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A Montana Man
Jackie Merritt
MAN of the Month The BENNING Legacy MR. AUGUST The Montana Man: He'd lived for his son and the land - until she came into his life… His Mystery Woman: She was called Sierra. She was beautiful and vulnerable, and he felt an immediate connection to her. All rancher Clint Barrow knew was her name.But from the first he'd needed to stake his claim. He'd brought her home to heal, but as the days stretched into long, hot nights, Clint wanted the woman herself. And just when their denied desire exploded into full-blown passion, Sierra's past began to come clear. Would she soon have to leave her Montana man behind?MAN OF THE MONTH: When he finds a missing Benning sister, can a Montana rancher keep her for his own?
Have I Ever Wanted A Man More? (#ufdfb4400-0ee5-5ab4-93a2-5aab7fb9e4c6)Letter to Reader (#uba9d3d6f-0c00-5909-a7a1-c82ecdef5312)Title Page (#u4275cf08-5a41-5b05-b75c-cc952fdf8247)About the Author (#u84ecfec4-9123-5235-a881-ac8d8768c1a8)Chapter One (#u99d8817c-9839-5159-b57c-18efb3380a84)Chapter Two (#ue6508261-788b-52b3-b42b-9d1c0b2703ce)Chapter Three (#u0ddf4cb1-d408-558b-ac76-588d1a87294f)Chapter Four (#ua8f01ba9-7bd7-543c-83b2-0fe3f3e91f10)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
THE BENNING LEGACY: Three sisters find true
love uncovers the secrets of the past...
and forges bright new tomorrows!
Have I Ever Wanted A Man More?
The question was deadly, reminding Sierra of her amnesia. Reluctantly she broke from Clint’s embrace, instantly missing the warmth and power of his touch.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have touched you, but I couldn’t resist.”
“I know.” Sierra knew he was honorable, but the attraction between them was powerful. She shuddered as the enormity of her situation hit her. Was she falling in love with Clint? What if a husband or lover should suddenly come to light...?
“Good night,” she whispered huskily before going in.
Clint stayed outside, looking over his spread. He wanted Sierra to get well; he could never wish for anything else.
But when she did, everything would change....
Dear Reader,
August predictably brings long steamy days...and hot sensuous nights. And this month Silhouette Desire spotlights the kind of pure passion that can erupt only in that sizzling summer climate.
Get ready to fall head over heels for August’s MAN OF THE MONTH, a sexy rancher who opens his home (and his heart?) to a lost beauty desperately hoping to recover her memory in A Montana Man by Jackie Merntt. Bestselling author Cait London continues her hugely popular minisenes THE TALLCHIEFS with Rafe Palladin: Man of Secrets. Rafe is an irresistible takeover tycoon with a plan to acquire a Tallchief lady. Barbara McMahon brings readers the second story in her IDENTICAL TWINS! duo—in The Older Man an exuberant young woman is swept up by her love and desire for a tremendously gorgeous, much older man.
Plus, talented Susan Crosby unfolds a story of seduction, revenge and scandal in the continuation of THE LONE WOLVES with His Seductive Revenge. And TEXAS BRIDES are back with The Restless Virgin by Peggy Moreland, the story of an innocent Western lady tired of waiting around for mamage—so she lassos herself one unsuspecting cowboy! And you’ve never seen a hero like The Consummate Cowboy, by Sara Orwig. He’s all man, all-around omery and all-out tempted...by his ex-wife’s sister!
I know you’ll enjoy reading all six of this sultry month’s brand-new Silhouette Desire novels by some of the most beloved and sexy authors of romance.
Regards,
Melissa Senate
Senior Editor
Silhouette Books
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
Jackie Merritt
A Montana Man
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
JACKIE MERRITT
and her husband live in the Southwest. An accountant for many years, Jackie has happily traded numbers for words. Next to family, books are her greatest joy. She started writing in 1987, and her efforts paid off in 1988 with the publication of her first novel. When she’s not writing or enjoying a good book, Jackie dabbles in watercolor painting, and she likes playing the piano in her spare time.
One
Wednesday, May 21
Clint Barrow urged the horse he was riding up a rocky knoll. It was early morning. There was enough light to see by even though the sun hadn’t yet risen above the mountain tops, and wispy patches of ground fog drifted within dips of the mountainous country all around him. At the top of the knoll he pulled on the reins and stopped his horse. This was a favorite spot in which to view his ranch, and below his vantage point Barrow land spread almost as far as Clint could see. The buildings appeared as miniatures, and cattle and horses looked toy-like. Clint breathed a sigh of contentment.
He was a big man, tall and rangy, with dark hair and vivid blue eyes. His contentment was genuine. The shock of his one major tragedy in life, the death of his wife, had softened with time. He had a seventeen-year-old son, Tommy, on which to expend his love, and this ranch. He was the first person in the area to help out a friend or a neighbor in trouble, and, all in all, life was good. He felt strongly that no man should ask for more.
As the sun suddenly showed its face on the eastern horizon, Clint turned his horse’s head and rode back down the knoll toward the ranch compound. Tommy would be leaving for school shortly, and Clint liked to be there every morning to say a few words to his son before he left. Today it seemed even more important; today was the start of Tommy’s final exams. High school graduation was just around the corner. Unlike too many of the fathers and sons that Clint knew, he and Tommy were close, and Clint knew that he would do almost anything to protect their special relationship.
He arrived at the compound just as Tommy was coming out of the house and heading for his red pickup truck.
“Morning, Dad,” Tommy called.
“Morning, Tom.” Clint dismounted and let his horse go. He wouldn’t go far, Clint knew, and would, in fact, come back to him with a whistle.
“Looks like we’re in for a nice day,” Tommy said as he opened the door of his truck.
“Sure does.” Clint glanced at his watch. “You’re running a little late.”
“I know. Better get going. I gotta pick up Eric.”
“Are you sure you have time for that?”
“I told him I’d pick him up this morning, Dad.” Tommy grinned and swung himself up into the truck. “Remember, Barrows don’t go back on their word.”
Clint had to smile. He had instilled in his son the value of a man keeping his word. It was his own credo and he believed that honor was the primary difference between men of principle and those hapless individuals who drifted through life without hope, ambition or inspiration.
“Well, drive safely,” he told his son. “See you this evening.”
Tommy started the motor and rolled down the window. “See ya, Dad.”
Clint stood in the yard and watched the red pickup travel the driveway, his pride swelling in his chest. There were moments like this when he became very emotional about his son. Tommy would soon graduate from high school, he was no longer Clint’s “little boy.” He was teetering between manhood and childhood, and would go away to college in the fall. Clint could only hope that Tommy would want to return to the ranch after he completed his education.
When Clint could no longer see the red pickup, he whistled for his horse. It trotted over and Clint climbed into the saddle. It was time for his own day to begin.
Five days earlier.
Sierra’s new minivan was loaded to the roof with clothes, personal mementos and all of her painting supplies—rolled canvases, stretcher boards, tubes of oil paints, boxes of brushes and palette knives, easels, as well as several gallon cans of turpentine, which she used to clean her equipment.
She had packed carefully, and everything was snugly fitted together in the vehicle. The only unfilled space was the very front of the van, and even then her purse, maps and a notebook and pen lay on the passenger seat, where she could easily reach them from the driver’s seat. Her bank account had been converted to five hundred dollars in cash and the rest in traveler’s checks. She carried no credit cards, and her wallet contained only her driver’s license and the cash.
She was dressed for comfort in loose-fitting denim pants and a sweatshirt. Her long dark hair had been confined into one braid, and her face was devoid of makeup. Her skin was deep toned, appearing suntanned year-round; she had never needed cosmetics to enhance her coloring. She was thirty-three years old and looked five years younger.
Her figure was exceptionally good, as firm as it had been during her college years when she had first met Mike. They had dated for a while, she had wondered how deep her feelings really were for Mike Findley, then graduation had separated them. She’d known he was going on to law school, and she had found a job in an art gallery and polished her talent with oil paints and private lessons. Eventually she had moved to San Francisco, recalling only absentmindedly that Mike’s family lived there. She’d thought of him occasionally, but never dreamed they would ever see each other again.
It had happened. She’d been at a party, and had hardly believed her own eyes when Mike walked up to her. “Sierra? Sierra Benning? Is it really you?” he’d said with the grin she had found so irresistible in college.
This time love had bloomed at once, and they had married after three months of romance and laughter, of dining and dancing, of Mike introducing her to his friends and his family, of her being showered with gifts and flowers and sweet little love notes. Their wedding had been...
“No,” she said out loud, denying herself both the pain and the luxury of reliving that special day. The memories would always be there, but she needn’t deliberately drag them out and cause herself more heartache.
She didn’t understand Mike’s infidelity and knew she never would. While he had been showing her how much he loved her in dozens of ways, he had been meeting other women in hotel rooms. She had slept very little last night, wondering what might be ahead of her, thinking of the past and the disintegration of her marriage, knowing she was doing the right thing by breaking all ties but still not completely at ease with her plans.
The uneasiness would pass, she told herself. It had been a long time since she had taken a car trip by herself; concern was only natural, especially since she had no destination in mind.
It was time to leave. There was sunshine this morning, though the temperature was almost cool because of a breeze off the Bay. Sierra stood next to her van and looked at the glistening white mansion that had been her home for so long. During that time span she had gone from delirious happiness to acute misery.
It was over—all of it. Over with and behind her. She could look at her marriage as years of wasted time, or she could view her marriage and divorce as a lesson in life’s harsher realities. It was both, actually, and maybe that was good. Certainly she would have to know a man inside and out before she risked her heart again.
Thinking of the irony of it all delayed her departure for another few minutes. Last week she had been a wealthy woman; today everything she owned fit into one relatively small space—the minivan. Ironic or not, she did not regret negating the divorce settlement. Her own attorney had refused to help her do something so “utterly ridiculous”—his exact words—so she had called Mike’s. He had been most helpful. In fact, he’d drawn up the papers with a haste that had struck Sierra as funny, as though he, like most of her friends, had been wondering if she’d lost her mind, and wanted to get her signature on the documents before she came to her senses.
God, why was she thinking of that now? Clearing her mind with a slight shake of her head, Sierra slid behind the wheel of the van and turned the ignition key. She drove away from the Findley mansion without looking back. Her uppermost thought was that she was going to try very hard not to look back ever again. From this moment forward, she would concentrate on the future. She had one—somewhere. All she had to do was find it.
It seemed that the farther Sierra got from San Francisco, the braver she became about traveling alone. The traveling itself was exciting, and she wanted to just go on and on. She felt absolutely wonderful and completely freed of the Findleys’ influence.
Four days later she found herself in western Montana. She stayed in a motel in a very small settlement in the mountains that night, and went to the only café for dinner. There were a few other people in the place, and the waitress had greeted her with a friendly smile.
“Would you like to order now, or are you waiting for someone to join you?” the woman asked.
Sierra smiled. “If I waited for someone to join me, I’d starve to death.”
“You’re traveling alone?”
“That I am. I’ll have the pot roast and hot tea.”
“Good choice. Pot roast is the cook’s best dish.” The waitress smiled conspiratorially and dropped her voice. “Probably ’cause it’s easy to fix.”
Sierra laughed and laid down her menu. While the waitress went to turn in the order and get the tea, Sierra looked around. It was a quaint little café, with wood-paneled walls and linoleum flooring. The red checked tablecloths matched the curtains, and a cowbell over the door announced everyone leaving or arriving.
The waitress delivered hot water and a teabag. “Where’re you heading, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Nowhere in particular.” Sierra smiled. “Just wandering around. This area is beautiful, and I’d like to see more of it. I grew up in northern Idaho, but if you can believe it, I’ve never been in Montana before.”
“Well, you be careful where you wander in these parts. This is a wilderness area, and it can be mighty dangerous.”
“Oh, I plan to stay on the main roads. I mean, I have no intention of hiking around by myself. Tell me this. Are there people living in these mountains?”
“Oh, sure, but they’re few and far between. Some real nice ranches in the back country.”
“Where do the children attend school?”
“In Hillman. It’s a little town about twenty miles from here.”
Sierra smiled. “Well, if the roads are safe for school buses, they certainly should be safe for my van.”
“The main roads are fine, miss, but the back roads can be treacherous. I advise strangers to stick to the highway. The weather’s a bit deceiving, you know. Spring has sprung and the highway is clear at this elevation, but you could run into some snow and ice at higher altitudes.” The woman looked concerned. “Don’t see many women traveling alone up here. Just be careful.” She walked off to help another customer.
Sierra pondered the warning. Was she being rash? Reckless? But she felt so...adventurous. Never in her life had she taken such an extended road trip, and she had already seen so many places and sights she hadn’t known existed. She couldn’t spend all her money touring the country, of course, but a day or so in this high country was really too appealing to resist.
She made up her mind. She would be careful—it was only sensible—but she was going to do some exploring. After all, she might never pass this way again.
Wednesday, May 21
Sierra dug through her bags and boxes for a warm jacket. The predawn air was cold enough to make her shiver, and the windows of her van were completely frosted over.
She had retired early last night, slept well and was anxious to be on her way, but she forced herself into the café for some breakfast as she had no idea when she would run across another place in which to eat. With that in mind, in addition to a large breakfast, she ordered some sandwiches to go. An older man was waiting tables this morning, and while he was as friendly as last night’s waitress had been, he was too busy for lengthy conversations with any one customer.
Sierra went to the counter to pay her check and noticed a rack of window scrapers for sale. It was one item she didn’t have with her, and she’d been wondering how she was going to clear the van’s windows of such heavy frost.
She walked out of the café with her bag of sandwiches and a sturdy plastic scraper, pleased that she’d thought to buy something for lunch and relieved about the frost problem.
She started the van’s engine and turned on the defroster, then got to work with the scraper. It took a full ten minutes to clear the windows, but finally she was behind the wheel and on the road again. About two miles from the small settlement, the road became ascending. While the forest was mostly heavy on each side, there were some open spaces that permitted Sierra a view of dawn’s first light.
It was going to be a fabulous day, she thought with a zing of exhilaration, and although the ascending road was narrow and quite curvy, there was very little traffic and she felt completely in control. Turning on the radio, she found a station playing country music, and sang along with Garth Brooks. It had been so long since she’d felt like this, unburdened and lighthearted, and she cherished the sensation. Life could be good, she thought with a contented sigh. Leaving San Francisco had been the wisest decision she had ever made.
The road twisted and wound its way upward, full dawn broke and occasionally the trees parted to give Sierra a breathtaking view of the mountains. It was still very early, and only in those clearings did she actually see the sun.
The miles clicked by, and after a while Sierra noticed a sign indicating another road up ahead. When she got to it there was a second sign with an arrow pointing right and an inscription: Cougar Mountain.
She pulled onto the shoulder and consulted her map. But she couldn’t locate that road on it, although she could pretty much tell where she was on the highway. A daring little smile toyed with her lips. Was she adventurous enough to leave the highway and drive a road that wasn’t on the map? It looked safe enough from where she was parked. It was narrow, to be sure, but it was paved and appeared no more dangerous than the highway she was on.
She would do it! Why not? she thought as she got the van moving and made the turn. She could always turn around and head back to the highway if the road proved to be treacherous. Other than a little time, what did she have to lose?
She had just gone over the first hill when she spotted a river running parallel to the road. Moving swiftly in its rocky bed, it was just about the prettiest river Sierra had ever seen. She was driving slowly enough to take her eyes off the road and keep track of the river’s path, and it was a delight to watch.
It was on her right, and after a few miles it seemed to be dropping below the road’s level, while the road itself climbed higher. Another few miles and it was out of sight, probably at the bottom of a chasm that appeared to be getting deeper.
There was only a bit of shoulder between the road and the drop-off, and Sierra found herself hugging the center line. That deep chasm so close to the roadway made her a little nervous, and she wondered if she shouldn’t turn around and go back to the highway.
Only there was no place to turn around. On the left side of the road was a rocky cliff, on the right was that deep ravine, and the road itself was too narrow for a U-turn. She had no choice but to keep going until she came to a wide spot. There must be one somewhere up ahead, she told herself, Just take it easy, drive cautiously and you’ll come to it. The radio was a distraction now, and she switched it off.
The road kept climbing. Sierra spotted patches of old snow on the rocky bluff on her left, and her nervousness became more pronounced. She’d told the waitress last night that she was going to stick to the main highways, and she knew now that she should have done exactly that.
There was a blind curve just ahead, and she bit down on her bottom lip because it looked as though the road was heading directly for the ravine. It wouldn’t, of course; it would wind around that outcropping of rock, and who knew? Maybe just beyond it would be a place wide enough for her to get turned around.
Suddenly a red pickup truck came bulleting around that curve, on her side of the road! Sierra slammed on the brakes and the van went into a skid. The truck also began skidding, and fishtailing, and its back end slapped against the van with tremendous force. Sierra screamed as the van nosed into the ravine. She saw the river at the bottom, and the boulders and rocks rushing up to meet her. The van began somersaulting, and Sierra’s last coherent act was to unfasten her seat belt.
