Montana Rogue (Big Sky Mavericks Book 7) Page 2

  He shrugged. “Keeps life interesting.”

  Although, honestly, life had been a little too damn “interesting” lately, in Tucker’s opinion. Kat Robinson—his best friend, Flynn Bensen’s new girlfriend—nearly lost her son, Brady, to the little boy’s impulsive actions and a dangerous spring storm. The escapade had put everyone to the test, especially Flynn, who finally had to admit how much he cared for Brady’s mom.

  Thankfully, things appeared to be shaking out. Brady was safe, and Flynn and Kat were making long-term plans.

  By comparison, Tucker felt like a slacker.

  “Speaking of spring,” he said, moving with care to the picture window, where he’d opened the heavy drapes hours earlier to let in the natural light, “What did you decide to do about the landscaping? Paul said he could give me the name of a couple of landscape contractors.”

  She joined him to look out the cottage’s large picture window, which framed a view of a thicket just starting to leaf out. Where the thicket ended, an uneven, weathered, partly falling down privacy fence separated the guesthouse from the main home.

  “That fence would make a nice stack of kindling,” he said. “It’s never too early to start planning for next winter. You know what Ona would say? The sooner you start, the sooner you can—”

  “Stop right there with your Ona.” Her gorgeous upper lip—the half he’d had fantasies about—flattened into a snarl. He’d had a few fantasies about the two of them working out some mutual angst in a mutually pleasurable way. “If you give me one more of your ol’ Cajun grannie’s homespun truisms, I’m going to stomp on your sore foot with the very pointy heel of my boot.”

  She spun on said heel and marched to the apartment-size refrigerator.

  His groin tightened. No, no, no. This horny dog thing has to stop.

  She was so far out of his league, he might as well be playing sandlot ball in the barrio. Not that he’d ever been in a barrio, but the image sounded about right.

  “Is there anything to eat? Molly has physical therapy today and I didn’t want to wait for room service. I need food and, damn it, Ernie’s doesn’t deliver,” she said, unwinding the soft, feminine-looking scarf from her neck. “I asked.”

  Was that a hint of homesickness he heard in her tone?

  She dropped the scarf carelessly on top of her things and turned to face him, hands on her narrow hips.

  Normally, he went for women with a little more substance. Why, then, did Amanda’s tight little ass traipse through his dreams every night? Proximity? Had to be.

  “Huh?” he asked, realizing he’d missed her question.

  “Are we on track?”

  “Which track would that be? The one to the Poor House? Yes, I definitely have that covered.”

  Even though the construction of his new zip line business was finally moving forward under Justin’s capable management, the no-work delay that took place while the powers-that-be played political chess with his permit had put the project several weeks behind schedule. Fingers crossed his lawyer, Austen Zabrinski, would hear something today about the status of the final roadblock. The frustration of waiting, compounded by his injury and not being able to oversee the construction himself, had taken a toll on Tucker’s reputedly affable personality.

  She leaned forward and tapped one perfectly manicured nail on the house plans spread across the table. “I meant with my grandmother’s remodeling.”

  “Oh, right. Everything looks fine. All of Flynn’s red-tagged areas of concern have been addressed. The biggest change is moving the laundry out of the basement and converting the front parlor into a bedroom.”

  “Without changing it so much the next owners can’t return it to its former function,” Amanda put in. “Mother would prefer to move Molly into a group home, but my grandmother won’t hear of it. What do you think? Is it worth moving Molly back in here, given her age? We all know where she’s going to wind up eventually? How long are we talking?”

  Her attitude bothered him. Probably because of Ona. He’d grown up under the benevolent eye of his paternal grandparents. He couldn’t imagine kicking Ona out of her house to live with strangers. If Ona ever needed full-time care, he’d do whatever it took to make sure she remained close to family.

  Amanda leaned forward to read some of the margin notes. Unfortunately, this put her very lovely cleavage right in his line of vision. He tried to stifle his groan but it came out anyway.

  She glanced up. “What is your problem? You’re like a grumpy bear that just woke up from hibernation.”

  A grumpy horny bear that went without all winter.

  “My pain meds are wearing off.”

  Her eyes narrowed. She didn’t believe him.

  “And I’m not used to being stuck in one place for so long.”

  “You’ve got ants in your pants.” She stood, reaching for her purse. “Yes, well, we’re both out of our element and forced to do things outside our comfort zone. Oh, well.”

  “Oh, well?” He frowned. “You don’t strike me as an oh-well sort of woman, Amanda.”

  Before she could reply, her phone jingled. She must have hit the speaker icon when she turned it on because a man’s voice came across loud and clear.

  “Amanda? It’s James. Your mother is driving me crazy. She just called to tell me you were losing your mind. Something about gold-plated plumbing. She begged me to fly to Montana to check on you.”

  Something changed in Amanda’s face. A look he’d never seen before appeared. Vulnerability. Panic. Hurt. Hell’s bells, there’s a real person under that society girl façade after all.

  Even though he’d normally be the bigger man and walk away instead of eavesdropping, his foot throbbed, so he returned to his chair and propped it on the pillow. Naturally, this meant he couldn’t help but listen.

  “Why would she call you, James? Did she forget we broke up? Or is this her very obvious ploy to get us back together?”

  Ex-boyfriend?

  “June knows the wedding is off. But apparently she believes I’m your only friend.”

  Ex-fiancé. Interesting. Rebounds could be highly erotic. He spoke from experience—as both the dumper and the dumpee.

  Did the color of her beautiful, slightly hollowed out cheeks deepen with a blush when she looked at him? Yes. And damn if the color didn’t make her more human and even prettier.

  “I’ll go—”

  “No. Stay where you are.” She spoke in a low, angry voice he’d never heard before. As she stalked off, Tucker watched—mouth salivating like a damn dog, no doubt—as her stupid sexy, four-inch boots made her butt wiggle and shimmy in a way that probably gave the damn things their nickname...f-me pumps.

  He’d do the deed in a heartbeat. Too bad any sort of hooking up between them was out of the question. He couldn’t afford the inevitable sticky awkwardness when his marvelous summer adventure ended and he left Montana to go back on tour. Dance, business, and his friends. That’s all he had time for right now. And his priorities weren’t going to change any time soon—great ass or no great ass.

  Chapter Two

  Amanda Jeannine Heller had twenty-nine years of coping skills under her Michael Kors belt. Even with an ocean between them, her mother’s micromanagement tendencies would have made anyone other than her youngest child weep with frustration.

  Of course, Mother would call Amanda’s very recent ex to intervene when Mother believed Amanda wasn’t being responsive enough. Denial never went out of style in June O’Neal Heller’s mind.

  “Of course, you’ll marry James Bainbridge, Amanda. He’s in line to take over the company. You’re in training to be second-in-command. You’ll be the Wall Street power couple.”

  Amanda found it both amusing and depressing that it never occurred to her mother to put Amanda in the number one position with James as her underling. June’s brain didn’t work that way. She was hardwired for marriage, the true meaning of success for a woman of substance.

  Amanda walked to the
picture window in the living room—hopefully far enough from the inquisitive ears of Tucker Montgomery. Not that it was his fault they were stuck sharing a two-bedroom, two-bath guest home with an open floor plan.

  She took the phone off speaker and put it to her ear. “James, can we stop being our parents’ pawns for one minute?”

  “Am, she’s worried about you. I’m worried about you.”

  Am. The nickname she detested. “I’m twenty-nine, James. This is Montana, not the Middle East.”

  She glanced toward the kitchen to see if the snorting sound she heard came from Tucker, but he’d hobbled to the refrigerator and appeared to have his head buried inside the mostly empty appliance.

  “Give June a break, Am. She’s your mother.”

  As much as Amanda might have wished otherwise. Did all kids secretly dream of being adopted? Amanda’s youthful fantasy cast her wealthy parents in the role of alternately greedy or benevolent adoptive parents who either helped Amanda’s woefully poor young mother out of an impossible spot or they ripped baby Amanda from the unsuspecting victim’s arms. Crazy as it sounded, that coping mechanism kept her from feeling completely bowled over by her family.

  Unfortunately, June Heller’s bout of aplastic anemia when Amanda was seventeen proved beyond a doubt the two were related, since Amanda’s healthy young blood cells transfused into her mother’s veins saved the day—and her mother’s life.

  Her juvenile daydream shattered, Amanda decided she was her family’s outlier. She’d play her mother’s games and overlook her father’s bullying until she couldn’t. Happy endings didn’t exist any more than imaginary birth mothers.

  “I have to go. My project manager is waiting for me.”

  “A man?”

  All man, she thought picturing the face that kept popping into her thoughts—even thoughts that had no connection to Marietta, Montana, or Grandmother O’Neal, Amanda’s sole reason for being here.

  “Yes, James. A man.”

  An understatement.

  Tucker Montgomery was many things: loud, showy, quick to laugh—or pout, but first and foremost, he was a man. The kind of man who needed to be the center of attention, but not in the same way her father did.

  Amanda had learned at a very young age there was only one center of the universe—her father. If Andrew Heller wasn’t happy, the world as his family knew it stopped. And, Amanda had never been attracted to alpha male egocentrics for that reason. Her ex-fiancé, James, was as beta as they come: rule follower, peacemaker, and worrywart.

  Juggler of secrets.

  “Wait. Hold on, Amanda. I have another call. It might be your mom again.”

  Amanda leaned her forehead against the cool glass and closed her eyes. Give it a rest, June. I never loved James the way he deserves and I’m not going to start now simply because you wish it to be so.

  Her mother might find some satisfaction in being CEO of the business called Keeping Andrew Heller Happy, but Amanda intended to be her own woman. No man was going to come first in her world.

  She’d lost track of her goals momentarily when she fell into the Your-Life-Is-Crap-Without-A-Man-To-Love-You trap. Ever since graduating from college with honors and accepting a job at one of the top advertising agencies in New York, Amanda had been getting the often-unstated-but-implied message that her life wouldn’t be complete if she didn’t fall in love, marry and have children. In the very near future.

  Almost daily, her mother would bring up the fact that both of Amanda’s older sisters had “so much to show for their lives, already.” Both Julia and Maura were married to fine, upstanding providers who brought new connections and business contacts to Heller, Inc.

  In all honesty, Amanda wasn’t completely sure what her father’s company did, but the names on the Board of Directors read like a Who’s Who of politics and industry. “Your father is a very important man,” Amanda heard practically every day of her life. “You’re not to trouble him with your petty, little problems, Amanda Jeannine. Do you hear me?”

  She heard. Too bad nobody was listening when she started to get cold feet about marrying James Bainbridge, IV. A boy she’d dated off and on throughout college. They were friends who liked each other well enough that when they reached that invisible line in the sand where neither was married or so freaking successful they could afford to move outside the range of their parents’ expectations, they agreed to give in to the pressure exerted by their respective families. Brides magazines started showing up on the coffee table of the Soho loft she and James shared.

  He’d proposed in such a lovely, romantic way, she’d answered yes without giving her spontaneous, knee-jerk reply enough thought. Six months later, she gave him back his diamond ring and quickly found herself walking the plank into a great big ocean of disappointment, with no net below, no friends and no apartment.

  And no job.

  “Amanda? Are you there? Sorry about that. I have a meeting in ten. New clients from Maine. Another M state. Lord help me.”

  Maine? Montana? James, my friend, there’s a big difference.

  “Okay, Am. You were telling me about this guy. Your contractor? Is he married? Has he hit on you?”

  “Are you kidding me?” She tried to keep her voice down, knowing Tucker was still within earshot, but her nerves were shot and her patience had evaporated by the time her plane hit the Black Hills of South Dakota. “Men are the reason I’m starting over at twenty-nine, James. And not in the one place where I actually could find a job in my career, either. No. I’ve been banished to god-awful Montana while you, as the anointed prince, carry on with life as we know it in the city.”

  “I know it looks that way, honey, but this hasn’t been easy for me, either. And you know you can count on me if things get too bad out there. Just call.”

  Amanda bit her lip to keep from shouting, Don’t call me honey, you spineless worm. You caved to your father’s pressure and deserted me when I needed someone in my corner. You are the last person on the planet I’d call for help.

  She stared at the mostly bleak-looking, monotone backyard. A faint hint of green sprouting on the thicket of hedges that separated the guesthouse from the main house caught her eye. That hadn’t been there yesterday. Was spring really here, at last?

  “Do me a favor, James, and tell my mother when she calls you next that I will jump in bed with the first man who asks me if she tries sending you out here to micromanage my grandmother’s recovery.”

  She sucked in a breath. She’d never made an idle threat in her life, but saying those words felt both liberating and bold. And a bit silly. She didn’t jump in bed with strangers.

  Before James could point out that fact, she added, “I have to go, James. The man you asked about—the one who’s built like a brick shithouse—.” She paused to grin and savor the fact she’d cursed out loud. “Is trading his services for mine. It’s called bartering. Apparently, it happens quite frequently out here.”

  Bartering. Brick shithouse. Look, Mother, I’m learning the lingo. Before long, I’ll fit in. She wished.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Am, calm down. No need to go all local yokel. June asked me to call because you’re not returning her calls. Do you think I enjoy being your go-between?”

  Yes. Because you’re nearly as big a drama hog as Mother.

  The truth of the statement left her momentarily mute.

  “Well, I don’t,” he answered, testily. “Call her. There. Message delivered. Time to get back to work.” He didn’t add, “Unlike some people,” because he knew perfectly well she’d add the jab for him.

  Prig.

  She pushed End Call without saying good-bye and closed her eyes. When had rich, handsome and well-connected turned into such a giant turn-off?

  If she were being honest? Since the minute she said, “Yes. I’ll marry you, James Bainbridge, the Fourth.”

  From that point on, she’d become a bit player in a production titled: Heller Daughter Wedding of the Century. With the highly an
ticipated spin-off: Heller Daughter Marriage Everyone Will Envy coming to a theater in Manhattan soon.

  For several endless months, June Heller had dedicated herself to The Wedding. Until that fateful Sunday in January when Amanda backed out. “I can’t do this,” she’d told her parents. “I’m not marrying James.”

  Neither her mother nor father asked why. Each railed at her for different reasons. June’s complaint dealt with the talk this would generate in her circle of friends. Andrew flayed her verbally for throwing him under a bus. “People were counting on this merger, Amanda.”

  Three days later, she showed up at work to find two uniformed guards waiting with boxes for her to remove any personal items only from her desk before they escorted her to Human Resources where she received her walking papers. The reason for her dismissal? “We’re down-sizing your department. Your performance and lack of loyalty to the company made you the obvious choice to cut.”

  “The fact I broke up with the owner’s son didn’t have anything to do with this?”

  “Of course not. That would be unethical and unprofessional.”

  Did Amanda have cause for a legal complaint? Possibly. Not that her father would hear of such a thing. “Jim Bainbridge is my friend. You don’t sue friends.”

  “Nor do you marry a friend’s son you don’t love,” she’d cried, trying to make the man she’d worshipped her whole life understand.

  “Love has no place in business, Amanda. You’re almost thirty. You should have figured that out by now. Open your eyes to the way things work, little girl, or you’re going to get run over by the bus of life.”

  The bus of life? Had he really said that?

  For four long months, Amanda had searched for work from her old bedroom in her childhood home. The golden girl of advertising had become untouchable. She’d started considering a career change when word reached them that her maternal grandmother, Molly O’Neal, had been hospitalized. A few days later, they were told a lawsuit had been filed alleging elder abuse. An inspection of Molly’s Victorian home showed serious health and safety issues.