Montana Darling (Big Sky Mavericks Book 3) (12 page)

Ryker set the
alarm on his phone then tossed it toward his pillow before moving to all fours to arch his back in the “cat” position. His small propane heater made the tent nice and cozy; his battery-operated lantern gave off a comforting glow. But neither took the edge off Ryker’s anxiety. He’d never liked the middling time between twilight and darkness. Normally, the murky gloom of impending dark made him head to a local pub or grab a bowl of soup at some diner. But given the state of his finances, he’d decided to spend his last night in his tent reading, doing a little yoga and meditating on the fact he was gainfully employed.

Starting Monday, he’d work five ten-hour days for a flat fee that seemed ridiculously low.

As he rolled his shoulders to stretch away some of his tension, he recalled the interview Louise had arranged for him in the parking lot of the discount motel on the edge of town.

“So, you know your way around a camera, huh?” Bob Raines asked after wiping a dab of mustard from the corner of his mouth.

He polished off the last bite of a polish sausage sandwich while Ryker gave him a brief history of his credits. “Fallujah 2004. Embedded with a squadron of Marines. Sixteen hundred enemy soldiers killed. We lost fourteen. Two weren’t much older than I was at the time. Twenty.”

“Lost your cherry, huh?”

“Lost my taste for war.”

Bob sucked on the straw of a twenty-eight ounce soda for a few seconds then asked, “Ever shoot school kids?”

Ryker shrugged. He’d shot kids too sick to beg for water, dead kids staring sightless at the sky, starving kids with rickets and distended bellies, scared kids armed with machine guns. “Not for yearbooks. How long have you been doing this?”

Bob burped. “Going on a hundred years.”

Since Bob appeared to be in his early fifties, Ryker guessed that exaggeration was one of his temporary employer’s traits. Everything was bigger with Bob…including Bob, who had three or four inches on Ryker and probably weighed close to four hundred pounds.

But the man didn’t let his weight slow him down. While they talked, Bob showed Ryker his operation, all neatly stowed in a commercial van with the company’s logo and a page from a yearbook displayed as a vinyl wrap advertisement.

“The Marietta High student body got to vote—traditional headshots with hair light or landscape with natural lighting. This year, the kids want to be outdoors. More work for us, but what the hell, it’s their yearbook.”

Bob pointed to Ryker’s backpack. “You got a camera?”

Ryker handed him his Nikon.

Bob checked out a few of the shots on the back screen then returned it. “Best resumée I’ve ever seen. You’re hired.” Then he walked to the front seat of the van and pulled out a clipboard. He tugged a couple of sheets free and gave them to Ryker. “You still have to fill out this paperwork for the home office. You’re not a registered sex offender, are you?”

“No.”

“Good. But the Sheriff’s Department will need to confirm that before you can set foot on school grounds, and you’ll have to get a TB test—unless you have one that’s current.”

Ryker thought a moment. “I might. I know I’m up-to-date on Meningococcal meningitis and hepatitis-A.”

Most people would have used that segue to ask about Ryker’s travels, but not Bob. He added a few more sheets to Ryker’s employment package. “Here’s the schedule. As long as the weather holds, we’ll either set up beneath the big tree on campus or there’s a brick wall I’ve used before. The dull red color gives a nice autumnal feel.”

“What will I be doing?”

“You’ll start by assisting me in the lower grades. You haven’t lived until you’ve photographed fifth-graders.” He took another suck from his soda. “Once we’re done with all the grades, we start group shots. In the gym. I got tripods and lights in the back. Everything you’ll need. Your goal is to try for at least one shot that doesn’t have somebody blinking or some other a-hole giving his buddy bunny ears. I hate group shots. But you know what they say…shit rolls downhill, so lucky you.”

As Ryker stuffed the application into his backpack, Bob pulled his suitcase from the van and locked the doors. Apparently, that concluded the interview.

“I once took a money shot of a charging bull elephant,” Ryker said after making sure his camera was safely stowed. “I’m pretty sure I can face down a bleacher filled with teens.”

Bob, who honestly didn’t look like the laughing kind, let out a gruff guffaw and he walked away. “We’ll see, hot shot. Monday morning.”

Now, Ryker inhaled deeply as he shifted into the swan position and bowed his head to rest his brow on the cool, slick fabric of his sleeping bag. He was oddly excited about his new job. Being a bum—a…what had Mia called him?…an ecosquatter—was definitely losing its appeal. He was ready to rejoin the world. Monday couldn’t come soon enough.

His only trepidation stemmed from the thought of bumping into Mia’s daughter. Normally, kids didn’t bother him. With a few coins and snapping a few shots, he’d been able to create impromptu poses all over the world. But he’d never dealt with the children of a woman he couldn’t get out of his mind.

“Mia,” he murmured, trying to push her image out of his mind to finish his meditation. But she wouldn’t cooperate. Her pensive eyes. Her unexpected smile.

“Damn.”

He gave up and rolled to his side to reach for his camera. With a quick flip he was on his back, pillow scrunched up under his neck. He found the music app on his phone and hit the playlist named: Mia.

Then, with a sigh of complete and utter capitulation, he clicked on his camera to review the images he’d taken that day. Beauty, annoyance, joy and bliss. Her face captured his imagination and pulled him headlong into her story. He just wished he knew how it turned out.

‡

T
he following afternoon,
Mia rapped on the makeshift table that Ryker had built to serve as his kitchen. “Knock. Knock. Anybody home?”

She’d wrestled with her conscience all night, trying to persuade herself this problem with her land rested on someone else’s shoulders. But, deep down, she’d always felt a niggle of doubt stemming from the age-old adage: “If something sounds too good to be true, it probably is.”

She owed Ryker an apology for being such a bitch. But, despite the presence of his bike, which was chained to a nearby tree, the place felt deserted. “Hello?”

“Hi,” a familiar voice called from the opposite direction.

She spun on one heel to see Ryker trotting toward her from the river. The towel around his bare shoulders and the wet board shorts said he’d been swimming—or bathing—in the river. The ice-cold river.

The mother in her couldn’t help but scold him. “Are you crazy? That water’s got to be forty degrees.”

He shook his head like a dog, sending water droplets spraying in every direction. “Less. I swear I saw mini-icebergs float by,” he said, his teeth chattering as he toweled his hair. “But I was only in long enough to wash this mop.”

Seeing the shiny gleam of residual shampoo streaks on his neck, she snatched the towel out of his hand and used it to dry his back in big, vigorous motions. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll catch pneumonia?”

“Naw. I haven’t been sick in years.” He hunched his shoulders to give her better access. His tan was starting to fade but the warm honey color was one of her favorite shades. It took all of her willpower not to lean over and lick him.

“I’m surprised to see you. What’s up?”

He glanced over his shoulder in a way that felt much too intimate and connected. She handed him the towel and took a step back. “I had a long talk with my ex this morning. Edward swears on his mother’s grave he knew nothing about anything remotely suspect about the purchase of this property.”

Ryker pulled on a sloppy gray sweatshirt he’d left hanging from one of the uprights of the tent then bent over to dry his legs. She was so focused on the masculine hair being pushed every which way on his beautifully carved calves he had to prompt a second time to get through. “But…”

She stuck her hands in the flannel pockets of her lined denim jacket and curled her fingers tight. The attraction she felt when she was around this man was not natural. She’d always been in control of every relationship she’d ever started. Not that she was starting anything with him.

She turned her focus toward the river. “But the more Ed protested the more convinced I became that he colluded with your stepfather…at some level.”

“Can you prove that?”

She shook her head. “No. Call it a gut feeling from living with the man for nearly fifteen years.”

As she looked around, she noticed signs of change. Four or five empty grocery boxes were stacked near the tent.
He’s leaving.
She’s gotten what she wanted. So, why did the thought make her sad?

Against advice of counsel—herself, she admitted, “I remember hesitating before signing my name to the purchase agreement. But my parents had been encouraging us to buy land in Montana because everyone was predicting a big property boom. Unfortunately, I couldn’t give it my full focus because the case I was trying at the time was about two seconds away from blowing up in my face and my new boss was breathing down my neck pushing for a conviction. I was operating on two or three hours of sleep a night.” She shrugged. “I know that’s no excuse but—”

Ryker made a sound similar to the cry Emilee gave when she was upset with Mia. “Jeesh,” he said, giving her shoulder a supportive squeeze. “You’re not psychic. Are you?”

His rueful grin made her heart do a back flip. She shook her head.

“Then don’t beat yourself up about this. If someone offers to sell you something you want, who goes looking for trouble? And where was the title company in all this? I’m more inclined to say somebody didn’t do his or her job.”

“Or got bought off,” Mia murmured—his touch loosening her control over her tongue. Even through the thick layers of material she felt his warmth…along with a tingle she had no business feeling.

“I talked to Austen, my brother in Helena, this morning. He recommended a really capable forensic accountant who might be able to help you recover your trust funds.” She pulled Sheri Fast’s card out of her pocket and placed it on the table. According to Paul, who gave her the card when she stopped by Big Z’s, the woman was a miracle worker. “But she’s not cheap,” Paul had warned.

“Have you heard from your brother?”

“Yes. Apparently the Yosemite fires are the worst he’s ever been involved with. They lost a pilot yesterday and had to take a break while the investigators made their assessment.”

“I saw that on national news. What a sad thing. Did your brother know the pilot?”

“Sorta. They’d met once or twice. I guess the guy was a former combat veteran with twenty years experience. But Flynn said the winds in the river canyons are tricky. One second the guy was making a drop, the next there was an explosion and a big ball of fire.” His expression made her reach out to touch his shoulder. A little pat. A friendly gesture of comfort. Nothing more.

“Flynn’s phone doesn’t get reception on site, but they’re getting some R and R at a nearby town. He said he’d start making calls. He’s as pissed as I am, and he swears he never signed any agreement to sell the property. Ren will be happy to know Flynn agreed to underwrite all of our legal expenses for now.” He picked up the business card. “I don’t expect him to cover the cost of recouping my trust funds, though. That may take weeks…months…to straighten out.”

Mia gestured toward the boxes. “I take it you’ve found a place to live?”

He nodded. The still damp curls dropped across his brow in a sexy, beguiling way. “Louise offered to rent me a room at Jenkins’s Fish and Game and Bedazzled Bling.” His laugh made little bubbles of happiness percolate in her veins. How could a guy with so little seem so content?

“Doesn’t OC have running water in that house?” she asked, pointing toward the river.

“Yes, of course, but Bailey’s jewelry ladies are all working today getting ready for some big craft fair. I didn’t want to be underfoot. Besides, the river looked so inviting I decided to go for one more quick dip.” He lifted his arms and filled his chest with air. “It was exhilarating.”

A memory flashed into her mind. One she hadn’t thought of in years. “Austen and I used to dare each other to see who would jump in first each spring.”

“Who did?”

“Me. Usually. One year, we raced each other in, and neither of us was wearing water shoes. I sliced open the bottom of my foot on a hunk of broken glass. Took eight stitches and half the summer to heal.”

“Oh.” His bottom lip popped out in an adorable pout.

Her grown-up good intentions flew out the window.

He draped his wet towel across the handlebars of his bike then pointed to the camp chair she’d seen before. “Have a seat while I get dressed. These shorts are freezing my…um…valuables.”

With a wink, he ducked under the tent flap. The nylon fabric didn’t close all the way and the vents at the top of the tent provided enough light for her to see him moving around. His back was to the door for modesty sake when he wriggled free of the wet trunks, which he kicked toward one corner. His tan line dipped low on his hips. His bare, white ass looked rock hard and perfectly shaped. All that bicycling, she thought, her mouth going dry.