Lynnette Kent - Married In Montana

“Hey, honey.” Something about Megan’s smile, about the worship in her brown eyes and the pout of her full lower lip, glazed tonight with some kind of sparkly pink lipstick, simply took away his ability to think. “Ready for a night on the town? You look great.”

She blushed, and smoothed a hand over her short jean skirt. As if he hadn’t already noticed those long bare legs. “I’m ready.” She looked toward his sister and smiled. “Hey, Thea. How are you?”

“Just fine, thanks.” She shoved a hand through her hair and blew a breath off her lower lip. “Listen, can you get this rascal home at a reasonable hour tonight? He dragged in late and you can’t begin to imagine what kind of commotion that makes with Dad.”

Megan didn’t have it in her to lie. Bobby took her arm and stepped into the breach. “I promise, Ms. Watchdog. I’ll hit the door at midnight on my own two feet. Will that do?”

Thea drove her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “I guess it’ll have to. I didn’t bring along a rope to tie you down.”

“Great. See you later, then.” He walked Megan to the truck, thanking God that he’d bought the biggest pickup on the market, because he couldn’t wait one single minute more to kiss that pink frosting right off her sweet mouth.

In the shadow of the cab, out of Thea’s line of sight, he backed Megan against the door, braced his elbows and leaned his body into hers. She was a slender little thing, yet she fit him just right. “We didn’t get a chance to say hello properly out there. Want to try again?”

For an answer, she smiled, wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his face down to hers.

FROM THE DRIVER’S SEAT of the Land Rover, Thea watched until Bobby got into his truck and headed east toward the highway. She didn’t wonder why it had taken him a good ten minutes to get Megan in on the passenger side. His eyes had glazed over the minute the girl set foot on the ground. He’d have stepped on his tongue if he’d tried to walk.

She smiled slightly and sighed at the same time. Her dad had been tough on Bobby all day—not just his usual silent observation, but heavy disapproval coupled with a level of expectation his children could never meet. Robert Maxwell didn’t suffer mistakes or fools. Thea had learned over the years how to avoid both. Most of the time.

But Bobby enjoyed courting disaster. He didn’t look ahead and he didn’t look behind, and he never seemed to notice what havoc his behavior wreaked in other lives. Her own, for example. She’d been his shield, his defender, for half her life. Jolie and Cassie had taken off, leaving her to fill the role of mother/daughter/sister/ranch hand. Sure, she loved the job. She worked hard every day to earn her dad’s respect, because she loved him, too. And, of course, she loved Bobby to distraction.

“So why am I sitting here whining?” She watched folks she knew heading into the bar, but couldn’t hunt up any enthusiasm for joining them. The stores in town closed down by six on Saturdays, so she couldn’t go shopping, not that there was anything she needed to buy. A drive back out to the ranch, a check on a couple of the cows she and her dad were worried about, and then that romance novel she’d gotten in the mail but hadn’t had time to open…

“Is this your night for trouble?”

The one voice she hadn’t wanted to hear came from just outside her window. Thea turned slowly. “Well, hello, Deputy. Somebody already started a fight in there?” He had not, unfortunately, grown hairy warts or developed a squint since last night. The man was inhumanly attractive.

And his grin could melt granite. “I’ll give it a couple more hours. Most of them have to be really tanked to start hitting. Speaking of which, I notice your brother picked up his truck.”

Thea clenched her teeth. “How observant of you.”

Hands on his hips, he stared at her a second, then shook his head and tipped his hat back slightly. “My fault. That comment was uncalled for and unfair. I apologize.”

Again unfortunately, Thea could tell he meant what he said. Something cold inside of her started to thaw. “That…that’s okay. Bobby’s hard to handle. But he’s not mean.”

“I guessed that. Makes it hard to stay firm with him, I bet.”

Damn his insight. She tried to be flippant, to hide an inclination to melt even further. “Easy enough to see, since we’ve obviously spoiled him rotten.”

Rafe Rafferty didn’t move, but he withdrew as completely as if he’d stepped back three paces. “You said it, not me.” With two fingers, he resettled his Stetson. “Have a good evening, Ms. Maxwell.”

Thea refused to watch him return to his nice silver truck—she didn’t want to know how he looked from behind or how he walked, with those long legs and narrow hips. She made a big production out of getting the Land Rover started and into gear.

But she looked up just as he drove past. For a second she thought he had a woman in the passenger seat…and then realized that a dog sat straight and tall beside him, floppy ears blowing lightly in the breeze through the open window, sad and wrinkled face about as contented as a bloodhound ever could look.

Thea put her head back against the seat and groaned. Was anything ever more calculated to get and hold a woman’s attention than a gorgeous single man and his totally ugly, totally lovable dog?

That might, she decided on the quiet drive back to the ranch, be the point. A man as handsome, as polished, as Rafe Rafferty had no doubt sampled his share of girlfriends. Just last night, he’d shown how quickly he could turn to flirting. And if flirting didn’t work, a man that smart would no doubt determine the quickest, surest way to get what he wanted—including a girlfriend. A dog ranked up there with diamonds, as far as Thea was concerned. No…above diamonds. How could a cold stone compare to the unfailing love of your best friend?

But she didn’t intend to fall for the ploy. She’d learned from experience that men, especially flirtatious and handsome ones, made more trouble than they were worth. She had enough to do keeping Bobby in line—trying to keep Bobby in line—and doing her job to her dad’s satisfaction. So what if she was lonely sometimes, if her bed…her life…seemed cold?

Maybe she should just get herself a dog.

FOR FOUR GENERATIONS, the Maxwell family had occupied the same pew every Sunday in the First—and only—Methodist Church of Paradise Corners. This week was no exception.

Even though Bobby hadn’t come in until after three. Even though Thea had lain awake for the next hour, listening to her dad’s sharp reprimands and her brother’s sullen protests, cut off, in the end, by a slamming door.

They drove to town in the dark blue Cadillac Robert Maxwell had owned for almost twenty years now, with Thea in the front passenger seat and Bobby slumped in the back behind the driver. His eyes were closed, but he didn’t look as if he’d spent the night before drunk. His blue shirt, yellow tie and khaki slacks were practically an apology in themselves.

But no one said a word. Thea considered making conversation, but decided she didn’t have anything to say to either of the stubborn men she lived with. As far as she was concerned this morning, the entire male sex—including and especially Deputy Sheriff Rafferty—could kick itself into that deep gorge out behind the church’s cemetery and stay there. How much simpler her life would be then.

The fall morning was gorgeous, with the foliage nearing its peak of color. A small grove of aspens beside the white-sided church building quaked in the breeze, their gold leaves like little pieces of sunlight drifting to the ground. Thea stood for a minute, appreciating the view. As she resumed her progress to the door, a tall, broad-shouldered shadow fell onto the brick walk ahead of her. Her skin prickled and her breath shortened—she didn’t have to wonder whose shade she’d stepped into. Next thing she knew, Rafe Rafferty was walking beside her.