Jeannie Watt - Her Montana Cowboy

A howl in the distance brought Lillie Jean’s head up and made her heart beat a little faster. Cold was definitely better than wolves. Henry snuggled up against her as if to say, “Don’t worry. I’ll fight those wild beasts for you,” because her little dog had yet to figure out that he wasn’t ten feet tall. Lillie Jean stroked his ears, then reached out to touch the cool metal of the tire iron leaning against the gearshift and told herself to be thankful it was March and not January. Although, obviously, March in Montana could be brutal, too.

Maybe that was why her grandfather had left the state for the warmth of central Texas all those years ago.

She’d only know if Thaddeus Hawkins, his business partner, had answers to share. The lawyer hadn’t been able to tell her anything after her grandfather’s unexpected death three weeks ago, except that, in addition to inheriting his personal effects, she would soon be half owner of a Montana ranch. She could truthfully say she still wasn’t over the shock of that meeting. Her grandfather had rented a small house in a modest neighborhood. Driven a twenty-year-old car, which she was driving now. Rarely splurged and had next to no savings. Yet he’d owned half interest in a ranch—eight hundred acres according to the documents. Small by Texas standards, but still, a ranch. Which she hadn’t known about. She and her grandfather had been close, the last of the Hardaway line, and she was still trying to figure out if she felt more mystified or betrayed at being kept in the dark.

A secret ranch. Why?

She hoped the answer lay at the end of the long road she was on...if she ever got there. She wanted to see the place and introduce herself to Thaddeus Hawkins, her grandfather’s former business partner. She had no intentions of lying about who she was or why she was there, but she didn’t think it would hurt to do a little anonymous reconnaissance first. Her experience with Andrew had left her feeling cautious, nowhere close to trusting people blindly as she’d once done. Learning about the ranch had only reinforced the fact that there were just too many secrets in this world, too much double-dealing to take anything at face value.

No matter what, she was never going to be caught off guard again.

* * *

GUS HAWKINS YAWNED as he turned onto the ranch road. His last official shift at the Shamrock Pub, which he owned with his Uncle Thad, had been something. Even though he would still fill in as needed, the patrons of the popular Gavin, Montana, bar had treated the event as a wake. Some brought food. Others brought gag gifts, which was why he now had a temporary tattoo of an anchor on the back of his neck and a lip print on his forehead. One of the college girls had offered him a particularly personal going away present, but he’d gently turned her down. He wouldn’t miss the nightly headaches of the pub, but he would miss the people. The majority of them, anyway.

He slowed as he rounded a series of corners, watching the edge of road as his headlights cut through the darkness. The snow was mostly melted—for now, anyway. Late spring snow and ice storms were a regular occurrence, and since the H/H Ranch still had a number of cows to calve out, there was certain to be one last nasty storm, which would probably coincide with a particularly difficult birth. But for the time being, the new grass was growing and the deer were active as they moved from the valleys to the foothills, following the melt and new growth. He’d had a close call the night before with a large doe and wasn’t all that keen to have another one.

As he topped the hill, he could just see the ranch yard lights in the distance. The place that had been his home since he was fifteen would now be his sole place of employment. He’d essentially worked full-time on the ranch for the past several months, as Salvatore, the H/H’s aging ranch manager, came to terms with the fact that he couldn’t do as much as he once could. Then, after the ranch work was done for the day, Gus put in full shifts at the pub four or five nights a week. The schedule had been grueling—especially during calving season—but Thad had needed the help and Sal needed time. Now Sal was living with his brother in Dillon, and Gus was done double shifting. It’d been easier to hire a good bartender than a good ranch manager, and he had no doubt that Ginny Monroe was more than up to the task of running the bar with Thad. And Thad liked her...maybe more than he wanted to let on.

Go, Ginny. Thad had been single for too darned long.

Gus was smiling at the thought of Ginny easing Thad out of his long bachelorhood as he started back down the hill, driving on the wrong side of the dirt road to avoid the hellacious mud puddle that had formed at the bottom, just around the blind corner. The smile abruptly disappeared as he rounded the corner and found the back end of a giant car directly in front of him. He swung hard to the left, then pulled back onto the road and eased to a stop after barely missing the vehicle. Mystified, he grabbed his flashlight out of the door-panel pocket and got out of his truck, walked back to the car and shined the light on the license plate.

Texas?

What was a gas-guzzling vehicle from Texas doing stuck in the mud on the ranch driveway? No one, save parcel delivery rigs and seasonal hunters, ventured onto this road. Gus pushed back his hat, then stilled as he caught a movement inside the car.

It looked like he was about to get an answer to his question...or so he thought before the head in the car ducked out of sight.

Huh.

He moved closer and bent forward in an attempt to see through the darkly tinted windows into the interior of the car, wondering if someone had left their dog inside to guard the car while they went for help. No...that was definitely a person in there, hunched down in the seat. Probably scared.

“Hi,” he called. “I live on this road. Do you need some help?”

Obviously they needed help, since their car was axle-deep in the mud.

For a moment there was no movement, and then the person leaned across the seat and turned the key, then rolled the window down about an inch.

“I’m Gus Hawkins. I live about five miles down the road. Can I call someone or give you a lift?”

“You live on the H/H Ranch?”

The voice was feminine. Husky. Nervous.

“I do.”

“Oh.”

Gus waited for more. He didn’t get it. “Is that where you were going?”

“Yes. I...uh...thought that Thaddeus Hawkins lived there. Is he a relative?”

His insides went cold when the woman mentioned Thad’s name. Oh, please, not again.

“He’s my uncle.”

A shiver went through her as she stared up at him through three-inch opening in the window. He had no idea who she was, or what her intentions were toward his uncle, but he couldn’t leave her there to spend the night in her car.

“Look—it’s cold out here. Do you want a lift?”

“I...uh...yes. Thank you.” She scooched back across the seat and got out of the passenger side, a small dog under her arm and what looked a whole lot like a tire iron in one hand.

“You aren’t going to conk me with that and steal my truck, are you?” he asked, starting to rethink his offer of a lift. “Because if you are, you should know that there isn’t enough fuel to get back to town.”

In the reflected lights of the headlamps, it looked as if the woman was blushing. “I have no designs on your truck.”

“Good to know.” He smiled, trying to look friendly, while still wondering if he wanted a woman carrying a tire iron riding with him. “These are unusual circumstances and we can sort things out when we get to the ranch, but right now I gotta tell you it makes me nervous having you armed like that.”

“I don’t understand.”