“You got some hang-up about a man touching you?”

“I most certainly do not,” Margot retorted before realizing she’d played right into his hands. “I don’t know you. I don’t particularly like you. That’s why I don’t want you touching me.”

His gaze met hers. “Liar.”

“What are you talking about?” Margot sputtered.

“You want me to touch you,” Brad said as if speaking the gospel from the pulpit. “But you’re scared of what might happen once I do.”

“Oh for the love of—” She reined in her emotions. “You are so incredibly arrogant. You think every woman is interested in that hot body of yours.”

A grin spread across his face, like a kid opening a present at Christmastime. “You think my body is hot?”

“Let’s get a few things straight. I’m not interested in touching you. I’m not interested in sleeping with you. I am interested in getting you out of my house.”

“My house,” he corrected. “And you are interested in sleeping with me. You just won’t admit it.”

“Delude yourself all you want.” Margot kept her face expressionless. There was no way, no way, she was letting him know that she found him the teensiest bit attractive.

* * *

Montana Mavericks: What Happened at the Wedding? A weekend Rust Creek Falls will never forget!

Betting on the

Maverick

Cindy Kirk

www.millsandboon.co.uk

From the time she was a little girl, CINDY KIRK thought everyone made up different endings to books, movies and television shows. Instead of counting sheep at night, she made up stories. She’s now had over forty novels published. She enjoys writing emotionally satisfying stories with a little faith and humor tossed in. She encourages readers to connect with her on Facebook and Twitter, @cindykirkauthor, and via her website, www.cindykirk.com.

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Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

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

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

It was nearly 3:00 a.m. when Margot Sullivan stepped out of the brisk October wind and into the darkened foyer of her family home. She sniffed appreciatively. The ranch house where she’d grown up smelled different, cleaner than her last visit six months earlier. Though battling dust was a constant challenge in rural Montana, her mother had always worked hard to have a clean house. After her death, everything had been let go.

It appeared her father was once again taking pride in the home.

Pausing on the rug covering the weathered hardwood, Margot bent to take off her boots. She froze when Vivian, her blue heeler, snarled. The growl grew louder and Vivian crouched into a fighting stance, the fur on the back of her neck standing straight up.

Following the dog’s gaze to the stairway leading to the second floor, Margot gasped.

A bare-chested man wearing only jeans stood on the steps, a baseball bat in his hands. Tall with a thatch of brown hair and a dark stubble of beard on his cheeks, his hair was mussed as if he’d just run his hands through it. The eyes riveted on her were sharp and assessing.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, but his expression was more puzzled than menacing.

“I’ll ask the questions.” Margot rested a trembling hand on Vivian’s head. “Where’s my father?”

Without answering, the man lowered the bat and started down the stairs toward her.

“Not one more step,” she ordered. “Or I’ll give my dog the command to attack.”

He paused, cocked his head, grinned.

That’s when she recognized him. Brad Crawford, of the illustrious Crawford family. What the heck was a Crawford doing skulking around her father’s house half-dressed in the middle of the night?

“Little Margot Sullivan.” He shook his head and flashed a smile that had been winning him hearts since he’d been old enough to walk.

Despite herself, Margot relaxed slightly. Given the choice, she’d take Brad with a bat over a stranger in the same pose. Though she still had no clue what he was doing in her house.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he added.

“This is my house.”

“Well, now.” He rubbed his chin. “That’s debatable.”

“Where’s my father?” Margot’s heart froze as she imagined all the things that could have happened to a man pushing eighty. Without waiting for an answer, she called out. “Dad! It’s Margot. Where are you?”

“Save your breath.” Barely giving a second glance to Vivian who’d continued to growl low in her throat, Brad meandered into the living room and plopped down into an overstuffed chair. “Boyd isn’t here.”

Vivian’s eyes remained trained on Brad.

“Friend,” Margot said reluctantly, then repeated. “Friend.”

Friend might be carrying it a bit far but the Crawfords were well-known in Rust Creek Falls, Montana. Although Brad was a good ten years older than her—and had quite the reputation as a ladies’ man—there was no denying his family was respected in the community.

While he wasn’t exactly her friend, Brad wasn’t a dangerous enemy, either.

With Vivian glued to her side, Margot moved to the sofa and took a seat. Questions over her father’s whereabouts fought with an unexpected spike of lust at the sight of Brad’s muscular chest. She’d already noticed he hadn’t quite secured the button on his jeans. Just like she noticed he smelled terrific: a scent of soap and shampoo and that male scent that was incredibly sexy.

Trying to forget the fact she’d driven ten hours today with the windows down and that her red hair was a messy tumble of curls, Margot leaned forward, concern for her father front and center. She rested her arms on her thighs and fixed her gaze on Brad. “Tell me where my father is.”

“I don’t know.”

A cold chill enveloped her in a too-tight hug. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

“He left town right after the Fourth of July,” Brad said in a conversational tone. “Hasn’t come back.”

It was now October. Three months. Her elderly father had left the family ranch not long after that last argument between them. A horrible conversation that had ended with him hanging up on her after telling her to not come back or call again.

“Everyone knows he has a daughter, yet no one in this town thought to let me know he’d up and taken off for parts unknown?” Fear sluiced through Margot’s veins and panic had her voice rising with each word.

“The sheriff confirmed he left by train with a ticket to New York City.”

“Wow. That makes me feel so much better.” Sarcasm ran through her voice like thick molasses. Then the anger punched. “Did anyone even try to get a hold of me?”

“Initially everyone thought Boyd had gone to see his sister, who—”

“Who lived in New Jersey, not New York City. My aunt Verna has been gone almost two years. She died six months before my mother passed away.”

“That fact wasn’t known until later.” Brad waved a dismissive hand. “You know your dad. He wasn’t the kind of guy to share personal stuff.”

Margot clasped her hands together. “That still doesn’t explain why no one called me.”

“After the sheriff discovered his sister was no longer living, he attempted to contact you. He discovered you’d been injured and were no longer competing. No one knew where to find you.”

After sustaining a serious skull fracture shortly after that last conversation with her father, Margot had left the rodeo circuit to stay with a friend in Cheyenne. But when a week or two of recuperation stretched into several months, Margot decided to return to the only home she’d ever known. “My father has my cell number.”

“One problem,” Brad said. “He wasn’t around to give it to us. And it’s not like you’ve kept in touch with anyone else in town.”

Where would her father have gone? None of this made any sense. Margot wasn’t certain if it truly didn’t compute or if her head just wasn’t processing the information correctly. Boyd Sullivan was a smart man who, despite his age, knew how to handle himself. When he was sober, that is.

“Was he still drinking before he left?”

“He was,” Brad said quietly.

Margot sat back abruptly. The head she’d injured ten weeks earlier began to ache. The strain of travel from Wyoming to Montana had taken its toll, but it was the tension of the past few minutes that now had her head clamped in a vise.

She rubbed the back of her neck with one hand, trying to ease the pressure. With every syllable Brad uttered, the story worsened.

“What are you doing here?” she asked bluntly.

“I live here.”

“You’re watching the place while my father is away?” she asked cautiously, her admiration for him inching up a notch.

Unlike in many large cities where people could live side-by-side for years and not really know each other, in Rust Creek Falls neighbors took care of neighbors.

Not to say there weren’t feuds. The bad blood between the Crawfords and the Traubs over the years was a prime example.

But on the whole, you couldn’t have asked for a better place to grow up, or in her father’s case, to grow old.

Brad shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “That’s not exactly the case.”

Margot frowned. “If you’re not watching it for him, what are you doing here?”

“Well, you see, your father put up the deed to the ranch in a poker game.” A sheepish grin crossed his handsome face. “He lost. I won. The Leap of Faith is now mine.”

* * *

Brad left the pretty redhead fuming in the downstairs parlor as he headed upstairs for his shirt and shoes. He was concerned about her father, too—if he wasn’t he wouldn’t have used some of his own money to hire a PI to search for the old man. But right now he had Boyd’s daughter on the brain.

Sitting across from Margot Sullivan with that white shirt gaping open and those green eyes flashing fire had been a huge turn-on. Especially when he’d told her she could stay the night. It had been like tossing kerosene onto a burning fire.

The hellcat had been so angry she’d sputtered and stammered, her breasts heaving in a most delectable way as she informed him that this was her house and if anyone was leaving, it was him.

Damn. There was nothing that excited Brad more than a woman with spunk.

That fact was firmly evident in the sudden tightness of his jeans. He grinned, more than a little relieved.

Though he’d dated his share of women since his divorce four years earlier, in the past six months there hadn’t been a single female who’d caused his mast to rise.

Not that his seeming lack of libido worried him. Not in the least.

Brad had been more puzzled than anything by the occurrence...or rather the non-occurrence.

Tonight had illustrated he’d been foolish to give the matter a second thought. Obviously it had just been that none of the women he’d taken out recently tripped his trigger.

Odd, as the saucy redhead had only to step through the front door to capture his interest.

Brad jerked on a flannel shirt, buttoned it but deliberately left the tail hanging out. Even being on a different floor in a far-removed room hadn’t, ah, cooled his interest. Still, there was no need to advertise the fact.

Of course, he reminded himself as he pulled on his boots, that interest between a man and a woman needed to be a two-way street. The fact that, in her eyes, he’d—oh, what was the phrase she’d used—“stolen a grieving old man’s ranch” almost certainly ensured she wasn’t likely to get naked with him.

At least not tonight.

He clambered back down the rickety steps and felt one bend beneath his weight. After making a mental note to fix it before it collapsed, Brad traversed the last few steps, then crossed to the parlor.

Margot stood at the darkened fireplace, her gaze riveted to one of the photographs on the mantel: a family picture of her parents and a skinny girl with rusty hair and freckles. But that gawky little girl had grown into a real beauty. Worn Levis hugged her slender legs like a glove and a mass of red-gold hair tumbled down her back like a colorful waterfall.

His body stirred in appreciation of such a fine female figure. Brad tried to recall how old she’d be by now.

Twenty-two? Twenty-three? Definitely old enough.

All he knew for certain was that the spitfire who at age six had once tossed a bucketful of rancid water on him when he’d mentioned her freckles had grown into a lovely young woman.

A flash of teeth from the dog standing beside her brought a smile to his lips. It wasn’t only the white-and-black coat tinged with silver or those large ears that alerted Brad to the breed. The protective stance was pure heeler.

Rather than resenting the animal, Brad found himself grateful Margot had such a companion. A woman traveling alone could be a target for the unscrupulous. But first they’d have to get through—what had she called the animal... Viper?

The name didn’t sound exactly right, but it certainly fit.

Viper emitted a low growl as Brad entered the room.

Margot didn’t growl like her dog, but when she turned her face was composed and icy.

“I’m calling Gage Christensen first thing in the morning,” she said, referring to the sheriff of Rust Creek Falls. “You and I and the sheriff will hash out this matter tomorrow.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re pretty cute when you’re angry?” Ignoring the dog’s warning growl, Brad stepped closer. “You growed up real fine, Margot Sullivan.”

Though Brad was a recipient of a solid education from the University of Montana, most of his days before and since graduation were spent with ranch hands who delighted in slaughtering the English language. When necessary, he could play the good-ole-boy card with the best of ’em.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, rocked back on his heels and let his admiring gaze linger.

Instead of blushing or simply accepting the compliment as her due, she glared at him.

“You think you’re pretty hot stuff.”

Brad waited, inclined his head, not sure of the point she was trying to make.

“While you may have a face that doesn’t send children screaming away in the night—” she paused, whether for effect or to gain control of the emotions that had brought the two bright swaths of color to her cheeks, he couldn’t tell “—you don’t impress me. You showed your true character when you stole this ranch from my fath—”

“Hey, I won it fair and square,” Brad protested. Crawfords might be many things—just ask a Traub if you wanted a laundry list of sins—but they didn’t cheat. Not at cards, or anything else, for that matter. Not even to protect an old coot from himself.

It was obvious Margot wasn’t in the mood to listen to him, so it hardly seemed the time to divulge that he planned to sign the ranch back over to her father when he returned.

Once he played that card, she’d kick him out immediately.

And Brad was much too entranced to go.

* * *

The man had showed her to her own room!

Margot held on to her temper when he insisted on carrying her battered suitcases up the stairs. They’d tussled briefly until Vivian became so distraught Margot feared the stress would push the dog into early labor. Gritting her teeth, she’d acquiesced, but not before letting go so abruptly the move had sent Brad stumbling backward.

He deposited the suitcases next to her bed then just stood there like a bellman expecting a tip.

“Thank you,” she murmured when he made no move to go. She told herself she should be grateful he hadn’t chosen her bedroom to make his own.

Instead, on the way down the hall, he’d motioned to the room across from hers—the guest room—as being his.

She was relieved—and a bit puzzled—he’d left her parents’ room undisturbed. The master bedroom was by far the largest of the four. Still, having him stay in the guest room was appropriate. He was a guest, albeit an uninvited and unwanted one. His story about winning the ranch in a poker game only managed to anger her further.

Once Gage came out tomorrow and they got this whole mess straightened out, the “guest” would be gone.

For now, Margot wanted nothing more than to shower off road grime and collapse into bed.

“If there’s anything you need—” he began.

“If there’s anything I need,” Margot said pointedly. “I think I know where to find it. I did, after all, grow up in this house.”

At the sudden intense emotion filling her voice, Vivian stiffened beside her.

“Are you always cranky when you’re tired?” Brad asked with an innocent air that neither of them bought.

“Bite me,” Margot snapped, her head now throbbing in earnest.

He murmured something under his breath, but she missed it. She sank down at the end of the bed covered by a quilt her mother had made for her sixteenth birthday and placed her head in her hands.

The blows just kept coming.

First the injury when a horse she’d been mounting had spooked and she’d been pushed back, slamming her head against a trailer. Her head had hit just right...or, as the doctor said, just wrong. The skull fracture she’d sustained had been serious enough for the neurologist to warn that another concussion before she was fully healed could leave her with permanent impairment.

All that paled in comparison to worry over her father’s whereabouts. He could be sick. He could be injured. He could be...dead.

Margot buried her face in her hands.

“Are you okay?”

The concern in his voice sounded genuine but thankfully Brad didn’t move any closer.

She knew she was in bad shape when she only exhaled a breath and nodded. “We’ll get this settled in the morning.”

That was his cue to leave. But he remained where he was. When she finally gathered the strength to lift her head, she found him staring at her with the oddest expression on his face.

“If you need anything, anything at all.” His hazel—or were they green?—eyes held a hint of worry. “I’m just across the hall.”

What should she say to that? Thank you for taking over my home? Thank you for stealing the ranch from a drunken old man?

Yet he was obviously trying to be nice so she cut him a break. “Okay.”

Then he was gone, taking his handsome face, impudent smile and the intoxicating scent of soap, shampoo and testosterone with him.

She stretched out on the bed and let her muscles relax. Eyes closed, she offered up a prayer for her father’s safety and well-being.

It was the last rational thought Margot had that evening.

Chapter Two

Margot awoke the next morning to sunlight streaming through lace curtains and birdsong outside her window.

Vivian lay on the woven rag rug next to the bed. The dog lifted her head when Margot sat up, still dressed in the jeans and shirt she’d worn last night.

If that wasn’t bad enough, her eyes were gritty and her mouth tasted like sawdust.

Though having to walk down the hall to the bathroom had never particularly bothered her, for the first time Margot wished for an adjacent bath. The last thing she wanted was to tangle with Brad before she had her morning shower or coffee.

But she’d learned several hard lessons in the past couple of years and one of them was wishing didn’t change reality.

With a resigned sigh, she unlatched her suitcase and scooped up all the items she needed, then slipped down the hall to the aged bathroom with cracked white tile on the floor and a mirror that made her look like a ghost. She pulled her gaze from the disturbing image and listened. The house stood eerily silent.

Brad isn’t here.

It was too much to hope that he’d packed up his stuff and left. Though Margot had no idea where he’d gone, there wasn’t a single doubt in her mind that he’d be back.

She was familiar with the type. Add a swagger and you could be talking about three-quarters of the cowboys on the rodeo circuit. Most of them only had two things on their mind; scoring enough points to make it to the rodeo finals in Las Vegas and getting into as many women’s pants as possible.

Her dad, a successful bareback rider back in the day, had warned her shortly before she’d left Rust Creek Falls to pursue her dream of one day making it to the PRCA National finals. She’d listened respectfully to everything Boyd Sullivan had said but it was a classic case of too little, too late.

Even at nineteen, Margot had been no shy virgin facing the big bad world. She’d lost her virginity—and her innocence—her junior year in high school.

Shortly after that momentous occasion in the backseat of Rex Atwood’s Mustang, she learned Rex had been bragging about “bagging” her to his fellow rodeo team members. Margot vividly remembered the day she’d confronted him and her fist had accidentally connected with his eye.

Both of them had learned a valuable lesson that day. He’d learned what happened when you crossed Margot Sullivan and she’d learned not to believe a guy who says he loves you in the heat of passion.

* * *

The bright autumn day dawned unseasonably warm, which was lucky for the calf that had been born last night. After checking on the rest of the cattle, Brad fixed a troublesome area of fence and reined his horse in the direction of the house.

Before leaving the house at dawn, he’d opened the door to Margot’s room to see if she needed anything. Viper stood guard at the side of the bed. Golden eyes glowed with a malevolent warning. Of course, the bared teeth and the growl weren’t all that welcoming, either.

A fully clothed Margot lay sprawled across the bed, facedown in the pillow. He’d known she was alive from the cute little snoring sounds. Though he’d never gotten the impression she and her dad were particularly close, he had to admit she had seemed concerned when she’d discovered him MIA.

Brad had been uneasy when he’d first learned Boyd didn’t have any family back east. But anyone who knew the old guy knew Boyd could take care of himself, drunk or not. The man reminded him of a badger, solitary and not all that pretty but damned determined.

Thankfully, his daughter took after her mother in the looks department. Though, he had to admit, last night she had shown a few badger tendencies. For a second, he’d thought she might try to rip a piece out of his hide.

Having him in her family home definitely had her all hot and bothered. Or maybe it was him without his shirt.

Brad grinned and relaxed even further in the saddle. There had been a potent sizzle of attraction between them. She’d done her best to ignore it. But he’d seen how her gaze had lingered on his bare chest and then dropped lower for an instant before returning to his face.

She might want him out of her house, but she also wanted him in her bed. A place where he wouldn’t mind spending a little time.

The sex would, of course, likely be a short-term kind of thing. It would be like one of those fireworks on the Fourth of July. Brilliant and hot, they’d light up the sky then everything would fizzle.

That was fine with him. His marriage to Janie had confirmed what he’d always known. He wasn’t a happily-ever-after kind of guy. Though Brad liked and respected women, he could never seem to make them happy. At least not out of bed.

The house was still quiet when he entered after putting his horse in the stable. Normally, he’d have stayed out most of the day, trying to get everything ready for winter. But he and Margot had a few things to square first.

Until they came to an understanding, he didn’t trust her not to toss his stuff into the yard and lock him out of the home. Thankfully, the doors didn’t have deadbolts and he’d been smart enough to drop a key into his pocket before leaving the house—just in case.

People in this part of the country barely locked their doors. If he had a mean-ass dog like Viper, there’d be no need to lock anything ever again.

Pulling the door shut, Brad glanced around. No sign of Margot. Or Viper.

Brad set the coffee to brew, then pulled out a heavy cast-iron skillet and went to work.

Several minutes later, when the eggs were frying in bacon grease and two slices of his mother’s homemade bread had just popped up in the toaster, Brad was distracted from his culinary pursuit by a voice from the doorway.

“What the heck do you think you’re doing?”

Ignoring the outrage in the tone, Brad wrote off the impressive anger to an as-yet-no-coffee morning.

“What does it look like?” He focused on plating the food. “I’m making breakfast.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m hungry. I assume you are, too.” He turned to glance at her.

It was a mistake. Hair still slightly damp from the shower hung in gentle waves past her shoulders. She’d pulled on a green long-sleeved tee that made her eyes look like emeralds and showed off her breasts to mouthwatering perfection. The jeans, well, the way they hugged those long legs should be outlawed.

Though Brad told himself not to go there, he imagined stripping off her shirt and filling his hands—and his mouth—with those amazing—

“What’s the matter with you?”

Brad blinked and the image vanished. He resisted the urge to curse. Barely. “What do you mean?”

His innocent tone had her green eyes flashing.

“You looked like you were plotting something.”

Oh, she was perceptive, this one. He had indeed been plotting. Plotting what to do once he got her into bed. The thought made him grin.

“I was just thinking about feasting on—” he stopped himself in the nick of time “—eggs. And bacon.”

“We need to talk.”

“Eat first. Then talk.” Brad placed the plates of food on the table then expertly filled two mugs with coffee. He cocked his head. “Cream?”

“Black.”

“A woman after my own heart.”

She took the cup he handed her then met his gaze.

“I’m a woman,” she said, “who is determined to get you out of my home.”

Viper, whom he’d up to now tried to ignore, growled as if in agreement.

“Drink your coffee,” he said mildly.

“Coffee won’t change my mind.” Still, she brought the cup to her lips and exhaled a blissful sigh after the first gulp. She looked up. “What is this? The cheap stuff my dad always had on hand did double-duty as a drain cleaner.”

“I order it online. It has chicory in it.”

Those wide lips of hers curved up. Though she wouldn’t admit it, Margot Sullivan looked as though she might be starting to soften toward him.

He thought about pulling out her chair, but decided that would be overkill. Brad pulled out one for himself and sat down.

Sunlight streamed in through the window, filling the small eating area in the country kitchen with warmth. He supposed some people found the wallpaper with dancing teakettles appealing. At first they’d bothered the heck out of him. Now he barely noticed them.

Though he’d moved in two months earlier, Brad had focused on the outdoor needs and had left the inside alone.

When Boyd had first left town, Brad felt sure the old guy would be back any day. Then he’d learned about the ticket to New York. Brad had asked around and discovered the old guy hadn’t requested any of the neighbors to watch the ranch. Of course, that may have been because he now considered it to be Brad’s.

After almost two months, Brad had grown weary of making the trek to the ranch every day and decided to move in.

Though the decor wasn’t to his liking, the only change he made was to the guest bedroom. He refused to sleep under a pink, blue and yellow quilt with ruffles around the shams.

The scrape of a chair against the linoleum had him looking up just in time to see Margot finally take a seat in the chair opposite him, her steaming mug gripped tightly in one hand.

“Your dog might be hungry,” he said. “Her kibble is in the bowl over there.”

Brad gestured with his head toward a weathered enclosed back porch that doubled as a storage area.

“I put some water out for her, too.”

Margot paused, coffee mug poised near those tempting full lips. “Where did you get the food?”

“From your truck.” He shrugged and shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth. “I brought in your other stuff. It’s sitting in the foyer.”

“Thanks.” Still, she looked at him suspiciously, as if trying to figure out the catch.

Well, she could look all she wanted. There was no catch. If the dog didn’t eat, it’d get meaner. And Brad prized his ass. His brother Nate had always accused him of being soft on animals. Nothing could be further from the truth, unless feeling that any living being deserved to have fresh food and water qualified as soft.

While he’d briefly considered leaving her stuff in the truck as a way of saying hit-the-road-Red, he couldn’t do it. Despite what the deed said, the place still didn’t feel as if it belonged to him, and he wasn’t sure it ever would.

They ate in silence for several minutes. Though Brad considered himself a social guy, he’d enjoyed the solitude of this house, this ranch. When he’d worked his parents’ spread there was always someone around, his brothers and the other ranch hands. Until he could hire some help, he was on his own. Or he had been, until Margot had showed up.

Brad wondered what it said about him that he found himself enjoying the suspicious looks Viper shot him while chowing down on her food and the scrutiny in Margot’s emerald eyes from her spot across the table.

Her hand returned to her coffee cup and she took another long gulp, an ecstatic look on her face.

Would she look like that after sex, he wondered? He let his gaze linger on the large breasts evident beneath the clinging fabric of her tee.

When he lifted his gaze, Brad found icy green eyes fixed on him.

She set her mug down with a bam. “If you’re through staring, I suggest we get down to business. Gage is busy so he’s sending a detective or something. I didn’t even know we had those in this town. He should be here any minute—”

“You really called the sheriff?” Brad wasn’t sure why he was surprised. He hadn’t expected her to follow through on her threat made in the dark of night. Then again, though he barely knew this woman, it seemed like something she’d do. Still, he realized he’d hoped they could become better acquainted before she brought in the law.

Now that she was home, Brad supposed he could just turn the Leap of Faith over to her. But he hesitated to voice that option. From what he could tell, she and Boyd had been estranged, at least for the past few years. Once he signed the deed over to her, she could do with it what she wanted. Which might not be what Boyd would want...

“I felt it best to move swiftly.” Margot relaxed back in the metal chair, circa 1950, and peered at him over the top of her mug. “You understand.”

The challenge in those eyes stirred something inside him.

He shot her a sardonic smile. “I’d have taken exactly the same step.”

The look of surprise that flashed across her face pleased him. But before he had a chance to revel in this minor victory, Viper returned from the back porch, those narrowed piercing gold eyes never leaving him as she ambled past him to sit beside Margot’s chair.

The sound of a truck pulling up in the drive had Viper forgetting all about him to focus her attention on a new target. She gave three short high-pitched barks but quieted instantly at Margot’s command.

“I’ll get—” he began, shoving back his chair.

“I’ll get it.” She was already on her feet and moving toward the foyer. “This is my house.”

Brad moved to the counter, pulled out another mug and filled it with coffee, then topped off his and Margot’s cups.

He’d barely finished dumping the breakfast dishes in the sink when Margot and Viper returned with Russ Campbell.

Brad had met Russ when he returned to Montana after three years in Colorado. A police detective from Kalispell, Russ had recently been doing some consulting detective work for Gage Christensen in Rust Creek Falls.

“Mornin’, Russ.” Brad handed the guy a cup and then quickly performed introductions. “What made you stop by?”

“Margot, here.” Russ took the cup gratefully then glanced at the woman. “Called the station and asked Gage when we started allowing squatters.”

“I called because I need to know what’s been done and what you’re doing now to find my father.” Margot spoke slowly and distinctly, her eyes flashing. “That’s my first priority. Getting rid of him—” she pointed to Brad “—is secondary.”

Brad found it interesting she seemed so concerned about locating her dad now. According to what she’d said last night, they hadn’t spoken in months.

Once the deputy asked his questions, Brad had a few of his own.

Chapter Three

“Let’s sit.” Russ gestured to the table and took a gulp of coffee.

Brad topped off his mug. Instead of sitting, he leaned back against the counter.

His actions didn’t surprise Margot. Cowboys were an independent breed who didn’t like to be told what to do.

Russ took a seat at the table. He was a good-looking guy: around six foot two with broad shoulders, wavy brown hair and hazel eyes.

Margot wondered if the detective had grown up in the area but couldn’t place him. Russ was older enough that if he had, she wouldn’t have known him.

She remembered Brad because everyone knew the Crawfords. When Brad went off to college, she was still playing with dolls. By the time he was back, he was running with an older crowd and then he was married.

She forced her thoughts from Brad and back to the question that Russ had just asked him.

“Is it that you like hearing me repeat myself?” Brad frowned into his coffee before lifting his gaze. “We went through all of this right after Boyd left.”

“Miss Sullivan wasn’t here then.” The detective slanted a smile in her direction. “I’d like to catch her up to speed. Perhaps she can shed some light on the situation.”

“Please call me Margot,” she told Russ with a smile.

“Margot, then. You can call me Russ.”

Brad gave a snort of disgust. “Now that we’ve got that settled,” he said with a sarcastic drawl, “can we move this along? I have fences to mend.”

Russ merely smiled and inclined his head, obviously an indication that the ball was still in Brad’s court.

Margot watched him square his shoulders.

“It was the Fourth of July. I went to the wedding—of Braden Traub and Jennifer MacCallum,” he clarified for Margot. “They had a reception in Rust Creek Falls Park. The usual barbecue and this wedding punch that lots of people couldn’t get enough of...including your father.”

“Go on,” Russ prompted.

“Several of us guys, including Boyd, ended up at the Ace in the Hole saloon. We played a little poker. Had some drinks.” Brad looked as Margot. “The bets were getting a little out of hand. Your father was really betting like crazy. For a while he was winning. Then his luck changed. He lost everything he’d won...and then all the money he had on him.”

“My father was,” Margot paused and took a deep breath, “is an alcoholic. He quit drinking around the time he met my mother and had been sober ever since. After she died, he went to the bottle for comfort. It was as if he had nothing more to live for since she was gone.”

“He had you,” Brad said quietly.

“I guess he didn’t see it that way.” Margot tried to force a smile to her lips but it wouldn’t slip into place.

“On that particular day, most of the town was drunk.” Russ jotted down some notes, glanced back up at Margot. “What about gambling? Was that an issue for him, too?”

She thought for a moment. “I can’t say for certain. During my childhood, he never gambled. I remember my parents had friends who were always asking them to go to the casinos in Kalispell with them, but they’d never go.”

Russ asked for their names and added their contact information to his growing notes. “I’ll check with them to see if a gambling addiction was ever mentioned.”

Margot shifted her gaze to Brad. “You said he ran out of money. What happened then?”

“The pot was large. Everyone seemed to think they held the winning hand, so it kept growing.” Brad shifted from one foot to the other. “Then it was just me and Boyd. He grew frantic when it was time for him to ante up. He had no more money and he didn’t want to drop out. He put up the deed to the ranch so he could stay in. Insisted upon it.”

Margot raised a skeptical brow. “Insisted?”

“Yes,” Brad said flatly. “You know how bullheaded your dad can be. I tried to talk him out of it, but let’s just say his, ah, response made it clear I was to mind my own.”

It rang true. Margot had been on the receiving end of her father’s sharp tongue. When he was in one of his black moods, you couldn’t tell him a darn thing.

She took a breath and exhaled. “So he lost the hand—” she added, more to neatly tie up the incident with a bow than because she had any doubt of the outcome “—and the ranch.”

“The punch at the wedding was spiked,” Russ interjected.

Clearly annoyed, Brad pinned the detective with his gaze. “I’ve admitted—numerous times—that while I may have had a few glasses, I wasn’t drunk. What I’ve told you is accurate.”

Margot’s gaze turned speculative.

“I had a full house,” Brad explained. “He had three queens. Normally a winning hand. Just not this time.”

“You didn’t have to take it.” Even she could hear the recrimination in her tone. “The ranch, I mean.”

“You think I wanted to take it? You know your dad. He shoved the deed in my face the next day.” Brad lifted his hands, let them drop. “Then he was gone. No one has seen him since.”

“One-way ticket to New York City,” Russ confirmed.

“He was out of money.” Margot’s head swam. None of this made any sense. “Yet he had enough to buy himself a train ticket all the way across the country?”

Brad shrugged. “Apparently.”

“We’re thinking someone bought him that ticket.” Russ cast a pointed glance at Brad.

“I didn’t buy it,” Brad answered with a cold stare of his own. “I made that very clear.”

“Who would do something like that?” Margot’s voice rose then broke. “Who would put a drunken old man on a train to New York City, a place where he doesn’t have any friends or family? Where someone could hurt him or—”

She closed her eyes briefly and fought for control.

“We initially assumed he’d gone to see his sister—”

“Until you found out she lived in New Jersey, not New York, and has been dead almost two years.”

“That’s right.” Russ looked surprised but his tone remained carefully controlled. “How did you know—?”

“I told her,” Brad said. “And I also mentioned how we’ve been trying to track her down ever since Boyd disappeared.”

“I’m sorry about that. I should have stayed in closer contact.”

“Why didn’t you?” Russ asked bluntly, his shrewd hazel eyes fixed on her.

Margot resisted the urge to squirm under that penetrating gaze. Instead she squared her shoulders. “We argued the last time I called.”

Russ’s gaze narrowed on her face. He lifted his pencil over his notepad. “What about?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Margot saw Brad pull out the chair and take a seat on her right. He wrapped both hands around his mug and leaned back.

“About everything.” Margot gave a humorless laugh. “I told him I won second place in Cortez. He reminded me that ‘second place is the first loser.’ I could tell by how he was slurring his words he’d been drinking. I confronted him.”

“What happened then?” Russ leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, his intense eyes never leaving her face.

“He told me if I was going to be on his ass every time we spoke, not to bother calling again.” She blinked away the tears that flooded her eyes. “He’d had a hard time of it since my mother died. He told me numerous times how hard it was to be here without her. I thought if I gave him some space...”

“There was no way for you to know he’d take off.” When Brad reached across the table and gave her hand a squeeze, Margot didn’t know which of them was more surprised. He quickly pulled back.

“Then I got injured.” Margot relayed the events of that day. “I ended up in the hospital. I called him but he didn’t answer and there was no voice mail. He refused to set it up. I must have tried to reach him at least fifty times. I was angry. I was hurt.”

“Were you worried?” Russ asked.

“I would have been, if we hadn’t had that blowup.” Margot blew out a breath and closed her eyes. Once she had her rioting emotions suppressed, she lifted her chin and fixed her gaze on Russ. “When the doctors told me I was out for the season, I stayed with a friend in Cheyenne for a bit but she had a small apartment and a roommate. I was in the way. I decided to come home. I planned to heal my hard head and hopefully mend fences with my father.”

Vivian nudged her hand with her nose and Margot patted the dog’s head, grateful for the show of support.

“When I got here, my dad was gone.” She gestured with one hand toward Brad. “He was here, acting as if he owned the place.”

“Well, I’m afraid he does own the Leap of Faith.” Russ cast a censuring glance in Brad’s direction.

Emotions rose hot and hard, nearly suffocating Margot with their intensity. “You—you can’t win a ranch in a card game.”

“Boyd signed the deed over to him.” Russ shot her a sympathetic look. “We’ve checked and it was a legitimate business transaction.”

“It was a poker game,” she said so loudly Vivian swiveled her head and growled.

At Russ? At Brad? Did it even matter?

Later, she would deal with the ownership of the ranch. For now, Margot would focus on what was most important...finding her dad.

“Tell me what steps you’ve taken to find him.”

“We’ve notified the New York City Police Department as well as the police departments of every stop between here and there.” Russ spoke in what she thought of as a police voice. “Because of your father’s age and questionable cognitive ability, we were able to put him out there as a ‘Missing Vulnerable Adult.’”

“How is that different than simply being a missing person?” Margot asked.

“More attention,” Russ told her. “More focus.”

“Has anyone spoken with him since he left Rust Creek Falls?” she asked. “Or have there been any sightings in any of the cities on the train route?”

“No.” Russ gentled his tone. “That doesn’t mean we quit looking. I check in weekly with the departments in the towns where the train stopped.”

Margot shoved back her chair with a clatter and began to pace. “He can’t have vanished into thin air. I should go to New York, see—”

“New York City has a population of over eight and a half million.” Russ rose and moved to her, his voice calm. “The best thing you can do is to wait here. Let us know if he contacts you.”

Margot blew out a breath, raked her fingers through her hair. She returned to the table and dropped down in the seat she’d vacated only moments earlier. “You’re right. It’s just that...he’s my dad. He’s old and he’s out there alone.”

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.

“That hard head of yours hurting?” he asked in an insolent tone.

“What’s it to you?”

“Just wondering if I’m going to have to strap you across the back of my horse to get you back to the house.”

“In your dreams,” she shot back, relieved he’d responded with cocky arrogance rather than sympathy.

“Viper looks thirsty.”

Margot glanced at Vivian. Though the temperature was a mild sixty, the heeler visibly panted. With so much going on and despite the fullness around the dog’s midsection, it was easy to forget Vivi was pregnant.

Though Margot hadn’t thought to bring any water with her, there was a creek nearby. She pushed to her feet, discovering that the short break had eased the headache into the manageable range.

“I can—” Brad began.

“She won’t go with you,” Margot said in a matter-of-fact tone. “And she won’t leave me.”

“Then I guess we take a walk together.” He reached out to take her arm but after seeing her pointed look, dropped his hand. “You got some hang-up about a man touching you?”

“I most certainly do not,” Margot retorted before realizing she’d played right into his hands. “I don’t know you. I don’t particularly like you. That’s why I don’t want you touching me.”

His gaze met hers. “Liar.”

“What are you talking about?” Margot sputtered.

“You want me to touch you,” he said as if speaking the gospel from the pulpit. “But you’re scared of what might happen once I do.”

“Oh, for the love of—” She reined in her emotions. “You are so incredibly arrogant. You think every woman is interested in that hot body of yours.”

A grin spread across his face, like a kid opening a present at Christmastime. “You think my body is hot?”

“Let’s get a few things straight. I’m not interested in touching you. I’m not interested in sleeping with you. I am interested in getting you out of my house.”

“My house,” he corrected. “And you are interested in sleeping with me. You just won’t admit it.”

“There’s nothing to admit.” She flung her hands up in the air, drawing Vivian’s watchful gaze as the dog lapped up crystal-clear water from the bubbling creek.

“Come on,” Brad teased. “This attraction between us is so strong it’s a wonder we haven’t both burst into flames.”

“Delude yourself all you want.” Margot kept her face expressionless. There was no way, no way, she was letting him know that she found him the teensiest bit attractive. “I have a compromise I’d like to propose.”

“No touching below the waist?”

“Shut up.” She fought to hide a smile. The guy never gave up. “I’m talking about the house.”

She inhaled deeply, that crisp scent of autumn in the air. It wouldn’t be long before the temperature would drop and the cool breeze would turn frigid. The cattle would need to be fed. She’d have to fire up the tractor and attach the blade so she could plow the lane once the snow came. With four-wheel drive, at least her truck would get around.

How had her dad managed these past few years, she wondered? Even before her mother passed, it wasn’t as if Giselle was the outdoorsy type. He had no sons to help, no family nearby and he’d told his only daughter to take a hike. Had there been a growing sense that the ranch was becoming too much for him to handle? Had he secretly considered the land a burden?

Certainly she’d seen a few signs that she’d chosen to ignore. Because every time she confronted him he got belligerent.

Her dad had always been proud of how he’d maintained the ranch. But, even before her mom died, Margot had noticed that some things were being neglected. Last year he hadn’t even gotten up the snow fence and the drifts had blocked the lane until he’d been able to get the tractor out and plow.

Once her mom had passed, it was as if she’d taken any drive he’d possessed with her. Of course, most of that lethargy could be due to the alcohol.

“We need to get back,” Brad said abruptly.

“We haven’t finished our talk.”

“If you’re not interested in making out, there’s nothing keeping us here.”

“Is everything about sex with you?”

He paused, considered. “Yeah, pretty much.”

Not sure how to respond to such a comment, Margot said nothing, merely returned to her horse and mounted. “Forget a compromise. Once we get back to the house, I want you to pack up your stuff and go back to the Shooting Star. Once my dad returns, we can sort out what he owes.”

“Good try.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He mounted the roan with an ease that spoke of long years in the saddle. “I’m not going anywhere. I don’t know how many times I have to say this, but this is my home now. Legally.”

“Oh, so you’re saying I have to leave?”

That would happen when hell froze over, she thought to herself.

“Absolutely not.” He gave her a little wink. “I want you to stay.”

“You do?”

“How else are we ever going to become, ah, intimately acquainted, if you’re living somewhere else?”

* * *

The invitation to accompany Brad to his parents’ house for dinner that evening surprised her. She was ready to say no when she realized that this might be an opportunity. As she’d had no luck in convincing Brad to move out, perhaps she could get his parents on her side and they could convince him.

Margot dressed carefully for the dinner though she knew she’d probably have been properly attired in jeans and a nice shirt. But this wasn’t neighbors getting together for a barbecue; this was a business meeting of sorts. With this fact in mind, she’d pulled out a pair of black pants and topped them with a green sweater. Instead of cowboy boots, she pulled on a pair of shiny heeled ones. She even took a little extra time with her makeup.

Though she was most happy in jeans, she had just enough of her girlie mother in her to enjoy dressing up occasionally.

Her fingers moved to the horseshoe necklace around her neck. It had been a gift from her mother when she was ten and had participated in her first big rodeo. Though many of the girls were older, she’d been excited to get second place.

Her father had been less than impressed. It was the first, but certainly not the last, time she’d heard his “second place is the first loser” speech.

Margot’s fingers tightened around the horseshoe. Her mother’s faith in her ability had never faltered and Margot was determined not to disappoint her now. She would find her father, bring him home and get the deed to the ranch back, one way or the other.

She gave Vivian a scrub on the top of her head. “You’ll have the whole house to yourself tonight, Vivi. Relax and enjoy.”

Suddenly cognizant of the time, Margot rushed out of the bedroom and slammed into Brad.

“Whoa, there, filly.” His strong hands steadied her.

She inhaled sharply and breathed in the intoxicating scent of his cologne. As her gaze took in his dark pants and gray shirt, she realized she wasn’t the only one who’d done a little dressing up. “We’re going to be late.”

The second the words slipped past her lips she wished she could pull them back. “We’re” made it sound too much like they were a couple, which they weren’t, not at all.

“Plenty of time,” Brad said easily, his appreciative gaze studying her from head to toe. “You look nice.”

He sniffed the air. “Smell good, too. Did you put on that flowery perfume for me? I definitely approve.”

“Why you—” For a second Margot was tempted to rush back in her room and wash off the scent she’d impulsively sprayed on after her shower. But that would only make her look like a gauche sixteen-year-old. And she hadn’t been that for an awfully long time. So instead she laughed and patted his cheek. “Oh, you poor deluded man.”

Margot wondered whether they should drive separately just in case his parents convinced him to turn over the house to her. Though the chance of that happening was a long shot, it could happen.

She felt him study her as she slipped past him and headed down the steps. He caught up with her at the door, reaching around her so quickly she had no choice but to let him open it for her.

“I have no idea what’s on the menu tonight,” he told her, then pinned her with those amazing green eyes. “Unless you’re talking about something other than—”

“Forget it.”

When they reached his truck, she paused, then heaved a resigned sigh and opened the door. Even knowing the man as little as she did, the odds that she could persuade him to stay at his parents’ home tonight were slim to none.

“Let’s get back to the point I was making. The menu.”

“No worries.” She settled into the leather seat, fastened the belt. “I’m not particular.”

“I wasn’t speaking about food.” Brad turned over the engine and cast a sideways glance in her direction. “You didn’t accept my invitation for dinner because you wanted to see my parents or because you wanted to spend time with me.”

“Give the guy a bubblegum cigar.”

“Seriously, something is going on in that devious mind of yours. I want to know what it is.”

Margot simply smiled and reached forward. “Mind if I change the station?”

Before he had a chance to respond she’d already changed it to a classic country station. As Merle started wailing about love gone wrong, she poised herself for Brad’s next volley.

Vivian ran along the truck barking her displeasure at being left behind. When Brad turned onto the gravel road in the direction of town, Vivian stopped running but continued to bark.

In the cab of the truck the subtle spicy scent of Brad’s cologne mingled with her perfume. A watchful waiting filled the air.

Instead of being disturbed by it, Margot felt a thrill of exhilaration. The same feeling she got before she entered the ring on Storm and started the race around the barrels.

“I’m on to you, Red,” he said after about a mile.

Now this was interesting. She lifted a brow. “Really?”

“My parents aren’t going to side with you,” he told her. “Trust me. If that’s why you came, you’ll be heading home tonight disappointed.”

Chapter Five

The Crawford home on the Shooting Star property was beautiful, a two-story white clapboard on a double lot. As it was early October, the grass in the yard surrounding the house with its wraparound porch had already gone dormant. Someone, likely Brad’s mother, Laura, had put up an autumn display that included stalks of corn, colorful gourds and a huge pumpkin.

Though Margot couldn’t recall ever being inside the house, she remembered attending several outdoor barbecues when she was young.

Margot had always been envious of the Crawford family with their six kids. Brad’s youngest sister Natalie was three years older than Margot, so they’d run in different social circles. But she knew Natalie and liked her quite a bit.

“Will Natalie be here?” Margot asked as Brad pulled the truck to a stop behind a car she figured must belong to one of his parents.

“It’s Friday night,” Brad said as if that answered her question.

“Thanks for orienting me to the day of the week.” Margot shoved open the door to the truck, even as he was still rounding the front. “But that wasn’t my question.”

Brad shot her an easy smile. “She’s young, single and it’s Friday night. You connect the dots.”

“Well, I’m young and single and I’m having dinner with your folks. What does that say about me?”

He grinned. “That you’re holding on to the false belief that you can get me out of the house by luring my parents over to your side.”

“Oh, look,” Margot said, grateful for the distraction, for any distraction. “Your mother came out to greet us.”

“Great,” Brad muttered. When he’d asked if he could bring Margot, he’d made sure to clarify to his mother that Margot had just gotten into town. He hoped his parents would convince her that running a ranch was too much for a woman recovering from a head injury.

Sometime during the course of the evening, he would pull his matchmaking mother aside and make it clear he wasn’t interested in Margot Sullivan, other than as a casual bed-partner. Even though, to his way of thinking, that fact never belonged in any mother-son discussion.

“Margot.” Laura Crawford moved forward holding out both of her hands in welcome. “I’m so glad you could join us.”

Seeing Margot warm to her instantly, Brad had to admit his mother had a way. Laura was a pretty middle-aged woman with blond hair cut in a stylish bob, blue eyes and a friendly smile.

But Brad knew from personal experience the woman could be tough if the situation warranted it. You didn’t raise four boys and two daughters without a spine. The eyes in the back of her head helped immensely. Of her six children, only Natalie resembled her, both in coloring and in stature.

Tonight his mom wore khakis and a blue checked shirt. Though in her late fifties, she looked much too young to have grown children. When his dad had snagged her, he’d gotten himself a gem. Nearly forty years later, they were still happy together.

That lifelong love, devotion and trust had been what Brad had hoped to have in his marriage with Janie.

“Where’s Dad?” he asked as he followed his mother and Margot up the steps to the porch.

“Inside changing. He wanted to wear jeans and that old flannel shirt.” Laura smiled at her son. “I said that while that may be good enough for dinner with you, it’s not appropriate when we have guests.”

“Oh, Mrs. Crawford, jeans and a flannel shirt would have been fine.”

“Please call me Laura.” His mother patted Margot’s arm. “Believe me, it doesn’t hurt any of us to go outside our comfort zone every now and then.”

They’d barely stepped inside the front door when Todd Crawford came clomping down the stairs in navy pants and a sweater, grumbling with each step.

The disgruntled look on his face was replaced with a smile when he caught sight of Margot.

“Well, this is a pleasure,” Todd said. “It’s been years since you paid us a visit.”

“Hello, Mr. Crawford.”

Todd gave a laugh. “It’s Todd, honey. When I hear Mr. Crawford I always think of my granddad.”

Too bad, Brad thought, they didn’t have any bees hovering around. The honey couldn’t melt in his parents’ mouth. It bordered on sickening. But he wouldn’t complain.

He thought of how differently his parents—his mother especially—had reacted when his sister Nina had begun associating with Dallas Traub and his kids. Thankfully, now that Nina and Dallas were married, both of his parents had come around.

“What’s for dinner?” Brad asked. “I’m starving.”

“We’re having pot roast,” his mother said easily, but he caught her warning glance. “I thought it’d be nice if we had a glass of wine in the living room before we ate.”

Because he’d been warned and because, small though she might be, his mother was definitely a force to be reckoned with, Brad didn’t say he preferred beer to wine. And his hunger would be put on hold, until his mother deemed it time to eat.

He almost wished Natalie was here to run interference. But then he realized that would be playing with fire. Nat was likely to side with Margot and then his mother would join them, leaving him and his father outnumbered. At least this way, if it came to choosing sides and they went by gender, it would be a draw.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” Laura asked Margot, already lifting a bottle they’d had breathing on a side table.

“Absolutely.” Margot took a seat in a chintz-covered chair, leaving Brad no choice but to sit on the sofa beside his father, who didn’t smell nearly as good as Margot.

“Margot has a blue heeler,” Brad said to no one in particular, once they all had their wine.

“Really?” His dad actually looked interested. “Now, that’s a dog. Not like—”

“Watch it, Todd,” Laura warned.

Margot took a sip of her wine, watching the interaction with undisguised interest.

“We’re babysitting my friend Lucille’s dog. Lucy lives in Missoula and she’s very ill,” Laura explained. “We promised to keep the dog—”

“You promised to keep her,” Todd said pointedly.

The remark earned his father a scowl. Brad wanted to empathize but he kept his expression impassive. He’d quickly learned no one, but no one, dissed the Maltese.

“Brandie Sue,” Laura called out in that sugary sweet voice usually reserved for young children and the elderly...and white balls of fluff.

Seconds later, tiny toenails could be heard clicking across the hardwood. A small dog that couldn’t weigh more than five pounds trotted in. Her pristine white hair was long and flowing and a pink ribbon adorned the top of her head.

“There’s my baby girl,” Laura simpered.

“She’s adorable,” Margot said, sounding surprisingly sincere.

For some reason Brad hadn’t expected a woman who rode horses, had a blue heeler and seemed more comfortable in jeans and boots to be into frou-frou dogs.

Brandie Sue paused and cocked her head, ignoring him as usual, her gaze totally riveted to Margot. If there were justice in the world, the animal would bare those little white teeth at her.

Instead BS, as Brad privately thought of her, swished her plume of a tail from side to side and approached Margot.

“She likes you.” Laura couldn’t have looked any more pleased when the dog sprang into Margot’s lap. “She won’t go near Brad or Nate.”

A hint of a smile formed on Margot’s lips. “I believe animals can sense whether you truly like them.”

Laura nodded. “What does your dog think of Brad?”

Margot stroked Brandie Sue’s fur and gave what Brad thought of as a Mona Lisa smile. “No comment.”

Laura laughed, clearly delighted. “What’s your dog’s name?”

“Viper.”

Margot shot Brad a disapproving look. “Vivian.”

His mother frowned.

“Her name is Vivian,” Margot repeated. “She’s a real sweetie.”

Brad hid his snort behind a cough when both women stared at him.

“She’s about two weeks from having a litter of pups. Father unknown.”

“Once they get older, if you need any help finding homes, I can ask around,” his dad offered. “Herding dogs are always in demand.”

“Thanks.” Margot took another sip of her wine.

“Have you heard anything from your father, dear?” Laura asked, her blue eyes filled with concern.

“Not a word.” Margot lowered the glass, her expression now troubled. “I called Gage. He sent that detective of his—Russ, I guess?—out checking, but he had nothing new to report.”

“Did they ever find out who purchased the train ticket for your dad?” Todd asked.

Margot shot a sidewise glance in Brad’s direction before answering. “No leads.”

“I don’t know who’d do such a thing.” Laura reached over and patted her son’s knee. “I’m proud of Brad for keeping the place going while your father is gone.”

Todd nodded. “A ranch doesn’t run itself. The Leap of Faith has been limping along ever since your ma died.”

“I didn’t realize how bad things had gotten,” Margot said, but something in her downward glance told Brad she’d suspected and felt guilty over staying away.

“Brad has done a lot of work these past couple of months, getting it ready for winter.” Todd winced when Brandie Sue hopped off Margot’s lap, pranced a few feet then hopped into his.

“Looks like she’s taken to you, Dad,” Brad said.

“All the women like me,” his dad drawled, then grinned at Laura. “But there’s only one woman for me.”

Brad and Margot exchanged glances.

“Speaking of the Leap of Faith...” Margot paused as if gathering her thoughts.

“How long will you be staying, dear?” his mother said, pulling her besotted gaze from her husband.

Laura would have been horrified to realize Margot hadn’t yet finished speaking, but Brad could have kissed his mother.

Margot blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Six months,” she said. “Or less.”

“Brad said you’d had some sort of injury,” his father interjected.

“Yes.” She folded her hands in lap and relayed the story she’d told him, including more detail.

“Oh, my dear, a skull fracture is serious.” Laura breathed the words.

“Should you have been on a horse today?” Brad asked, more sharply than he’d intended.

“I’m to avoid any activity where I could fall and hit my head.” Her lips quirked up. “I haven’t fallen off a horse since I was a toddler. I tried to tell the neurologist that the risk in the ring is also minimal for injury but he insisted it would be unwise.”

“You must be relieved to have Brad around,” Laura said. “I can’t imagine doing all that heavy ranch work would be good for you, in your condition.”

“What condition is that?” Natalie asked, breezing into the room.

She was pretty and blonde, an angelic face with a mischievous streak a mile wide. Brad adored her.

“Hey, brat,” he said in lieu of greeting. “I thought I was going to be able to get in and out of this place without seeing you.”

Natalie stuck her tongue out at him then smiled at Margot.

“Ohmigod,” she shrieked the second she recognized their guest, moving in to give the redhead a hug. “It’s been ages.”

Margot blinked, appearing stunned by the effusive welcome. “It’s nice to see you.”

Brad was seized with the sudden urge to protect, to step between his sister and Margot. Recognizing that as a ridiculous impulse, he remained seated.

Natalie, dressed in a jean skirt that showed way too much skin—what was his father thinking, letting her go out that way—and a blue shirt at least one size too small, studied Margot through lowered lashes.

Brad was suddenly seized with a bad feeling, the same type of feeling he got years ago just before she beaned him over the head with one of her Barbie dolls.

“Rumor is you’re shacking up with my brother.” Natalie offered a sympathetic glance. “Sweetie, you could do so much better.”

“Natalie,” Todd ordered. “Apologize this instant.”

His sister’s head jerked back, her eyes widened. “Why?”

“You’ve insulted a guest in our home, and your brother.”

“I did no such thing.” Natalie gave her blond hair a little shake.

“Natalie.” His father’s voice held a warning.

Brandie Sue, who’d been napping, chose that moment to awaken. Almost immediately she began to bark, as if wanting to add her two cents to the fray.

His father started growling at his mother to shut the dog up while his mother cast censuring glances in her daughter’s direction.

“What?” Natalie threw up her hands. “I was teasing. Letting Brad and Margot know what’s being said around town.”

“I appreciate it.” Margot sounded surprisingly sincere. “I can’t believe the gossip has already started. I haven’t even been here twenty-four hours. Up to now, I’ve only seen Brad and Russ.”

Her gaze shifted to Brad. “Do you think Russ said something?”

Brad considered, nodded. “Probably mentioned to someone you’re back. They would have asked about me, or where you were staying. And the story took off from there.”

Natalie inclined her head. “Are you really going to stay out there with my brother?”

“It’s my home,” Margot insisted. “If anyone should leave, it should be him.”

“You could move back in with us,” Laura told her son and hope flared in Margot’s green eyes.

“That isn’t feasible.” Brad forced a reasonable tone. “Not with winter around the corner. I need to be there to see to things.”

“You could drive over every day.” Margot’s voice took on a hint of desperation. “It’s not all that far.”

Brad knew that he had to put a stop to this kind of thinking right away. Before his mother or—God forbid—his dad jumped on that bandwagon.

“You’re a Montana girl,” Brad said with feigned nonchalance. “You know what the winters can be like. Ten miles away might as well be across the continent when drifts close the road. If anyone should live somewhere else, it should be you.”

From the way her eyes flashed and that stubborn chin tilted, it was exactly the wrong thing to say.

“I’m not moving out.”

“Well, neither am I,” Brad shot back.

Natalie grinned, bent over to kiss her mother’s cheek. “I’m almost sorry I have to leave. This is getting interesting.”

Brad scowled.

Natalie laughed and wiggled her fingers. “Ciao.”

The four sat there in silence while the door slammed shut.

“I’m thinking it might be nice to have a second glass of wine,” Laura offered finally.

On this point, it seemed, everyone could agree.

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