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“Well...” Gloria went back to her notebook. “Everything’s pretty new, but I’d like some higher-end appliances in the kitchen. Paint everything, give it a fresh look. Most of this furniture has to go and we’ll need to bring in truckloads more, just to fill the place.” She glanced around. “A few new light fixtures would help. Then there are all the accents, rugs, art, decorative items.” She closed the book, envisioning the kinds of things she’d put in this room. “If you want a high-end buyer you need to use high-end materials. It’ll be expensive and there are no guarantees.”
Max nodded, walking around the room and checking it out as if trying to imagine it through the eyes of a multimillionaire. “I’ll double-check with my client, but I’m sure he’ll tell you to go ahead.” He paused and regarded her. “The question is, are you up to tackling this sort of job?”
Excitement. That was what Gloria felt as she contemplated the challenge the ranch house presented. However, she was also a realist. “I’ll be honest, Max. Back in Chicago I could do it. I’ve got the contacts there—contractors, furniture suppliers. Here?” She shrugged. “I don’t know where to start. We’re out in the middle of nowhere.”
“Well, now, we may be isolated but I imagine Butte’s got what you need in terms of furniture and supplies.”
“What if we can’t rent? Can your client afford what I’m talking about?
“We can ask.”
Not for the first time, Gloria wondered who the mystery client was.
“So,” Max prodded. “What do you think?”
She smiled. “I think it’s an exciting proposition.”
“Good, glad to hear it. You come highly recommended.”
She did? She was just going to ask who’d recommended her when Max nodded toward the window. “I just saw the client ride past. Why don’t we go talk over the fine points with him and then he can take you on a tour of the rest of the property.”
“Sounds good.”
Already Gloria’s mind was spinning with ideas, a southwestern theme infused with modern touches. The log home, with its warm honey tones, would be ideal for brightly colored furniture and accents. With her head buried in her notebook, jotting down the ideas before she could forget them, she followed Max back outside to the yard.
When she glanced up, all she saw was a big man striding toward them, the sun at his back blinding her so that she couldn’t make out his features.
“Hi, Gloria. Glad you came.”
That voice. She recognized that voice.
Oh, no.
She shielded her eyes from the sun and his features came into focus. She pointed at him as if he was an apparition, not a flesh-and-blood man. “Dillon?”
“That’s me.”
“What the hell are you doing here?”
He took a couple steps closer. She stumbled back.
“What do you mean what am I doing here?”
“I mean. What. Are. You. Doing. Here?”
He frowned. “This ranch is mine. For now. Until you help me sell it, that is.” He opened his arms wide. “Welcome.”
Gloria could not believe it. She propped her fists on her hips. “You tricked me into coming here?”
“Tricked you?” Dillon tilted his head to one side, the wide brim of his cowboy hat hiding his eyes. “Is that what you think?”
“Yes, that’s what I think.” Gloria angled her chin up at him. Good Lord the man was big. She’d forgotten how big he was. “For what reason, I can only guess.”
The real estate agent cleared his throat and Dillon turned to him. “Give us a few minutes, will you, Max?”
“Sure thing.”
Dillon waited until Max was out of earshot before taking a measured step toward her. “Tell me, who did you think was behind the contract?”
Gloria bit down on the end of her pencil. “Well...”
“Who do you know who lives in Montana, besides me?”
“Oh, um...”
“Anyone?” With each step he took toward her, his voice became lower.
“I thought you lived in Wyoming,” she said with a lame laugh.
“Why would you think that?”
Before answering, she took a moment to think about it. She had a vague recollection of Dillon telling her where he hailed from—twice—so why didn’t she remember? She’d like to believe it was because she didn’t care, but that wasn’t exactly true.
God, I’m an idiot...
He frowned, as though he’d heard her unspoken words, and then he removed his hat and raked his fingers through his thick dark brown hair before positioning it back on his head.
Why did such a simple act have such a profound effect on her? Maybe it was because she was so aware of him whenever he was around—his presence, his size, seriously the man just took up too much space—it made her uneasy. So, when he spoke in that melodic, ambling drawl of his, the words just strolled right on by.
Because you’re too busy checking out his package.
Oh, God! Gloria tore her gaze from the front of Dillon’s well-fitting jeans. Had he caught her? It was hard to tell with the brim of his hat shading the top half of his face. She faked a scowl, hoping to cover her lapse in concentration.
“Look, Gloria. I’m selling this ranch and I need a stager. You’re the only one I know.”
She tilted her head back so far it felt as if her neck might snap. He was doing this on purpose, coming closer, making her feel so...small. Her instinct was to back away, but she didn’t. She stood her ground. “There’s this amazing thing called the internet and all you have to do is type the word stager into a search engine, and you’ll get a whole list of people. It’s amazing.”
She may not have been able to read his eyes, but there was no mistaking the taut line of muscle along his wide jaw that told her he was clenching his teeth. Yep, he was clenching his teeth, all right, because when he spoke, it was through those closed teeth. “I may not have grown up in the big city, but that doesn’t make me stupid.”
“I never said—”
“No. But you implied it.”
Gloria opened her mouth to refute his claim and then stopped because, while she couldn’t see his eyes beneath his hat, she felt the intensity of his stare, daring her to deny the insult.
“I’m sorry.”
That muscle along his jaw tightened again and Gloria found herself fighting an irrational urge to touch it, run her finger tip along it. Lightly. She clenched her hands into fists instead.
“Look, Gloria, I have no idea what I did to you to make you think I’m some asshole with an agenda. But here’s the deal. I saw how efficient you were at the fund-raiser you threw for Daisy. According to Jamie, you pulled that event off in less than a month. You’re organized, professional and experienced. You can get the job done and that’s what I need.”
The last bit was said so low, the words threatened to sift through her hair before floating by on the wind. Gloria wasn’t even sure she heard him right, all she knew was that the sound of the letters strung together evoked a tingling sensation at the base of her spine.
Dillon’s gaze slid from her to take in the surrounding landscape. “And, I want this place sold as soon as possible.”
* * *
GLORIA GOT IN her car, started up and drove away. God, what was wrong with her? Why was she acting like such a jerk?
Dillon. That’s what was wrong with her. There was something about that man that drove her insane, something about him that got under her skin and made her completely crazy. She took a deep breath and blew it out very slowly.
Well, at the very least, this time he didn’t bring on a panic attack. That was a good sign. Why she’d had one the last time, she still didn’t understand because there’d been no reason for it that made any sense. It had been years—four at least—since her last one. What had that one been about?
Oh, yeah.
She’d gotten trapped in an attic when moving furniture up there for one of her jobs. The small constricted space, full to the rafters with junk, one second she was fine, the next she was on all fours, barely able to breathe. Thank God Faith had been there.
While this one hadn’t been a full-blown attack, Gloria knew how these things worked: the fear of an attack would linger at the back of her mind, festering, reminding her that she was powerless and she’d be living with low-grade fear that an attack could come on at any time, any place, undermining her tenuous sense of security.
Making her feel weak.
Out of control.
It was the worst feeling in the world.
She glanced up into the rearview mirror, watching the buildings of the ranch grow smaller in the dust from the gravel road and she increased the pressure on the gas pedal.
So the contract hadn’t worked out. At least it gave her some time away from Chicago to gather her thoughts. With this contract off the table, what she needed to do was put her head down and get to work. But she couldn’t go home. Her dad was there, and while she loved him fiercely, his manic energy would not be conducive to her well-being. It never had been.
Maybe she should see if she could stay with Daisy for a while. No. Daisy was still a newlywed, she didn’t need to be crashing that party, as if crashing their wedding night wasn’t bad enough. Sighing, Gloria racked her brain, going through her list of friends, ticking off who she could possibly stay with. But there was always something: new baby, marriage trouble, new job, no room...
She’d ask Faith, except living together and working together was never a good idea.
What she needed was a holiday.
She couldn’t afford a holiday.
Unless she stayed in Montana...which wasn’t exactly a holiday.
Gloria’s foot weighed heavily on the accelerator and the rental car flew across a single lane bridge over a meandering creek and then back to the road. Fields, pastures, hills and sky painted watercolor portraits in her peripheral vision.
For a fleeting second, Gloria felt wild and free.
Until she hit a patch of gravel and the car started to slide, almost as if it was winter and she was driving on ice.
“Shit!”
Gloria tugged the wheel and the back end fishtailed as she overcorrected one way and then the next. Time slowed and things became clear: the sound of spraying gravel, the thudding of her pulse through her body, the impossibly blue sky and stark peaks flashing past the window.
Was this the moment of clarity that came before death?
If so, there was a peacefulness to it that seemed out of sync with the utter chaos of what was happening around her.
5 (#u012b6bbd-a460-5f27-a28c-e5b35d483fe5)
“I CAN LIST it as is,” Max Ozark said, already snapping shots of the yard and barn with his camera phone.
Dillon barely heard him. He was eyeing the progress of the line of dust traveling away from the ranch.
“Dillon?”
“Huh?” He turned his attention back to the real estate agent.
“Do you want me to list it?”
Rubbing his jaw, Dillon surveyed the property. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
“I can take a bunch more outdoor pictures while I’m here.”
“Sounds good.” Dillon pointed to the place where he’d ridden earlier in the day. “You can get a nice panoramic shot up on the bluff over there. Take one of the quads or a horse if you like.”
“I’ll take a quad. You know me—I like my animals four-wheeled.”
“City slicker.”
Max laughed. “Speaking of, what’d you do to piss off the redhead?”
“No idea.”
“Women.”
Max was speaking from experience. Father of five girls, three of whom were married with kids. All girls. Dillon had gone to school with the eldest of them.
“Look, you finish up here.” Dillon handed Max the extra key he’d had cut. “I’m heading back to town. Got some things to take care of.”
“You’re not staying out here till it sells?”
“Nah.”
Focusing on the image on his phone screen, Max said, “Thought you might—you were always staying on when Kenny needed help.”
“Yeah, well.” Dillon adjusted his hat so it sat more firmly on his head. “I helped when I was around. Kenny didn’t have much in the way of family.”
Max looked as if he wanted to say more, but kept his mouth closed, for once. He was a good guy, but loved his gossip, and the fact that Kenny Wells had left the ranch to Dillon was fodder for a town that was always looking for something new to talk about.
He climbed into his F-350 4x4, supposing the latest speculation was that he and Kenny were gay. He chuckled and rubbed his chin at the utter ridiculousness of that thought. Not that he cared what other people did or who they loved—live and let live, and all that shit—but the thought of him and Kenny?
He quickly replaced the thought with one of Gloria. He could still see her as clear as anything, the way she looked lying underneath him: her fiery hair spread out all over the pillow, her pretty lips parted, her eyes closed as flashes of pleasure radiated across her face. Now, that was a fine image to have emblazoned in one’s memory. There were others, too. Gloria’s face turned up to him, smiling wide, throwing her head back and laughing as he led her across the dance floor. That image might be even clearer because that was the moment when he’d decided he needed to take her to bed. A woman who had the ability to let go, to dance with such abandon and laugh with such freedom was a woman he wanted to make love to.
