Charlotte Douglas - Montana Secrets

Marc turned to Ryan. “The music’s kind of hokey, but the food’s always good. Want to go?”

“If you guys are too tired,” Cat said quickly, “I have a casserole I can heat for your supper before I leave.”

She held her breath, waiting for their reply. She’d dreamed for months of dancing with Ryan, wondering how his arms would feel around her, dying to talk with him alone without Marc claiming all his attention.

“I don’t know about you, cowboy,” Ryan said, “but I think you’ll be taking a chance letting Cat go alone looking like that. She’ll need the Marines to keep the locals at bay.”

“You could be right,” Marc agreed.

Ryan nodded. “We’ll have to volunteer.”

Yes!

Cat called on every ounce of self-control to keep from pumping her fist in victory. Ryan had noticed her at last, but she’d have to take care not to appear too interested. If he guessed how strongly she felt about him, he’d hit the Libby highway running and never look back. The last thing she wanted was to scare him off by seeming too eager.

“Do you have a date?” Ryan asked, catching her by surprise.

Her earlier panic returned. Would he think nobody else found her interesting?

Marc jumped to her rescue. “Nobody brings a date to the Territorial Celebration. Everyone just shows up and has a good time.”

Less than an hour later, Cat was sandwiched between Marc and Ryan on the front seat of Marc’s truck, headed for town. She and Ryan each balanced one of her homemade huckleberry pies, her contribution toward the evening’s covered dish dinner, on their laps. Occasionally, when the road curved, she slid toward Ryan, grazing his thigh with her own, relishing the warmth of the contact and making her even more aware of his clean, rugged, masculine scent and the attractiveness of his profile.

Telling stories of his and Marc’s adventures at the Defense Language Institute where they’d studied Arabic and other Middle Eastern languages in preparation for their posting to Kuwait, Ryan kept her laughing, but her thoughts constantly strayed to the dancing that would follow supper and her hopes for spending time alone with him.

When they arrived, the town hall was bustling with people. In the adjacent tree-shaded park, tables had been erected from sawhorses and planks and covered with cloths, and tiny white lights had been strung through the trees. The tables were already loaded with food.

Cat spied her father, Gabriel, among the men circling the smoking barbecue pit. He’d left the ranch with his side of beef and gallon of secret barbecue sauce long before Marc and Ryan had arrived and was helping with the cooking. The succulent odors drifting on the breeze made her mouth water, and she was surprised to discover she was hungry. She had expected to be too excited to eat, but being near Ryan seemed to activate all her senses, even her appetite.

While Marc and Ryan crossed the park to greet her father, Cat peeked inside the open doors of the town hall, decorated with red, white and blue streamers, and watched the band setting up on the stage at the far end of the room that had been cleared for dancing. When the mayor rang the bell in the hall’s squat tower, the signal for supper to begin, she returned to the park to join her family and Ryan.

Ryan sat beside her at supper, but Marc and her father monopolized the conversation with talk of the ranch and the problems created by the dry spring they’d had. Later, however, when the band in the hall began playing their first slow song, Ryan asked her to dance. Feeling as if she were walking on clouds, she accompanied him into the building and slid happily into his arms.

Even though he was dressed casually in jeans and a chambray shirt, Ryan carried himself with an unmistakable military bearing that turned the heads of every woman in the room. The charismatic confidence of a man accustomed to command blended with the fluid grace of a body trained and coordinated like a perfectly tuned machine, and he danced like a dream. Cat had to struggle to keep her mind off the delicious pressure of his hand at the small of her back. That, combined with the dangerous warmth in his eyes, made concentrating on their conversation difficult.

“Marc tells me you graduate from college next June,” Ryan said. “What will you do then?”

“Teach. I’ll be interning in the fall.”

“Will you stay in Montana?”

“I hope to get a job at the high school here in town.”

“That’s a surprise.”

“Why?” She drew back and gazed at him.

“I figured you had the wanderlust, like Marc. The only reason he joined the Marines was to travel.”

“But as soon as he’s seen the world,” Cat explained, “he’s heading back to help Dad run the ranch. For Marc, Montana will always be home.”

“And you don’t want to travel?”

“I’m a homebody. I have everything I need right here.”

Except you, she thought.

“What will you teach? Elementary school?”

She shook her head, pleased at his interest. “High school history.”

Ryan groaned. “I hated history in high school.”

“Then you didn’t have the right teacher.”

His killer grin returned. “If my teacher had looked anything like you, I’m sure I would have enjoyed the class a whole lot more.”

Her cheeks heated at his compliment, a reaction she couldn’t control, one that she’d inherited from her mother and that caused her endless embarrassment.

“My old history teacher made us memorize long lists of people, places and dates,” Ryan said. “Why did you choose such a boring subject?”

“But it isn’t!”

He cocked an eyebrow skeptically. “I’ll need evidence before I’ll believe that claim.”

She studied his face, wondering if he’d reverted to teasing her, but his expression seemed serious.

“History is much more than people, places and dates,” she said. “I think the most important lesson we can learn from history is how choices always have consequences, whether those choices are made by nations or individuals.”

“The old ‘those who don’t remember history are doomed to repeat it’ theory?”

“Something like that.” She glanced at him sharply, still concerned that he was making fun of her, but his eyes revealed nothing but interest. “Students need to understand the importance of cause and effect, to realize people have control over their lives, that history isn’t events that happened at random. It’s the result of previous decisions.”

Ryan chuckled, and her heart sank. He was making fun of her.

“What’s so funny?” she demanded.

“Not funny. Amazing. All this time I thought you didn’t care about anything but horses. And here you are, a philosopher.”

She scowled. “You make me sound ancient and stuffy.”

He leaned back and considered her with a look that made her pulse race. His magnificent hazel eyes deepened to a hue more green than brown. “Not stuffy or ancient. Something much, much better.”

Flustered by the innuendo in his words, she sought escape from his intense scrutiny. “Well, this room is definitely stuffy. Can we get some fresh air?”

“Sure.”

He twirled her slowly toward the door where a cool breeze entered and alleviated the stifling heat that smothered the dance floor. When he released her, she felt suddenly bereft, until he placed his hand at the small of her back again. He steered her through the crowd that edged the dance floor and out the wide front doors.

The covered dishes had been cleared and the tables disassembled in the park, and the sun had set, leaving the area in darkness except for the faint twinkle from strings of tiny white lights.

Ryan threaded his fingers through hers and led her to a park bench in the shadow of the trees. She sat on one end, and he settled beside her.