Montana Red. Genell Dellin

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      He interrupted himself to come closer to Clea, his kindly brown eyes questioning her as he finished, “Well, doing whatever you come to Montana to do, ma’am.”

      “Whatever it is,” Buck added helpfully.

      Hopefully. They both looked at her expectantly and fell silent, giving her a chance to tell them what she was doing here. In Jake’s house. With her bright orange cashmere afghan thrown over the arm of the couch and her burled wood bowl with its meandering turquoise inlay sitting on the mantel.

      Not to mention her sheets on his bed.

      She couldn’t help but like the two old-timers who were so lively and curious but no way was she going to get into her story with them.

      “Runnin’ from the law, more ‘n’ likely,” Buck said with a grin and a wink.

      Clea jumped and spilled water on her jeans.

      “I’d lay money on it,” Teddy said. “Don’t she look jist like a hoss thief to you?”

      She felt her eyes go wide and the blood rush to her cheeks. “I can’t believe you saw through my disguise,” she said.

      They laughed, loving that she played along with their joke.

      “We mind our own business,” Teddy said. “So we ain’t turnin’ you in, Miss Clea, not unless you try to throw your long rope on some of our hosses.”

      “Yore disguise ain’t so bad, though,” Buck said. “Ain’t seen many thieves wear them high-heeled shoes like you got on.”

      She laughed, too, even if it sounded a little forced, then she finished the water fast and stood up. She didn’t want to get involved. She had to be alone to get her head straight and her confidence back.

      “All I need is directions to my cabin and I’m outta here,” she said.

      The old guys nodded. “We’ll show you where it’s at and then we’ll help you with your move,” Buck said. “If you do move.”

      Damn, he was stubborn.

      Jake thought so, too, judging by his irritated tone. He yelled from the bedroom, “She is moving. And remember, Buck, we’ve got work to do.”

      Gallant enough to carry a foal around but not to carry boxes for her.

      Face it, girl. The real cowboys have been gone for a hundred years. “I don’t need any help,” Clea yelled back at him. “I won’t accept any help. I moved myself in here and I’ll move myself out.”

      Jake came out of the bedroom carrying a paper sack with a shirt peeking out of the top and a pair of boots in his other hand.

      Clea said, “What’re you doing? I just told you I’ll move.”

      “This’s only for a few more nights.”

      “So’s he can take his turn feedin’ the baby,” Teddy said. “He brought in a orphan foal that we’re helpin’ him with.”

      She turned to Buck. “Maybe they could go feed the foal and you could ride with me and show me where I’m supposed to be,” she said. “Then I’ll drop you at your place.”

      All three of them just stood and looked at her.

      “What?” she said.

      “Reckon we’ll all have to hitch a ride with you,” Teddy said, “or walk. Our truck ain’t runnin’ right now.”

      Clea’s face went hot. She slapped a hand to her forehead. How could she have forgotten?

      How could she survive—anywhere—when she’d lost her memory and most of her good sense?

      She found her keys and led the way out across the porch, down the steps and past the ruins of the pickup with Natural Bands, whatever that was, written on the door. It was truly a wreck. Also new and top-of-the-line. How much was that going to cost her?

      She’d never had to clean up her own messes before. She couldn’t call Brock to take care of it and she couldn’t call Daddy. There was no one she could call.

      Not even an insurance agent. Nobody sold policies to protect shooters against their own bad marksmanship.

      “First experience,” Jake had said. No kidding.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      CLEA KEPT going, using her longest, most confident strides to make herself feel stronger. She was almost to her truck when she realized no one was behind her anymore. She turned to look and then she leaned against the truck and let her shoulders sag.

      Of course. Once again, she’d failed to use her common sense. She’d forgotten that she couldn’t get her truck out with the wrecked one blocking her driveway.

      Jake was unhooking it from the trailer. Buck was sitting in the driver’s seat with the door open.

      “Put ‘er in neutral,” Teddy yelled at him. “I’ll give you the heads-up when we’re ready to push.”

      The only answer he got was a light nicker from Ariel.

      Clea whirled on her heel to see the mare standing at the fence watching the entire proceedings with ears pricked. Her stomach clutched. She’d prefer that no one ever see Ari, even though she’d dyed her white markings after she fed her this morning.

      That was a useless hope, of course. And the disguise was paper thin. She doubted that there were very few horses around this part of Montana at least who were part-thoroughbred and stood nearly seventeen hands, much less horses who moved the way Ariel did.

      But no sense in worrying. She didn’t even know whether these guys would pay any attention to or remember the mare. Anybody could go around pulling a horse trailer. That didn’t mean they’d know a warmblood from a quarter horse.

      Ignoring Ari in the hope that the mare would wander off, preferably somewhere out-of-sight behind the barn, Clea turned back to the truck and started clearing spaces for passengers in the backseat. She gathered up her barn coat and clogs, piled them on top of the metal train case that held most of her cosmetics and balanced all that on the hump in the middle of the floor. She pushed the sack of snacks and carton of soft drinks left over from the trip to the middle of the seat. The old-timers weren’t very big. They could fit in here just fine.

      She climbed into the driver’s seat and looked in the rear-view mirror at the long piece of driveway stretching from the house to the road and the nose of the Natural Bands trailer hanging over it. Backing out, she’d have to swerve her own trailer and then get it back on track so as not to go off into the ditch when she reached the road.

      Maybe she should unhook it.

      She shook her head at herself in the mirror. No, she had to be able to handle all kinds of situations and she’d backed the trailer before. She needed the practice. And she didn’t need the extra work of СКАЧАТЬ