Man From Montana. Brenda Mott
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she felt sick to her stomach. How many nights had she spent dancing with Evan to the beat of some country tune? “Thanks, but I’m not really into the whole bar scene.”
“Well, if you change your mind, the invitation’s always open.” He patted Lady’s head, then scrambled to clutch the kitten once more as it nearly got away from him. “Nice meeting you, Kara. Take it easy.”
“You, too.”
He disappeared into the shadows on the far side of the house, and Kara heard the gate swing open, then click shut as he latched it.
She stood for a moment, listening to the wind stir through the trees. Then, rubbing her hands up and down her arms, Kara called Lady back into the house and closed the door.
CHAPTER TWO
Late May
DERRICK OPENED the curtains near the foot of Connor’s bed to let the sunlight stream in. Today was the last day of school, and Connor would be home at Shelly’s in less than an hour, ready for Derrick to pick him up. He wanted everything perfect for his son at their new house.
He raised the window, letting the fresh air blow through the long-closed bedroom. Taz promptly jumped up on the windowsill and stared through the screen at the birds on the lawn, flicking the end of his orange tail.
Derrick laughed. “Bird buffet, huh, Taz?” He scratched the kitten’s ears, enjoying the view himself. An apple tree grew near the window, its branches loaded with pinkish-white flowers. Their fragrance drifted in, mingling with the scent of damp soil and dust. A comforting, earthy smell. Home. So much better than that damned cramped apartment, where the neighbors constantly complained about his guitar playing.
Whistling, Derrick snapped open a fitted sheet he’d taken from the dryer a moment ago, and set about making up Connor’s twin bed. He’d wanted to buy something better, a double bed for sure, but money was tight. Connor’s medical bills and physical therapy had been an ongoing expense, and a not-so-famous country singer/bartender didn’t make the sort of money Toby Keith and Brad Paisley likely brought home.
With the bedsheets and a dark blue comforter in place, Derrick surveyed the room. He hadn’t hung a lot of stuff on the walls—he wanted Connor to make the place his own. Just a couple of things he thought the boy might like, including an autographed poster of Shania Twain one of the guys in his band had gotten for Connor at a recent concert.
The room looked kind of plain, with only the twin bed, a secondhand chest of drawers and a computer stand for Connor’s laptop in the corner. Derrick had paid for Internet service, even though he didn’t have any use for it himself, didn’t even own a computer. But he couldn’t expect the kid to spend every waking minute with him, even though Derrick would’ve preferred it that way.
His time with his son was precious. The days between his weekend visits seemed an eternity, while the two or three days he had with Connor sped by. Even the longer summer visitations seemed far too short. But it beat the hell out of the supervised, three-hour visits he’d once had.
Satisfied the room was as good as it was going to get, Derrick got the keys to his truck, and his guitar and headed out the door. He couldn’t wait to pick Connor up. Their every-other-Friday-night ritual of stopping by the local burger joint was something he looked forward to. And tonight, he had band practice. Since a love for country music and double cheeseburgers seemed to be two of the few things he and his son shared these days, Derrick intended to make the most of it.
As he neared his pickup, he spotted Kara, struggling out her front door with an armload of tack, including a heavy-looking western saddle and thick saddle pad. The pretty strawberry-blonde had bumped the screen open with one hip, and now attempted to pull the door shut behind her, her collie at her heels.
Derrick was across the street in a few loping strides.
“Hang on. Let me help you.”
She glanced over her shoulder at him and grimaced. “Thanks, but I’ve got it. I’m used to doing this.” But she let him hold the screen and finish closing the door for her. “Make sure it’s locked, please.” She watched as he jiggled the knob. “Thanks.”
“Going riding?” Then he laughed, bending to pat the dog. “Well, I guess that’s obvious. Taking advantage of the longer daylight hours, huh?”
Her freckled nose crinkled as she smiled. “Yep. I go every chance I get.”
“Really? Maybe I ought to get myself a horse.”
Immediately, Kara stopped smiling.
“I hate to be rude, but I’m in a hurry.” She swung the saddle and blanket into the back of her pickup—a sharp-looking, black Ford. “I’m meeting some friends.”
“Yeah. Sure.” She didn’t have to knock him over the head with a riding crop. He leaned against the truck bed, and glanced at the bridle and grooming tools she’d already loaded. “Don’t they have a tack room at your stable?”
“Yes. But things tend to grow legs and wander off. Or so I’ve heard. I prefer keeping my stuff at home.”
“Ah. I can understand that.”
“You’d better get your guitar,” she said, softening her words with a half smile. “Before it grows legs.”
He’d forgotten he’d set it down in the middle of his driveway. “Yeah. I’ve got practice with the guys tonight. We’re playing tomorrow.” He hesitated. She hadn’t taken him up on his invite last weekend…should he ask her again?
“Have fun.” She opened the truck door, and the collie jumped in.
“You, too.”
He watched Kara drive away.
Going riding?
Hell.
Maybe instead of band practice, he ought to relearn how to ask a woman out.
KARA PULLED AWAY from the curb, her eyes drawn to Derrick Mertz in the rearview mirror. He waved, and she immediately averted her gaze, embarrassed he’d caught her looking. Twice. What the hell was wrong with her? I’m sorry, Evan.
She leaned back in her seat, steering the Ford with one hand, resting her other wrist lightly on top of the wheel.
Evan had fixed up the truck himself, painting it gloss black, redoing the engine…the interior. He’d washed and waxed the Ford regularly, and she’d loved helping him.
They’d done everything together. On the weekends, they often went cruising, Kara snuggled next to Evan, his arm around her as though they were still dating. Six years of marriage had changed nothing in terms of romance. For them, the honeymoon hadn’t ended once they’d fallen into the everyday aspects of married life, the way it had for many of their friends.
Friends who’d drifted away after Evan’s death. A single woman—a widow—did not fit neatly into the group. Thank God for Danita, and even Liz, who had lost a husband and a son, and depended heavily on her. Liz had always been like a second mother to Kara. She and Evan had even moved to Sage Bend to be near her when Evan’s dad died.
But at times she wished Liz would lend her a shoulder for a change. With Kara’s own parents living back in Colorado, she often felt homesick. She’d lost so much when she’d lost Evan.
And now, here she was ogling a good-looking cowboy singer in the rearview mirror of her husband’s pickup.
Guilt-ridden, Kara slipped on her sunglasses to shield her eyes from the glare of the late afternoon sun, then placed both hands firmly on the steering wheel. She’d ride her troubles away, just like she always did.
At the stable, Kara led Indio to a hitching post and began to brush her, while Lady nosed around the area. Her informal riding group had decided to take an early evening trail ride, since rain was predicted for Saturday. Within minutes, Danita arrived and got busy saddling her mount,