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Married In Montana
Lynnette Kent
Ranching is in Thea Maxwell's blood, just as it's been in her ancestors' for generations. But now the family's in danger of losing everything because Bobby Maxwell, Thea's teenaged brother–heir to the Walking Stones ranch–has broken the law.Thea longs to confide in Rafe Rafferty–the man she's falling in love with. But Deputy Rafe Rafferty is the law, and anything Thea tells him could be used against Bobby.How can Thea risk sacrificing her brother and her family home?How can she risk losing Rafe?
“Send that man away!”
Thea Maxwell stared at her father without understanding. “Who…you mean Rafe?”
Her dad nodded. “He’s the law.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“He’ll be investigating Bobby’s accident.” Robert Maxwell closed his eyes for a moment. “If one of those boys dies, it’s going to be all we can do to keep your brother from being tried for murder. This deputy you’re so set on getting friendly with will be the one making the arrest, gathering the evidence. And he’ll be the one pushing to convict.”
He looked straight at Thea, his face haggard, his eyes as cold as stone.
“Are you willing to let your boyfriend send your brother to prison?”
Dear Reader,
In the midst of writing Married in Montana, I made a major change in my life: I bought a horse. After taking riding lessons for a few months, my daughter fell in love with a spotted saddle horse named T-Bone, a sweet guy with whom she could learn the ropes of riding and showing horses. I was horse crazy when I was a teenager, so I’ve enjoyed encouraging her equine adventures.
I suppose my early romance with horses explains, in part, why I love to write about the people who make ranching their life. The vacation I would choose is a couple of weeks spent on a working cattle ranch—in Montana, of course—riding out with the crew every morning, coming in tired and dirty and hungry in the evening…and then getting up the next morning to do it all over again!
I get to live a bit of that cowboy life when we go to the barn to ride—and when I write books like this one. My heroine, Thea Maxwell, is living my idea of the perfect life. All she needs is the perfect man with whom to share it. Deputy Sheriff Rafe Rafferty fits the bill…except for the fact that he’s on one side of the law and she, thanks to family complications, is on the other. Working out Thea’s and Rafe’s problems, against the magnificent backdrop of the Montana Rockies, gave me a great deal of pleasure. I hope their story does the same for you.
All the best,
Lynnette Kent
P.S. I should mention that once I finished Married in Montana, I took the horse experience a step further…I bought one for me!
Married in Montana
Lynnette Kent
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Roxanne and Ellen, who mined the Maxwells and their story with me. Thanks for all the hard work. We make a great team!
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#ufb2a90cf-a711-5f9b-86ad-23c4e268ad3f)
CHAPTER TWO (#u15bc5323-f212-5313-af97-7626a4afd637)
CHAPTER THREE (#ueb401fce-c001-51dd-a15b-f5702ee90275)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u55ddcca5-e656-5bd2-9af3-9d60b2f5b6f8)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u7e9a3953-5010-5b12-8592-481db87ff427)
CHAPTER SIX (#ua5e474a1-e57d-5351-91a3-ba1291a525d3)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ue7929814-3632-51ba-be7a-65f9d37c8f82)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#ue90ad778-32f5-5201-95a5-776519266835)
CHAPTER NINE (#uf0975750-35b6-533c-8606-1d724d63c5a4)
CHAPTER TEN (#u8fdfc991-8f8a-57cd-9e57-c5c68de1f4c6)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#u0135291a-35e7-584c-9d28-caa73474d5f7)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#u8fd603bc-a545-59fe-a246-78515826d8ff)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#u9b0d630e-963b-5433-837f-3f93d01b50c8)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#ue08acc61-50eb-51ef-9029-de6e99d75324)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#u921cbf5c-4610-5aa3-81fd-475292982d9b)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#u7bf1f3ed-23cc-593f-b7e9-ea432910fcf0)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#u7de9b561-4cab-5621-9bff-3240dafb331a)
EPILOGUE (#u0ec529cd-dc5d-5d19-b4a9-3da948cfdc8a)
CHAPTER ONE
SETTING HIS JAW, Rafe Rafferty stepped out of his truck into the driving rain. He turned immediately to open the rear passenger door. “Okay, son, you’re home. Get out.”
Sprawled across the back seat, a nineteen-year-old troublemaker rolled his handsome head from side to side. “Don’ wanna be home.” Each word puffed out a rich aroma of beer.
“Doesn’t matter what you do or don’t want.” Rafe reached in and caught the boy by one wrist. “You’re not spending the night in there.” He gave the connected arm a jerk. His passenger flowed into a sitting position, held it for a second, then slid to the floorboard like a rag doll.
Rafe glanced at the water running an inch deep around the soles of his boots. “This is gonna hurt you a hell of a lot more than it hurts me.” He braced a foot on the running board of the truck, grabbed the boy’s ankles, one in each hand, and thrust backward with all the force his legs would generate.
A second later, Bobby Maxwell, heir apparent to the Walking Stones Ranch near Paradise Corners, Montana, landed on his butt on the driveway in the rain.
Rafe ignored the boy’s cussing. “I’ll wake them up inside,” he told Bobby. “And then I’m leaving. You want to sleep out in this weather, that’s your business. Getting you home before you killed yourself or somebody else was mine.”
His heels struck loudly on the floorboards of the wide porch as he crossed to the ranch house’s front door. The brass knocker had been fashioned as a bull’s head—an Angus, no doubt, the specialty of Walking Stones Ranch—with a twelve-inch horn spread and a ring through its nose. Rafe grabbed that ring and slammed brass against brass five times, good and loud. Then he backed up a step, propped his thumbs in the pockets of his uniform slacks and waited.
Soon enough, the porch lamps flashed on, the dead bolt turned and the big double doors swung backward. Just over the threshold, a woman stood silhouetted against the glow of interior lights. According to what he’d heard, there was no Mrs. Maxwell. So this would be Bobby’s older sister, Thea Maxwell, the one who, so rumor had it, could give most cowboys in the area a run for their money when it came to ranch work.
“Hello?” Her voice was deep, husky, questioning. And totally feminine. Hearing it, everything inside Rafe—his pulse, his breath, his thoughts—stopped for a second in surprise.
“Is something wrong?” Worry edged the words as she stared at him, waiting.
He pulled himself together, freed a thumb and tipped his hat. “Good evening, ma’am. I’m Deputy Sheriff Rafferty. I brought Mr. Bobby Maxwell home.”
She raked a hand through her short hair. “Let me guess—you caught him tipping Fred Byron’s cows again.” Now her voice held a smile, inviting him to smile, too.
This was business, though, so he didn’t. “No, ma’am. I broke up a fight at the Lone Wolf Bar up in Paradise Corners and found him in the middle.”
She stiffened. “Is he hurt?”
“He’s beat up a little. But mostly he’s too drunk to run around loose.”
“Dammit, Bobby!”
“Don’ yell at me, Tee.”
The Maxwell boy stumbled up the three steps onto the porch, swayed and wrapped an arm around a stacked stone column to keep from falling over. His clothes were soaking wet, plastered to his skin. “Don’ yell, okay? No harm done.”
“This time.” Brushing past Rafe, Thea Maxwell crossed the porch to pry her brother from his prop. The drape of her blue pajamas hinted at some very nice curves underneath. Rafe liked women with curves. And voices like hers.
At the moment, though, this woman wasn’t thinking about impressing him one way or another. She was fussing over her brother. “You’d better get into some dry clothes before you get sick. How’d you get so wet?” She pulled his arm over her shoulder, turning him toward the front door.
As they passed Rafe, Bobby gave him a wink and a good-natured grin. “Can’t ’member.”
“Do you remember promising you’d stay out of trouble?” Still holding him up with an arm around his waist, she propelled Bobby down the length of the palatial great room. Rafe could hear her scolding as they disappeared through an arched doorway. “When are you going to grow up?”
Bobby laughed, but his mumbled reply was lost in the distance. Duty discharged, Rafe turned away from the warmth of the house to start the long drive back to town.
“What the devil is going on here?”
He pivoted back to face the growling question. Now a man confronted him from the doorway, tall and broad-shouldered, still dressed in the working clothes of a hands-on rancher. This would be Boss Maxwell himself. Robert Maxwell Senior.
Another respectful tip of the hat. “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Maxwell. I brought your son back from town—he was too drunk to drive. He can pick up his truck in the parking lot where he left it.”
Maxwell’s temper vibrated in the air. “Who asked you to butt in?”
Rafe refused to be baited. He didn’t want to tell Maxwell that his son had started a bar fight—why cause the boy any more grief? Especially with an old man as hard as Maxwell was reputed to be. “I thought Bobby could use some help getting home, that’s all. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“You’ll leave when I say so, and not before.” Maxwell stepped into the porch light. His lined face testified to years in the harsh Montana weather, his red hair showed streaks of white at the temples. “My boy doesn’t need a baby-sitter, especially not some wet-behind-the-ears deputy still breaking in his boots.” The rancher didn’t have to raise his voice to make a point—his sharp tone did all the work.
“I may be new to Paradise Corners, but I’ve been wearing these same boots for six years now.” The grin he tried got no response, so Rafe abandoned the effort. “I was just doing my job, sir.” This last “sir” came out through gritted teeth.
“Your job is to stay out of decent people’s business. The folks of this county will let you know when they want your help. As for the Maxwells…” The older man sliced the air with the side of his hand. “We don’t need your help. Just stay clear. I’ve got connections all over this state. I can get you run out of town so fast—”
Thea arrived in time to hear the threat. “Calm down, Dad.”
Both men jerked their heads to stare in her direction. They’d been so involved in their argument, they obviously hadn’t noticed her return to the doorway. Arms crossed, she surveyed them in turn, reminded of mature bulls staking a claim on the same herd of cows. Both big, both strong, both stubborn.
She put her hand on her dad’s arm. “Deputy Rafferty did us a favor. There’s no telling what would have happened if Bobby had tried to drive home. Why don’t you just say thanks and get to bed? It’s 1:00 a.m., and you wanted an early start in the morning.”
Robert Maxwell didn’t give in, but she hadn’t expected him to. With a sound somewhere between a snarl and a grunt, he turned on his boot heel and stomped back into his wing of the house.
Shaking her head, Thea looked at the deputy. “We haven’t treated you very well, considering how helpful you’ve been. I’m Althea Maxwell—Thea to most people.” She held out her hand to shake his. “Would you like some coffee before you head back?”
His warm palm closed against hers, comforting, safe. “That would be great. I’m Rafe, by the way. Well…” He shrugged. “Actually it’s Owen, but I got tired of the teasing by about the second grade.” He grinned and took off his hat.
Thea blinked twice. Hard. With Bobby in such a state, she hadn’t had time or opportunity to notice the deputy’s looks, but she sure was noticing now. Deep brown eyes under thick lashes, a proud nose that might have been broken a time or two, dark brown hair that kept its wave even with a regulation short haircut. And then there were his shoulders…
A cold draft through the open door brought Thea to her senses. “Oh…good. The kitchen’s this way.” Only as she led him through the dining room did she remember she was in her pajamas. Flannel pajamas, true, in a conservative dark blue. She might as well be wearing jeans and a shirt.
But standing across the kitchen from the gorgeous deputy as she made a pot of hot, sweet coffee, she couldn’t help feeling…exposed. She should have put on a robe, at least.
“Thanks for leaving out the part about the fight,” she said, filling a mug for each of them. “Especially since Bobby probably started the whole thing.” She glanced at the deputy, who nodded. “He’s not in any shape to deal with Dad’s temper tonight.”
“I’d imagine that requires a clear head.”
She waved him to the kitchen table. “Nerves of steel help. As well as not having done anything wrong to begin with.” She sighed. “With Bobby, we hardly ever get all three at the same time.”
Considerately, Rafe Rafferty left that comment alone. “These are good,” he said after a minute, gesturing with one of the oatmeal cookies she’d set out. Thea looked up from her coffee and saw that, like a little boy, he had a crumb at the corner of his mouth. Such a nicely shaped mouth…
“Did you make them?”
Startled yet again, she laughed, hoping he hadn’t noticed her staring. “Coffee is my only kitchen skill. Our housekeeper, Beth, is the genius.”
He nodded. “Genius covers it. I hear you work the ranch with your dad.”
“That’s right.” She said it with the warm surge of pride she always got when she thought about her job. “I wouldn’t do anything else.”
“It’s beautiful country, that’s for sure.” A fifth cookie left the plate. “But hard work for a woman, I’d imagine. I’ve done some climbing since I got here a few weeks ago—this terrain can be tough.”
Eyebrows lifted, Thea sat up straight. “You think it’s easier for a man?”
He stared at her a second, his jaw hanging slightly loose, then laughed. “So you do that, too.”
“Do what?”
“Your dad doesn’t have to yell—he can cut like a bullwhip with just a whisper. And your voice just did the same thing.”
Her cheeks got hot. “I didn’t intend to go after you with a bullwhip. Still, if you assume that because I’m female I can’t—”
He finished the cookie and dusted the crumbs from his big hands, shaking his head the whole time. “Sorry, my mistake. It’s just hard to imagine a woman as pretty as you out there castrating calves all day.” His smile was a clear invitation to flirt back.
But Thea had seen that smile—heard the line that went with it—too many times. She wasn’t about to fall for another slick maneuver, wasn’t about to be used to curry favor with her father.
Especially not when she felt so…so vulnerable to this man. After just ten minutes of his company, no less.
“I can castrate with the best of them, thank you very much, Deputy. I’ve delivered breech calves by myself and spent three days alone on horseback rounding up cows lost in a blizzard. There’s nothing on Walking Stones I can’t or won’t do.” She stood up. “Now, if you’ve finished your coffee, it’s late and I’m going to be at work before sunrise.”
He got to his feet and picked up his hat. Under the bright kitchen light, his cheeks were a dull red. “I apologize yet again, Ms. Maxwell. I seem to be stepping in it whichever direction I turn.” Without waiting for her guidance, he made his way to the front of the house, fast enough that Thea had to hurry to keep up with his long strides. Before she quite reached the door, he’d crossed the porch and started down the steps.
The cold rain had gotten worse, whipping across the driveway like bullets. Rafe Rafferty drew up his shoulders as he jogged out to his truck. The engine roared to life, the lights blazed, and for a second she could see him through the water-glazed windshield as he wiped a hand over his bare head. He glanced her way, and his mouth tightened.
