Cindy Kirk - Betting On The Maverick

And there was a man living in her house who, despite what the detective said, had no right to be here.

This was her home. She was the one who belonged. If Brad Crawford thought she would move out because of a poker hand, he would soon learn differently.

* * *

Brad watched Russ drive off from the front porch and hoped he’d seen the last of the deputy. The man obviously still had it into his head—just like many others in town—that Brad had something to do with Boyd’s mysterious disappearance. That, for an unknown reason, he wanted the old guy out of town so badly he’d purchased a train ticket.

Even though it made no sense, the rumor persisted. Brad had heard the whispers and seen the sidelong glances. He’d paid them no mind, telling himself it really was no different than the gossip that flourished whenever one of his relationships came to an end.

Rust Creek Falls was a nice little town but people clearly had too much time on their hands to speculate and draw erroneous conclusions.

He glanced around, wondering where Margot had gone. She’d said her goodbyes to the deputy but then disappeared when Russ stepped outside.

The sound of a dog barking came from the stables so Brad headed in that direction. The saddle was already on her gray Arabian when he stepped inside. The dog was there too, baring her teeth in welcome.

“Hey, Viper, the mean-dog act is getting old,” Brad told the animal, ignoring the growls.

Margot turned, her brows slamming together. “What did you call her?”

“Viper. That’s her name.”

“That is not her name.” Margot scowled. “Her name is Vivian.”

“Seriously?”

Her chin lifted. “What’s so strange about that?”

Brad paused, considered, grinned. “My mother has a friend named Vivian. That woman has a certain bite to her so perhaps it’s not so strange. Come to think of it, Mom’s friend also has those streaks of gray in her hair.”

“Har, har. You’re hilarious, Crawford.” Margot reached down and gently rubbed the top of the dog’s head. “Sometimes I call her Vivi.”

He made a gagging sound. “That’s even worse.”

“Deal with it. That’s her name.”

“I’m going to call her Viper,” he said, settling the matter.

“You most certainly are not.” Her voice snapped like sheets hung out to dry on a windy day.

“Try and stop me.” He shot her a wicked smile, enjoying the banter.

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t need to stop you. You’re moving out, so you won’t be around to call her anything.”

“Wrong again, Red.”

She leaned forward, giving him a good view of her lace bra. He tried to think of something else that would irritate her but there was only one thought in his head.

If she’d only lean closer...

Not only would he be interested in seeing more, he wanted to immerse himself in her, in her scent. She smelled like wildflowers. Not the sickening over-the-top fragrance his grandma wore, the kind that made his eyes water, but a light, airy scent that enveloped him, made him want to draw closer.

Her boot barely missed his gut as she swung into the saddle. “I’m going to check the property.”

“I haven’t sold any of it off since your dad hightailed it out of town,” he assured her. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”

“How reassuring.” Her eyes were cool. “Actually I plan to check the fence line. It’s October. The weather could change any time. There were some sections that needed—”

“Already done.” Brad smiled when he saw the shock on her face then turned and quickly saddled his own horse, a three-year-old roan called Buck.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

He grinned, kicked the horse gently in the sides and headed out of the stable. “Enjoying an autumn day with a beautiful woman.”

Chapter Four

Despite the worry over her father, Margot relaxed in the saddle. She’d grown up riding before she could walk. The fact that she couldn’t compete until next season was a blow, but she was thankful the doctor said she could still ride at a slow walk. Exploring these meadows and valleys on horseback under the big Montana sky had been a huge part of her childhood.

Though she’d never given much thought to the matter, she realized now that the land she assumed would always be there for her was in danger of slipping away.

A poker game .

It was a good thing her mother wasn’t here. Giselle Sullivan would have kicked her husband’s ass nine ways to Sunday if he’d pulled a stunt like this when she was alive. Of course, Boyd would never have gambled or drank or ordered his only daughter to stay away if her mother was still alive.

He adored the pretty city girl he’d married when he was fifty-three. Married once in his early twenties, then quickly divorced because of his drinking, Boyd had long given up hope of finding his own happily-ever-after.

Margot recalled how his face glowed whenever he spoke of the day he’d run into Giselle in New York City. Though her father rarely left the ranch in later years, apparently he’d once loved to travel. Running into the pretty career woman had been a fluke, but for both of them it had been love at first sight. He’d quit drinking right then and there, knowing Giselle deserved better.

Sobriety had stuck. They’d stuck. When Margot made an appearance two years later when Giselle was forty-three, both her parents had shed tears of joy.

Margot’s heart tightened remembering the angry words between her and her father the last time they’d spoke. If she could only be granted a do-over, she’d respond differently.

“I’m going to hire a private detective,” Margot announced, though why she felt the need to make Brad aware of her plans she wasn’t certain.

Perhaps it had to do with the fact that he’d respected her need for silence. The interaction with the detective had brought all her fears bubbling to the surface. While she’d kept her composure, by the time he left and she reached the stable, her control was ready to snap.

The ridiculous conversation about Vivian had actually helped. Thankfully Brad didn’t feel the need to fill the silence between them with inane chatter. Instead he’d showed her the parts of the fence, answered her questions regarding the price of hay and otherwise remained silent.

“No need to hire a PI,” Brad said.

“If you’re thinking just because Russ said he’s following up that’s enough—”

“I’m thinking,” he said pointedly, “that it isn’t necessary because I’ve already hired one.”

“You have?” If Margot had been a less experienced rider, she’d have fallen off her horse in shock. “Why?”

“Crawford land has butted up to the Leap of Faith for generations. Boyd went to school with my grandmother. Besides, I kind of like the guy. I want to find out what happened to him, make sure he’s safe.”

Tears stung the backs of Margot’s eyes. But a sliver of distrust remained. It would be so easy to say he’d hired a detective—so no one else would—and then have the illusive detective find nothing. But for what purpose?

She wasn’t sure if it was the sun, the lingering effects of fatigue from the long drive yesterday or remnants from the skull fracture and concussion, but her head started to swim.

“I’m going to take a break,” she announced, pulling her horse under a tall cottonwood near a creek. “You go on.”

After dismounting, she moved to the tree and sat, resting her back against the massive trunk. Vivian, who’d been trotting along beside the horses, took a stance near her feet, her amber gaze firmly focused on Brad.

She wasn’t surprised when he got off his horse and tied the animal to a smaller tree nearby.