Montana Maverick Page 7

  Hank would deal with all of that after he got his family safely off the mountain. He’d haul Betsy out in pieces if he had to, but he’d do the right thing.

  “Can you arrange to pick us up?” Hank asked.

  Ken’s hoot of laughter made Hank’s blood boil. “Who do you think I am? Santa-freakin’-Claus? It’s Christmas morning and my teams are just as snowbound as you are, buddy boy. You better be nice to Meg Z ’cause you’re going to be staying with her for the next few days. Hell, it could be a week before we can get up there.”

  “A week? What are you talking about? This house is on a road. It’s not maintained in winter, but we could probably walk to the highway in a couple of hours.”

  “With four kids and wave two of the worst blizzard of the century coming?” The man’s condescending tone sound made Hank want to punch something. “If Meg’s got Internet, check it out for yourself. More snow than ice this time, thank God. We’ve got five emergency vehicles out of service at the moment.”

  “We,” Hank murmured in disgust. Yes, SAR was a branch of the Sheriff’s Department, but that didn’t make Ken a deputy or an EMT. Obviously, the guy’s ego had only gotten worse over the years.

  “If that’s the case, I gotta go. I’ll be in touch.”

  He stabbed the end button and grabbed the porch railing. His heart pounded with anger, frustration, and old hurts. Few people irked him as badly as Ken, who fell damn close to a predator in Hank’s book. At the very least, he was an opportunist with no moral compass.

  “Everything okay?” a voice asked.

  He hadn’t heard the door open but there stood Meg, a heavy coat pulled closed over her pajamas. “The kids are playing with their gifts and Mystic is sleeping. Is Ken sending an extraction team?”

  “Possibly next week.” He turned and rested his backside against the railing. Reaching out, he handed her the phone. “He says there’s another storm on the way.”

  Meg nodded. “I saw that on my computer when I was emailing my family to fill them in. The Zabrinskis love high drama.”

  She shoved the phone in her pocket and took a deep breath. “Smells like snow.”

  Her exhale created a puffy white cloud that looped around her head like a halo. “Ken ordered me not to go looking for you last night.”

  “That bastard.”

  Hank drove his fist into the palm of his other hand. The cracking sound made Rook spin about and race up the steps. He planted himself at Hank’s feet, eyeing Meg suspiciously. “How’d he justify that?”

  “Said he didn’t want to have to recover my body, too.”

  Rook’s growl matched Hank’s.

  Hank leaned down and stroked the dog’s wide flat head. The snow and ice felt like shards of glass against his palm. Slowly, his tension eased. “Thank God you didn’t listen to him.”

  She made a sound of pure disgust. “I stopped listening to Ken Morrison a long time ago.”

  He could tell there was more to the story. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a memory raised its hand, but he ignored it. Anybody who traveled the backcountry probably had a run-in with SAR’s resident megalomaniac.

  “How soon is the next wave supposed to hit?”

  She shrugged then stepped closer and put out her hand for Rook to sniff. “A couple of hours. Why?”

  “I left a bunch of stuff in Betsy. Dog food, for one. Tools. My log.”

  She nodded. “You should take a video of it, too. Maybe you’ll be able to see what brought her down.”

  They were close enough to touch each other, and it took every ounce of willpower Hank had not to pull her into his arms and kiss her. “Wow,” he said, curling his icy fingers tight. “People have always called you brilliant. Now, I see why.”

  Her sardonic grin made his heart rate speed up. Had she always been this beautiful? Yes. But business dress and heels were fake beauty. No makeup, messy hair dancing in the cold breeze, a blush of chafed skin from last night’s rescue made her the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  Their gazes met and held for one heartbeat…or ten. Something passed between them. A sigh. A hint of possibility. An open-ended question.

  Meg was the first to look away. “Just being practical,” she said, taking a step back.

  Her voice sounded different, throaty. She reached for the handle of the storm door. “I know Ken Morrison. He’ll try to turn this recovery into a photo op and pin the blame on you. I have a video camera you can use. I’ll make sure the battery is charged while you get ready.”

  Video. The GoPro. “We need to finish opening gifts, first. The one I got JJ might be just the ticket.”

  He followed her inside. “Are you sure you’re okay with all this? I mean, damn. I drop out of the sky into your nice peaceful life, and suddenly you’re stuck babysitting? That seems messed up.”

  She hung her heavy jacket on a hook then spun around to open the cupboard above the washer and dryer. “Yeah, well, normally, I’d volunteer to hike back with you, but hauling all four kids up the mountain sounds like a really bad idea. So, you take this—” She pulled a small black camera-type case from a shelf and turned to face him. “And I’ll bake cookies with Annie and Bravo.”

  Her warm, understanding smile made him want to kiss her.

  She reached out and touched his upper arm. “Henry, nobody planned this. We have to roll with the situation. You should hurry.”

  She turned to go but he stopped her. He couldn’t help himself. His life was upside down and in the toilet with vultures circling, but Meg made him feel as if everything was manageable. He pulled her into a hug.

  “Thank you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

  She stiffened at first, but gradually hugged him back. “You’re welcome.”

  He had no idea how long they stood there. Meg in her pink and gray camo-print pajamas, him in sweats and a pair of men’s slippers he found in the guest room closet. They were virtual strangers, yet they fit together like they’d done this a million times over the years.

  When she lifted her chin to look at him, he kissed her. He couldn’t not.

  Her lips were sweet…and minty. The flavor surprised him at first but captivated him, too. He wanted more of this spicy wonderment. As sweet as it was, he wanted to find the flavor of Meg.

  When he closed his eyes to take the kiss deeper, Meg stiffened a tiny bit. A badly needed reality check.

  He let her go. “Peppermint.”

  She nodded. “Annie shared her candy cane with me.”

  “Annie’s the most generous soul I’ve ever known, next to her mother.” He stepped back. “I should go.”

  “Yes. Quickly. You don’t want to get caught in another storm.”

  “I’ll take JJ.”

  “Good idea. His feet look about my size. He can use my snowshoes.”

  She reached for the doorknob but paused. “What was that kiss for?”

  “You…impress me. Most people would be overwhelmed by this situation. Four kids. A virtual stranger. You take charge and get things done. I respect the hell out of that.”

  “Oh. Okay.” She slowly turned the knob. “But, for the record, you’re not a stranger. I feel like we have twenty years of history between us. Not easy history, but I always felt like we held each other in mutual respect. Didn’t you?”

  “Yes. Definitely. And if I’d known you tasted like candy canes, I wouldn’t have waited twenty years to kiss you.”

  Her laugh released the awkwardness his impulsive kiss had created. “You can thank your granddaughter for that. Now, go. If I have to rescue you a second time, I’m going to make sure you never live it down.”

  Her tone may have been joking, but as he dressed and organized JJ, Hank pictured the last time they’d crossed swords. Somehow, the fight over the re-introduction of wolves to Yellowstone became a sideshow to the Meg Z Versus The Rancher drama. The media saw a human-interest story they could completely blow out of proportion.

  And, while it wasn’t Meg’s fault,
Hank felt as if he’d become the target of a full-on assault against his way of life. Ranchers were the bad guys. Armed and dangerous. He’d backed away from the limelight and tried his best to “no comment” the calls that continued to come his way for several years.

  Gradually, others—like publicity hog, Ken Morrison—provided the sound bites. Hank focused his attention on transforming his family business from a losing proposition to a more progressive enterprise that catered to those earth-conscious consumers who didn’t mind paying more for free-range beef. He only wished he’d had as much luck getting his memories of Meg—the woman, not the activist, out of his head.

  Even though the war for Hank was over—and she’d saved his life and the lives of his grandchildren…and her kiss was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted, he couldn’t forget that his and Meg’s fundamental divide still existed. He was a rancher. And she picked four legs over two.

  Chapter Six

  ‡

  If not for the fact they were walking to the broken helicopter that he’d caused to crash, JJ would have enjoyed snowshoeing through the forest with his grandfather. They’d lost the bright sunlight to high, thin clouds about a mile or so into their trek, but the air temperature was nowhere near as cold as it was the night before because there wasn’t any wind to speak of.

  Watching Rook dash from tree to tree, kicking up loose powder in sprays taller than Hank, made JJ laugh out loud. The sound seemed strange given their circumstances.

  “Do you think we’ll be able to get the helicopter back to the ranch?”

  “Eventually. Even if we have to take it down in pieces.”

  Pieces. The idea made him trip.

  Hank, who apparently had eyes in the back of his head, paused and looked over his shoulder. “It’s just a thing, Jazz. We’ll deal with it and get back to life. That’s what we do.”

  “That’s what you do,” JJ said, before he could stop himself.

  Hank tilted his head waiting for more.

  “Mom called you a fixer. You don’t give up until you fix something.”

  Hank shrugged, which made the empty backpack he carried flap against his heavy jacket. “We both know some things can’t be fixed, son. Your mom, for example.”

  “She didn’t even try.” Because she picked Mystic over us.

  “As hard as this is to admit, son, by the time Laurel got diagnosed…” He swallowed hard. “She never had a chance. Believe me, I would have been pushing her to get treatment if I thought for a second any of it would have made a difference.”

  That was what everyone said. Maybe deep down JJ knew it was true, but a part of him still felt like his mother abandoned them without putting up a fight just so she could give birth to Mystic.

  JJ had planned to hate the baby once it was born, but his mother had pulled him into bed beside her and explained how important Mystic was to them, to the world. “She’s a very special soul, my love. She’s agreed to come to us because she knows how sad you’re going to be when I’m not here. You must open your heart to her, my darling. For me. Promise me.”

  He’d promised, but deep down he’d known it was a lie…until the first time he held his baby sister. She opened her eyes and looked at him and he broke down crying because he could see his mother there, just behind her eyes.

  “Do you think Mystic’s going to be okay?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Meg’s sorta cool, right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Do you think she’d come back to the ranch with us if we asked?”

  Hank’s lead snowshoe sank a few extra inches and he nearly toppled over. Once he was stable, he turned half-around and looked at JJ. “Why would she do that?”

  “Because we need her. If Nona—” Bravo’s grandmother had informed her son and his pregnant girlfriend that she was too young to be a grandmother, so Laurel’s children could call her Nona if they must.

  Hank cut him off. “I’m handling that. We don’t know for sure what David…I mean, D’Vede wants.” He made a follow-me motion and started walking again. “It’s a legal matter. I’ll hire a lawyer if I have to.”

  JJ liked his stepfather, but he’d never cared for Nona, a woman whose smile never quite moved her lips. Nona had come unglued when Mom announced she was pregnant, dying and moving to Montana. “I want my father to raise my children. You and D’Vede can be as involved in their lives as you want, but Henry Firestone is the best man, the best father, I know. I should never have left home, and that’s where I plan to die.”

  JJ had witnessed the whole shouting match that followed. David cried and carried on about losing his muse—the light of his life. JJ didn’t know if he’d meant Mom or Bravo—the toddler David rarely held or played with. Nona never shed a tear. Instead, she made threats. “Two of those children are my flesh and blood. You won’t deprive my son of his progeny. I’ll hire the best lawyer in the business. By the time I’m done with your father, he’ll lose that ranch you all hold so dear.”

  Mom, who had the ability to ignore anything that didn’t fit into her view of life, comforted David and turned her back on Nona. A few weeks later, D’Vede drove them to the airport. JJ didn’t see him again until Mom’s funeral. “Nona couldn’t make it,” David told Hank. “Too upset.”

  Too upset to see the granddaughter she’d hired a decorator to prepare a room for?

  “And just so you don’t get the other kids all worked up about Meg moving home with us,” Hank told him, bringing JJ back to the present. “You should know Meg is a college professor. We’re lucky she took some time off and happened to be hanging out in her cabin when we needed help, but this is a temporary thing. She has a life. A big life. And once the storms pass, we’re all going back to the way things were.” He whistled for Rook then turned and marched on.

  A big life? How big could it be? She didn’t have any kids.

  That sounded pretty small to him.

  *

  He kissed me.

  The thought went through Meg’s mind on an endless loop as she chopped celery and potatoes for the bison stew. The smell of browned meat, onions and garlic filled the air, making her mouth water. But the memory of Henry Firestone’s lips on hers fed some need other than hunger.

  Wow. Just…wow.

  She’d liked every second of their contact, which seemed to last far longer than a few seconds. How was that possible?

  She had no answer. Only a very real desire to try it again.

  Which was a very bad idea.

  Bad.

  “It smells good in here.”

  Meg looked at Bravo who’d been playing a game with Annie when she’d started chopping. “I think so, too. Do you like stew?”

  He nodded. “Is it ready? I’m hungry, now.”

  “The stew needs to simmer for a couple of hours. Do you like cheese and crackers?”

  “No.”

  “Celery.”

  “No.”

  “Mutton?”

  “What?”

  Annie, who joined them after cleaning up their game, giggled. “He likes PBJ.”

  Meg pretended to be shocked. “A potato, banana and jerky sandwich? That’s a strange combination.”

  Bravo’s face scrunched up as if she’d lost her mind. “Peanut butter and jelly.”

  “Oh,” she said, nodding. “I see. You’re a traditionalist.”

  “Umm…no,” Annie said. “We don’t really go to church.”

  Meg pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. “Me, neither. Do you want a PBJ, too?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Such lovely manners.

  “Then hop up on a stool. Do you need a boost, Bravo?”

  “I’ll help him,” Annie volunteered.

  Meg watched, ready to spring to action if something went wrong, but Annie was good to her word. Moments later the little towhead was sitting primly, arms crossed on the richly flecked marble.

  Meg washed her garlicky hands, then made two custom ordered sandwiches�
�one straight cut, one diagonal…“like Mommy always did.” That broke her heart. She wished these darling children could have been spared the pain of losing a parent at such a young age.

  She made a mental note to call her parents before the next storm took out her cell service.

  “I think I have some movies you guys might like.”

  Annie used her paper napkin to dab her lips. “Do you have kids?”

  “Four nieces and nephews and a new baby on the way.”

  “I got knees, but what’s a nephew?”

  Before Annie could correct him, Meg dashed to the mantel and grabbed a framed five-by-seven of her family. Mia’s photographer boyfriend, Ryker, took the shot at Paul’s wedding. “Nieces and nephews,” she said, stressing the pronunciation of each word, “are the children of my brothers and sister.” She pointed to each child. “Chloe. Hunter. Mark. And this is Emilee. She’s about your brother’s age.”

  “She’s pretty,” Annie said.

  “So are you.” The truth.

  Annie’s fair cheeks filled with color and she looked down demurely. Before anything more could be said, something on the stove hissed and popped. Meg spun around to stir the meat and add a little broth from a vacuum-packed carton. The sizzle released a cloud of mouth-watering aroma.

  While the children ate, Meg returned to her chopping. She just added the carrots and potatoes when Bravo asked, “Can I have milk?”

  “Milk,” Meg repeated. Of course. What idiot didn’t know to serve milk with a PBJ? “Coming right up.”

  She grabbed two small glasses and walked to the refrigerator…where a second smack-down of reality ambushed her. She didn’t drink milk. The only thing that was white and might pass for cow’s milk came from a combination of coconuts and almonds.

  She glanced around the door. Would they notice?

  She set the glasses on the counter beside the fridge and poured each half full.

  “Here you go.”

  Bravo guzzled his like a frothy draft at a local pub. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and passed her the glass. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. You have nice manners.”

  Annie obviously had a more discerning palate. She took a sip, tasted and quickly took another bite of sandwich. Meg could read the indecision in her face. To tell the truth and risk hurting Meg’s feelings or drink the stuff and risk throwing up?