MEAGAN MCKINNEY

      is the author of over a dozen novels of hardcover and paperback historical and contemporary women’s fiction. In addition to romance, she likes to inject mystery and thriller elements into her work. Currently she lives in the Garden District of New Orleans with her two young sons, two very self-entitled cats and a crazy red mutt. Her favorite hobbies are traveling to the Arctic and, of course, reading!

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      One

      “You she-cubs need to think of something other than men and makeup.” Hazel McCallum, the matriarch of Mystery, Montana, furrowed her brow in concentration as she continued speaking to the young woman sitting next to her in the car.

      She slowed down for the empty logging truck that growled up the mountain slope ahead of them, then rambled on, “I know one goes with the other, but this trip’s just for the gals. No men allowed.”

      “I wear hardly any makeup, Hazel, you know that. And as for men, I’m not exactly attracting them like flies to honey—with my bad luck, I’m not going to have to be reminded to put all my boyfriends in the toy box for a weekend.” Joanna Lofton almost laughed. Hazel darn well knew she was the little gray mouse of Mystery, and that the matriarch was coyly trying to forget that fact made Jo’s alarms go off.

      “But all that girlie froufrou won’t matter up on Bridger’s Summit,” Hazel rattled on, as if purposely not hearing Joanna. “There might be a few males up there, I suppose, but only if you count the bears, too.”

      “Bears?” Jo’s eyes widened. The plain-Jane high-school music teacher was Montana-born and-bred, but even she was used to civilization. Her neighborhood in Mystery Valley was a world of cedar town houses and tiny tourist shops, with picturesque cattle ranches seen only from the road, Hazel’s vast Lazy M spread included. Bears, rattlesnakes and other hazards of the wild were seldom encountered in the valley anymore.

      The Bitterroot National Forest, in sharp contrast, was practically the old frontier untamed, and Jo was having second thoughts about letting her friend Hazel talk her into the trip.

      Jo had agreed without really thinking about it. Hazel said the girls’ weekend would do her good, perhaps get her out of the funk she was in. But there was never any talk of being mauled by wild animals.

      “Did I hear the word bears?” Bonnie Lassiter interjected nervously from the back seat. “Grizzly bears?”

      Hazel and Stella Mumford, the other woman who, like Hazel, was well into her seventies, laughed as if on cue.

      “You believe these two youngsters, Hazel?” Stella teased. “You’d think both of ’em are from Manhattan. Bonnie, even a townie like me knows you’ll find few grizzlies anymore in the lower forty-eight.”

      Jo glanced behind her to exchange a sympathetic glance with Bonnie. They were both the same age, twenty-five, and both from Mystery. Jo knew Bonnie was a divorced hairstylist who worked in Mystery Valley’s most popular salon. They were also both starting to realize they had committed themselves to ten rugged days in the unfamiliar wilderness.

      Hazel saw their covert glances, and a sly smile pulled at her lips.

      The cattle baroness might have looked petite behind the wheel of her cinammon-and-black Fleetwood, her suede driving gloves only enhancing the “little old lady” impression. But there was nothing fuddy-duddy about the seventy-five-year-old’s driving skills, nor her fierce passion for Mystery, which was why she had embarked upon her latest endeavor of playing matchmaker in order to keep her beloved town young and alive.

      “Move it or lose it, bull-whacker,” she muttered, the Cadillac swooping out smoothly to pass the truck.

      Jo tried to feel excited about the adventure in store for her. If she didn’t know better, she’d have sworn Hazel was going to try to hone those matchmaking skills on her, but Hazel had described the Mountain Gals Rendezvous as a lot of fun and a sort of female confidence-building course. The older women, all “graduates” of the course themselves, no longer actively