Sweet Home Montana Read online

  I stand with Rylie, and I look down at Emmy, crouching to her height. “It was so nice to meet you, Emmy.”

  Emmy regards me a moment, piercing green eyes searching mine. And, before I can even prepare myself, she launches at me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and embracing me with a hug that almost knocks the wind right out of me.

  “Come on, Emmy.” Rylie takes her daughter’s hand, pulling her away from me.

  I stand, returning Rylie’s wave and watching as the two of them hurry up Main Street, toward Duke’s Saloon. Emmy glances back over her shoulder, one last gentle smile playing on her perfect little lips as her gaze meets mine, her small hand waving goodbye to me, and I wave back with a smile, still completely enamored of that little girl.

  ***

  Pulling into the parking lot of the Livestock Auction House, my mind is racing with everything I’ve been trying to talk myself into during the half-hour drive here from town. My hands are clammy, my heart racing. Hesitation and self-doubt rear their ugly heads, but I just keep hearing Rylie’s words on repeat. A love like the one I feel for Colt doesn’t come around very often. I can’t let it get away. Sure, I could have waited until tonight, after he was done with the auctions, but I worried I might have convinced myself otherwise. I need to see him now before it’s too late.

  “Can I help you, girlie?”

  I startle at the man looking down at me at the entrance, holding a clipboard in his hand.

  Girlie? I’ll have you know I’m a twenty-nine-year-old woman, mister.

  “Um, y-yes, sir,” I stammer shamefully, clearing my throat in the hope it will provide some kind of confidence. “I … um … I was looking for Colt. Colt Henry?”

  The man’s bushy brows knit together. “He’s up in the members’ only section.”

  I nod with a smile. “Thank you,” I say, stepping around him.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” He stops me, his clipboard held in my face.

  I gawp up at him.

  “What part of members’ only don’t you understand, girlie?”

  Wow. Okay. I steady him with as polite a look as I can manage, when all I really want to do is take his clipboard and slap it upside the back of his head. Placing a hand on my hip, I quirk a brow. “You mean the Royal Wagner members’ only section, don’t you?”

  He nods.

  “I’m Quinn. Royal’s daughter.”

  I swear, the man almost swallows his tongue. His eyes widen, his hands fumbling with his board as he clears his throat excessively, scanning the paperwork in front of him as if it holds whatever answers he’s looking for.

  “Oh, I’m–I’m s-sorry, Miss … erm … Wagner,” he stammers through his apology, quickly moving aside and removing his hat. “And I’m terribly sorry to hear about your pops. He was a good man.” He bows his head.

  I press my lips together in a forced smile, nodding at him on my way past as I step inside the big arena.

  The place is huge. I remember coming here with Dad when I was younger. I loved seeing the giant bulls being paraded around the yard, men furiously bidding on each and every one. Adrenaline and competition thick and heavy in the air. It was all so exciting. Of course, back then I didn’t really understand, but it still gave me a rush.

  I continue up the stairs to the members’ only viewing deck, the place crowded with wealthy landowners too busy drinking at the bar to bother with the current showing of heiferettes. I snake my way through to the mezzanine, which is when I spot Colt standing looking down at the yard, an auction catalogue tucked under his arm, a paddle in one hand, a bottle of water in the other, trying to appear interested in whatever it is the older man beside him is talking to him about.

  He looks every bit the rancher, in his checkered shirt, snug Wranglers, leather boots, and Stetson perched on his head. And I can’t help but smile at the sight of him, my heart skipping a few beats. But then I remember why I’m here. I remember last night. And that smile falls at precisely the same time he glances causally over his shoulder, as if he can sense me. Confusion, shock, and something else flashes in his eyes as he regards me, and his jaw clenches before he excuses himself from the man beside him, beginning toward me through the crowd, his eyes not once leaving mine.

  “Hey, I …” I begin.

  But he just steps around me, his hard chest brushing against my arm, stopping only to wait for me to follow. And I do. He leads the way through the crowd, down the stairs and out of the arena, all the way back out to the parking lot.

  “What are you doing here, Quinn?” Colt asks, folding his arms over his chest as he steadies me with a hard look.

  I stare up at him a moment, taking in every part of him. “Are you okay?” I ask, indicating the swollen black eye my brother gifted him last night during their fight outside the sheriff’s office.

  “I’m fine,” he mutters dismissively before asking again. “What are you doing here?”

  I swallow hard. “I-I want to talk about … about last night.”

  Colt shakes his head, his teeth gritting together. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “Colt—” I begin, imploring him with my gaze. There is a lot to talk about and he knows it.

  “I’m at work!” he exclaims, cutting off whatever it was I was about to say. “This is my damn job! My life!”

  “I know, I just …” I trail off, searching frantically for whatever it is I need to say, and panic begins to set in as Rylie’s words reply in my head. My love for him is true and real and everything in between. I can’t let this go. I can’t let him go. “I just– I need to talk to you.”

  Colt stares at me, his eyes moving between mine, momentarily dipping down to my lips before quickly reverting back as if to catch his own wayward thought. Meeting my gaze with a slightly less threatening look, he swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He glances at our surroundings a moment. I can tell he’s battling to find the right words just as much as I am.

  “Fine,” he finally relents, his voice low and deep. “I’ll be back at my cabin later tonight.”

  Part of me wants to ask him why later tonight. What is he doing between now and then? It’s a Friday night. Is he going out? Is he seeing a woman? But I keep my mouth shut, exhaling a trembling sigh, so thankful, so relieved, but instead of showing any sliver of emotion, careful not to give himself away, Colt simply steps around me and disappears back into the auction house, leaving me there in the parking lot with a small glimmer of hope in my heart.

  Chapter 16

  I slept away most of the afternoon.

  Tripp was still on the road, Cash was elbow-deep in muck, busy helping one of the ranch hands with a heifer in breech, or something equally as gross, and the house was quiet. I needed sleep. I slept a total of three hours last night, and not much more than that since I’ve been back in Montana. I needed sleep because I needed to clear my head in preparation for my impending conversation with Colt.

  I only intended on lying down, maybe napping for an hour or so, but somehow, I managed to fall into a deep sleep, and when I woke night had fallen outside my bedroom window, and the small clock on my bedside table told me it was almost eight-thirty.

  I fly bolt upright.

  Surely he’ll be home by now, right?

  Unless my suspicions were correct and he is out. What if he’s on a date? What if his date wants to carry on their night together? Oh God, what if I show up at the cabin and he has someone there? Surely not. He knows I’m coming to speak to him.

  A quick shower, a fresh change of clothes, and half a grilled cheese sandwich later, I’m now sitting in the great room with the crackling fire warming me from across the room, staring at the clock on the mantel, trying to muster the courage I need to get the hell out of here, get in my car, and drive across the ranch to the cabin.

  My heart races at the thought of seeing Colt. I’m so nervous. I’ve never been this nervous. I know I need to open up to him, to tell him the truth, that I never stopp
ed loving him, and that being back has made me realize that I never will stop loving him, but I’m so frightened he’s going to shut me down again, and I’m not sure my heart can handle it. I consider myself a reasonably strong woman. Not a lot gets to me. I’m this way because my father raised me this way; he raised me in a way to be nothing like my mother. But Colt, he’s that one person who could end it all for me. He has the power to take away my strength, to leave me a depleted mess on the floor without effort or reason. He doesn’t realize it but he holds my heart in the palm of his hand, and with just one look of unaffected indifference, he can crush it to within an inch of its last beat.

  The clock chimes, and I sit up a little straighter counting the gongs.

  It’s ten o’clock.

  Surely he has to be home by now.

  But what if I’m too late? What if he’s in bed?

  Get a goddamn grip, Quinn.

  I swallow the anxiety lingering at the back of my throat, and I stand, smoothing down the front of my jean shirt, nervously tucking my hair behind my ear. I need to leave now before I can manage to somehow talk myself out of it. I stop in the foyer on my way out, grabbing the keys to my rental car, my leather jacket from the coat hook, shrugging it on as I walk outside into the cold night air. But, of course, just as I walk out onto the porch, I come face-to-face with Tripp finally arriving home from his day trip to Wyoming.

  It’s the first time I’ve seen him all day. The last time I saw him was last night, when he was completely wasted and out of his damn mind, on the ground, fighting his best friend in the whole world, right outside the sheriff’s station.

  I glance up at him, taking him in. His face is just as bruised and as swollen as Colt’s, but unlike Colt, Tripp doesn’t look like he’s going to be okay once the bruises fade. Dressed in a sweater at least a size too big, the hood pulled up over his head, his eyes are dark and cold and empty. His normally imposing demeanor suddenly appears weak and frail. He’s the shadow of his former self, and the sheer sight of him makes my heart hurt like hell.

  “You look like shit,” is all I can manage to say, and I don’t even know why, but the words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

  Tripp doesn’t say anything, he just glances down at the Wendy’s bag in his hand, and I watch as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat with a hard swallow. I want to reach out, wrap an arm around him and pull him close, just hold him for a minute. But I don’t. And I don’t even know why. It’s evidently clear that he needs someone right now, but I guess I’m just scared of him fighting me again. Because as angry as I am with him right now, I need him just as much as he needs me.

  “You okay?”

  He nods once, his eyes still cast on the fast food in his hands.

  “I’m heading out for a bit,” I say, looking him up and down. “But I can stay … if–if you want me to?”

  Tripp glances at me, studying my face, a sliver of hope gleaming in his glassy eyes. But, almost immediately that hopeful gaze is replaced by the same disdain I’ve seen in him since I’ve been back. His jaw tightens as he averts his eyes out into the night. “I’m fine,” he mutters with a shake of his head. “Just gonna eat this and hit the sack.”

  My shoulders fall.

  God, I just want him to talk to me.

  Talk to me, you insolent fool!

  I’m his twin sister, for Christ’s sake.

  “Okay.” I force myself to back down, stepping out of his way of the door. “Call me on my cell if you need me.”

  Tripp doesn’t acknowledge me any further. It’s as if I’m not even standing there as he steps around me, his head bowed, body guarded. And I watch as he moves inside the house, the front door closing in my face. As I stand on the step, in the unforgiving glare of the porch light, I can’t help but wonder exactly how we even came to be in a place this bad.

  ***

  Colt lives in the cabin, on the other side of the bluff, the furthermost residence on the ranch, about ten or so miles from the main house. He’s been staying here since he was sixteen, after his grandmother died and he had nowhere else to go. Dad didn’t want him in the house under the same roof as me for obvious reasons—what father would want his teenage daughter living under the same roof as her boyfriend—so, he moved him into the cabin that had been empty since my grandfather passed away.

  My grandfather originally had the cabin built for my mom and dad to move into when they married. But, Grandpa was on his own, and he liked the view of the sunrise in the morning, so not long after my parents’ wedding, he moved himself out, my parents took over the main house, which is where Cash was born not long after, right there on the floor in the great room when he came six weeks earlier than expected.

  Before I know it, my headlights illuminate the small rocky drive that leads up to the cabin, and I pull up next to Colt’s truck parked outside. I release a hard breath, my hands still gripping the steering wheel as I peer up through the windshield to see the lights on inside. He’s in there. And despite my reservations, I know I can’t just sit in my car all night, so I force myself out, albeit reluctantly, wiping my clammy palms on the back of my jeans as I walk up the steep steps to the verandah.

  I’d like to say that the reason I’m shaking is due to the eleven-degree night air, but that’s not it. I’m nervous as sin. I might actually be sick. But I continue to the front door, and for a moment I just stand there, staring at the stained-glass panel, preparing myself, considering what the hell I’m even going to say when he answers. I have so much I need to say, want to say, but how? I shake my head at myself, looking down at my boots. Maybe I shouldn’t have come here. Maybe he’s better off without me. Maybe we’re both better off apart. But I love him.

  Jesus Christ, Quinn. Get it together.

  With a deep breath, I smooth my hair back from my face with trembling hands before knocking once, waiting with bated breath and a racing heart that feels as if it’s about to burst right out of my chest.

  “Hey.”

  I let out a high-pitched yelp, almost jumping out of my skin, clutching at my chest as I swing around, finding Colt watching me from the porch swing, his silhouette shrouded in darkness, hiding him from view.

  “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me!”

  He chuckles lightly, standing to his feet, the chains of the swing clunking and rattling in objection as it moves back and forth in his wake. And as he comes closer into the glow of the light shining out from inside the house, I get a better look at him. His Stetson has been replaced by a backwards ball cap. He’s still wearing those same jeans that look as if they’ve been made just for him. And, a Broncos sweatshirt shields him from the cold, paired with a pair of tattered old moccasins on his feet.

  He looks cozy, and all I want is for him to wrap his arms around me, hold me against him so I can bury my face into his chest and bask in his warmth. But he doesn’t hold me. In fact, he barely even brushes against my arm on his way past, briefly glancing down at me as he opens the door. He does, however, step aside to allow me in first, as he always does, so you can’t say chivalry is completely dead. But I don’t want chivalry. I just want him.

  I know this cabin so well. I spent a lot of my childhood here. I would come almost every day after school to visit my grandpa when he was still alive. I even had my own room here, at the end of the hallway. I was Grandpa’s little angel almost more than I was my dad’s. I loved this place then and I love it now because it reminds me of him.

  I remove my jacket, hanging it on the rack by the door, lingering awkwardly in the entry, watching as Colt continues inside. I take the opportunity to look around. A big flat-screen hangs on the wall, looming over the entire living room, displaying a muted football game. An old record player in the corner of the room that I’m certain was once my grandfather’s, plays some old bluegrass song. Colt’s rodeo trophies and medals and shiny belt buckles line the mantel in a proud display. Dusty old first editions of books I’ve never heard of are stacked on almost every surfac
e. It’s all very Colt, and I can’t help but smile as I nervously wring my hands together behind my back.

  The shutter slides open and Colt appears in the cutout wall that separates the living room and the kitchen. “You want a beer? Or whiskey? Bourbon?”

  “Um …” I take another tentative step inside, tucking an imaginary strand of hair behind my ear. “Whatever you’re having is fine.”

  He returns soon after, walking toward me with a couple of PBRs, handing one bottle to me, and I offer an appreciative smile, taking a big gulp from it in the hope that it will help to ease my infuriating nerves. I hate this energy. I know Colt better than I know anyone. But we’re almost like strangers. It doesn’t sit right with me.

  Colt glances at me, his intimidating gaze unwavering. “You … wanna sit?” He points to the sofa, and I nod, quickly ducking past him and taking a seat on the sectional. He follows suit, sitting down at the other end, gulping a long swig from his beer.

  “How was your … night?” I ask, breaking the awkward silence and hopefully the ice. “Did you do anything fun?” I don’t mean to pry, but I also do. And of course he gives me nothing.

  “No.” He shakes his head, doing all he can to avoid my eyes, choosing to watch a slow-motion replay of the game playing on the television screen instead.

  I twist my lips to the side, looking down at my beer bottle. I begin picking at the label as I rack my brain, trying desperately to think of something, anything to say, but I have nothing. This is more difficult than I had anticipated. He’s giving me less than nothing. I mean, hell, he’s barely even looking at me, and I’m supposed to tell him how I feel. Unlikely.

  When the game on the TV cuts to a commercial break, Colt finally obliges me with a casual, fleeting glance in my general direction, and I meet his eyes with my own before he awkwardly looks away. I know he can sense how terrified I am, and despite his demeanor, I can see he’s just as scared. It’s written all over his otherwise stoic face. I think he forgets how well I know him, even after all the years we’ve spent apart. And I find some solace in the fact that he’s feeling this too; he’s just a little better at masking it than I am.