Snowbound with the Cowboy Read online

  “I’m not interested. Not in anyone.”

  Millie’s lips pinched together as she sat down at the small round kitchen table. “I walked to the pharmacy yesterday, and I heard that the youngest Langford boy is back in town.”

  Small towns. Where everyone knows your business—often before you do.

  “He was the rowdy one who went gallivanting all over the country to rodeos,” Millie added. “I think you were sweet on him in high school.”

  “He was a friend, yes,” Sara said carefully.

  “Well. I hope he doesn’t think he can come around and start that up again. You deserve a steady, hardworking fella. One with a real job.”

  “You don’t need to worry. Like I said, I’m not interested in finding anyone. My focus is on the clinic, and I have plenty of company at the cabin to keep me occupied.” Sara raised an eyebrow. “In fact, just last week someone dropped off the most beautiful cat. All white, except for a black tail. Purrs like an engine, declawed and fixed, and she’s super friendly. She would be wonderful company for someone.”

  “No cats,” Warren called out from his chair. “Got no use for a cat.”

  “No cats,” Millie echoed softly, winding her fingers together on the table.

  From her expression, Sara knew there was hope. “Well. I’ll try to find her a good home. She’s certainly an affectionate lap kitty.” Sara finished combining the chili ingredients in the slow cooker and set the dial to High, then gave Warren and Millie their cups of coffee before tidying up. “If you think of any friends who might enjoy the company of a very sweet cat, let me know.”

  “Hhhmpf.” Warren pointed the remote at the TV and turned on a 1960s Western.

  “Have you given any more thought to those senior condos across town? They’re a lot newer than this place, and each unit even has its own washer and dryer. How nice is that? You wouldn’t have to walk down a long hall, then take stairs down to a dark and creepy basement. Where I’d bet there are huge spiders.”

  “Haven’t seen more than a few.” Millie set her jaw. “And we’re fine right here.”

  “The condo place has a free shuttle van, so you’d never need to worry about keeping appointments if I can’t help you that day.” Sara kept unspooling the familiar litany, knowing it probably wouldn’t do a bit of good. “And it’s just a half block from the Senior Center. You could go there for a nice hot lunch every day and visit with people. It’s important to get out and socialize.”

  Her gaze slid away. “This is all we need.”

  “But you can afford something nicer, Aunt Millie. Wouldn’t you like a view of the Rockies instead of just a side street in town? More space? And instead of a tub, they even have walk-in showers—”

  “We’re fine, right here.”

  Sara knew from her aunt’s stern expression that the conversation was over. Again.

  Millie lowered her voice. “Now, young lady, we need to talk about that money you keep depositing in our account. I was just going over our bank statement this morning and found your deposit. You’ve done it twice now. It’s unnecessary, and it needs to stop.”

  “But you could’ve sold the cabin, instead of keeping it for me. You could sure use that money now.”

  “As I recall, the mortgage payments on your clinic are pretty substantial.” Millie gave her a shrewd look. “All well and good, but what if you run into trouble and can’t make some payments? You could lose every penny you’ve put into that place. And then where would you be? Out on your ear. You need to put your extra money into your own savings, not ours. You need it more than a couple of old folks like us.”

  “But—”

  “We want you to have that cabin—as our gift, because you’re like the child we never had.” Her eyes twinkled. “We’ll get the paperwork figured one of these days, when our lawyer is back in town. Consider it an early inheritance.”

  Sara flinched at the cold reality of a time when they would no longer be here. “I don’t even want to think of that day, Aunt Millie.”

  “Neither of us is in perfect health. When the good Lord wants us, we’ll be ready,” she said simply. “Whenever that is.”

  She’d tried to talk to them both a number of times since she’d moved back to Pine Bend, and they’d still insisted on letting her have the cabin rent-and payment-free.

  Thank goodness the two of them had looked to the future and given her their power of attorney, as well as adding her name to their accounts so she could help manage things if they grew incapable...and, coincidentally, so she could simply deposit her monthly cabin payments on her own. If she handed them checks, she doubted they’d ever cash them.

  Yet she also knew just how slim their savings were.

  “I would be making rent or mortgage payments to someone else, if you hadn’t let me use the cabin. So I’m paying it off, just as any buyer would. But I do save money, so I’m not going to run into anything I can’t handle.”

  “So you think,” Millie retorted.

  Sara belatedly remembered their medical bills, and how devastating debt had changed their lives. She wished she could call back her words.

  “You’re right.” Sara glanced up at the clock on the wall and retrieved the coat she’d draped over the sofa as she headed for the door. “But you and Uncle Warren have always been like parents to me, and treating you right means a lot to me now. Case closed. Gotta run—see you both tomorrow!”

  Millie’s voice followed her into the hallway. “We will talk about this again. And don’t forget to steer clear of that Langford boy. Apples don’t fall far from the tree, and you know he’ll only be trouble.”

  Millie had a ready cliché for almost every occasion, which usually made Sara smile fondly to herself. But today Millie’s proclamation was delivered with a fierce note of worry impossible to miss.

  How much had Millie known?

  It had been a truly stupid, naive idea, hoping to jar her self-absorbed parents’ marriage out of its downward spiral by flirting with Tate. She’d never had a boyfriend, and she hadn’t stopped to think that real feelings might develop and someone—both of them—could be hurt.

  In the end, Tate had just shrugged and walked away as if they’d been nothing more that casual friends. But had Millie seen how much Sara had come to love him? How heartbroken she’d been when it was all over?

  Millie had never heard the whole story, though, and probably figured it was just another example of a Langford callously hurting someone she loved. Given her outspoken nature, Sara didn’t even want to think about what the elderly woman might say—or do—if she came face-to-face with Tate now.

  Sara climbed behind the wheel of her truck and rested her forehead on the steering wheel with a long sigh.

  Proud, independent, hardworking ranch folks didn’t just fade to meek and compliant because they got old. It might take an earthquake to get them to move to a place better suited to their growing disabilities. Millie might never stop fussing about the payments Sara was depositing into their money market account.

  But now she had another worry.

  As Millie and Warren aged, they were becoming more outspoken—with little filtering of what they said. Please, please don’t say anything to Tate.

  It would be embarrassing. Awkward.

  And completely without merit, because she certainly didn’t harbor a single thought about starting a relationship with him or anyone else.

  She would make her clinic a success. And then, on her little piece of the Montana foothills that held such a connection to her beloved aunt and uncle, she would happily live out her dreams alone.

  Alone.

  It had all been perfectly clear until this moment...so why did those dreams suddenly ring hollow?

  * * *

  Saturday dawned clear and bright, perfect for a second ride up into the north pasture to finish riding the fence. It
only made sense to start where he’d left off last time—near Sara’s cabin—so he wouldn’t miss a section. He wasn’t really expecting to run into her again.

  Yet as he passed the one point where the cabin would partially come into view, he found himself pulling Blondie to a halt and peering through the trees.

  No dogs barked this time. The place looked quiet. After a few minutes he urged the mare on, following the fence line as it wound up through the trees, across a meadow and into a heavy stand of pines.

  The terrain became more difficult after this, he recalled, as it rose to a higher elevation, the property line skimming the edge of an area with rocky outcroppings and massive boulders. Several mountain streams would tumble down through the rocks come the spring thaw, and Silver Bells Falls would roar over a sharp cliff almost a hundred feet high.

  He twisted in the saddle and withdrew his Canon SLR camera, attached a 100-300mm lens and rode on. From the fence line, maybe a hundred yards ahead, he would be able to see the falls for the first time during the winter.

  Would it be a glittering ice sculpture, its water flow frozen in time? Nothing but bare rock until the spring thaw? His anticipation grew as he guided Blondie toward the last bend.

  Almost there.

  Blondie suddenly snorted. Reared high. Then lurched to the right and took off bucking, barely missing the shoulder-high boulders in her path that left little room for maneuvering her into a tight circle, then a halt.

  When he got her stopped and facing back toward the falls she blew noisily, her sides heaving and her head raised high, her total focus on whatever lay beyond that last bend.

  Bears were still in hibernation up here.

  A wolf? Coyote?

  He reached for the stock of the rifle in his scabbard and considered a warning shot. But hesitated, knowing that Blondie would likely go crazy at the sound.

  At the rustle of branches up the trail, her head jerked even higher and bobbed up and down. Her muscles bunched until she felt like a coiled spring, though this time his camera was back in the saddlebag and he was better prepared. “Easy girl...easy...”

  Whistling. Was that someone whistling?

  A small form appeared on the path, bundled up in a puffy red jacket and oversize hood that gave him—or her—the appearance of someone in an astronaut’s suit, one hand gripping what appeared to be a can of bear spray.

  The person stopped and stared. “Tate? What are you doing up here?”

  Blondie snorted. Fidgeted. Tate urged her forward, until he and Sara were just a few yards apart. “I could ask the same thing.”

  She gave him an incredulous look. “You care if someone hikes on Langford land—way out here? How many thousands of acres do you people own, anyway?”

  “Of course I don’t care about hikers—as long as they don’t damage any fencing. Poachers, yes.” His gaze fell on the bold white letters printed on a black strap slung messenger-style across the front of her jacket. Nikon.

  “I was taking pictures,” she said defensively. “Ever since I moved back, I’ve been dying to get up here again. It’s been years and years.”

  “The high school senior picnic?”

  “Not since then. I hardly ever came home once I left for college.” She angled a reproachful look at him. “You scared me half to death when I heard you coming. I was afraid you might be a wolf.”

  He chuckled. “Hence the bear spray?”

  “I thought I should bring something, and it was all I had. I don’t own any weapons.”

  Impatient at standing still, Blondie started tossing her head and dancing sideways. Tate settled her with a hand on her neck. “I’m beginning to think this mare will never make a steady, bombproof trail horse.”

  “With enough years and miles, maybe.” Sara stepped to one side to allow him to pass. “Well...um...I should let you get back to work. I suppose you’re checking the rest of the fence line?”

  “That, and I was hoping to get some shots of the falls. I’ve never been back here during the winter.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “You’re into photography too?”

  “Since I took a class in college. I’m just an amateur, really. But with digital, I can take a hundred shots to get the one I like. And I like manipulating the results on the computer.”

  She grinned up at him. “Me too. Do you remember the days when our parents’ generation used film and had it developed at the drug store? Every shot was expensive, so they didn’t waste a single one.”

  “And most of the photos were pretty bad. I would offer you a ride back to your place, but I’m guessing Blondie isn’t quite ready for extra passengers.”

  “I’m just happy to be hiking on a day like this, but thanks.” Sara hitched a thumb over her shoulder. “The falls aren’t far—just around that next bend. I’ll follow and hold your horse so you can climb high up onto the rocks for the best view.”

  He’d expected that he’d only be able to take some photographs from the saddle, because he’d left the halter back at the barn today and tying an agitated, green mare with slender leather reins could spell trouble—and a long walk home. “I’d really appreciate that, if you don’t mind.”

  “If you go just a little higher, there’s a great lookout point at the top of the hill. You can see part of my cabin roof through the pine trees, and if you look to the south you can see my aunt and uncle’s—er, your ranch buildings. Be sure to go up. It’s only another five minutes or so.”

  He dismounted and followed Sara up the hill, then retrieved his camera from his saddlebag and handed her the reins. “I won’t be but a minute.”

  “No worries. Just take your time, because it’s really beautiful up there. I’ve got Solitaire on my phone, and Blondie and I can have a chat about good trail manners while you’re gone.”

  “Thanks, Sara.” Without thinking, he gave her a quick one-armed hug of appreciation, just as he might have years ago. It felt so right—so normal that he might have even held her a little longer, then brushed a casual kiss against her cheek and not have given it a second thought.

  For just a split second it seemed as if she was melting into his embrace. But then she stiffened, took a step back and busied herself with checking the cinch on his saddle.

  “Go on now, have a good time,” she said briskly as she tightened it a notch. “Turn left when you see a single, spindly birch. We’ll be here waiting.”

  Well. That was awkward.

  He nodded and turned to brace a hand on a post and vault over the fence, then jogged through a maze of boulders and scrub brush to the rough, rocky terrain that rose far above him, far as he could see.

  No trees.

  The ascent grew steeper. Wishing he’d worn climbing boots instead of his Tony Lamas, he climbed farther, his leather soles slipping on the weathered rocks.

  He rounded a jagged shelf of rock, and suddenly he was nose-to-bark with a slender, anemic-looking birch that against all odds had taken root in a tiny patch of dirt. “Now, that’s an example of determination,” he muttered.

  He took a few steps back and photographed it from several angles, catching its stark bleached-bone trunk against the rough granite where deep crevices still held a dusting of snow.

  He turned left and continued on to a narrow ledge. And there it was—frozen in time by the harsh winter.

  The top of the falls was still another fifty feet up, but from here he could see the entire cascade of water, turned to fantastical shapes by wind and cold, alternating with the occasional warm days of a typical Montana winter that allowed more water to fall.

  With the sunlight glinting through the ice it appeared to be a waterfall made of a massive flow of diamonds.

  Moving back and forth on the ledge, he photographed the waterfall from every angle, nudging the settings on the camera in minute increments. If he came back a thousand times, he
suspected it would be different every time, with the variations in the angle and intensity of sunlight and shadow.

  He glanced at the time on his cell phone, then turned away with regret. He’d been up here forty-five minutes already. He shouldn’t have been gone so long, leaving Sara holding his horse.

  Yet on his way back—when he reached the birch tree, her words came back to him and he resolutely turned upward toward the overlook she’d mentioned. Five more minutes, she’d said. Not far.

  His jaw dropped when he reached a small plateau at the top of the hill. The Big Sky Montana slogan barely did the view justice. To the west, the jagged, sawtooth peaks of the Rockies marched along the horizon, towering over him and seeming close enough to touch. The vast, brilliant blue sky stretched in every direction, like an endless, perfect bowl of robin’s-egg blue.

  There were the Branson ranch buildings far below to the south—tiny as miniature toys. He shifted his gaze to the east, to the forest he’d just ridden through, then beyond the meadow, to find Sara’s cabin roof.

  Strange. It had to be there...though maybe the dark green steel was camouflaged by the surrounding pines.

  He leaned forward, squinting at the terrain...then realized why he couldn’t see it. Was that a haze drifting above the spot where the cabin should be?

  Now thin plumes of smoke shot skyward, darkened, and in the space of a few seconds began billowing above the trees.

  The cabin was on fire.

  Chapter Five

  Sara leaned against Blondie’s warm winter coat and bit her lower lip as she stared at her cell phone and strategized her next move. “Solitaire is definitely not my thing,” she said glumly. “You’d be better at it than me, and you’re a horse.”

  The mare turned her head to look at her and gave her a little nudge, then her shoulder muscles stiffened beneath Sara’s jacket and she abruptly raised her head toward the hill, her ears pricked.

  Sara sighed. Not again.