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Ignoring the outrage in the tone, Brad wrote off the impressive anger to an as-yet-no-coffee morning.
“What does it look like?” He focused on plating the food. “I’m making breakfast.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m hungry. I assume you are, too.” He turned to glance at her.
It was a mistake. Hair still slightly damp from the shower hung in gentle waves past her shoulders. She’d pulled on a green long-sleeved tee that made her eyes look like emeralds and showed off her breasts to mouthwatering perfection. The jeans, well, the way they hugged those long legs should be outlawed.
Though Brad told himself not to go there, he imagined stripping off her shirt and filling his hands—and his mouth—with those amazing—
“What’s the matter with you?”
Brad blinked and the image vanished. He resisted the urge to curse. Barely. “What do you mean?”
His innocent tone had her green eyes flashing.
“You looked like you were plotting something.”
Oh, she was perceptive, this one. He had indeed been plotting. Plotting what to do once he got her into bed. The thought made him grin.
“I was just thinking about feasting on—” he stopped himself in the nick of time “—eggs. And bacon.”
“We need to talk.”
“Eat first. Then talk.” Brad placed the plates of food on the table then expertly filled two mugs with coffee. He cocked his head. “Cream?”
“Black.”
“A woman after my own heart.”
She took the cup he handed her then met his gaze.
“I’m a woman,” she said, “who is determined to get you out of my home.”
Viper, whom he’d up to now tried to ignore, growled as if in agreement.
“Drink your coffee,” he said mildly.
“Coffee won’t change my mind.” Still, she brought the cup to her lips and exhaled a blissful sigh after the first gulp. She looked up. “What is this? The cheap stuff my dad always had on hand did double-duty as a drain cleaner.”
“I order it online. It has chicory in it.”
Those wide lips of hers curved up. Though she wouldn’t admit it, Margot Sullivan looked as though she might be starting to soften toward him.
He thought about pulling out her chair, but decided that would be overkill. Brad pulled out one for himself and sat down.
Sunlight streamed in through the window, filling the small eating area in the country kitchen with warmth. He supposed some people found the wallpaper with dancing teakettles appealing. At first they’d bothered the heck out of him. Now he barely noticed them.
Though he’d moved in two months earlier, Brad had focused on the outdoor needs and had left the inside alone.
When Boyd had first left town, Brad felt sure the old guy would be back any day. Then he’d learned about the ticket to New York. Brad had asked around and discovered the old guy hadn’t requested any of the neighbors to watch the ranch. Of course, that may have been because he now considered it to be Brad’s.
After almost two months, Brad had grown weary of making the trek to the ranch every day and decided to move in.
Though the decor wasn’t to his liking, the only change he made was to the guest bedroom. He refused to sleep under a pink, blue and yellow quilt with ruffles around the shams.
The scrape of a chair against the linoleum had him looking up just in time to see Margot finally take a seat in the chair opposite him, her steaming mug gripped tightly in one hand.
“Your dog might be hungry,” he said. “Her kibble is in the bowl over there.”
Brad gestured with his head toward a weathered enclosed back porch that doubled as a storage area.
“I put some water out for her, too.”
Margot paused, coffee mug poised near those tempting full lips. “Where did you get the food?”
“From your truck.” He shrugged and shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth. “I brought in your other stuff. It’s sitting in the foyer.”
“Thanks.” Still, she looked at him suspiciously, as if trying to figure out the catch.
Well, she could look all she wanted. There was no catch. If the dog didn’t eat, it’d get meaner. And Brad prized his ass. His brother Nate had always accused him of being soft on animals. Nothing could be further from the truth, unless feeling that any living being deserved to have fresh food and water qualified as soft.
While he’d briefly considered leaving her stuff in the truck as a way of saying hit-the-road-Red, he couldn’t do it. Despite what the deed said, the place still didn’t feel as if it belonged to him, and he wasn’t sure it ever would.
They ate in silence for several minutes. Though Brad considered himself a social guy, he’d enjoyed the solitude of this house, this ranch. When he’d worked his parents’ spread there was always someone around, his brothers and the other ranch hands. Until he could hire some help, he was on his own. Or he had been, until Margot had showed up.
Brad wondered what it said about him that he found himself enjoying the suspicious looks Viper shot him while chowing down on her food and the scrutiny in Margot’s emerald eyes from her spot across the table.
Her hand returned to her coffee cup and she took another long gulp, an ecstatic look on her face.
Would she look like that after sex, he wondered? He let his gaze linger on the large breasts evident beneath the clinging fabric of her tee.
When he lifted his gaze, Brad found icy green eyes fixed on him.
She set her mug down with a bam. “If you’re through staring, I suggest we get down to business. Gage is busy so he’s sending a detective or something. I didn’t even know we had those in this town. He should be here any minute—”
“You really called the sheriff?” Brad wasn’t sure why he was surprised. He hadn’t expected her to follow through on her threat made in the dark of night. Then again, though he barely knew this woman, it seemed like something she’d do. Still, he realized he’d hoped they could become better acquainted before she brought in the law.
Now that she was home, Brad supposed he could just turn the Leap of Faith over to her. But he hesitated to voice that option. From what he could tell, she and Boyd had been estranged, at least for the past few years. Once he signed the deed over to her, she could do with it what she wanted. Which might not be what Boyd would want...
“I felt it best to move swiftly.” Margot relaxed back in the metal chair, circa 1950, and peered at him over the top of her mug. “You understand.”
The challenge in those eyes stirred something inside him.
He shot her a sardonic smile. “I’d have taken exactly the same step.”
The look of surprise that flashed across her face pleased him. But before he had a chance to revel in this minor victory, Viper returned from the back porch, those narrowed piercing gold eyes never leaving him as she ambled past him to sit beside Margot’s chair.
The sound of a truck pulling up in the drive had Viper forgetting all about him to focus her attention on a new target. She gave three short high-pitched barks but quieted instantly at Margot’s command.
“I’ll get—” he began, shoving back his chair.
“I’ll get it.” She was already on her feet and moving toward the foyer. “This is my house.”
Brad moved to the counter, pulled out another mug and filled it with coffee, then topped off his and Margot’s cups.
He’d barely finished dumping the breakfast dishes in the sink when Margot and Viper returned with Russ Campbell.
Brad had met Russ when he returned to Montana after three years in Colorado. A police detective from Kalispell, Russ had recently been doing some consulting detective work for Gage Christensen in Rust Creek Falls.
“Mornin’, Russ.” Brad handed the guy a cup and then quickly performed introductions. “What made you stop by?”
“Margot, here.” Russ took the cup gratefully then glanced at the woman. “Called the station and asked Gage when we started allowing squatters.”
“I called because I need to know what’s been done and what you’re doing now to find my father.” Margot spoke slowly and distinctly, her eyes flashing. “That’s my first priority. Getting rid of him—” she pointed to Brad “—is secondary.”
Brad found it interesting she seemed so concerned about locating her dad now. According to what she’d said last night, they hadn’t spoken in months.
Once the deputy asked his questions, Brad had a few of his own.
Chapter Three (#ulink_2f75c685-810e-5f47-80fe-a2a33595f46a)
“Let’s sit.” Russ gestured to the table and took a gulp of coffee.
Brad topped off his mug. Instead of sitting, he leaned back against the counter.
His actions didn’t surprise Margot. Cowboys were an independent breed who didn’t like to be told what to do.
Russ took a seat at the table. He was a good-looking guy: around six foot two with broad shoulders, wavy brown hair and hazel eyes.
Margot wondered if the detective had grown up in the area but couldn’t place him. Russ was older enough that if he had, she wouldn’t have known him.
She remembered Brad because everyone knew the Crawfords. When Brad went off to college, she was still playing with dolls. By the time he was back, he was running with an older crowd and then he was married.
She forced her thoughts from Brad and back to the question that Russ had just asked him.
“Is it that you like hearing me repeat myself?” Brad frowned into his coffee before lifting his gaze. “We went through all of this right after Boyd left.”
“Miss Sullivan wasn’t here then.” The detective slanted a smile in her direction. “I’d like to catch her up to speed. Perhaps she can shed some light on the situation.”
“Please call me Margot,” she told Russ with a smile.
“Margot, then. You can call me Russ.”
Brad gave a snort of disgust. “Now that we’ve got that settled,” he said with a sarcastic drawl, “can we move this along? I have fences to mend.”
Russ merely smiled and inclined his head, obviously an indication that the ball was still in Brad’s court.
Margot watched him square his shoulders.
“It was the Fourth of July. I went to the wedding—of Braden Traub and Jennifer MacCallum,” he clarified for Margot. “They had a reception in Rust Creek Falls Park. The usual barbecue and this wedding punch that lots of people couldn’t get enough of...including your father.”
“Go on,” Russ prompted.
“Several of us guys, including Boyd, ended up at the Ace in the Hole saloon. We played a little poker. Had some drinks.” Brad looked as Margot. “The bets were getting a little out of hand. Your father was really betting like crazy. For a while he was winning. Then his luck changed. He lost everything he’d won...and then all the money he had on him.”
“My father was,” Margot paused and took a deep breath, “is an alcoholic. He quit drinking around the time he met my mother and had been sober ever since. After she died, he went to the bottle for comfort. It was as if he had nothing more to live for since she was gone.”
“He had you,” Brad said quietly.
“I guess he didn’t see it that way.” Margot tried to force a smile to her lips but it wouldn’t slip into place.
“On that particular day, most of the town was drunk.” Russ jotted down some notes, glanced back up at Margot. “What about gambling? Was that an issue for him, too?”
She thought for a moment. “I can’t say for certain. During my childhood, he never gambled. I remember my parents had friends who were always asking them to go to the casinos in Kalispell with them, but they’d never go.”
Russ asked for their names and added their contact information to his growing notes. “I’ll check with them to see if a gambling addiction was ever mentioned.”
Margot shifted her gaze to Brad. “You said he ran out of money. What happened then?”
“The pot was large. Everyone seemed to think they held the winning hand, so it kept growing.” Brad shifted from one foot to the other. “Then it was just me and Boyd. He grew frantic when it was time for him to ante up. He had no more money and he didn’t want to drop out. He put up the deed to the ranch so he could stay in. Insisted upon it.”
Margot raised a skeptical brow. “Insisted?”
“Yes,” Brad said flatly. “You know how bullheaded your dad can be. I tried to talk him out of it, but let’s just say his, ah, response made it clear I was to mind my own.”
It rang true. Margot had been on the receiving end of her father’s sharp tongue. When he was in one of his black moods, you couldn’t tell him a darn thing.
She took a breath and exhaled. “So he lost the hand—” she added, more to neatly tie up the incident with a bow than because she had any doubt of the outcome “—and the ranch.”
“The punch at the wedding was spiked,” Russ interjected.
Clearly annoyed, Brad pinned the detective with his gaze. “I’ve admitted—numerous times—that while I may have had a few glasses, I wasn’t drunk. What I’ve told you is accurate.”
Margot’s gaze turned speculative.
“I had a full house,” Brad explained. “He had three queens. Normally a winning hand. Just not this time.”
“You didn’t have to take it.” Even she could hear the recrimination in her tone. “The ranch, I mean.”
“You think I wanted to take it? You know your dad. He shoved the deed in my face the next day.” Brad lifted his hands, let them drop. “Then he was gone. No one has seen him since.”
“One-way ticket to New York City,” Russ confirmed.
“He was out of money.” Margot’s head swam. None of this made any sense. “Yet he had enough to buy himself a train ticket all the way across the country?”
Brad shrugged. “Apparently.”
