Rustler's Heart (A Kinnison Legacy Novel) (22 page)

“You’ve got to let go of the past,” his stepdad had told him after the breakup of his first real relationship. It had lasted only three weeks. “You’ve got to learn to trust others, Wyatt. Trust your heart.”

He’d listened to Jed on many things, never doubting his wisdom, but in this, Wyatt ignored him. He knew where his loyalties were. Maybe it was true what he said about letting go of the past and all of its baggage, but it was easier to put his heart into something solid and reliable, like running the ranch. Uncomfortable with such thoughts, he switched his focus to getting home and the delicious the crock-pot stew awaiting him. With thoughts of a toasty fire, some mindless television, and a hearty supper, he nudged Lady’s sides and broke into a gallop toward the barn.

With his horse brushed and happily fed, Wyatt finished his evening chores before securing the barn and heading out into the chilly night. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, listening to the sound of his boots crunching along the frosty ground. The wind rushing through the pines whistled softly. An odd pang of loneliness shot through his heart, and he brushed it quickly away as he trudged up the front steps to the cabin. The heavy thud of his boots on the wraparound wood porch pricked at his mind. The sound alone jarred a strange comfort inside of him, knowing he was home for the night. He walked around the corner of the house, where they kept wood stacked, and loaded a few logs into his arms. A sudden movement caught his eye. Tightening his grasp on the wood, he watched a great white owl sweep out of the sky, snatch something from the snowy ground, and disappear into the screen of trees. A low, ominous hoot poked at Wyatt’s brain, and a shiver skated across his shoulders. The American Indian tribes living in the area believe the sight of an owl to be a sign of an impending storm. Wyatt chuckled and brushed off the strange feeling. Weather radar online dispelled many of the old superstitions, but it wouldn’t hurt to check the forecast just in case.

***

“That ought to last us a while.” Pleased with the roaring fire, Wyatt pushed to his knees for a moment and drew Sadie, the family’s golden retriever, to his side. “It doesn’t get much better than this, Sadie girl.” He grabbed the bowl of stew he’d prepared and took a large bite of the bread Rein had brought home from the bakery. He settled back on the couch, relishing the soft, aged leather, and lifted his stocking feet onto the coffee table, one of many woodworking projects Rein had built.

Sadie curled up dutifully beneath his legs, happy to have her master home after a long day. She was well over eight years old now, best they knew. Jed had found her on the side of the mountain road one autumn evening, and despite attempts to find her owner, nobody ever showed to claim her. It was a joyous fact that the three boys never took for granted. They cared for her, loving her like a member of the family and though she moved a little slower these days, she could still protect her family if necessary.

Wyatt picked up his bowl and breathed in the savory spices mingled with the roasted meat, potatoes, and carrots. He blew across the bowl, stirring slowly before lifting a generous portion to his mouth. He leaned forward, his attention diverted to the screen showing the bull-riding championships. Sadie’s head popped up in alarm and bumped the back of Wyatt’s outstretched legs. The spoon flipped from his grasp, bounced off his chest, and landed on his lap, leaving a beefy brown trail in its wake. “What the Sam Hill…?”

He glared at the frantic dog pacing back and forth across the wood floor. She began to bark, first at him, then at the direction of the front door. He brushed helplessly at his shirt, annoyed at both the stain and his wacky dog. Assuming it was the weather adversely affecting her behavior, he shook his head and watched with curious amusement as she attempted to get traction on the polished wood. “Okay, girl, fun’s over. Time to settle down. Come on, Sadie. You just heard an owl. There’s nothing out there.”

She paused a moment glancing at him as if to ask, “are you sure” when an urgent knock sounded, renewing the dog’s duty to protect. She stood with her nose against the heavy barrier separating them from the intruder outside, offering a clear warning to whoever waited on the other side.

Wyatt swept a glance over the cabinet where they kept their hunting rifles locked up. He quickly shoved aside the concern and headed across the room. “Settle down, Sadie. I’ll take care of this.” He flipped on the porch light and grabbed the anxious dog by her collar as he opened the door. As he straightened, his gaze followed a pair of shapely legs and a heart-shaped butt encased in denim jeans with rhinestones on the pockets. She couldn’t have been from the area because the sugar-pink puff jacket she wore barely covered her waist. A local would know it wasn’t adequate for Montana winters.

The woman turned abruptly, and his gaze snapped up and held hers as he quickly tried to set aside his lusty thoughts. He held tight to the squirming dog with one hand and pushed open the glass storm door against the pounding wind with the other. Her eyes widened as she looked him over head to toe, and he saw her hesitation as she glanced down at Sadie’s determined wiggling.

“She’s more bark than bite.” He tried to reassure her, but the wariness lingered. She had her hands stuffed in the pockets, and he zeroed in to the tense way she licked her lower lip, her breath forming frosty puffs in the icy air. Despite finding this lovely pink package on his front porch on a cold winter’s night, Wyatt, too, was a bit wary. Very few folks ever paid a visit to the ranch, and even fewer women. However, if she was looking for someone, likely it was his younger brother. Of the three of them, it was Dalton who had a reputation with the ladies, and on occasion, their boyfriends didn’t appreciate it. Going on that assumption, he looked over her shoulder at her vehicle. It was clearly not for serious mountain driving in adverse weather, unless it happened to have a team of horses strapped to it. “Sorry, young lady. Dalton’s not home.”

She blinked and gave him an odd look.

“Excuse me?” She questioned his frank and admittedly unsocial behavior through chattering teeth. “I don’t know any Dalton, but I’d like to meet him if he happens to have a map.”

The woman obviously had no fear of being out alone in this weather, nor did it seem she was afraid to knock on any door of any strange house out in the middle of nowhere.

“Listen, I’m sorry to be a bother, but I want to make sure I’m on the right road. It seems maybe I might have missed my turnoff. Are you familiar with the town of End of the Line?” she asked, stomping the snow from her faux-fur fashion boots.

The winding mountain road was dotted with an array of old mining towns with fewer than fifty or so residents and End of the Line happened to be one of the largest. “Sure, I know where it is.” Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were pink from the cold. She smiled and sniffled, and it pulled Wyatt from his reverie. “Pardon my manners. Why don’t you come inside and get out of the cold.” To her credit, he saw the hesitation in her eyes before she stepped around him and into the foyer. The scent of peppermint and winter air tickled his nose, and he noted sprigs of blond hair sticking out from beneath the furry rim of her hood. Sadie leaped up and placed her paws on the woman’s chest.

“I’m sorry. She’s really quite friendly.”

The woman pushed her face to Sadie’s and ruffled her fur. “She’s a sweetheart, she is,” the woman cooed, apparently forgetting he was standing there.

Wyatt cleared his throat and reached out to move Sadie down, though it seemed the two females had become fast friends.

“I went down to Big Timber for the day,” the woman began. “Then this snow started just out of the blue.” She waved her hands as she spoke.

No gloves, just as he’d thought.

“Between the dark and the snow, I’m not sure if I’d already passed by my turn to town. Thankfully, I saw your lights from the road and took a chance someone might be home.”

“Isn’t it a bit risky for someone your age to be out alone on night like this?” He frowned as he shut the door. He leaned back against it and folded his arms over his chest in the same fatherly manner he’d seen Jed display a million times.

Her gaze shot to his, and she pushed off her hood, raking her fingers through her hair, sending spiky, short-clipped platinum blond tresses in all directions. He wasn’t much for short hair on women and frankly preferred dark to light hair. But on her, it seemed to fit with her slight build and mesmerizing blue eyes, which, he noted, appeared a whole lot less innocent at the moment.

She chuckled. “So what are you? Just some cowboy serial killer just chillin’ here by the fire and waiting for your next victim?”

Put in those terms, it seemed like a pretty stupid concept.

She fished in her jacket pocket, and as she retrieved a tissue, a little blue mitten fell out. “Hopefully that wasn’t the line you used to pick up your wife.”

Wait a minute, do I look like a married man?

She bent over and so did he to retrieve the mitten.

“Did I say I was married?”

Maybe she was the one who was married. Then again, she looked very young. He scooped up the mitten and handed it to her.

“Uh, no, I just assumed.” She shrugged, not meeting his eyes.

“Assumed?”

She licked her lips. “Based on your age and all.”

My age?

“Hey, but at least you’re the gentlemanly serial-killer type.”

Wyatt released a sigh. This conversation was spinning wildly out of control. “Of course I’m not a serial killer.”

“That’s a relief,” she muttered.

“Look, I was trying to make a point.” He wanted to explain that she was mistaken about the wife thing, but he didn’t have a clue why it should matter one way or another.

“Yeah, I appreciate your concern.” She stuffed the mitten in her coat pocket and swiped the Kleenex under her pert nose. “But news flash, I’m not as young as I look and I guess one day I’ll be grateful for those genetics. Right now it’s frustrating, particularly at bars and with people like you.”

“Like me?” This woman was spry, but her attitude more than made up for her size. “What do you mean? I’m trying to be the nice guy here.”

“Listen, mister. I teach a second-grade class and if you don’t think you have to be tough, I invite you to try one day with them.” She looked him over. “They’d chew you up. No offense.”

“None taken.” He frowned, finding her spunk sexier than he should.

“All I need is for you to tell me the name of the road that I need to turn on to get back to town and then you can return to planning who your next victim will be.” She smiled and damn if there wasn’t a twinkle in her eye.

Mouthy as all hell. He pinned her with a puzzled look. “Listen, lady, for the record, not everyone up in these mountains is as hospitable as me. Besides, don’t you carry a map in your car?”

Her gaze narrowed. She brushed an errant strand of blond hair from her eye. “If you’re the best in hospitable these mountains have to offer, no wonder everyone calls it the land that time forgot. And no, Mr. Triple-A police, I don’t happen to have a map in my car. It didn’t come in the welcome wagon basket.”

Wyatt eyed her, not knowing whether to help her or toss her cute behind out in the snow. He figured, though, he’d brought on some of her saucy attitude. “The Git and Go in town keeps them right by the counter,” he tossed out, the sparring between them eliciting a tingling of arousal. By God, that hadn’t happened since his old girlfriend, Jessie, a mistake he had no intention of making again. Wyatt carefully reeled in his wayward emotions, holding his gaze steady on hers in a display of wills.

She chewed the corner of her lip and then raised an eyebrow. “Good to know. Okay then, this conversation has been riveting, if not educational, but I’ll not take up any more of your time. I think I may have tapped out your quota of hospitality for the season.” She reached around him and grabbed the doorknob. He moved aside, flustered why he felt so agitated. Hadn’t she heard a word he was trying to say? “Listen, obviously you’re new around here.”

She glanced up at him. Her arched brow spoke volumes.

“It’s just that these storms can pop up rather unexpectedly through the mountains, kind of like a squall. Half the time radar doesn’t even catch them until it’s on top of us. When you’ve lived here long enough, you’ll know better to be prepared before venturing out.” It was clear from the way her blue eyes scalded him that she didn’t appreciate his speech on safety. He glanced down at his feet and kicked himself for sounding like her father. It was a gut reaction. If something needed to be fixed, he approached it without hesitation and used his common sense. To those who didn’t know him very well, he supposed that he could sound a bit overbearing, perhaps even bossy. From the look on her face, he’d nailed both pretty good. Her smile was tolerant at best.

“Do you know the name of the road or not? I’m tired, I’m lost, and frankly I don’t need the fatherly lecture.” She held tight to the doorknob, eyeing him a second more, then flipped up her hood and yanked on the door. “Never mind, I’ll find it, thanks.”

He swiped a hand over his mouth, sensing what he was about to do was not be a good idea. He put his hand over hers. Having sworn off dating for more time than he cared to admit, he was admittedly out of practice with how to handle a female—a tired and feisty one, at that.

Her back stiffened and those blue eyes snapped to his, flashing thunderbolts. He dropped his hand, trying to decide whether he needed to raise his fists or not. “Okay. There’s no need to get all riled up. Simmer down. I’m just trying to give you a few tips in survival up here in these mountains. Give me a second. I think I may have an extra map. It will be easier to show you where the turnoff is.”

“Simmer down? Right, cowboy.” Her mocking whisper was as good as a slap to the back of his head.

Maybe he had it coming.

“Nice place you have here,” she called from the entrance to the great room. The vaulted ceiling carried her voice through the rafters.

He glanced up and saw her taking in the rustic interior. “My father…um, stepdad, built it.”