “Alright, I’ll let him know. And it’s Banks?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Porter said, reaching out his hand.
“Uh, one second…” Brooks held the receiver to his chest. “I thought you said you were out.”
“I was.”
Brooks grinned. That dumb grin he’d had since the ninth grade. “Ahh. Grandpa’s in love.”
Porter shoved him and snatched the phone away. “Shut up.”
He hoped to God she hadn’t heard that. Normally, when it came to his fraternal twin, he was the juvenile delinquent in the relationship. But tonight, Brooks was giving him a run for his money.
He cleared his throat. “Hello?”
“Porter?”
“Yeah. Hi.”
“I’m sorry to call so late, but I was getting Cat settled, and then I realized I’d lost your cell number, and, well…” Her voice was soft on the other end of the line. A little sexy. But she also sounded measured, like she was checking this phone call off her to-do list and was ready to move on to the next thing.
He switched the phone to his other ear and turned his back on Brooks and Daisy, who were now staring at him from the couch.
“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “I’m glad you called. How’s our prize fighter?”
She laughed. “He’s alright. The beginnings of a black eye, but I don’t think it’ll be too bad.”
“We should see the other guy, right?”
“Yeah. Unfortunately, with these kinds of things, Cat usually comes away the most banged up.”
“He’s pretty small,” Porter said.
“Too small to be picking fights with kids twice his size. But he always jumps first, thinks later. I’m trying to get him to stop that, but it’s a process.”
“And how’s his nose?”
“Well, it’s not broken at least…” There was a pause on the other end of the line. He could hear a television in the background, but it was faint. Justine took an audible breath before finishing her sentence. “It’s his heart that I’m most worried about.”
Porter had known this kid had baggage. It was written all over his freckled face. None of his business of course, but there was a strange pull to know more. Maybe because he identified with Cat on some level. He’d longed for his father as a kid, too. And he and his brothers had also been taken in by someone else. It was a crappy club to belong to, but belong, they did.
Leaning against the wall, he looked out the dark window over the sink. Something was banging against the house, probably a shutter to one of the upstairs windows. Clifford laid down on the linoleum and put his head on his paws with a sigh. Loyal as the day was long.
“So, this happens often?” Porter asked, hoping she’d keep talking, wanting to know, but also enjoying the sound of her voice too much to hang up yet.
“Yes, it does,” she said quietly. “He’s had a rough go of it.”
“I’m sorry. I remember how hard middle school was.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
There were a few seconds of silence, and Porter looked down at Clifford, thinking he should probably just let her go before it got awkward. But before he could, she spoke again.
“I know who your dad is,” Justine said. “I can’t imagine being a preteen on top of having a parent as famous as yours.”
He smiled. “Yeah. It was interesting. My mom took off, and he tried raising us himself, but the rock and roll lifestyle and fatherhood didn’t really gel. That’s when he sent us to Marietta to live with our aunt. Got in a lot of fights that first year when I was trying to figure it out. Only I didn’t have the right hook that Cat has.”
“He’s fearless. It’s a blessing and a curse. I’m worried that one of these days he’s going to get really hurt.” She paused. “His mom died. And his dad…well, we’re not sure where he is. On the
rodeo circuit somewhere. Or at least that’s what I’ve heard through the grapevine. Cat keeps old pictures in his room.”
Porter remembered him asking Brooks about the rodeo. It made sense now. Brooks had told him he knew guys on the circuit, and that was true. They both did. He frowned, mentally listing all the cowboys he could think of with red hair and a guilty conscience.
“Anyway,” Justine continued, “I’m hoping to get him settled in with me. His grandmother is a teaching friend of mine from Missoula. She’s going through cancer treatments right now and needed some help.”
“You’re a good friend.”
“Well…I really love her. And Cat’s a great kid.”
“He’s going to be with you for a while then?”
She paused again, and he could hear her soft, even breaths on the other end of the line. “Probably until the end of the school year. I’ve accepted a position to teach overseas in the fall.”
Porter’s stomach knotted at the words. He didn’t really know why. He didn’t even know this woman. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to get to know her. And that wouldn’t exactly be convenient from across the Atlantic.
Just as well, he thought. He wasn’t in the market for getting to know someone better anyway. That always led to talk of relationships and settling down, and all those things he’d made a career of avoiding. Best to end this phone call with a thanks for calling, hope Cat feels better soon, and hang up. He had a long day tomorrow.
Instead, he cleared his throat.
“You know,” he said, “when I was his age, a family friend brought me out to her ranch, introduced me to the horses, to the animals, and it was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“Mmm…” He could almost see her nodding thoughtfully at this. “I’ve heard working with horses can be really good for some kids.”
“It’s because they don’t expect anything from you, don’t bring anything to the table except love. That’s it.”
Justine was quiet on the other end of the line. Thinking maybe. Maybe picturing Cat trying to take charge of a thousand-pound animal, or buck hay onto the back of a truck. Porter had seen smaller guys do it. It was amazing what the body was capable of if the heart wanted it badly enough.
“What do you say to Cat coming out here to work after school?” he asked evenly. “In exchange for some horseback riding lessons?”
“Oh…I…”
“Just think about it. His schoolwork would come first, of course, and I have no idea if he’s doing sports, which wouldn’t leave much time for the ranch. But I can tell you that I’ve seen kids blossom out here. Come into their own. Especially if they’re struggling with other things.”
“We could just pay for the lessons…”
“You could. But working for them is better. It would give him a sense of accomplishment and pride. At least, that’s how I ended up feeling. And I can tell you, it was worth it.”
“You do own a ranch now.”
“Exactly.”
“Cowboys are his heroes. We can thank his dad for that.”
“Well, not all cowboys are heroic, but I get it.”
She sighed, and he wondered if those delicate brows of hers were furrowed. He imagined running his thumb along one of them before he could help it.
“Are you sure you’ve got time for this?” she asked. “With everything else you have going on out there?”
“That’s what my brother is for,” Porter said with a shrug. He could practically feel the weight of Brooks’s stare from behind him. “And the ranch hands. We’re headed into the slow season, so actually, it’d be the perfect time.”
Justine was quiet for a few seconds. “Okay,” she finally said. “I think this would be great for him. Thank you so much.”
Porter felt a slow smile spread across his mouth. And this time, it didn’t have anything to do with the fact that he was going to be seeing Justine Banks again. This time, it had everything to do with the scrappy little kid who was missing his dad, and who had no idea that his childhood was about to take a turn for the better.
Porter would bet his Stetson on it.
Chapter Three
Justine drove down the long gravel drive as slowly as possible, trying her best to avoid the potholes. Her small hatchback wasn’t used to anything that wasn’t paved. Actually, to be more accurate, she wasn’t used to anything that wasn’t paved. She could smell the sweet scent of grass and hay through the cracked sunroof, and it made her stomach dip. She’d grown up in Montana, but when it came to the country, she always felt like a fish out of water. She was more of a city girl. At least, that’s what she’d always told herself.
She looked over at Cat, who had his nose pressed to the window. He hadn’t said much on the way out, but she could tell he was excited about this. What she’d told Porter the other night was true—he idolized his father, at least, what he knew of him, and the prospect of spending time on a working ranch made him feel closer to him somehow.
“We’ll have to make sure your homework doesn’t suffer,” she’d said.
He’d nodded eagerly at that, unphased.
“And Porter brought up a good point—if you want to play any sports, it might be hard to find the time with lessons in the mix.”
“I don’t want to play sports,” he’d said evenly. “I want to ride bulls.”
Justine had watched him, trying not to let her feelings show. He was so desperate to be just like his dad, and it wasn’t her place to take that away from him. But there was no denying the rush of protectiveness she felt at the hopeful, innocent look on his face.
He turned to her now, his strawberry-blond eyebrows raised. “Do you think I’ll get to ride today?”
She smiled, looking back at the road. “I’m assuming you mean a horse and not a bull?”
“I wonder if they have any bulls out here.”
“Probably. But probably not for riding.”
“You don’t think Porter has ever tried?”
In Cat’s mind, all grown men had either attempted riding a bull, or wanted to. Naturally.
“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s a good question, though.”
She pictured the long-legged cowboy with the warm eyes. He had a muscular, athletic build. He looked like he could ride a bull. Actually, he looked like he could do pretty much anything he set his mind to. Justine felt her heart thump tellingly against her rib cage. She couldn’t help it. She was human, and he was gorgeous.
In the distance, the log cabin-style ranch house came into view. It had been a landmark in Marietta for close to a century, changing owners a handful of times before the Cole brothers had bought it a few years ago. They had painstakingly restored it to its former glory, or at least that’s what the brochures in town said. Justine had always been fascinated with Diamond in the Rough because of the history behind it. She was a sucker for history.
Seeming to read her mind, Cat leaned forward to peer at the house. “It looks old.”
“It is old.”
“Like something in a western movie.”
She could see it, too. Cowboys from a century ago, clomping up the porch steps with their spurs jangling. Smoke curling from the chimney, the smell of cooking meat, bacon, and backstrap, wafting through the chilly Montana air.
“This house was built a long time ago,” she said in her best teacher’s voice. “Do you know when?”
Cat wrinkled his nose. “Nineteen-fifty…seven.”
“Older than that, even. Nineteen-twenty.”
“That’s ancient.”
“Well, not ancient exactly, but definitely old.”
“Before cars?”
“There were cars,” she said, “but a lot of people still rode horses. It was an in-between time when the world was going through a lot of changes. And it was right after the first World War, so people were finding their new normal…”
Cat nodded politely but turned his face back to the window. She’d lost him with her history l
esson. She should’ve strategically placed Jesse James in there for good measure.
“The barn is pretty,” he said.
She looked over as she pulled into the driveway. It was pretty, like a postcard with Copper Mountain rising so majestically in the distance. The Marietta River wound close by, giving the property a lovely Ansel Adams feel. She could only imagine how stunning it would look over Christmas, blanketed in snow.
She put the car in park and turned off the engine just as Porter appeared, walking down the porch steps with a friendly wave. He looked extra rugged this afternoon in a red flannel shirt and an old denim jacket. He wore Wranglers, of course, and boots that looked like they’d seen better days. And his Stetson. A black hat pulled low over his eyes, shielding them from the bright, midday sun.
She turned to Cat, but he was already out the door, ruffling the ears of a little black and white dog who’d appeared out of nowhere.
Justine unbuckled her seat belt and climbed out after him. The air smelled tangy, like animals, and she pulled it into her lungs. She could see why people booked vacations out here. She wasn’t necessarily a country girl, but she could see how relaxing it might be, how therapeutic.
Which, of course, was exactly why they were here.
She turned to Porter who was standing with his thumbs hooked in his belt loops. “That’s Clifford,” he said to Cat. “He loves kids.”
Cat knelt in the dirt, letting the dog lick his face. “Does he work cows?”
“He does. And he eats cow patties, so be careful with that tongue.”
Cat made a face but wrapped his arms around the dog anyway.
In the afternoon sunshine, he looked more pale than usual. Smaller. But no doubt, happier, too.
Porter touched the brim of his hat. “Miss Banks.”
She smiled at the playful formality, trying to keep her heart in check. “Mr. Cole.”
“Do you have any bulls out here?” Cat asked, standing up, but keeping a hand on Clifford’s head.
“We have one, and his name is Alloy. He’s huge and he smells.”
“Can we see him?”
“We can do better than that,” Porter said. “He loves apples. Want to feed him one?”
The Montana Cowboy's Heart Page 2
