Montana Darling (Big Sky Mavericks Book 3) (8 page)

Ryker hadn’t expected her to handle the news so dispassionately. Almost fatalistically. Which seemed wrong. She didn’t strike him as the kind who gave up so easily.

He leaned back in the chair and crossed one leg over the other. “I don’t know what this means for either of us, but my father used to say when the lawyers come in the door, money goes out the window.”

She turned her head so he wouldn’t see her smile. “So, where are we, Ren? I can’t build and your client…what? He gets to camp there all winter?”

Ryker pretended to shiver. “I’ve never spent a winter in Montana, but from what I’ve heard unless I can find someone to teach me how to build an igloo, I will need to rent a room or something indoors. I’ll check the bulletin board at the library.”

“Good,” Ren said, reaching out to shake his hand. Apparently, their meeting was over. “I’d prefer it if you could stick around Marietta until we get a handle on this. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”

Ryker picked up his backpack, but hesitated, waiting to see if Mia was leaving, too. Maybe she’d agree to have a cup of coffee with him.

“Dumb idea, bro,” he could hear Flynn say. “She has money, connections, and a background in legal protocol. You’re opponents in a dispute, each with a lot to lose.”

But Ryker never had been much of a businessman and, dammit, the man in him wanted to get to know her better while the photographer in him was itching to see her in his viewfinder.

Before he could say anything, though, Mia said, “Ren, if you have a minute, I’d like to talk to you about something completely off-topic.”

Off topic? Really?
He stuffed the empty file folder Louise had given him to protect his many photocopies into his backpack, slung his camera strap around his neck and left the room. He made use of the very nice restroom on his way past, because when you lived without running water, you never passed up a chance to wash your face and brush your teeth.

But he wasn’t leaving without talking to Mia, face-to-face. He had to know what this connection he felt with her was all about. One thing he knew for sure…it had nothing to do with the lot by the river.

*

Mia had planned
to set up an appointment with Ren when she and Austen had firmed up their plans, but with Austen starting to look for rental space, she decided now was as good a time as any to break the news.

Once the door closed, she picked up her purse and sat. “I haven’t congratulated you on your marriage. I’m happy for you and Tully.”

“Thanks. We’re still giddy newlyweds.”

“And you have a baby coming, too, I hear.”

“We do. We’re not getting any younger, you know.”

She could attest to that…although her baby making days were over. Not by choice. She swallowed against the tightness in her throat that came every time she recalled her oncologist explaining that the risk of ovarian cancer was far greater for women with her genetic makeup. “A hysterectomy will hedge your bets.” Like life was one big poker game.

She cleared her throat. “I’m sure you’ve heard rumors. My divorce. My health. The reason I moved home.”

“You’re a Marietta girl. People talk because they care.”

A diplomatic way of saying small towns gossiped.

“That’s good to know because I’m here to stay. Which is what I wanted to tell you in person. Austen and I have decided to hang out a shingle together. He’ll handle estate matters, water rights… anything that might have a connection to Helena. I’ll take family law cases.”

“That sounds like a great plan. Do you have an office yet?”

She shook her head. “No. Austen thought Paul would be a good resource, but he’s so busy with the wedding. And I was focused on finding a contractor to get started on my house.”

He looked toward Ryker’s paperwork. “Mr. Bensen’s claim threw a monkey wrench in your plan. I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “It’s not your fault. These things happen. I just wanted to make you aware of our intentions. Hopefully, there’s enough business for everybody.” The last came out a bit more of a question than she’d intended. Cheyenne District Attorney Mia never asked for approval from her peers.

“I appreciate your candor, Mia. Marietta is growing and, frankly, I’m delighted to see such a reputable family step into the market.”

He seemed sincere. They both stood and shook hands.

As she turned to leave, she paused and asked, “My ability to read people has become a little skewed lately. Give me your gut feeling. Is Ryker Bensen legit?”

He grabbed his tablet off his desk and touched the screen before handing it to her. “I did a cursory search on the Internet right after he called me.” He looked over the top of the tablet and pointed. “The guy won a Pulitzer a few years back. I don’t know how he wound up in a tent in Marietta, but he’s definitely who he says he is.”

*

As he stood
in the warm autumn sunlight on the sidewalk outside Ren’s law office, Ryker leaned against the brick wall and inhaled deeply.

He loved the air in Marietta. It felt fresher, more invigorating than any place he’d ever lived. Pittsburgh was a great hometown, but the exhaust from cars and industry was nobody’s dream air. The French countryside was postcard beautiful, but he’d actually come down with his first case of seasonal allergies while living there. Africa was…well, it depended on whether or not he was close to a war zone. When he’d been tracking down the perfect shot of Zambia’s black-cheeked lovebirds or doing his best to stay out of the way of wild dogs, he’d never been conscious of the air he’d breathed. But when he started peddling his bike around Montana, he began to appreciate the size and scope of this place they called Big Sky Country.

He removed his lens cap and lifted his treasured Nikon to his eye. To his right loomed Copper Mountain, an ancient wizard trapped beneath tons of granite, his pointy hat showing the first signs of winter’s approach.

Ryker smiled at his musings. Being alone for so long had opened the door to some dormant writer in him. He didn’t kid himself that his story of a mountain wizard was any good, but it flowed from pen to paper, taking shape, the way an image had in the old days when he worked in a darkroom with chemicals and negatives.

He’d even considered sending the rough drafts along with the photos he’d taken of the mountain to an editor who had been courting him to put together a coffee table photo-essay book on the romance of France. “You and Colette are living the modern fairytale. Add the glory of your photos and we’ll sell a million.”

The book idea died with Colette, of course. Romance readers wanted happy endings, not tragedies.

Ryker tilted his head, studying the mountain. “Too bad I don’t know your name, old man.”

“Pardon?”

He’d been so lost in his musings he’d missed the sound of Mia’s approach. A heated blush swept through him. “Creative license. My excuse any time someone catches me mumbling to myself or vocally debating a certain setting with my camera.” He quickly lifted said camera to his eye, framed a close up of Mia Zabrinski’s quizzical expression and snapped the shot.

Her brows snapped together into a stern look—that also deserved space on his memory chip. “Stop that. I’m not photogenic.”

He replaced the lens cap. “I disagree. Could I buy you a cup of coffee?” He pictured his mostly empty wallet. “Let me rephrase that…could you buy me a cup of coffee?”

“Seriously?”

Her suspicious tone made him want to pull her into a big ol’ hug just to reassure her that not all people were out to get her. Instead, he gave her an excuse she could appreciate. “Very. My stepfather raided my trust fund. I have no money.”

Her lips parted as she sucked in a surprised gasp. “When I saw your camping equipment and high-end bike this morning, I should have known you weren’t an eco-squatter.”

“An eco-squatter? Did you make that up?”

“Maybe. Are you really broke?”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t last week. But according to my online banking statement, I am today.” He pulled out his billfold. “I still have a couple of twenties and some Euros.”

“Euros? As in money from Europe?”

He nodded.

She had questions, he could tell, but she didn’t ask them. Instead, she looked at her phone. “The cake tasting will be done in thirty-five minutes.”

“We’ll grab something to go.” He motioned for her to follow. He’d found action to be a great motivator. Even people who had no intention of following you anywhere generally trotted along when given a goal.

When he sensed her a step or two behind him, he stopped abruptly, lifted his face to the sky and breathed deeply. “Do you smell that?”

She sniffed the air suspiciously. He liked the way her nose crinkled, part disdain and part curiosity. “Dust. Cars. Downtown Marietta.” She shrugged in a so-what gesture.

“Try again. Deeper. Close your eyes.”

To his surprise, she did as asked. Even more surprising, Ryker felt an immediate and unsettling urge to lean in and kiss her.

No. Crazy. Only a hermit with long lost social graces would do something that stupid.

Her eyes popped open wide. “What is it?”

“I call it ‘Autumn in Marietta.’ Mainly, it’s chocolate.”

Her wide, beautiful mouth curled up in a smile. Things that had been frozen too long began to move and shift inside of him, which was as disconcerting as the fact he almost kissed the enemy on the middle of Main Street in her hometown. This was still the Old West in some ways—and Mia Zabrinski had connections—and brothers. He might wind up dead or in jail if he didn’t watch it.

“Of course. Sage Carrigan’s Copper Mountain Chocolate Factory.”

Without hesitation, he grabbed her hand and towed her toward the building two doors down from the law office. “One thing I learned in France is chocolate is good anytime. And cocoa can be a great substitute for lunch.”

Ryker was going on instinct. He wanted to know more about this woman who was an odd dichotomy of strength and fragility. Something about her reminded him of Colette’s cat, Dominique. The animal disappeared after Colette died. A fact Ryker had been too distraught to comprehend for several days. Then, he’d put up fliers and searched non-stop. No cat. But before he left for the States, the neighbors had assured him that Dominique was a survivor, the type to adopt another family without hesitation if he sensed his owner wasn’t coming back.

“After you, milady.”

He held the door to allow her to pass. When she did, he caught a scent of her perfume…or lotion…or hair product. Not perfume, he decided. The smell wasn’t aggressive enough to be perfume—a product he’d learned to both love and hate in Paris. Whatever the source of this scent, he approved of its earthy hints of herbal.

Ryker had been in the chocolate factory many times since arriving in Marietta. He found comfort in the smells and tastes that reminded him of France. Colette had loved the rich, delicious, sexiness of chocolate, but they’d never agreed on which was better: milk chocolate or dark. To Colette’s surprise, Ryker was a card-toting member of Team Milk Chocolate.

“Sissy American,” she’d say with a laugh. “Real men prefer a dark robust chocolate.”

He walked to the counter and waited for someone to come from the rear kitchen area. A few seconds later, Sage Carrigan, the owner, appeared, wiping her hands on a pristine white towel.

“Good morning, Ryker. Lovely to see you today. What can I get you? Your usual?”

Before he could answer, she spotted Mia. Sage’s gaze went from one to the other and back again, probably trying to decide if they were together. Erring on the side of discretion, apparently, she said warmly, “Hi, Mia. How are you? I’ll be right with you.”

Ryker didn’t want to put Mia on the spot or feed the rumor mill by explaining their odd and convoluted relationship. “Two cocoas to go, please. Mia has another appointment in a few minutes.”

Sage took the hint. “Coming right up.”

Ryker walked to the counter where Mia had her head down, either cataloging types of chocolate or asking herself how the heck she’d wound up in this situation. He didn’t know why he could read her so clearly. He was pretty certain she would hate it if she knew he understood her. He got that, too.