After a couple deep breaths, she stepped back, surveyed her surroundings. The Montana sun had disappeared behind the mountains shortly after her last attempt to drive out of the deep muddy ruts that stubbornly held her car captive, and it was getting dark. Soon it would be seriously dark, so she had to make a decision—follow the road, which, according to the weathered sign she’d passed as she’d turned off the main road, led to the H/H Ranch, or stay with her car and walk in the morning.
Tough choice.
If she was going to walk tonight, she needed to start soon. Her phone was fully charged, so she could use its flashlight when it became too dark to see. And she had her protection dog, Henry—a Chihuahua-dachshund mix wearing a Christmas sweater because it was the only warm garment she could find on short notice. Who knew that Montana was so cold in the spring?
Lillie wrapped her arms around herself as she stared down the long road. What kinds of predators lurked out there, waiting for the cover of darkness? She shuddered at the thought. She knew nothing about fighting off wolves. Should she carry a tire iron or something?
On the other hand, while she had a coat, she had no blanket and it was already getting cold.
Cold? Or wolves in the night?
Lillie went with cold. She and Henry could huddle together for warmth.
Letting out a long sigh, she walked around to the driver’s side to pop the truck latch. It took a little searching by the dim light that shone down into the packed trunk, but finally she found the tire iron under one of her three suitcases. She took it with her as she situated herself in the front seat of the car, reclining the seat back as far as it would go before settling in for what was no doubt going to be a long miserable night.
Yet another tick mark in the “this sucks” column of life. Lillie Jean’s mouth drooped. Until the beginning of this calendar year, she hadn’t had all that many bad experiences. Her childhood had been pleasant and uneventful. She deeply missed her mom, who’d succumbed to breast cancer two years ago, just before Lillie Jean’s twenty-fourth birthday, but after that devastating loss, life had once again shifted back into its normal path. She’d started her small business with her boyfriend, Andrew, who eventually became her fiancé, Andrew. Then, six months before the wedding, he’d become ex-fiancé/business-stealer Andrew.
Lillie Jean rubbed her forehead.
Naive, naive, naive.
Oh, did I mention the part about being naive?
Yeah. I got it. Never again.
She was starting from scratch—financially and emotionally. She was going to watch her back from here on out. If the past several months had taught her anything, it was that there were no excuses for being caught unaware. A little due diligence on her part, and she’d probably still be an owner of A Thread in Time, and she would have cut loose Andrew a long time ago, instead of being caught off guard and humiliated.
A howl in the distance brought Lillie Jean’s head up and made her heart beat a little faster. Cold was definitely better than wolves. Henry snuggled up against her as if to say, “Don’t worry. I’ll fight those wild beasts for you,” because her little dog had yet to figure out that he wasn’t ten feet tall. Lillie Jean stroked his ears, then reached out to touch the cool metal of the tire iron leaning against the gearshift and told herself to be thankful it was March and not January. Although, obviously, March in Montana could be brutal, too.
Maybe that was why her grandfather had left the state for the warmth of central Texas all those years ago.
She’d only know if Thaddeus Hawkins, his business partner, had answers to share. The lawyer hadn’t been able to tell her anything after her grandfather’s unexpected death three weeks ago, except that, in addition to inheriting his personal effects, she would soon be half owner of a Montana ranch. She could truthfully say she still wasn’t over the shock of that meeting. Her grandfather had rented a small house in a modest neighborhood. Driven a twenty-year-old car, which she was driving now. Rarely splurged and had next to no savings. Yet he’d owned half interest in a ranch—eight hundred acres according to the documents. Small by Texas standards, but still, a ranch. Which she hadn’t known about. She and her grandfather had been close, the last of the Hardaway line, and she was still trying to figure out if she felt more mystified or betrayed at being kept in the dark.
A secret ranch. Why?
She hoped the answer lay at the end of the long road she was on...if she ever got there. She wanted to see the place and introduce herself to Thaddeus Hawkins, her grandfather’s former business partner. She had no intentions of lying about who she was or why she was there, but she didn’t think it would hurt to do a little anonymous reconnaissance first. Her experience with Andrew had left her feeling cautious, nowhere close to trusting people blindly as she’d once done. Learning about the ranch had only reinforced the fact that there were just too many secrets in this world, too much double-dealing to take anything at face value.
No matter what, she was never going to be caught off guard again.
* * *
GUS HAWKINS YAWNED as he turned onto the ranch road. His last official shift at the Shamrock Pub, which he owned with his Uncle Thad, had been something. Even though he would still fill in as needed, the patrons of the popular Gavin, Montana, bar had treated the event as a wake. Some brought food. Others brought gag gifts, which was why he now had a temporary tattoo of an anchor on the back of his neck and a lip print on his forehead. One of the college girls had offered him a particularly personal going away present, but he’d gently turned her down. He wouldn’t miss the nightly headaches of the pub, but he would miss the people. The majority of them, anyway.
He slowed as he rounded a series of corners, watching the edge of road as his headlights cut through the darkness. The snow was mostly melted—for now, anyway. Late spring snow and ice storms were a regular occurrence, and since the H/H Ranch still had a number of cows to calve out, there was certain to be one last nasty storm, which would probably coincide with a particularly difficult birth. But for the time being, the new grass was growing and the deer were active as they moved from the valleys to the foothills, following the melt and new growth. He’d had a close call the night before with a large doe and wasn’t all that keen to have another one.
As he topped the hill, he could just see the ranch yard lights in the distance. The place that had been his home since he was fifteen would now be his sole place of employment. He’d essentially worked full-time on the ranch for the past several months, as Salvatore, the H/H’s aging ranch manager, came to terms with the fact that he couldn’t do as much as he once could. Then, after the ranch work was done for the day, Gus put in full shifts at the pub four or five nights a week. The schedule had been grueling—especially during calving season—but Thad had needed the help and Sal needed time. Now Sal was living with his brother in Dillon, and Gus was done double shifting. It’d been easier to hire a good bartender than a good ranch manager, and he had no doubt that Ginny Monroe was more than up to the task of running the bar with Thad. And Thad liked her...maybe more than he wanted to let on.
Go, Ginny. Thad had been single for too darned long.
Gus was smiling at the thought of Ginny easing Thad out of his long bachelorhood as he started back down the hill, driving on the wrong side of the dirt road to avoid the hellacious mud puddle that had formed at the bottom, just around the blind corner. The smile abruptly disappeared as he rounded the corner and found the back end of a giant car directly in front of him. He swung hard to the left, then pulled back onto the road and eased to a stop after barely missing the vehicle. Mystified, he grabbed his flashlight out of the door-panel pocket and got out of his truck, walked back to the car and shined the light on the license plate.
Texas?
What was a gas-guzzling vehicle from Texas doing stuck in the mud on the ranch driveway? No one, save parcel delivery rigs and seasonal hunters, ventured onto this road. Gus pushed back his hat, then stilled as he caught a movement inside the car.