Allison Leigh - A Cowboy Under Her Tree

“So you didn’t get married here, before?”

His gaze slid her way for a moment before he zoomed out of the parking lot with more finesse than she’d have expected for a man who didn’t seem to drive anything but ancient, rattling pickup trucks. “Nope.”

She refused to indulge her curiosity. “I guess we can wait until Monday to find out.”

“We’ll fly to Vegas this afternoon.”

“So soon?”

“Cold feet already?” His voice was mocking.

“Of course not.” But her stomach muscles were clenching. Which was ridiculous. The only difference between the proposition she’d made to him and the final agreement they’d come to was a license. A piece of paper. What did it matter if that paper was signed now or five days from now?

They made the rest of the drive to the Hopping H in silence. He parked in front of the wide stone steps that led up to the main house. “Pack light,” he ordered. “I’m gonna check the barn and the stock.”

She hadn’t needed the reminder of where his priorities were but it was probably just as well.

She went up the steps that had already undergone significant repair and restoration and unlocked the door. She looked back, watching him continue driving along the gravel road that eventually would lead him to the Hopping H’s outbuildings. Lord only knew what sort of comments she’d earn once he’d assessed the situation there.

Her gaze skipped over the tall snow-heavy pines that surrounded the house. With a fresh coat of white on the ground, it was almost postcard-perfect.

On the outside, at least.

She sighed again and went inside where the signs of construction and refurbishment were all around her in the form of scaffolding against the two-story fireplace and lumber stacked in the dining room that would eventually be a state-of-the-art media room. The two-man construction crew’s progress was coming along more slowly than she’d have liked, but she’d had to hire them in from Bozeman and she was lucky to get them on site for more than three days of the week.

Nevertheless, though the going was slow, she couldn’t fault the quality of their work. Plus, they’d come in with the most reasonable bid.

When it was her own money on the line, she couldn’t afford to call in the same companies her family usually used. Nor did she want to chance any of her vendors reporting back to them about her business here. She’d dealt with that situation far too often, too.

She worked her way around enormous paint buckets and went upstairs, heading straight for the aspirin bottle first.

Pack light, Russ had decreed. At least that was something she did know how to do. When he stomped through the front door a while later to find her already sitting in one of the oversize suede wing chairs that had come with the Hopping H, she allowed herself the indulgence of enjoying the surprise on his face.

Of course, he masked that surprise quickly. “The water troughs for the stock were frozen over, but I broke it up. And the horses are low on feed.”

She crossed her high-heeled boots at the ankle. “Shall I run to the supermarket?” she asked sweetly. She knew she was low on feed. She was low on everything. Unfortunately, she’d thought she could trust Harlan, who’d assured her that he’d put in the appropriate orders long before he and his brother walked off the job.

Russ ignored her sarcasm. His gaze swept the interior of the house, undoubtedly judging the renovation mess with his usual criticism. “That thing hooked up?” He nodded toward the ancient black phone that sat on the table she’d pushed against one wall to use as a temporary desk.

“Yes.”

He reached for it and didn’t seem at all slowed by the old-fashioned rotary dial. For all she knew, he hadn’t moved into the current century with push-button phones, either.

His phone call was brief, though, and he hung up, looking at her over her shoulder. “You’ll have a delivery by early next week. In the meantime, I’ll have one of my guys stock you up.”

How simple he made it sound. She’d been calling the feed supply manager every day for the past week.

Being angry that he’d accomplished what she could not seem to, though, was not going to get her anywhere. Russ had helped. That was the bottom line. And she was working hard on the whole okay-to-accept-help concept.

It did not come naturally to her.

“Thank you.” She dashed her hands down the sleeves of her ivory leather jacket. “Will the animals be all right while we’re gone?”

He looked vaguely amused. “You want pet-sitters or something?”

She felt her cheeks flush. “I want you to tell me what I need to know. Remember?”

“The stock’ll be fine. I’ll assign Joey to work over here. Why’d you take down the wall that used to be by the staircase?”

“The rooms down here are too small. Who is Joey?”

“One of my hands. He’s young, but he’s reliable. If you’re planning to change everything inside the house here, why buy it in the first place?”

She pushed to her feet, looping the strap of her overnight bag over her shoulder. “I’m not changing everything.”

He lifted his brows, looking at the evidence. “Could’ve fooled me. So how long’s it going to take before you’re ready?”

“I am ready.”

He looked up the staircase. The old iron balusters and rail had been removed, leaving the treads out in the open. “Up there, I suppose.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your suitcases.”

She jiggled her overnighter. “You did recommend packing light, didn’t you?” He’d ordered it, actually. Like some royal decree. It would have served him right if she’d loaded up every piece of luggage she possessed.

Of course, she’d come to Montana with only a few pieces. The rest was back in Atlanta. Useless and left behind along with everything else from her life.

Her former life, she reminded herself.

Things were different now, because she was making them different.

“Are you going to stand here all morning critiquing my renovations or shall we get going?”

He looked her over, head to toe, and she twisted the wide leather strap harder around her hand. “ What? ”

He shook his head and grabbed the overnight case from her. “Let’s get moving.”

She refrained from pointing out that she hadn’t been the one standing around. She followed him back out to the car that he’d once again parked in front of the house and this time didn’t bother fruitlessly waiting for him to open her door.

She kept her focus out the side window as they made the drive from her house to his. It wasn’t that great a distance. Less than ten miles, she figured. Yet the silent drive seemed almost interminable.

“Wait here.” He finally stopped behind a modest two-story house and got out before she could even summon an argument.

He left the car running, and she crossed her arms, watching him take the back porch steps in one long stride.

She could hear the squeak of the storm door despite the distance, and then he disappeared into the house.

In comparison to the Hopping H, Russ’s house looked about a quarter of the size. The siding was painted white. The shutters around the windows both up and down were black. From what she could see, craning her head around inside her car, the roof looked sound.

Other than that, the house was decidedly plain.

She nibbled at her thumb, wondering if Russ had wanted the Hopping H’s ranch house, as well as the land. Maybe that was why he’d seemed to look at her renovations with such criticism.

She sat back quickly when she saw the storm door move again, and was sliding her sunglasses onto her nose when he got back in the car after tossing his own small duffel atop her overnighter in the minuscule space behind the seats. As she’d done, he’d changed clothes, as well.