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Big Sky Seduction
Daire St. Denis


The best mistakes are worth repeating…There's no room for chaos in interior designer Gloria Hurst's life. Everything in order, everything under control. No exceptions. Well, aside from one wicked, messy, incredibly passionate night with rodeo rider Dillon Cross. He's macho, overconfident and sex appeal incarnate. He's everything Gloria despises…so why is he the secret star of her wildest dreams?Now her control is about to be seriously tested. Dillon has hired her to help him sell a ranch he's inherited. Gloria can't escape him, or the way he ignites a delicious hunger in her for more than just his body. Dillon Cross is a mistake Gloria wants to make over and over again…until she loses control and all hell breaks loose.







The best mistakes are worth repeating...

There’s no room for chaos in interior designer Gloria Hurst’s life. Everything in order, everything under control. No exceptions. Well, aside from one wicked, messy, incredibly passionate night with rodeo rider Dillon Cross. He’s macho, overconfident and sex appeal incarnate. He’s everything Gloria despises...so why is he the secret star of her wildest dreams?

Now her control is about to be seriously tested. Dillon has hired her to help him sell a ranch he’s inherited. Gloria can’t escape him, or the way he ignites a delicious hunger in her for more than just his body. Dillon Cross is a mistake Gloria wants to make over and over again...until she loses control and all hell breaks loose.


“It’s not like there’s anything between us...”

With a hand on the wall above her head, Dillon leaned right down. Gloria’s lids fluttered and she tilted her face up, like she wanted him to kiss her. “This sure as hell feels like something,” he whispered.

“It’s not,” she panted back.

“Felt like more than something last night.” He wanted to touch her face because there was that blush, spreading like a wildfire up from her chest into her cheeks, and he needed to know how it felt.

“It wasn’t.” She licked her lips in between ragged breaths.

He leaned down and for a second—maybe not even—their lips touched. Then she ducked beneath his arm and scurried to the other side of the small room.

“This will not happen again...”


Dear Reader (#ulink_949144ba-0f67-570e-a05c-a7e63a412ac2),

I had so much fun writing Big Sky Seduction because it’s set in one of my favorite parts of the country, Montana, where the sky is endless and the mountains stand guardian over the forests and hills. Not to mention there is something so sexy about the Montana cowboy. Dillon Cross is my ultimate hero: proud, stoic, the kind of man born of the elements, as solid as the Rocky Mountains, with spring water running through his veins. He’s the kind of man who knows how to treat a woman and it doesn’t hurt that he’s got plenty of rope and knows how to use it. Yeehaw!

On a more personal note, the setting of this story harkens back to my youth. I grew up in a place very similar to Half Moon Creek, and our small town hosted the annual county fair and rodeo, similar to the one that takes place in the book. Would you believe that I made my rodeo debut when I was twelve? Maybe I didn’t catch the greased, squealing pig as we chased it around the ring, but it was an experience I’ll never forget (or repeat).

If you’re from the city, like Gloria, I hope you fall in love with Half Moon Creek and its cast of quirky characters, but most of all with Dillon, because—seriously—what’s not to love? (Sigh) Oh, and if you enjoy this book, watch for upcoming releases from Daire St. Denis at dairestdenis.com (http://dairestdenis.com) and like me on Facebook at facebook.com/dairestdenis (http://www.facebook.com/dairestdenis).

Happy reading!

Daire St. Denis




Big Sky Seduction

Daire St. Denis





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author DAIRE ST. DENIS is an adventure seeker, an ancient history addict, a seasonal hermit and a wine lover. She calls the Canadian Rockies home and has the best job ever: writing smoking-hot contemporary romance where the pages are steeped in sensuality and there’s always a dash of the unexpected. Find out more about Daire and subscribe to her newsletter at dairestdenis.com (http://dairestdenis.com).


Contents

Cover (#u0e5d2f6c-d40e-5c51-820a-bdae5c79eb21)

Back Cover Text (#ub9bebb46-8c53-5b49-9ef3-8684cdc948d8)

Introduction (#u076b6340-aa59-5148-83e2-951389c05f92)

Dear Reader (#u86b24412-3970-5126-a6dc-1481969625a5)

Title Page (#u212858a4-a4c4-5c55-9eea-718e173610ea)

About the Author (#u60a97250-36d2-5278-8487-cfd3525bbba1)

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Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


1 (#u012b6bbd-a460-5f27-a28c-e5b35d483fe5)

OH, DEAR GOD...

Gloria’s vision narrowed, like the shutter of a camera in ultra slow motion, closing in smaller and smaller. Her chest ached as if an elephant was sitting on her and a knot the size of a fist formed in her stomach.

No.

Not here.

Not now.

Carefully, she lifted the big, rough hand from her hip and rolled, or tried to, but her legs were stuck—entwined—between two large, tree-trunk-sized limbs.

“Mmm.” A hand slid around her waist and snuggled her even closer to that massive chest at her back. So close, she could feel the sound of contentment rumbling against her shoulder blade, the kind of sound a big, well-fed cat of the king-of-the-jungle variety might make.

With each wriggle she made in an attempt to break free, his ridiculously powerful arms held on tighter.

“Ah, Dillon?” The words were more a gasp than a name.

“Hmm?”

She wriggled some more. No give, whatsoever. “Dillon?”

“Mmm.” He nuzzled his whiskered jaw into the back of her neck, placing a sleepy kiss there. Those big, callused hands of his roamed freely across her stomach, one up...the other down.

Gloria pushed herself away and sat up on the edge of the bed, breathing hard, as though she’d just climbed a flight of stairs, not made the simple transition from lying to sitting. Was it the dim light in the room that made her vision spotty? She rubbed her eyes.

No. It was something else.

Panting, she said, “I’ve got to go.”

“To the loo?” He drew a line across her lower back. “Okay, darlin’. Hurry back.”

Oh, God.

She stumbled—naked—to the bathroom, found the robe the hotel provided hanging on the back of the door and slipped it on. Her clutch—the one that matched the Valentine red of the bridesmaid dress that lay crumpled somewhere on the hotel room floor—sat open on the vanity counter. She checked the contents: room key, phone, lipstick and a twenty dollar bill.

Good enough. She leaned against the vanity, gulping air, willing herself under control. When she opened her eyes, her gaze landed on the cellophane-wrapped, one-size-fits-all slippers. She unwrapped them and stuck her feet inside—they were miles too big but they’d have to do. When Gloria went to stand up, her head spun and her vision closed in around her, forcing her to sit on the closed toilet seat, the bathroom suddenly a fishbowl, all watery and blurry. Closing her eyes, she focused on breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In. Out. Nice and slow. Unfortunately, images from earlier in the evening decided to replay behind her closed lids to mock and taunt her.

Dillon’s big, rough hands on her body. Dillon’s big, talented tongue in her mouth. Dillon’s big, sinfully male appendage inside of her, so...wonderful.

Wonderful? Really?

If it was so wonderful, why was she sitting here on the toilet seat on the verge of a panic attack? She hadn’t had one of these suckers in years. So, why now?

It had to be the cowboy.

Gloria pressed her palms to the sides of her head to try to stop her ears from ringing.

No.

This was not going to happen.

Fumbling for her phone in her clutch, she turned it on and did her best to type a one word message—EMERGENCY!—to her best friend, Daisy. Though whether her fingers actually hit the correct letters, she couldn’t tell because her phone was no more than a fuzzy shape in her hand. After a few more deep breaths, she pushed herself to her feet and careened her way to the hotel room door. She paused, listening, but all she heard was the roaring of blood between her ears.

The second she was outside in the hallway, she could breathe again, as if there was more oxygen out there. She still felt wobbly and, with a hand to the wall to keep herself steady, she lurched down the hall because it seemed that the farther away from the room she got, the clearer her vision became. Clear enough to check her phone for a reply from her best friend. Not that she really expected one.

It was Daisy’s wedding night.

Shit.

She stopped in front of the elevators and pressed the button, not because she had anywhere to go, but because that was what a normal person did when standing in front of an elevator. Except normal people didn’t stand in front of elevators naked under their hotel robe.

Good God, Glo. What were you thinking?

“I don’t think I was,” she whispered aloud.

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. A bellboy was inside.

“Having a good night?” the young man asked, with a smirk.

After a deep breath and with her head held high, Gloria entered the elevator. “Yes. Thank you.” She turned to face the front where, unfortunately, there was a mirror on the inside of the door, forcing Gloria to face exactly the state she was in—her makeup streaked, her pretty updo no longer up unless sticking out in all directions was considered up.

She groaned. It was worse than she thought.

“Which floor?”

“Honeymoon suite.” The words came out before she had time to consider them. The young man pressed the button and Gloria was subject to the longest elevator ride of her life. She avoided his eyes by checking her phone every few seconds, hoping for but not expecting a reply from Daisy.

How on earth had she found herself in this position?

It could have something to do with the fact that it was Valentine’s Day and her very best friend in the world just married an amazing man and it was the nicest wedding, ever, and while Gloria was over the moon for Daisy, she was also a little bit...

Hmm. Jealous?

No.

Did she feel sorry for herself? Was that why she’d slept with the cowboy?

God. That was sad.

It all started when the cowboy in question, a cousin of the groom, got up to do his speech, but he didn’t speak. Oh, no. He had a guitar stashed in the back, retrieved it and sang “Remember When” by Alan Jackson—only one of her favorite country songs of all time. She’d nearly dropped her wineglass. Instead she downed its contents followed quickly by another glass. His voice, deep and smooth, sang, “Remember when we vowed the vows...” It was her fantasy come to life. Except the man in her fantasy sang to her, not to the bride and groom—of all the cracked things one could imagine. Then the dance started and he asked her to dance.

She should have said no.

How was she supposed to know the man could dance?

But he could.

He led her around the dance floor, spinning her, pulling her in close, holding her tight, so sure of himself, sure of his movements, and Gloria knew, she just knew he’d be good in bed.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Because when he wasn’t singing and he wasn’t dancing, the cowboy drove her bat-shit crazy. From the moment they’d met ten months ago, when he’d purposefully done everything in his power to irk her, she didn’t like him. Not one little bit. He was messy and loud and obnoxious and too sure of himself and too big and...ugh!

Every word that came out of his mouth made her want to scream. Everything he did made her want to smack him. Hard.

But, earlier tonight, while in the throes of passion, she’d let him smack her on the backside.

That was not Gloria. She did not do that shit.

Ever.

When the elevator finally reached the top floor of the Drake Hotel, Gloria exited with about as much dignity as a cockroach scuttling out of a room when the light came on, finding the nearest crack to crawl inside. Because of the big slippers she wore, her scuttling was more of a shuffle-slide.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening,” the bellboy called.

Ignoring him, Gloria checked the screen of her phone. It was 3:17 and still no message from Daisy.

Crap.

She leaned against the wall, trying to figure out what to do. She wasn’t about to interrupt her friend on her wedding night, that was for sure. But what were her options? Go back to her room? Tell the cowboy to get out?

Just like that, her vision went all spotty again and Gloria doubled over to keep from passing out. Seriously! What was it about the man that pushed her to the brink of a panic attack just by thinking about him? If that wasn’t a sign that tonight had been a big, fucking mistake, what was?

She concentrated on her breathing again, following the advice her psychologist had given her a decade ago to keep the sense of panic at bay. But the ringing between her ears only got louder.

Wait. That wasn’t between her ears, that was her phone.

“Gloria?” Daisy’s voice was soft and slurred with sleep. “What’s wrong? Where are you?”

“I’m standing outside your door.”

“You’re where?”

“Just outside.”

“What are you doing there?”

“I don’t know.”

The phone went dead. Turning toward the wall, Gloria banged her head softly against it. This was ridiculous. Here she was standing outside her best friend’s honeymoon suite, on her wedding night.

The door opened and Daisy stuck her head out. At least her best friend looked just as disheveled as Gloria. That made her feel better. And, the fact that her friend was letting her in at all. She had to count that as a blessing.

“What happened to you?” Daisy asked, covering a yawn that looked suspiciously like a smile, as she opened the door wider.

So her best friend should be a little less amused and a little more empathetic, but whatever, she was there. Daisy closed the door, slid her arm through Gloria’s and pulled her close. Gloria held on tight, appreciating the simple comfort of having a best friend when she needed one.

“How’s the cowboy?”

Some best friend. “How’d you know?”

Daisy’s eyes twinkled. “The way you two were dirty dancing out there tonight? Uh, yeah, doesn’t take a genius.”

Gloria dropped to the big white couch in the sitting area of the suite. Weird how she’d been there only twelve hours earlier, in this exact place, laughing and toasting, never imagining she’d be back. The cowboy never even entering her mind. Well, that wasn’t quite true. He’d been annoying the hell out of her all day. Contradicting her, teasing her by calling her darlin’ and Red and other offensive pet names. He was the kind of macho man she despised and avoided.

Until tonight.

Daisy sat next to her and Gloria realized they were dressed exactly the same, both sporting the too-big hotel robes, but Daisy’s feet were bare, and her toes painted a pretty pink that matched the icing on the cupcakes that had served as Daisy’s wedding cake. Focusing on Daisy’s toes seemed like the only way to not focus on what just happened.

“Tell me...” Daisy said, patting Gloria’s knee. “Is the big cowboy...big all over?”

“Daisy!”

This time Daisy didn’t even bother covering up her laugh. “Honestly, Glo. What’s the problem?”

“I did not mean to sleep with him.”

“Hmm.” Daisy tilted her head to one side. “Kind of looked like you did.”

“I don’t like him.”

“You don’t?”

“No. I’ve disliked him from the moment I met him. Remember what a jerk he was at your fund-raiser last year?”

“Of course I remember the fund-raiser. I don’t remember him being a jerk. I thought he was sort of—”

“No.” Gloria held up a finger to stop Daisy. “He’s an ass. He may be Jamie’s cousin, but he’s an ass.”

Daisy’s brows drew together. “So, why’d you sleep with him?”

“I don’t know.” Gloria dropped her head to her hands. All she knew was that every time she thought of him she felt as if she was in a tiny, constricted space where there wasn’t enough air and she couldn’t move and she couldn’t breathe and she needed to get out of there as fast as she could.

They sat there for a few minutes, Daisy rubbing slow, comforting circles on Gloria’s back. “So,” she said eventually. “The sex was bad, huh?”

Gloria didn’t answer at first. “Well...”

Daisy’s hand stopped moving. “Does that mean the sex was good?”

“No. It was not good.” Gloria lifted her head to meet her friend’s gaze.

Liar!

Gloria’s body—the lower bits—quivered indecently at the thought of the sex. Dillon was certainly adept between the sheets. God, the man had owned her body yet took the time to give her pleasure, as well—more than once. It was too much. The way he made her feel so beautiful and desirable and good. The way he’d murmured wicked things in her ear...

“Glo?”

“Hmm?”

“How come you’re smiling?”

She wasn’t smiling. Absolutely not.

“You’re panting, too.”

The bedroom door opened and Daisy’s husband, Jamie, emerged, hair tousled, eyes squinty with sleep. “Wife, of less than twenty-four hours...what are you doing out here?” He rubbed his eyes. “Oh. Hi, Gloria.”

Gloria covered her face and moaned. It was one thing to be mortified in front of your best friend, quite another in front of her nearly naked new husband.

“Hon,” Daisy said sweetly. “Go put on some clothes.”

“I am wearing clothes.”

“Umm...you’re wearing underwear and they really don’t do a good job of covering up your husbandly junk.”

Mortification did not even begin to describe Gloria’s current situation. This was a mess, a royal-flipping mess, and if there was one thing she loathed above all else, it was a mess. Gloria pressed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets so hard that stars burst behind her closed lids. So much better than the alternative.

It wasn’t until she heard the bedroom door close that Gloria took her hands from her face and fell back against the couch again. “I’m sorry, Daisy. I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

“You’re obviously upset so why don’t you stay. You can sleep here on the couch.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. And if you need to borrow some clothes tomorrow morning, that’s totally fine.”

“I don’t mean to be crashing your honeymoon.”

“Oh, you’re not. We’ve already...” Daisy wiggled her brows “...honeymooned. Twice.”

“God.”

“Plus, we’re leaving for Maui tomorrow, so there’ll be plenty of...” Daisy made an obscene gesture that involved hip thrusts and pounding her fist against her hand.

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. Lots of sex.”

“Lots of sex,” Daisy confirmed with the biggest grin ever.

Gloria sighed. Daisy was happy and Gloria was happy for Daisy. But she was a little bit sad for herself at the same time. Things were going to be different from now on. She was going to miss Daisy and the thought made her feel incredibly lonely.

Still not a good reason to sleep with someone, particularly one who just happened to evoke the panic attacks that you thought you’d licked a long time ago.

“Besides, you’d have done the same for me.” Daisy gave her a big hug. “But, what I don’t understand is, why not just go back to your room? Ask him to leave. It’s your room.”

Gazing directly into her best friend’s eyes, she said, “Because, around that man, I don’t trust myself to not make the same mistake all over again.”

* * *

DILLON HADN’T SLEPT so well in a long time. Nothing like a warm feminine form to wake up to after a night of hotter-than-hell sex. He reached for the feminine form in question, with a mind to wake her up properly, a little repeat of last night’s performance, but there was no one there. The bed was cold.

Huh.

He sat up, scratching an itchy spot on his jaw. Light peeked in around the drapes, revealing clothes strewn all over the floor: one sexy, black high-heeled shoe lying on the dresser, the other caught in the ice bucket. He grinned, remembering how he’d asked her to leave them on. Nothing hotter than a woman in lingerie and heels. Then he’d taken them off and chucked them over his shoulder.

Goddamn, the little redhead was a firecracker.

Now. Where was she?

Dillon pushed himself out of bed, groaning, his lower back stiffening up like it always did. Too many bulls, too many rides. He stretched side to side to work out the stiffness.

“Gloria?”

No answer.

Maybe she was in the shower.

Nice. Heat washed over him at the thought. He always loved shower sex and he was willing to bet the bossy little woman loved it, too, because—damn—she pretty much seemed to love it all.

Ambling over to the bathroom, he knocked. “Hey? You in there?” When there was no answer, he turned the knob, but there was no one there.

Huh. He scratched the same damn spot. Maybe she’d gone for breakfast. He wished she’d woken him up first. They could have ordered room service, had breakfast in bed. He would have liked to see her first thing in the morning, sex-messy, ravenous...

Hot.

He’d have liked to kiss her midbreakfast, tasting the flavor of bacon, eggs and coffee in her mouth, her skin warm as he reached beneath the covers. He’d have taken the tray away and made love to her again.

Sounded like a damn fine way to begin the day.

After pulling on his briefs and dress pants, he found his suit jacket thrown over a chair and located his phone inside. She’d given him her number, hadn’t she? He scrolled. Yep. There it was, her whole name, middle name, too. He tapped a message—Where’d you go?—and barely sent it before he heard the sound of a key card sliding into the lock and the heavy hotel door opening.

With a grin, Dillon went to meet her. “Heya, darlin’. I just sent you a message.” He leaned down to kiss her but Gloria turned her face to the side.

Pulling back, he took a better look at her. Her face was scrubbed of all makeup and her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail. She was wearing some workout clothes that looked a couple of sizes too big. The result was that she looked young, fresh and innocent. Nothing wrong with that. It was the expression she was wearing that was all wrong.

Her face was pale. Her pretty lips pressed together. Her light eyes dark, as if the pupils ate up all the blue.

“I didn’t think you’d still be here,” she said.

“Why?”

“It’s late.” She looked at her phone. “Nine thirty.”

“Nine thirty? Holy shit, you really tired me out.” He grinned.

She frowned.

“What’s up?”

“I think you should go.” Her gaze was on his face but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Then her gaze traveled down, stopping at his chest before going lower. Red appeared out of nowhere, staining her neck and cheeks, making her glow as she struggled to raise her eyes. “Look, about last night. It was...”

He took a step closer and touched the red in her cheek. “Pretty frickin’ amazing.”

She let him touch her for a split second before stepping out of range. Shaking her head she said, “It was nothing.”

“Nothing?” He dropped his hand.

“It was just sex.” She bit her lip. “I probably had too much champagne.”

He fell against the wall, his shoulder making a thud. Studying her close, he asked, “You telling me you regret last night?”

With narrowed eyes she said, “I’m not sure regret completely sums up the entirety of my remorse over last night.”

Holy shit. What the hell? “So when you were crying out, coming all around me, you didn’t like that?”

Her eyes were large, the same way animals looked when they were frightened and searching for an escape route. “I didn’t say the sex wasn’t good.”

“Uh-huh?”

“I just...” Her lips parted as she breathed audibly through her mouth. “We don’t like each other.”

“Uh-huh?”

“At all.” She waved between them. “This was just a by-product of that line between anger and passion, you know? Because you drive me crazy.”

He nodded. “You did mention that once or twice. Like when I had my tongue in your pussy.”

She fell against the wall, breathing hard. Kind of like last night but different. “Stop.”

“What’s this really about?”

She gazed up at him, pleading. “It was a mistake. Okay?” She gulped air as if it was in short supply. “So, let’s just forget it happened and...” She took a long deep breath in and exhaled audibly. “Move on.”

Holy hell. She was ditching him. Just like that.

“It’s not like there’s anything between us.”

He moved away from the wall, taking a step toward her. Then another. “Really?”

“Really.” The word, breathy and soft, told him otherwise, as did her wide-eyed gaze as he closed the distance between them.

With a hand on the wall above her head, he leaned right down. Her lids fluttered and she tilted her face up, as if she wanted him to kiss her. “This sure as hell feels like something,” he whispered.

“It’s not,” she panted back.

“Felt like more than something last night.” He wanted to touch her face because there was that blush, spreading like a wildfire up from her chest into her cheeks and he needed to know how it felt.

“It wasn’t.” She licked her lips in between ragged breaths.

He leaned down and for a second—maybe not even—their lips touched. Then she ducked beneath his arm and scurried to the other side of the small room. “This will not happen again.”

“Why?”

“I already told you.”

“None of that made sense.”

She closed her eyes for a second and when she opened them, it was as though she was a different woman. Her back straightened, her eyes narrowed and pretty lips thinned. “You don’t even live in Chicago. Where do you live? Wyoming?”

“Montana.”

“Right.” She made a hand gesture that said, You see? “You’re what? A rancher? Farmer? What?”

“A professional bull rider.”

She pointed. “Exactly!” She motioned to herself. “And I’m an interior decorator and professional stager.” She forced a smile. “I bet you don’t even know what that means.”

“You make houses ready to sell.” He said that last bit with no inflection because the tiny woman was being condescending and he didn’t particularly care for it.

“Okay. So you know what I do. Doesn’t matter. We have nothing in common.”

He arched a single eyebrow, thinking about their amazing compatibility in the sack.

Her eyebrows drew together and a little crinkle deepened between them. “Life isn’t all about sex, Dillon.”

No. But good sex was a good indicator that life could be pretty damn good with someone...

Wait a second. What was he thinking? He raked a hand through his hair. She was doing him a favor right now. He didn’t want forever, especially not with a bossy little fireball from Chicago. He just wanted to share some passion with someone of equal passion. After last night? He thought he’d found it. Clearly she was looking for more. That should be a red flag right there.

The woman bent down in front of him—a spectacular sight—gathering up his belongings: his shoes, his shirt, his tie, his jacket. Once she was satisfied she’d got it all, she shoved the bundle at him. “Here.”

He took the clothes. “You gonna help me dress like you helped me take my clothes off last night?” God, he felt like being shitty right now.

Tilting her head to the side, she said, “I’m pretty sure you can manage.”

He dropped the bundle except for his shirt. “You gonna watch?”

“Nope.” She stalked past him to the door. Before opening it, she called over her shoulder. “Be gone in five minutes. No more.”

“Oh, I will be.”

“Good.” She stood there for a second and then called, “Bye, Dillon.”

“See ya around, Red.” Dillon curled his fingers into fists at the sound of the door slamming. A part of him wanted to still be there when she got back, just to be an ass. He wanted to remind her of the fun they’d had last night, do it all over again, make her beg him to stay longer. Another part was glad she’d been so clear. He did not need to get involved with a mercurial redhead who probably didn’t even think he knew what the word mercurial meant.


2 (#u012b6bbd-a460-5f27-a28c-e5b35d483fe5)

FAITH, GLORIA’S ASSISTANT stager and a student of Black Sect Tantric Buddhist Feng Shui—most people called it BTB, but Faith liked to say the whole damn name at least once a day—walked into the bedroom of the house they were contracted to stage, and handed her the phone. “There’s a Mr. Cross on the line for you.”

“Cross?” Why did that name sound familiar? She took the phone. “Hello?”

“Heya, Red. How you doing?”

Dillon Cross.

No. Just no.

She hung up and handed the phone back to her assistant.

“Who was that?”

“Some stupid cowboy from Wyoming.” She pretended to go back to surveying the room when really all she could think was, why was Dillon Cross calling her? It had been three months. Not that she’d been keeping track, or that she’d wanted him to call. She hadn’t.

At all.

The fact that he hadn’t tried to get in touch with her just supported her opinion of him as a macho jerk, which was the only reason she’d kept track.

Faith arched a brow. “And why is a stupid cowboy from Wyoming calling you?”

“No reason.” She made a dismissive gesture. “Now, can you help me with this bed? It needs to face the door.”

But Faith was not easily distracted. Of course she wasn’t. “And if it’s, no reason, why did you just hang up on him?”

Gloria glared at Faith, the kind of expression that should tell an employee to drop a subject. But Faith was not a typical employee. “Why’d you hang up?”

“Because I didn’t want to speak to him.”

“Why?”

“I think I’ve covered that point already. He’s a cowboy. From Wyoming.”

“You have a very interesting aura going on right now.” Faith came closer, inspecting.

The only way to distract her was to change the subject to feng shui. “It’s this room. It’s all wrong.” Gloria indicated the cluttered placement of the furniture. “The bed’s facing the wrong way, the Chi’s interrupted by the big bureau. The mirror is reflecting outside. It’s a disaster.” She crouched down and started tugging on the bed frame. “Give me a hand. This thing is heavy.”

“You slept with him.”

Dammit!

She stood, wiping her palms on the front of her pants. “Maybe. So what?”

Faith tapped something into the phone, held it to her ear and then said, “Oh, hi. Sorry. We got disconnected. Was there something I can help you with?”

“Faith,” Gloria whisper-yelled.

“Gloria? Sure. She’s right here.” Faith handed her the phone again. “Speak to him. It’s the only way to clear this up.” She made a fuzzy gesture at Gloria’s torso. “You’re all...muddy.”

Rolling her eyes, Gloria took the phone but placed it next to her chest, covering the mic because Faith stood exactly where she was, waiting to listen in. She waved her off, mouthing the words, “Go away.”

Saluting, Faith left and Gloria raised the phone to her ear. She took a deep breath and then huffed it out. “Dillon. What can I do for you?”

“Are you asking for real? Because the list is long.” His voice was deep and suggestive. He also sounded strangely out of breath, reminding her of a very vigorous, very intimate moment she’d spent a good portion of the past three months trying to forget. So far she’d been unsuccessful.

“Why are you calling?” She bit her thumbnail, realized what she was doing and stopped.

“I’m in town, doing some business, visiting my cousins. Thought I’d give you a call. See if you wanted to get together.”

“Really.” She chewed the inside of her lip, realized what she was doing and stopped.

“Uh-huh. Coffee. Dinner. Or...somethin’.”

“I’m not a hook-up girl, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“Never said you were. Just, we had some fun last time I was here,” he drawled. Slow and easy. Reminding her of the movement of his tongue against her lips and in her mouth.

Mmm.

Ugh!

“Kind of hoped we could recapture it. You know?”

“No, thanks.”

“Why?”

“Do you want an honest answer?”

“Yes.”

“What happened between us was desperation.” She gnawed her lower lip.

He chuckled. That was not the response she was going for.

“I’m not interested in whatever it is you have in mind,” she hurried on.

“You don’t even know what I have in mind. Aren’t you curious? Even a little?”

She shut her eyes, sucking her whole top lip into her mouth while erratic visions of nakedness popped into her head.

She was not curious. Not one little bit. Honest she wasn’t.

His voice began, soft and low, reminding her of the naughty whispers from that night. “I’m going to take your clothes off, nice and slow, kissing you as I go. Tasting every inch of you...”

No.

“Goodbye, Dillon. Don’t call me again. You want a booty call, try someone else.” She hung up, dropped the phone on the bed—the one that was positioned all wrong—and expelled the big breath she’d been holding.

Faith came in seconds later, obviously having overheard the entire thing. She looked Gloria up and down, shook her head and said, “You are in trouble, girl.”

“No. I’m not.”

Giving her another sweeping gaze, Faith’s expression said different. “You want him. I can tell.”

“No, I don’t. Now, let’s—”

“When’s the last time you had sex?”

“None of your business.”

“Three months ago. Daisy’s wedding.”

Gloria sputtered. “How’d you know?”

“Because you’ve been weird ever since.”

Straightening herself, Gloria said, “Whatever. Now help me—”

“How about before that? Before the stupid cowboy from Wyoming?”

“Again, none of your business.”

“Greg.” Faith moved over to the bed, squatted down and began to shove, a smug expression lighting her face. “Boring, predictable, accountant Greg, right?”

“Why did I hire you, again?” Gloria tugged while Faith shoved and the heavy bed inched across the floor.

“Because I have an eye for detail.” She tapped her temple. “And an amazing memory.”

“Quiet and keep pushing.”

“Didn’t you two break up, like, a year ago? Or was it two?”

“Something like that.” The bed was moving at the speed of a glacier and Gloria grunted. “How about you focus your energy on pushing instead of talking?”

Ignoring her, Faith said, “Why’d you break up again?”

“He was transferred.”

“Oh, I thought it had to do with the fact he only knew one position—missionary, in the dark, no talking.”

Gloria stood, giving up any pretense of moving the bed. “Look. Enough about my private life, okay? We’ve got work to do.”

“I’ll stop as soon as you tell my why you aren’t accepting the stupid cowboy’s offer for hot sex. Because, no offense, but, you need it.”

“What does that mean?” Hands on her hips, Gloria glared at her employee.

“You’re wound really tight right now. A smokin’ hot sex session with a cowboy sounds divine.” Faith gasped and put a hand to her mouth. “I bet he has rope, too, doesn’t he?” She shut her eyes and rocked back and forth, like she was imagining bondage shit behind those closed lids.

Leaning against the bed, Gloria sighed. “Enough.”

“Why?”

“I lose control when I’m around him, okay? Are you satisfied now?”

Faith hugged herself. “Sounds delicious.”

“No. Not delicious. The way I lose it is not a good thing.” That wasn’t completely true; a flash from three months ago stole her breath, in a good way. Dillon holding her legs wide while he moved inside of her... Gloria recalled feeling complete and utter abandon at that moment. However, following close on the heels of that memory was the overwhelming sensation of not being able to breathe. Of feeling constricted. Weighed down. Ears ringing, cotton balls filling her throat, heart pounding.

Panic.

It would not happen again.

* * *

DILLON JOINED HIS cousin Jamie in the locker room of the private boxing club he and his twin brother, Colin, ran. The club was frequented by Chicago’s elite athletes and every time Dillon came to town he stopped in to go a round with one of his cousins. The three of them had been fistfighting for fun since they were kids, spending the summers together at his family ranch in Montana.

Funny how even as an adult, there was nothing like a good fight to take the edge off. Though that wasn’t the only reason he was here. He had an appointment with Jamie who was an expert in family law.

“So,” Jamie asked as he stepped out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist. “Gloria said no?”

“Nah. She’s playing hard to get.” Dillon unwrapped the tape from his hands.

“You really don’t understand women, do you, Dill?”

“Are you kidding? Women are like ornery bulls and this one is doing her damnedest to make me think she wants to buck me off. But what she really wants is for me to figure out a way to ride her.”

“You did not.”

“Did not what?”

“Just compare Gloria to a bull.”

“I like bulls.”

Jamie rubbed a towel over his wet hair. “An ornery bull.”

“The ornery ones are the best kind.”

Laughing, Jamie said, “No wonder you can’t get a date.”

Dillon rolled the used tape into a ball and tossed it into the trash can across the room. “Oh, I can get a date.”

“Not with Gloria. If she’s decided she doesn’t like you, she doesn’t like you.”

“Except that she does like me.”

“Right.”

“And she wants to see me again.”

“I don’t think so. Not this time.” Standing in front of the mirror, Jamie sprayed some shaving cream into his palm and spread it along his jaw. “I saw her face that night. After the fact.” He met Dillon’s eyes in the reflection of the mirror. “She doesn’t like you.”

Dillon stripped off his shirt. “And I saw her face that night, during the act, and she most certainly does like me.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night, Dill.” He made a pass with the razor, and tapped it off in the sink. “But she won’t go out with you.”

“You want to put your money where your mouth is?”

“What? You want to bet me that you can get a date with my wife’s best friend?” Jamie laughed as he made another pass with the razor along his top lip. “I don’t think so.”

Dillon yanked back the curtain to the shower stall and closed it behind him. “A hundred bucks,” he called as he stripped out of his shorts, turned the water on and stepped beneath the spray.

“Two hundred,” Jamie called, loud enough to be heard above the sound of the shower. “That should just about cover my hourly fee.”

Chuckling, Dillon used the soap in the dispenser on the wall to briskly wash off. It’d been a short bout and he and Jamie were pretty evenly matched. His jaw was still sore where Jamie’d clocked him, but he was willing to bet Jamie had some nice new bruises on his ribs. After showering, he dried off and dressed in his Wranglers and plaid shirt.

He checked out his image in the mirror, running a hand through his hair.

What was he doing here? There were plenty of good lawyers back in Montana. Of course, this was some sensitive business he had to take care of, not the kind of thing you wanted to share with just anyone, so it made sense that he’d come see his cousin, get his advice.

Then there was Red.

He’d sure as hell like to see her again. He’d planned on calling her when he first got home after the wedding, then all this shit with Kenny went down and he’d been distracted. And busy. Pretty near every waking minute had been taken up with hospital visits and looking after Kenny’s ranch. It had been damn hard watching his best friend deteriorate like that. The guilt only made it worse. He hadn’t had a lot of room for fun, redheaded thoughts.

But being back here in Chicago—well—his first thought upon landing was not on the will he was carrying, which it should have been, but on the redhead. Gloria-Rose Hurst. He liked the sound of her whole name.

Dressed, Dillon grabbed his jacket and the folder from the locker and went to find his cousin who was on the phone in the little office at the back of the gym.

“The pink ones,” he overheard Jamie say. “They’re my favorite.” Pause. “I know they don’t stay on long—that’s because you look even better without them but—”

Dillon cleared his throat.

“Oh. Gotta go. Love you, too.”

His cousin was so sappily married it was hard to take. Not that Jamie didn’t deserve it, Daisy was amazing, but Dillon was convinced it had to be at least partially an act. No one could be that in love.

“You sure you’re fine to meet here, or would you rather go to my office?” Jamie asked after hanging up with his new wife.

“Here’s good, if you don’t mind.” Dillon sat down across from his cousin and handed him a file from the folder. “This is most of it. The last will and testament of Kenny Wells.”

Jamie took the folder and met his gaze. “I’m really sorry, Dill. I remember Kenny. You two knew each other forever.”

“Yep.” Dillon sat back in the chair, wishing he had his hat to tip forward a little. He and Kenny had been best friends, though best friends didn’t do the thing that he’d done.

“What was it?”

He inhaled deeply. “Kidney cancer. Some weird strain that usually only affects men over sixty. It was aggressive.”

“No kidding. Gone in a month?”

Dillon nodded. “It went undiagnosed for too long.” Kenny had been complaining of back pain for over a year, but what bull rider didn’t have back pain? After he finally got the diagnosis, he’d only lasted four weeks. It was as if something devoured him from the inside out. And the worst part was, that damned image of Kenny lying in the hospice bed, looking like a skeleton, was the only image he was able to conjure of his best friend after knowing him for over twenty years.

“So, you’re the executor?” Jamie asked, going through the first few pages of the will.

“Yep.”

He went through the rest of the document, silently flipping the pages, and as he did so a furrow formed on his brow. “Uh, Dill? You realize you’re a little more than executor, don’t you?”

Dillon shrugged.

“He left the ranch to you.”

“Yeah.”

“So, what do you need me for?”

“I don’t want it.”

“Why not? You weren’t too keen when your parents sold your family ranch. I always thought you’d go back to ranching once you quit the circuit.”

Dillon shrugged. He and Jamie were close but there were some things you didn’t admit, even to those closest to you. “Nope. Too much work.”

Jamie gave him a look of doubt, but it didn’t matter whether Jamie believed him or not. “I need you to help me figure out how to get rid of it because I’m not keeping it.”


3 (#u012b6bbd-a460-5f27-a28c-e5b35d483fe5)

ANXIETY ACCOMPANIED GLORIA on her monthly visit to her father’s place. When she was still ten minutes away, the familiar symptoms reared, fire ants swarmed just beneath her skin, making her itchy and irritable. A tightness in her chest made breathing difficult and swallowing almost impossible. As she drove, she had to consciously remind herself to take slow, easy breaths so that she didn’t hyperventilate.

Gloria found a spot to park two blocks from her family home in Oak Park. It had been years since she parked in front of the house; she was too embarrassed. As always, it took her a few minutes to work up the courage to get out, to overcome the urge to just drive away and never come back. She grabbed her handbag, positioned her sunglasses and hat, hoisted the bag full of frozen meals and got out of the car. She locked it and pointed herself in the direction of the house and commanded herself to walk.

Even after all these years of the house looking as it did, the sight of it still shocked her. In her mind, her family home looked as it did when her mom was still alive, back when she was thirteen. Pretty flowers in boxes and pots out front. The yard tidy, though it may have had one too many birdhouses and garden gnomes. The inside filled with treasures, her mom’s collections, but always neat. Always welcoming.

She stood at the gate and stared. The shock and revulsion of the state of the yard hitting her hard—as it always did—like a sledgehammer to the gut. Bikes, old appliances, tires, toilets, garbage bags with unknown contents piled into small mountains, stacks of paint cans, lawn mowers, hundreds of broken and faded pink flamingos, wheelbarrows, thousands of broken plant pots, an ancient trampoline twisted and positioned on its side as if it had been tossed there by a tornado. In some places the trash was piled as high as the six-foot fence. In others it was only a few feet deep. There was not one blade of grass visible and the path between the gate and the front door was becoming narrower and narrower every time she visited.

Then there was the smell.

Gloria placed a hand over her mouth and nose, tears leaking from her eyes as she squeezed her way through the channel of junk to the front door. The porch, where they used to sit on hot summer days, was overrun, as well. Broken furniture, umbrellas, a shopping cart, dented trash cans.

Oh, God.

Gloria went to ring the bell, but the doorbell had been disconnected and wires hung ragged from the gaping hole. She pounded on the door.

“Dad?” Pound, pound, pound. “Dad, it’s me. Open up. It’s Gloria.”

She kept her face to the door, afraid to turn around, embarrassed to be associated with whatever the hell this was. All of the overwhelming feelings of shame and humiliation from her late teens surfacing. Never wanting to be seen here. Never bringing friends home—not even Daisy—never having a serious boyfriend for fear of what he’d think.

The fire ants migrated to her belly and chest.

Pound, pound, pound.

Her father was home. She knew he was. He’d become nocturnal, staying ensconced in his den of trash by day, only emerging at night to complete his weekly circuit of Dumpsters, searching for perfectly good things that other people threw away.

“Dad!” she shouted, hating that she was creating a scene.

A bolt slid, then another, then a series of chain locks unlatched and the door opened a crack. Her father’s watery blue eyes stared, large behind his glasses. “Oh, Gloria-Rose. It’s you. What are you doing here?”

Such a good question. Swallowing down the bile that rose in her narrowed throat, she held up the grocery bag. “Meals on Wheels,” she said with a fake smile.

Her father’s smile was genuine and his watery eyes teared up in delight as if she didn’t do this every single month. The sight broke Gloria’s heart.

“You’re such a sweetheart. Come in. Come in.” He opened the door wide and Gloria was greeted by a wall of stuff. Mostly newspapers, fliers and old books, piled from floor to ceiling, creating a wall of paper goods on either side. Her father lived in a massive fire trap. A coffin of stuff.

“Oh, Dad.” How the hell did he live this way?

“You’ll have to go in first so I can lock the door.”

Gloria shook her head. She couldn’t do it, the piles were claustrophobic. “Can we visit outside today, Dad? I’m not feeling so good.”

He gnawed on his lip, rubbed his face and adjusted his glasses, all nervous behaviors that had worsened over the years. Before he had a chance to answer, a siren came from down the street, growing closer. Her father’s already pale face went ashen. “Get inside, Glo. Now.”

She shook her head and held her dad’s hand, uncertain about what was going on, but having a sense that she needed to be here for this.

The cruiser stopped outside the gate followed by a city truck with a logo for Health and Public Safety on the door.

“Those bastards,” her father muttered beneath his breath. “Why can’t they just leave me alone?”

Two uniformed officers emerged from the cruiser. There was no mistaking the revulsion on their faces as they took in the house and yard. “Mr. Andrew Hurst?” the bigger of the two officers asked as he tried to make his way to the door, having to walk sideways in places.

“Who wants to know?”

Gloria squeezed her father’s hand. Her vision going spotty as the anxiety and panic took over.

“Cook County Sheriff’s Department. You’re under arrest.”

* * *

GLORIA SAT AT her desk, staring blankly at the computer screen. She should just go home and sleep except she couldn’t, her father was there, “working,” which meant he was calling lawyers and writing angry letters to the justice department about his civil rights. If he wasn’t doing that he was likely yelling over the phone at some poor city clerk about the injustice he was facing.

The injustice he was facing? How about the injustice she was facing? Her whole life savings, all seventy thousand, had gone to pay his fines: five years’ worth of fines for public nuisance. If he hadn’t been able to pay, he would have been facing jail time.

So, bye-bye nest egg.

Yet, there was a part of her that was glad because not only had Public Health and Safety condemned the yard, they’d scheduled the house for inspection to determine whether it should be condemned, too. Which it would. The whole place was sagging.

But that meant her father would never be able to go home.

Faith came in, carrying a steaming cup of tea. She set it down beside Gloria’s hand and then plopped herself into the chair on the other side of the desk. Gloria had confided some of what was going on. She’d finally had to tell someone.

“So, now what? We go over and enact a little Black Sect Tantric Buddhist Feng Shui on the place?”

There it was. Faith’s daily recitation of the full, tongue twister of a name of the brand of feng shui she studied. She smiled out of habit. “I wish it were that simple.”

“How bad can it be?”

“A thousand times worse than you can possibly imagine.”

“I bet it’s not that bad.”

Gloria scrolled through the photos on her phone, found some of the best—or worst—of her dad’s yard and turned the phone around so Faith could see.

“Holy shit,” Faith said, her voice low with awe. She leaned across the desk and took a sip of tea from the mug she’d given Gloria. “So, what are you going to do?”

“I have no idea.” She shook her head. “I love my dad. I want to help. But this is a sickness and he needs professional help. I can’t pay for that sort of help and his teacher’s pension sure isn’t enough, either.”

“Hmm.” Drumming her fingers on the desk, Faith considered her. “Speaking of money, did you see the contract that came in this morning?”

“Which one?”

Coming around to Gloria’s side of the desk, Faith slid the keyboard closer and tapped on the keys, opening up the office email and clicking on one that had come in early that morning. The subject line read, Montana Estate Sale, Stager Required.

Gloria read through the email from a real estate agent in a place called Half Moon Creek, Montana. A large ranch was going on the market and needed an experienced stager to prepare it for sale. The email intimated that the client was hoping to attract a certain type of buyer and had been given Gloria’s name as a recommendation.

“What the hell?” Gloria asked, clicking on the attached contract.

“You know someone in Montana?” Faith asked.

“Nope.”

“So where do you think they got your name?”

“I have no idea.” She reread the email. “And what do you think they mean by, ‘a certain type of buyer’? it sounds like code for something.”

“I was just reading an article about all the celebrities who are buying up ranches in Montana.”

“Like who?”

“Letterman, Dennis Quaid, Michael Keaton, Harrison Ford...”

Gloria swiveled her head toward Faith in surprise.

“What?” Faith smiled sheepishly. “So I follow celebrities? They’ve got nice places and people with nice places like to hire people like us.” She pointed between the two of them.

“I bet it was one of the guys from the fund-raiser I threw for Daisy’s bakery last year,” Gloria said, still stuck on the question of who would have recommended her for a celebrity-style job in Montana.

“That could be it.” Faith moved closer, reading the screen over Gloria’s shoulder. “But you’re not even at the best part yet. Go to the last page.”

Scrolling to the final page of the contract, Gloria read through the terms of payment. “It says 2.5 percent of the sale,” she murmured. “Are you kidding me? No flat rate?”

“Nope.”

“Do you have any idea what ranches this size go for?”

Faith took control of the mouse and went to a file she’d been working on only fifteen minutes ago, a property comparison analysis, showing her the recent sales of ranches of comparable size and location.

“Holy crap,” Gloria whispered.

“You said it.” Faith’s smile was wide. “And I have a feeling if we do well, get a big-time, celebrity buyer, we could get more deals like this, don’t you?”

Gloria considered the situation she was in. This seemed like a godsend. But there was her father. She couldn’t leave him, not alone in her place. “Maybe you should go. You’ve got enough experience to handle it.”

Leaning over her shoulder, Faith pointed to a line in the contract. “They’re asking for you, Glo. Not me. I can stay here and hold down the fort.”

Leaning back in her chair, Gloria considered the possibilities. With one contract she could earn enough to float the company for six months and to give both herself and Faith a nice little bonus. If the contract led to more high-end work, they’d be set. But the thought of leaving her father alone? It didn’t seem like a good idea.

With a hand on her shoulder, Faith said softly, “Your father made his mess, Glo. You’ve got to let him clean it up.”

“I know, but...”

She squeezed her knotted shoulder muscles. “You’re the child in this situation, not the parent.”

Faith was right. She had to take care of herself, otherwise there was no way she could help her father. But even though that made sense logically, her heart was having a hard time with the idea.

“I’ll keep an eye on your dad...and your place. I promise.”

She considered the offer for a little longer, knowing she should decline it but then...what the hell? Opportunities like this only came around once in a lifetime. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to fly out to Montana to make sure this is legit,” she said finally.

“Nope. Wouldn’t hurt a thing.”

Gloria grinned. “Okay, then. I’ll do it.”

“Yeehaw!” Faith slapped her on the back. “Montana...here you come!”

* * *

DILLON AWAITED MAX Ozark’s arrival. He was Half Moon’s only real estate agent. He was also the mayor and owner of the Gold Dust Hotel, not because he was particularly ambitious but because none of his three occupations actually kept him occupied. Max had called him earlier in the day to let him know that Gloria had checked into the hotel and he’d be bringing her out to the ranch that afternoon.

Arriving early to the ranch, he saddled up one of the spirited stallions to go for a ride. Urging the horse into a trot then a canter, he rode across the expanse of grassland and up the gentle side of the bluff. It was a hot day for May and the heat led to thoughts about the fiery redhead. She’d be so out of place here where rolling hills, pastures and streams replaced high-rises. Where the Beaverhead National Forest edged the land instead of Lake Michigan. It’d be interesting to see how she handled it.

It’d be interesting to see how she handled him, too.

Would she be surprised to see him? Nah. She must have put two and two together when she read the contract. Who else did she know in Montana?

The fact she had signed so quickly and was here only a week after he’d sent it, told him one thing. For as much as Jamie claimed Gloria didn’t like him, he knew differently. Not that the damn bet he’d made with his cousin mattered. Dillon had only made the bet out of habit. When they were kids, he and his cousins made bets over everything, from penny poker to who could catch a greased pig or be first to pole-vault over the creek. Chuckling, he gazed out at the Wells property, Silver Tree Ranch, it wasn’t quite as big as the ranch he’d grown up on, but it sure was pretty with the hills and gullies, the forests and streams and the mountains in the distance. The Cross place, Mountain Shadow Ranch, was adjacent to Silver Tree, and Dillon and Kenny had basically become best friends because of proximity. They’d gone to school together, pulled typical teenage stunts together, started riding bulls together. That was when the rivalry started, taking the place of friendship as they vied for better times, titles and women.

Char, for example.

He and Char had dated first, then, next thing he knew, she was marrying Kenny. That had hurt more than he cared to admit and he’d still be pissed at Kenny over it if it wasn’t for that thing that happened two years after they married. Then Char split, just up and left, and Dillon and Kenny reverted to being the close friends they’d started off as, never speaking of Char again.

Now Kenny was gone, and the decision about whether or not he should tell his friend about what happened was moot. It was all too late now.

When Dillon reached the old homestead, now fondly called the Doghouse, he pulled up on the reins and turned the horse. They were standing on high ground overlooking the ranch buildings in the distance: the big log house that sat on the edge of the pond, the winding creek and forest to the west. It sure was nice. But there was no way he could keep it. He just couldn’t. As long as whoever bought it kept it running like it was meant to run and made sure the hired hands who were the backbone of the place stayed on because there were fewer and fewer places for hired help to go for decent jobs these days.

With a hand to his hat, he craned his neck to check the road. Sure enough, a couple of cars were making their way along the mile-long gravel lane that led up to the ranch. If he took a shortcut across the creek, he’d make it back shortly after they arrived. With a gentle nudge with his boots and a clicking sound with his tongue, he urged the horse forward, picking a careful trail down the slope of the embankment to the creek below, making switchbacks to lessen the grade for the animal. After making it to flat ground, he followed the creek, looking for a shallow place to cross and then located a game trail through the woods that headed in the general direction of the compound.

Once the buildings were in sight, he rode directly to the barn, dismounted and led the animal inside where a ranch hand named Curtis was mucking out stalls. “Can you take care of this one for me?” Dillon asked. “Max is here.”

“Sure thing.” Curtis, a stoic young man of few words, looked less than thrilled at the mention of the real estate agent’s name. Dillon didn’t blame him.

He gave the horse a pat on its neck, passed him off to Curtis and then made his way to the end of the barn where a wash station was set up. He washed his hands and splashed cool water on his face and neck. He could almost see Gloria’s look of disdain at the image he painted. Why the hell did the little redhead’s disdain amuse him so much?

Damn, he was acting like a kid about to go on a first date.

One thing was clear: he couldn’t wait to see her again.


4 (#u012b6bbd-a460-5f27-a28c-e5b35d483fe5)

WITH HER PHONE in one hand and her notebook in the other, Gloria took pictures of the enormous ranch house. More like a lodge than a house, it was gorgeous. Much newer than she’d expected, too, which was a good thing because staging it alone was going to take a ton of work. She snapped another picture of the kitchen before following Max Ozark into the living room. No. Not living room, this was what you called a great room.

The vaulted ceiling was crisscrossed with wide solid beams of wood. West-facing windows lined the entire wall. She stopped to admire the view of the pond right out front with forest and mountains in the background.

“It’s spectacular,” she said before snapping a bunch more photos.

“It has potential,” Max said, chewing on the toothpick that had been stuck in the corner of his mouth during the entire tour.

Gloria leaned against a wall, opened her notebook and added to the growing list of things that needed to be done: declutter, clear out furniture, clean windows, get new rugs, art and lighting. She made a rough diagram of the room and blocked where the new and/or repurposed furniture would go. She’d already made rough sketches of each of the eight bedrooms—yes, eight bedrooms!—plus their attached en suites. Then the enormous kitchen, the gigantic dining room, the den, the foyer, the two half baths on the main floor. Sighing, she closed the book. “What does someone need eight bedrooms for?” she muttered to herself, trying to imagine the sort of buyer they would be looking for.

“The original owner had planned to run the place as a dude ranch.”

“What happened?”

“He died.”

“Oh, sorry. Did you know him?”

“Yeah. He was young. Cancer.” Max shook his head, sadly. “Everyone thought he was crazy for building this.” He gestured toward the house at large. “Including my client. He inherited this place and probably figures it’s too big to keep.”

Gloria blinked and suddenly saw the place through new eyes. It was perfect for a guest ranch. “So what kind of buyer are we looking for? Someone who wants to run this as a business?”

“Either that or we find some high roller with money. Could be a celebrity type or just some bigwig corporate type who wants to pretend to be a cowboy for a few months out of the year. As long as they’d be willing to keep the place running like it is now. That’s important to my client.”

“What about a really big family?” Gloria turned a circle, imagining kids growing up here, adults growing old here. It seemed...idyllic.

“No one around here can afford something like this. We could throw a for-sale sign on the place and you know what would happen? Same thing that’s happened to 80 percent of the places around here, one of those big corporations will buy it, leaving this brand-new house to rot, treating the land and the livestock like a factory.” He shook his head. “The client doesn’t want that.”

“Hmm.” Gloria held her pencil to her lips. “It’s going to be a lot of work to attract the kind of buyer you’re looking for.”

“What are we talking?”

“Well...” Gloria went back to her notebook. “Everything’s pretty new, but I’d like some higher-end appliances in the kitchen. Paint everything, give it a fresh look. Most of this furniture has to go and we’ll need to bring in truckloads more, just to fill the place.” She glanced around. “A few new light fixtures would help. Then there are all the accents, rugs, art, decorative items.” She closed the book, envisioning the kinds of things she’d put in this room. “If you want a high-end buyer you need to use high-end materials. It’ll be expensive and there are no guarantees.”

Max nodded, walking around the room and checking it out as if trying to imagine it through the eyes of a multimillionaire. “I’ll double-check with my client, but I’m sure he’ll tell you to go ahead.” He paused and regarded her. “The question is, are you up to tackling this sort of job?”

Excitement. That was what Gloria felt as she contemplated the challenge the ranch house presented. However, she was also a realist. “I’ll be honest, Max. Back in Chicago I could do it. I’ve got the contacts there—contractors, furniture suppliers. Here?” She shrugged. “I don’t know where to start. We’re out in the middle of nowhere.”

“Well, now, we may be isolated but I imagine Butte’s got what you need in terms of furniture and supplies.”

“What if we can’t rent? Can your client afford what I’m talking about?

“We can ask.”

Not for the first time, Gloria wondered who the mystery client was.

“So,” Max prodded. “What do you think?”

She smiled. “I think it’s an exciting proposition.”

“Good, glad to hear it. You come highly recommended.”

She did? She was just going to ask who’d recommended her when Max nodded toward the window. “I just saw the client ride past. Why don’t we go talk over the fine points with him and then he can take you on a tour of the rest of the property.”

“Sounds good.”

Already Gloria’s mind was spinning with ideas, a southwestern theme infused with modern touches. The log home, with its warm honey tones, would be ideal for brightly colored furniture and accents. With her head buried in her notebook, jotting down the ideas before she could forget them, she followed Max back outside to the yard.

When she glanced up, all she saw was a big man striding toward them, the sun at his back blinding her so that she couldn’t make out his features.

“Hi, Gloria. Glad you came.”

That voice. She recognized that voice.

Oh, no.

She shielded her eyes from the sun and his features came into focus. She pointed at him as if he was an apparition, not a flesh-and-blood man. “Dillon?”

“That’s me.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He took a couple steps closer. She stumbled back.

“What do you mean what am I doing here?”

“I mean. What. Are. You. Doing. Here?”

He frowned. “This ranch is mine. For now. Until you help me sell it, that is.” He opened his arms wide. “Welcome.”

Gloria could not believe it. She propped her fists on her hips. “You tricked me into coming here?”

“Tricked you?” Dillon tilted his head to one side, the wide brim of his cowboy hat hiding his eyes. “Is that what you think?”

“Yes, that’s what I think.” Gloria angled her chin up at him. Good Lord the man was big. She’d forgotten how big he was. “For what reason, I can only guess.”

The real estate agent cleared his throat and Dillon turned to him. “Give us a few minutes, will you, Max?”

“Sure thing.”

Dillon waited until Max was out of earshot before taking a measured step toward her. “Tell me, who did you think was behind the contract?”

Gloria bit down on the end of her pencil. “Well...”

“Who do you know who lives in Montana, besides me?”

“Oh, um...”

“Anyone?” With each step he took toward her, his voice became lower.

“I thought you lived in Wyoming,” she said with a lame laugh.

“Why would you think that?”

Before answering, she took a moment to think about it. She had a vague recollection of Dillon telling her where he hailed from—twice—so why didn’t she remember? She’d like to believe it was because she didn’t care, but that wasn’t exactly true.

God, I’m an idiot...

He frowned, as though he’d heard her unspoken words, and then he removed his hat and raked his fingers through his thick dark brown hair before positioning it back on his head.

Why did such a simple act have such a profound effect on her? Maybe it was because she was so aware of him whenever he was around—his presence, his size, seriously the man just took up too much space—it made her uneasy. So, when he spoke in that melodic, ambling drawl of his, the words just strolled right on by.

Because you’re too busy checking out his package.

Oh, God! Gloria tore her gaze from the front of Dillon’s well-fitting jeans. Had he caught her? It was hard to tell with the brim of his hat shading the top half of his face. She faked a scowl, hoping to cover her lapse in concentration.

“Look, Gloria. I’m selling this ranch and I need a stager. You’re the only one I know.”

She tilted her head back so far it felt as if her neck might snap. He was doing this on purpose, coming closer, making her feel so...small. Her instinct was to back away, but she didn’t. She stood her ground. “There’s this amazing thing called the internet and all you have to do is type the word stager into a search engine, and you’ll get a whole list of people. It’s amazing.”

She may not have been able to read his eyes, but there was no mistaking the taut line of muscle along his wide jaw that told her he was clenching his teeth. Yep, he was clenching his teeth, all right, because when he spoke, it was through those closed teeth. “I may not have grown up in the big city, but that doesn’t make me stupid.”

“I never said—”

“No. But you implied it.”

Gloria opened her mouth to refute his claim and then stopped because, while she couldn’t see his eyes beneath his hat, she felt the intensity of his stare, daring her to deny the insult.

“I’m sorry.”

That muscle along his jaw tightened again and Gloria found herself fighting an irrational urge to touch it, run her finger tip along it. Lightly. She clenched her hands into fists instead.

“Look, Gloria, I have no idea what I did to you to make you think I’m some asshole with an agenda. But here’s the deal. I saw how efficient you were at the fund-raiser you threw for Daisy. According to Jamie, you pulled that event off in less than a month. You’re organized, professional and experienced. You can get the job done and that’s what I need.”

The last bit was said so low, the words threatened to sift through her hair before floating by on the wind. Gloria wasn’t even sure she heard him right, all she knew was that the sound of the letters strung together evoked a tingling sensation at the base of her spine.

Dillon’s gaze slid from her to take in the surrounding landscape. “And, I want this place sold as soon as possible.”

* * *

GLORIA GOT IN her car, started up and drove away. God, what was wrong with her? Why was she acting like such a jerk?

Dillon. That’s what was wrong with her. There was something about that man that drove her insane, something about him that got under her skin and made her completely crazy. She took a deep breath and blew it out very slowly.

Well, at the very least, this time he didn’t bring on a panic attack. That was a good sign. Why she’d had one the last time, she still didn’t understand because there’d been no reason for it that made any sense. It had been years—four at least—since her last one. What had that one been about?

Oh, yeah.

She’d gotten trapped in an attic when moving furniture up there for one of her jobs. The small constricted space, full to the rafters with junk, one second she was fine, the next she was on all fours, barely able to breathe. Thank God Faith had been there.

While this one hadn’t been a full-blown attack, Gloria knew how these things worked: the fear of an attack would linger at the back of her mind, festering, reminding her that she was powerless and she’d be living with low-grade fear that an attack could come on at any time, any place, undermining her tenuous sense of security.

Making her feel weak.

Out of control.

It was the worst feeling in the world.

She glanced up into the rearview mirror, watching the buildings of the ranch grow smaller in the dust from the gravel road and she increased the pressure on the gas pedal.

So the contract hadn’t worked out. At least it gave her some time away from Chicago to gather her thoughts. With this contract off the table, what she needed to do was put her head down and get to work. But she couldn’t go home. Her dad was there, and while she loved him fiercely, his manic energy would not be conducive to her well-being. It never had been.

Maybe she should see if she could stay with Daisy for a while. No. Daisy was still a newlywed, she didn’t need to be crashing that party, as if crashing their wedding night wasn’t bad enough. Sighing, Gloria racked her brain, going through her list of friends, ticking off who she could possibly stay with. But there was always something: new baby, marriage trouble, new job, no room...

She’d ask Faith, except living together and working together was never a good idea.

What she needed was a holiday.

She couldn’t afford a holiday.

Unless she stayed in Montana...which wasn’t exactly a holiday.

Gloria’s foot weighed heavily on the accelerator and the rental car flew across a single lane bridge over a meandering creek and then back to the road. Fields, pastures, hills and sky painted watercolor portraits in her peripheral vision.

For a fleeting second, Gloria felt wild and free.

Until she hit a patch of gravel and the car started to slide, almost as if it was winter and she was driving on ice.

“Shit!”

Gloria tugged the wheel and the back end fishtailed as she overcorrected one way and then the next. Time slowed and things became clear: the sound of spraying gravel, the thudding of her pulse through her body, the impossibly blue sky and stark peaks flashing past the window.

Was this the moment of clarity that came before death?

If so, there was a peacefulness to it that seemed out of sync with the utter chaos of what was happening around her.


5 (#u012b6bbd-a460-5f27-a28c-e5b35d483fe5)

“I CAN LIST it as is,” Max Ozark said, already snapping shots of the yard and barn with his camera phone.

Dillon barely heard him. He was eyeing the progress of the line of dust traveling away from the ranch.

“Dillon?”

“Huh?” He turned his attention back to the real estate agent.

“Do you want me to list it?”

Rubbing his jaw, Dillon surveyed the property. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

“I can take a bunch more outdoor pictures while I’m here.”

“Sounds good.” Dillon pointed to the place where he’d ridden earlier in the day. “You can get a nice panoramic shot up on the bluff over there. Take one of the quads or a horse if you like.”

“I’ll take a quad. You know me—I like my animals four-wheeled.”

“City slicker.”

Max laughed. “Speaking of, what’d you do to piss off the redhead?”

“No idea.”

“Women.”

Max was speaking from experience. Father of five girls, three of whom were married with kids. All girls. Dillon had gone to school with the eldest of them.

“Look, you finish up here.” Dillon handed Max the extra key he’d had cut. “I’m heading back to town. Got some things to take care of.”

“You’re not staying out here till it sells?”

“Nah.”

Focusing on the image on his phone screen, Max said, “Thought you might—you were always staying on when Kenny needed help.”

“Yeah, well.” Dillon adjusted his hat so it sat more firmly on his head. “I helped when I was around. Kenny didn’t have much in the way of family.”

Max looked as if he wanted to say more, but kept his mouth closed, for once. He was a good guy, but loved his gossip, and the fact that Kenny Wells had left the ranch to Dillon was fodder for a town that was always looking for something new to talk about.

He climbed into his F-350 4x4, supposing the latest speculation was that he and Kenny were gay. He chuckled and rubbed his chin at the utter ridiculousness of that thought. Not that he cared what other people did or who they loved—live and let live, and all that shit—but the thought of him and Kenny?

He quickly replaced the thought with one of Gloria. He could still see her as clear as anything, the way she looked lying underneath him: her fiery hair spread out all over the pillow, her pretty lips parted, her eyes closed as flashes of pleasure radiated across her face. Now, that was a fine image to have emblazoned in one’s memory. There were others, too. Gloria’s face turned up to him, smiling wide, throwing her head back and laughing as he led her across the dance floor. That image might be even clearer because that was the moment when he’d decided he needed to take her to bed. A woman who had the ability to let go, to dance with such abandon and laugh with such freedom was a woman he wanted to make love to.

The thing he couldn’t quite figure was what happened to that woman. Where did she go? It was as if he made her up because the woman he woke up to—scratch that, she’d left before he’d woken up—was different. She was cold. Distant. Bossy.

She was...

“Shit!”

Dillon geared down and pulled over because the woman in question was in the ditch standing beside her car, looking a fright and holding her cell phone up as though she was hoping to get hit by a bolt of lightning. He pulled the truck over to the side of the road, parked it and got out. “You okay?”

Without answering his direct question, she said, “I can’t get a signal out here at all.”

He indicated the miles and miles of grazing country. “There aren’t many towers around here.”

She swore beneath her breath and Dillon covered up his smile by kicking the front tire that was bent at an awkward angle and ducking down to check underneath the front end. He stood, dusted his hands on his jeans and said, “Your front axle’s bent. You need a tow.”

Her hands were on her hips and she was staring at him, her lips pressed together, as if it was his fault. Or maybe not, because that was when he noticed how pale her face was and the remnants of fear lingering in her clear blue eyes. Moving slowly, the way he approached a newborn colt, he said, “I’ll give you a lift to town. Walt’s got a truck at the service station. He can tow it back.”

Her lips moved as though she was going to say something and then stopped. She nibbled on her bottom lip. “You sure? I don’t want you to go out of your way.”

“Darlin,’ it’s either that or you walk back.” He moved to the driver side. “I’m going to town anyway. Hop in.”

As if she had a choice—which she did not—Gloria looked around for other options.

Dammit, the woman was starting to make him mad.

“If you’re so dead set against riding with me, you can wait for Max. He should be along in an hour or two. Or, you could go back to the ranch and grab a horse. Ride back to town.” He didn’t even bother keeping his skeptical smile in check, the image of Gloria...bumping along on an old nag, well that was good for a laugh. But when she still didn’t get in the truck, he climbed in, started it up and rolled down the passenger side window. Leaning over he said, “Get in, Gloria. I don’t bite.”

She grabbed her things and got in. Staring straight ahead, she said, “Thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

Sneaking a glance at him while he pulled away, she added, “That’s a lie, you know. I remember quite clearly. You do bite.”

* * *

DILLON’S LOW CHUCKLE vibrated around in the cab of the truck as they sped down the bumpy gravel road. What had possessed her to say that? She’d vowed she wouldn’t bring up their night together and at the first opportunity, she reminded him—and herself—of what happened. Not that she needed reminding. What she needed was to forget.

“I wasn’t the only biter that night.”

She laughed. Then stopped herself. It wasn’t funny.

But when the truck’s back end fishtailed along a particularly “gravelly bit” of road and Gloria pressed her foot against the imaginary brake pedal on the passenger side while her knuckles turned white on the armrests, she suddenly forgot everything but the road ahead. “Can you slow down a bit?”

He glanced over at her. “Not used to gravel, huh?”

“I never would have guessed it’d be so slippery.”

“Yep. Can be tricky if you’re not used to it.”

“So, um...can you please slow down?”

“I’ve driven on these roads all my life. I know them like—”

“Please.”

Instead of finishing what he was going to say, he slowed down.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Gloria stared out the passenger window, trying to think of something to say to fill the awkward silence. Her brain played over all kinds of possibilities except none of them were appropriate: Do you have a girlfriend? Do you still think about me? Why didn’t you call? She finally settled on the first appropriate thing that popped into her head. “So why are you selling your ranch?”

Without taking his eyes off the road, he said. “It’s not mine.”

Had she misheard before? “I thought you said it was yours.”

“It was my friend’s. When he passed, he left it to me.”

“Your friend left you his ranch?” Gloria turned in her seat. “Wow. You must have been very good friends.”




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