Moon Over Montana. Jackie Merritt

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СКАЧАТЬ with hopes of finding another husband.

      “Lord love a duck,” she whispered, shocked that she would even think of such a thing. One husband had been more than enough for her. She’d been positive for a very long time—even prior to her divorce—that she could happily live out the remainder of her life as a single woman.

      Until today, that is. Until meeting a good-looking guy with laughter lurking in his eyes, a mouth designed for tender, sensual kisses and just enough brashness in his personality to create sexual unrest in a woman who had not been seeking any such thing.

      Linda heaved a long sigh, laid her head back, shut out the beauty of the sky by closing her eyes and let life-before-Rumor unfold in her mind.

      It wasn’t that her parents hadn’t cared about her. As a child she’d been given almost anything she’d asked for; anything, that is, but hugs and time and regular meals and the kind of life that the few friends she’d had back then had lived. Their mothers and fathers had scolded and then hugged and kissed their children. No one had ever scolded Linda, because Hilly and Vandyne Vareck had believed that no one had a right to tell anyone else what to do.

      Linda had been a lonely child and had discovered the magic hidden in books at an early age. The collection she had to this day included some childhood favorites, and while her parents worked on their incredible art, or attended all-night parties with their artist friends, Linda had exchanged reality for the setting in whichever book she was devouring.

      In high school, Linda had kept to herself. She made top grades but her friends lived between the covers of books, and whenever she noticed couples holding hands or stealing a kiss in school, she simply told herself that she had other interests.

      Then she met Paul Fioretti and his dark good looks finally broke the back of her indifference to the opposite sex. He was a sharp dresser, drove a new car, always had plenty of money to throw around and he was five years older than she had been. He had told her that his college years had been spent in the East; he had graduated from Yale, an Ivy League school, and he’d brought her to the restaurant he owned, a small but busy place that served delicious Italian food. She’d been impressed by his plans to expand to a second restaurant and then a third, and on and on until Fioretti’s became a chain. She’d also been grateful that he was a businessman and knew little or nothing about art. She had not wanted art for her own career, but her talent was inborn, apparently, and wouldn’t be ignored. She dated Paul until her college graduation, and when he proposed that same day, she agreed to marry him.

      At her wedding she’d realized once again how unusual her parents were, for they hadn’t attended the ceremony. Instead, they’d sent her the deed to a very nice house in suburban Culberton as a wedding present. By then the Varecks’ eccentricities no longer hurt Linda, and she had written a lovely thank-you letter, which they never acknowledged. Paul had been openly thrilled about having a house without a mortgage, but when Linda had suggested that he, too, contact her folks to thank them, he’d hemmed and hawed and never did get around to it.

      One thing about Paul that had truly pleased Linda was that he hadn’t pressured her into making love before their wedding, as she’d had some very sweet ideas about being a pure and virginal bride. Then, on their wedding night, Paul had shattered her romantic fantasies by taking her roughly and without any consideration for what she might be feeling.

      That had been the first blow to the hopes she had permitted to penetrate her somewhat cynical take on life; obviously, she had been delusional for a while. That very night she had wept quietly while Paul snored beside her. Any hope she’d had for a perfect marriage was utter nonsense. As for children, the ones she would love with all her heart and soul, Paul had refused to discuss the subject. He didn’t want children.

      But even with such serious flaws, Linda had tried to make her marriage work. Little by little, however, she’d had to face facts. Paul lied about everything, from serious missteps to trivial incidents that weren’t worth the effort it took to devise a lie. His lying became unbearable for a woman who valued honesty as much as Linda did. Plus, Paul’s friends were disreputable people that Linda suspected lived on the wrong side of the law, which meant that her husband was, more than likely, involved in illegal activities.

      The final straw was his infidelity. After far too many years of kowtowing to an immoral, dishonest man who didn’t have a tenth of her intelligence, a man who had never given her a moment’s pleasure in bed and refused to discuss the problem with her, or even admit that there was a problem, Linda had called it quits.

      One afternoon while Paul was gone—only God knew where—Linda packed his clothes and personal possessions. She didn’t throw his things into boxes, she folded everything neatly and filled every suitcase in the house. And when he got home that night, she was up and waiting for him. She told him their marriage was over and she wanted him to take his things and move out.

      He had laughed at her and told her that she would come to her senses. She hadn’t cared what he thought, as long as he got out of her life. She breathed freedom again after he’d loaded his car and driven away, and it had felt absolutely wonderful. The very next day she drove to Las Vegas, rented a small apartment, moved in some of her things and saw an attorney to file for a Nevada divorce.

      The end of that chapter of her life had arrived in the form of a divorce decree. She had already acquired her present teaching job and sold the house, which had remained in her maiden name because Paul never got around to changing that, either—and within two days, she was on her way to Rumor, Montana.

      And here I intend to stay. Linda opened her eyes and felt unusually emotional. The beauty of the vast velvety sky with millions upon millions of sparkling stars touched her soul. Why on earth was she ruining her mellow mood by thinking about Paul?

      Of course, her mood wasn’t entirely mellow. There was Tag now, an intrusion on her peace, to be sure, but was that all bad? He was so darn attractive with his grin and open personality. She would be willing to bet that Tag Kingsley had very few, if any, secrets.

      And he was a carpenter. Could any other job suit her better?

      Deep into her own thoughts, Linda barely heard the snapping twig. Still, it brought her out of her reverie and back to the small piece of earth she inhabited. The yard around the building was dark. Over by the connected row of carports, one of which contained her SUV, were two lights, one attached to the roof on each end of the structure. A few windows in various apartments threw light. Her place was not one of them; she sat in total darkness.

      But there it was again! Someone was stealthily walking near the building. Linda noticed Tippy’s head rising from his front paws; he had heard—or smelled—whoever was creeping around out there. The little dog growled low in his throat, and Linda laid her hand on him to keep him from throwing a barking fit and waking up everyone in the building.

      She sat without moving, one hand on Tippy’s head, the other at her own throat, which seemed to be the place where her heart had leaped and was now pounding a breath-stealing cadence. For moments she sat frozen in that position, then became angry, mostly with herself. She was not and never had been a woman to freeze in fear. Whoever was out there probably had a perfect right to be.

      But then she heard a discordant scratchy sound that was absolutely foreign to anything she’d noticed before. Something wasn’t right, and whatever was going on seemed to be occurring in the vicinity of her front door!

      “What in the world?” she mumbled. At the same moment, Tippy eluded her calming touch, jumped up and began barking at the sliding door. “Hush,” she said sharply. Tippy stopped barking, but he whined and scratched at the glass door. “What is it, Tippy?” she whispered. Was someone who didn’t live in the building СКАЧАТЬ