The Rebel of Copper Creek (28 page)

Montana Legacy

Montana Destiny

Montana Glory

Quinn

Josh

Jake

The Maverick of Copper Creek

“Ryan's storytelling is tinged with warmth and down-to-earth grit. Her authentic, distinctive characters will get to the heart of any reader. With a sweet plot infused with family love, a fiery romance, and a bit of mystery, Ryan does not disappoint.”

—
RT Book Reviews

“A must-read…cozy enough to make you want to venture into the wild west and find yourself a cowboy…And if you haven't read a western romance before, R. C. Ryan is where you should start.”

—ReviewsbyMolly.com

“Wonderful characters who quickly find a way into your heart…a glorious picture of the west from one of my favorite authors.”

—FreshFiction.com

“A heartwarming tale about love, loss, and forgiveness…The characters seemed to spring to life from between the pages.”

—SeducedbyaBook.com

“There's plenty of hot cowboys, action, and romance in this heady mix of a series that will leave you breathless.”

—
Parkersburg (WV) News and Sentinel

“A powerfully emotional tale that will connect with readers…Love a feel-good cowboy romance with a touch of suspense? Then pick up
Josh
.”

—RomRevToday.com

“This story is action-packed and fast-moving…A good solid story with fantastic characters and an interesting story line.”

—NightOwlReviews.com

“Ryan takes readers to Big Sky country in a big way with her vivid visual dialogue as she gives us a touching love story with a mystery subplot. The characters, some good and one evil, will stay with you long after the book is closed.”

—
RT Book Reviews

“
Quinn
is a satisfying read. R. C. Ryan is an accomplished and experienced storyteller. And if you enjoy contemporary cowboys in a similar vein to Linda Lael Miller, you'll enjoy this.”

—GoodReads.com

“Engaging…Ryan paints a picturesque image of the rugged landscape and the boisterous, loving, close-knit Conway family.”

—
Publishers Weekly

“These not-to-be-missed books are guaranteed to warm your heart!”

—FreshFiction.com

“Wonderful romantic suspense tale starring a courageous heroine who is a lioness protecting her cub and a reluctant knight in shining armor…a terrific taut thriller.”

—GenreGoRoundReviews.blogspot.com

“5 stars!…The author, R. C. Ryan, delivers an ongoing, tantalizing mystery suspense with heartwarming romance. Sinfully yummy!”

—HuntressReviews.com

“Ryan's amazing genius at creating characters with heartfelt emotions, wit, and passion is awe-inspiring. I can't wait until
Montana Glory
comes out…so that I can revisit the McCord family!”

—TheRomanceReadersConnection.com

“A captivating start to a new series.”

—
BookPage

“Heart-melting sensuality…this engaging story skillfully refreshes a classic trilogy pattern and sets the stage for the stories to come.”

—
Library Journal

MacKenzie Ranch—Today (Early Spring)

W
hit MacKenzie pushed the last of the hay from the flatbed truck before parking at the mouth of Stone Canyon, where he'd left his horse tethered. Satisfied that the cattle milling about in the snow had enough food to keep them alive for the duration of the blizzard that had come roaring in across the mountains, he mounted old Red, his favorite roan gelding, and headed toward the range shack in the distance.

The cabin was one of several spread out along the farthest perimeters of the sprawling, thousand-plus acres that made up the MacKenzie Ranch. These cabins had been built in remote locations to accommodate the wranglers who tended the giant herds of cattle that summered in the high country. Equipped with a wood-burning fireplace and a generous supply of logs, and enough canned food to last a month or more, it was the perfect shelter from the unexpected spring snowstorm that had already dumped eight feet of snow and didn't look as though it would end anytime soon. Besides the snow that blanketed these hills, there was the wind, howling like a monster, creating giant drifts that slowed horse and rider's pace to a crawl. Whit found himself wishing he'd brought along a snowmobile instead of old Red as he faced into the blizzard, pulling the brim of his hat low before hunching deeper into his parka.

He'd spent all of his life here in Montana. Whether the temperature soared to a hundred or dipped to twenty below zero, Whit MacKenzie knew no fear of the elements. Snow in April or September, and wildflowers popping up before spring had a chance to melt the frost, were as natural as breathing.

Despite his parka and wide-brimmed hat, he couldn't ignore the bone-chilling cold and the snow lashing his face like shrapnel. The thought of a warm shelter and the bottle of good scotch he would splash liberally in his coffee as soon as he settled in, had him smiling. After nearly twenty hours of never-ending work, his body was desperate for sleep. He couldn't wait to slip out of his frozen clothes and into one of those thick blankets that covered the bunk beds.

Some cowboys couldn't bear the isolation of the hills, preferring instead to share a longneck and a bowl of gut-burning chili at Wylie's Saloon with the rest of the wranglers from neighboring ranches. That, and the promise of a quick tumble with one of the hot chicks who waited patiently in town for the weekend rush, was all they needed to get them through another week of endless chores.

For a loner like Whit, the thought of time away from his big, loud family was as necessary as food. As tempting as one of his grandfather's steaks cooked to perfection on the new grill he'd had installed in the ranch's giant kitchen. Without question, Whit loved his family. His mother, Willow, and grandfather, Mad. His brother Ash and Ash's wife, Brenna; and the half brother, Griff, he'd never met until this past year; and Griff's new bride, Juliet, and her two little boys, Ethan and Casey. Ever since the murder of their father, Bear MacKenzie, the family had drawn even closer. But maybe because of their closeness, he cherished his alone time more than ever.

In the lean-to that abutted the cabin, he unsaddled old Red and toweled him down before filling troughs with feed and water. Grabbing up his rifle and saddle bags, he trudged around to the door of the range shack and leaned a shoulder to it. Just as he did, he caught the unexpected whiff of wood smoke.

Inside he dropped the saddle bags and rifle on the floor before turning to secure the door.

“Move a muscle, you're dead.”

He felt the press of something hard between his shoulder blades at the same instant he heard the whispered words.

“What the hell…?”

“I said don't move.”

It was too late. On his lips was a snarl of rage as he turned to face his attacker. The beam of light from a flashlight momentarily blinded him. He lashed out with a fist, sending the flashlight clattering to the floor. “You'd better not miss on your first shot, because there won't be a second…”

Now that the blinding light had been deflected, the words died in his throat. The weapon was a broom handle. And the one holding it was a female, wrapped in a blanket, thick blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders and down her back in a riot of tangled curls. Her eyes, more green than blue, were wide with absolute terror.

His blood was too hot to cool, despite what he saw. In one smooth motion he knocked the broom aside, then pulled away the blanket, to assure himself she wasn't hiding a weapon underneath.

Too late, he realized his mistake. There was no weapon, and no way she could be hiding anything. Beneath the blanket he saw only the tiniest bikini briefs and a nude lace bra. And an expanse of pale firm flesh that had his throat going dry as dust.

Her eyes blazed, and he would have sworn he could feel daggers aimed straight at his heart.

Her words were pure ice. “Okay. You've looked long enough. You make one move toward me, cowboy, I'll rip your head from your shoulders and feed it to the wolves.”

It was the sexiest voice he'd ever heard. Low, sultry, breathless. Sheer bravado? he wondered. Or calm, cool anger?

In his whole life, Whit had never backed away from a fight. And though the MacKenzie temper already had him by the throat, the look of her, like a cat poised to pounce, had laughter bubbling up instead of the expected anger.

“You and what army, honey?”

She tossed her head, sending that wild mane flying. “I'm not your honey. And if you think I'm just going to stand here and let some lecherous drifter—”

His hand shot out, gripping her wrist so firmly her head jerked back and her eyes went wide with undisguised terror.

“I warned you…” Her words died in her throat when he dragged her close.

“I heard you.” His voice was little more than a growl. “Now
I'm
warning
you
. I'm tired. And I'm mad as hell. You're trespassing on my land. This is my range shack. You have one minute to explain why I shouldn't throw you outside in that blizzard and let the wolves have a tasty little meal tonight.”

When he released her, she rubbed her sore wrist while backing away. “First I need my clothes…”

“Don't bother on my account.”

With a half grin of appreciation, he watched as she turned away and snatched at a makeshift clothesline strung across the upper bunk, retrieving a pair of denims and a plaid shirt.

Whit couldn't help admiring the air of dignity about her as she slipped into the jeans and covered herself with the shirt, buttoning it clear to her throat before turning to face him.

He picked up the discarded flashlight and set it on the small kitchen counter, and noted the way she put the distance of the room between them, while her gaze darted to his rifle on the floor, then back to his face.

“Don't even think about it,” he warned.

She stood, ramrod straight, her head high, her chin lifted like a prizefighter.

He watched her through narrowed eyes. “I didn't see a vehicle outside. And the only horse in the lean-to is mine. How'd you get up here?”

“I…walked.”

“From where?”

“A friend's ranch.”

“This friend have a name?”

“It's none of your business.”

“Okay. We're done.” He tossed his parka over the back of a wooden chair and, carrying his rifle with him, stormed across the room.

Turning his back on her he sat on the edge of the lower bunk and eased off his boots with a long, deep sigh, grateful that she already had a fire burning on the hearth.

She was so startled, she started toward him, then froze. “What are you doing?”

He never even looked up. “Making myself comfortable… in
my
cabin.”

“But you can't…” She paused and tried again. “Look, I know you said this was your place and…”

“It
is
my place. And I'm in for the night.”

“Can't you just go back to your ranch?”

He did look up then, his eyes reflecting the weariness he was feeling. “In case you haven't noticed, there's a blizzard raging out there.”

“Are you calling a little storm a blizzard?” She stalked to the door and pulled it open. A wild gust of wind snatched it from her hand and sent it slamming against the wall. Within seconds snow billowed inward, dusting the floor at her feet.

With a look of disbelief she stared at the alien landscape outside. Everything was buried beneath mountains of snow. With great effort she forced the door shut and set the lock before turning to face him.

“I'm sorry. I didn't realize…” She took in a breath. “I know I should leave, but I don't see how I can.”

Whit shrugged. “Looks like we're stuck with each other until it's safe to travel.”

He crossed to the small kitchen counter and dumped bottled water into a coffeemaker, along with a measure of ground coffee from a package, before setting it on a grate over the fire. Soon the little cabin was filled with the wonderful aroma of brewed coffee.

“Want some?”

At her nod, Whit filled two cups and opened the bottle of scotch, pouring a liberal amount into his coffee. “Want a splash of this?”

She shook her head.

“Suit yourself.” He handed her the cup and leaned against the small wooden table as he took a long, satisfying drink.

As the warmth snaked through his veins, he looked up to see her watching him.

Though he was far from feeling human, he managed a smile. “My name's Whit. Whit MacKenzie.”

“Cara Walton.”

“We'll talk in the morning, Cara Walton. I'm afraid if I don't crawl into that bunk right now, I'll be asleep on my feet.”

He drained his coffee and set the empty mug in the sink before crossing to the bunk beds.

The blankets on the lower bunk were mussed, indicating that his uninvited guest had been sleeping there. No matter. He didn't have the energy left to climb to the top bunk.

There was no energy left for modesty, either.

Without a thought about the woman, he shucked his wet denims and plaid shirt, tossing them over the back of a chair to dry. “Sorry, Goldilocks. I'm reclaiming my bed. You'll have to make do up there.” He nodded toward the upper bunk.

Rolling beneath the covers he set the rifle beside him, closed his eyes, and fell into an exhausted sleep.

Cara stood across the room, reeling from the assault on her senses. First there had been the sudden appearance of this stranger in the dark of night and their terrifying scuffle.

What were the odds that somebody would stumble on this cabin in the middle of nowhere? Not just somebody, but the owner. Wasn't this just her luck? And why should she be surprised? Nothing had ever gone right in her life. Everything that other people took for granted seemed just out of her reach. And in the past year, when she'd thought things were turning around, even the simplest things had been turned upside down. All her dreams, all her plans, snatched from her grasp. Add to that the fact that everybody who mattered to her was gone, she was feeling scared and extremely vulnerable, and she was feeling overwhelmed.

She'd thought this little cabin in the middle of nowhere might turn out to be her sanctuary, at least until she could sort out her future. And now this cowboy showed up just in time to send her packing yet again. And not just any cowboy, but one who'd casually undressed in front of her, displaying that perfectly sculpted body. For a moment she'd actually thought he was going to make a move on her. When he'd turned instead to the bed, she'd felt a wild sense of relief, until she realized that he'd meant it to be an insult. Proof that to him, she didn't even exist. A nobody. She was just an inconvenience that he had already dismissed.

She bit her lip as she watched and listened to the man in the bunk.
Her
bunk, she thought with a rush of annoyance. She couldn't believe he was actually asleep. One minute he'd come rushing in like a tornado, and the next he was out like a light. But at least that fact gave her time to think. To plot her next move.

She'd heard the wind howling outside the cabin, of course. But she'd been so sound asleep, she'd never bothered to get up and check on the weather. Who would have predicted a blizzard in early April? Judging by the amount of snow she'd spotted out the door, it could be up to the roof by morning.

That little trick of Mother Nature's would require a change of plans. She couldn't just slip away while the cowboy slept. That meant that she might be forced to spend a day or more in these tight quarters with an arrogant, hot-tempered, gorgeous cowboy.

She finished her coffee and set the mug in the sink before turning toward the bunks. First things first. She would sleep while he was sleeping, so she would be fresh in the morning, and better able to stay one step ahead of him.

As she switched off the flashlight and climbed the rustic ladder to the upper bunk, she gave a grim smile. Wasn't it just her luck to be trapped in the wilderness with the most gorgeous man she'd ever seen, and be forced to find a way to keep him as far away as possible?

At least that part shouldn't be too hard.

After all, how much would it take to outsmart some backwoods, muscle-bound, hunky cowboy?