Darlene Graham - Under Montana Skies

Laura Cresswood said nothing as the supervisory nurse, Sylvia Summers, continued. “He wants everything his way, including the exact timing of our visits—which is impossible to predict. Why he chooses to live up there on that mountain—”

“Especially with all that money,” one of the field nurses interrupted as she scooted past Laura’s desk.

“The man is a hermit,” Sylvia continued. “And he’s already run off two physical therapists.” She handed the chart to Laura. “Now it’s your turn. The chart should be labeled P.I.A., because the guy’s a genuine pain in the—”

“I’ve handled P.I.A.’s before,” Laura answered quietly. And I’m an expert on rich, demanding men.

“This is a really tough case, Laura. No one wants to deal with Adam Scott, much less stay on that mountain to give him his therapy.”

“You told me all that, and about the car accident.” Laura flipped back a page in the chart. “It says here he’s a widower. Was his wife killed in the crash?”

“Yes.” Sylvia ran a hand through her short-cropped hair. “A terrible accident. You know, since you’re taking this on as a private contract, you’ll be totally on your own. You’re a brave woman, Laura.”

Bravery has nothing to do with it, Laura thought as she closed the chart.

Dear Reader,

Have you ever noticed how, when your heart is troubled, it helps to go someplace quiet? We all have peaceful spots where we retreat when we need a moment of refuge. Mine is a small duck pond a few blocks from my home. I walk over there and stand on a small arched stone bridge. After a while, the sounds of the ducks quacking and the wind in the cypress trees and the gurgle of the low waterfall soothe my spirit.

But sometimes there are circumstances in life when we need a greater escape, times we need a special, remote place where we can go to experience…a healing. I’ve had such times myself, and I know firsthand the magical restorative powers of the vast national forests in the mountains of northwestern Montana. The primitive cabin in this story is very much like a real cabin in the Kootenai National Forest where I stayed with some friends many years ago. After I experienced the profound peace and beauty and wholeness of that wilderness, I knew I would use it as a setting in a story some day.

And though Laura Duncan and Adam Scott have retreated to the Montana high country for completely different reasons, it doesn’t matter what heartaches drew them there. What matters is their healing. What matters is that in the midst of that wildness and isolation, they find peace…and, more important, they find each other.

Darlene Graham

Your kind comments about my books are always very much appreciated. Visit my web site at http://www.superauthors.com or write to me at P.O. Box 720224, Norman, OK 73070.

Under Montana Skies

Darlene Graham

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to Marilyn Watley.

Thank you, dearest friend, for taking me to high places.

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

EPILOGUE

WAS THIS WRONG?

Her conscience squirmed, but Laura Duncan Crestwood reminded herself that she intended to pay Stuart back, even if it took her ten years. She refused to think of herself as the kind of woman who would actually steal.

In fact, she reminded herself and raised her chin, she was a nice woman. The kind of woman who complimented the chubby grocery sacker on his new jacket, listened to the elderly lady’s third repetition of an old story and smiled at every single baby she encountered, homely or not. A nice woman—who was robbing her soon-to-be ex-husband blind. Her chin lowered and her shoulders slumped.

Was this wrong?

“May I get anything else for you, Mrs. Crestwood?” the fashionable young clerk asked.

“I don’t think so.” Laura smiled a sad little smile and handed over the platinum charge card, the one embossed with STUART HAYDEN CRESTWOOD.

She sighed, folded her hands on the chest-high mahogany counter and studied the high-priced travel accessories under the glass.

Okay, she admitted, she was robbing Stuart blind, and probably deaf and dumb, too, but there seemed to be no alternative.

She watched the clerk scanning tag after tag on the heavy woolen sweaters and sturdy jeans that would serve her well in her new life in Montana. Stuart will have a fit when he gets these bills. Or a heart attack.

Well, she didn’t want that exactly. In fact, Laura wanted Stuart to live on and on. Live on, and be completely miserable with that piglet, Charlene. Laura smiled again, not quite so sadly.

Yeah. Wouldn’t it be just lovely if Charlene got fat, and Stuart got fatter? Yeah. Stuart would end up being the absentee father she’d always known he would be, and Charlene would morph into the whiny hag that lurked under that false-eyelashed facade.

A guilty frown replaced Laura’s smile. She couldn’t really wish for that. Unhappy parents wouldn’t be good for a child, and Laura truly loved kids. Unfortunately, nature had denied her the ability to bear one of her own.

And right there in the upscale sportswear shop, Laura’s eyes started to mist up. Because that was the reason Stuart was leaving her. At least that was her least-painful theory—that he’d only married her because she was a young sexy aerobics instructor who exuded health and…fertility.

When he discovered she wasn’t fertile, he’d moved on to the next sweet young thing—Charlene. Charlene, who was destined to be his fourth wife. Charlene, destined—Laura had learned only two days ago—to be the mother of the heir to the Crestwood fortune.

And that fortune, she’d learned later the same day, was now parked nineteen thousand miles off the coast of New Zealand. On the Cook Islands to be exact. In an offshore trust.

“Safeguarded,” Stuart had claimed, “from frivolous lawsuits.”

Safeguarded from Laura was what he meant. After splitting his assets with two previous wives, Stuart Crestwood the Third was not about to allow another divvying up.

“Fraud,” Laura’s attorney Irene had said as she studied the documents. “But no way to prove it. ‘Spouse of the Settlor’—very clever language.” She riffled the thick stack of pages with a thumb. “Your name isn’t anywhere in here.” Irene propped her elbows on her desk. “Face it, Laura. You will never get your hands on one penny of that nine million.”

Laura sighed, then shielded her eyes with a shaky hand. Alone and poor. Just the way she’d started. “Once, when I’d gotten to feeling so hollow, so dead, in this marriage, I actually asked Stuart for a divorce.”

“And?” Irene prompted.

“And he started yelling, saying stuff like, ‘You came into this marriage with nothing and, by God, you will leave it with nothing.”’

Irene shook her head and spread her palms over the compelling documents. “Unfortunately that was not an idle threat. It would take an entire law firm working full-time to beat this contract, not to mention your prenuptial agreement. Besides, Stuart keeps several big Dallas firms on retainer. None of them will touch your case. Let’s face it—Stuart has arranged things so that you can’t get at his assets no matter how costly a lawsuit you launch.”