Chapter 3
Chrissy woke up screaming.
“We’re going to die, we’re going to die,” she screeched over and over until Ethan finally covered his ears with his hands.
“We’re fine,” PJ said calmly. She deftly brought the truck back under control and they continued on their way. “We hit a patch of ice, but we’re through it now. Good thing your suitcases are so heavy. I think the extra weight in the back of the truck is really helping keep us on the road.”
Chrissy’s mouth hung limply as she stared at PJ. “You’re crazy,” she whispered.
“A popular opinion lately,” PJ said. “Do you want to listen to the radio? Say yes if you like country, because that’s all we get out here.”
“Shouldn’t we be somewhere by now?” Chrissy asked, conveniently ignoring the radio question. “We’ve been driving forever.”
“We’ve been driving an hour. We have another hour before we reach my house.”
“Your house,” Chrissy said. “You live with the Kings?”
PJ shook her head. “The Kings live another hour past me. It’s too late to go there tonight. You’ll stay with me, and I’ll take you in the morning. I have to go there anyway, which is why they asked me to retrieve you.”
“We’re staying with you?” Chrissy asked. “Couldn’t we get a hotel?”
“Sure, if you take the train to Billings. It’s two hours away after you reach the station.”
“I have entered the Twilight Zone,” Chrissy said.
“Thanks for picking us up and keeping us tonight,” Ethan said diplomatically. He realized, even if Chrissy didn’t, that PJ was going out of her way for them. A four hour round trip to pick up strangers wasn’t exactly anyone’s idea of the perfect evening, especially not when the roads were so bad. And now she had to put them up at her house.
“I would do anything for the Kings,” PJ said. “They’re good people.”
“How well do you know them?” Chrissy asked. PJ and Ethan both noted her change of attitude with surprise. Suddenly she sounded curious and cheerful.
“I’ve known them all my life,” PJ said. “Josh and I were in school together. He’s a year older but we weren’t exactly friends. Coy and I used to spend a lot of time together before he met Ivy.”
Ethan wondered if she knew her voice sounded wistful.
“Was he your boyfriend?” Chrissy asked.
Outside, it was dark so Ethan couldn’t be sure, but he thought maybe PJ blushed. “No. We’ve only ever been friends. They took good care of me when my father died, offering me a job and references to help keep me going.”
“And you’ve known Belle all your life, too,” Ethan added. He knew their town was the size of a postage stamp.
PJ grinned. “Belle’s five years older than me but, oh yeah, I know Belle. Everyone knows Belle.” She was as notorious for her bulldog personality as she was for her unfortunate accidents. As one of the town’s most successful citizens, she had been asked to give the invocation the previous year for Founder’s Day. Unfortunately, her dress had accidentally become lodged in her underpants, and during her entire prayer she had flashed the congregation at large, causing the mayor and the minister to run up on the stage mid-prayer and intervene. PJ filled them in on the story.
“So that’s why she and Cam weren’t speaking when she came back to New York last spring,” Ethan said, remembering how angry Belle had been with her husband.
“Apparently he closed his eyes as soon as she took the stage because he was nervous something bad was going to happen to her,” PJ explained. “He missed the fact that she was practically naked until the screaming started.”
“The screaming?” Chrissy asked.
“When the reverend tried to run up on the stage to stop the prayer, he fell off the edge and landed on a little girl. She was okay, but she had been holding a Founder’s Day pennant, the kind with the pointy top.”
“And she cut the reverend with it?” Ethan guessed.
PJ shook her head. “It missed the reverend and somehow caught the mayor when he ran over to help. The reverend had a concussion and the mayor needed ten stitches.”
“No wonder Belle was so tight-lipped about that visit,” Ethan mused. He had a hard time comparing the Belle from the story to his capable boss who terrified most people she encountered in New York. In Manhattan, the sound of her heels clicking in the foyer had been enough to send secretaries scurrying for cover. Ethan had his own brand of notoriety for having survived so many years as her assistant, but from the beginning he had realized something that no one else had; Belle had a soft heart. She was a good woman, and he liked her very much, loved her, even.
He had been assigned to her from the very beginning, ever since she ascended the corporate ladder and became a literary agent instead of a secretary. Although she was his boss, she was three years younger and Ethan sensed a vulnerability in her that had brought out his shielding nature. And after only a few weeks, he realized his first instincts had been right; not only did Belle have a hidden soft side, but she was incredibly innocent when it came to anything but business. She brought out Ethan’s protective side, and he found himself running interference for her with men who didn’t have good intentions. Right away he and Belle had shared a connection, although thankfully not in any romantic sense. Ethan had seen her as a sister, which was a good thing since she married Cam a year after she became Ethan’s boss.
Though Ethan would never admit it, Cam was slightly terrifying. Their first meeting had been nerve-wracking as Cam sized him up through narrowed eyes, decided there was nothing between him and Belle, and deemed him worthy of approval. Ethan had almost wanted to sag in relief. After hearing what Belle’s ex-boyfriend, Storm, had to say about his meeting with Cam, he hadn’t been sure what to expect. But now he counted Cam as a friend. Though he and Belle were only in New York half the year, they always included Ethan in some of their social plans, making sure to see him outside of work a couple of times during their stay in Manhattan. That was why he had no reservations about spending Christmas at their house. After so many years, he was as close to Cam and Belle as he was to his own family in Ohio. Maybe more so because he couldn’t remember the last time he was in Ohio.
Ethan must have been lost in his own thoughts for a long time because sooner than he would have expected, PJ spoke.
“Here we are,” she announced. The truck slid off the road and into a narrow gravel driveway. Somehow she got the beast stopped before it slammed into the house. Chrissy had fallen asleep again, but the jarring motion woke her. She sat up, blinked sleepily at the house, and frowned.
“Someone actually lives here?” she asked.
Ethan winced at her rudeness, but PJ laughed. “Not just someone—me,” she answered. She hopped out of the truck and began retrieving their bags from the bed. “Be careful, it’s slippery out here.”
As if to prove her point, Chrissy stepped out of the car and immediately fell on her backside before bursting into loud, angry tears. Ethan stretched his leg over her and gingerly set it on the ground, testing the ice. Holding on to the door handle, he bent to assess Chrissy.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“No,” she replied.
Then why are you crying? he wanted to ask. “Come on,” he said instead. Offering her his hands, he pulled her up and practically carried her to the house. When they reached the inside, he realized that while he had been assisting Chrissy, PJ had made three trips to carry all their bags inside.
“You should have let me get those,” he said.
PJ shrugged. “You had your hands full.”
Chrissy pulled away from Ethan and stood upright, surveying the interior of the house. It was small but clean. There weren’t many personal objects lying around, but neither was there any dust or clutter. He crossed his fingers that Chrissy wouldn’t complain again.
“Here is the guest room,” PJ announced as she took two steps down the short hallway. “You ca
n have this room,” she looked at Chrissy. “You can sleep on the couch.” She directed this toward Ethan.
“He can share my room,” Chrissy offered.
“No, he can’t,” PJ replied. “He can have my room and I’ll take the couch if that works out better.”
“The couch is fine,” Ethan said hastily. He had assumed that Chrissy would realize Montana values were much different than Manhattan values, but apparently not. He should have talked to her, told her what to expect. Now both women were looking at him and to his embarrassment, he found his cheeks heating with a blush.
“This is a very nice house,” he commented to try and relieve some of the pressure. “You could fit four of my apartments in here.”
“Your apartment must be the size of a pin,” PJ commented.
“My apartment could fit twice on a pin,” he said with a smile.
“Your apartment really is horrid, Ethan,” Chrissy added. “I don’t know why you won’t move.”
“I like where I live. It’s close to work, and I don’t want to hunt.” Apartment hunting in Manhattan was a stressful event, practically a fulltime job on its own.
PJ smiled. “Out here when we refer to hunting, we’re usually talking about animals.”
Ethan smiled. “In New York, we’re referring to apartments or sales.”
“Both of which I’m extremely good at,” Chrissy announced proudly.
“What a coincidence, I’m good at hunting, too,” PJ said.
Chrissy’s smile slipped. “You actually hunt animals?”
PJ nodded, not commenting further. She would never admit that even though she was good at hunting, she didn’t actually enjoy it. Bringing down an elk a year was an important part of supplementing her meager income. Without hunting and fishing, she would probably exist on canned vegetables. One look at the two city slickers in their fancy clothes, and she knew they would never understand the necessities of country living, so why bother to try? Still, for some reason it bothered her that the man should think she enjoyed killing for pleasure.
“I only kill what I eat,” she added.
“Maybe I could go with you sometime while I’m here,” Ethan suggested. “I haven’t been hunting since I was a kid.”
PJ stopped short and looked at him in surprise. “You hunt?”
“I used to. I enjoyed it.”
“We could probably scare up some birds,” PJ said. “Otherwise the only season open right now is for Mountain Lions, but they’re no good for eating.”
Chrissy laughed. “You’re kidding, right? People don’t actually hunt lions here, do they?”
“People hunt everything here,” PJ replied. “Hunting is a big tourist industry in Montana, especially big game. Everyone wants to bring down a bear or lion. Personally, I don’t see the excitement in hunting an animal for sport unless the animal is armed, too.”
“Okay,” Chrissy drawled. Her tone made it clear she couldn’t care less. “I’m going to bed now.” Without another word, she turned and headed toward the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her.
Ethan and PJ stood staring at the door.
“Does she have some sort of sleeping disorder?” PJ whispered.
Ethan checked his watch. “It’s midnight in New York, and we’ve had a long day with lots of flying.”
“You don’t look tired,” PJ noted.
“I keep odd hours.”
She bit her lip and gave an uncertain look toward the kitchen. “Want some cocoa?”
“Sure.” He followed her down the short hallway to the kitchen and watched while she prepared cocoa from scratch using whole milk and chocolate.
“This is what I thought Montana would be like,” he commented. “Sitting around relaxing while the weather swirls outside, drinking cocoa and making small talk.”
“I’m sorry you’ve had such a rough beginning. I’m sure as soon as you get to the Kings tomorrow things will be better,” she said.
“I’m not complaining,” he said. He crossed his arms and enjoyed the view. She was graceful in her movements, even something as mundane as stirring the cocoa was compelling to watch. She was tall and slender; observing her was almost like watching a ballerina perform. “Do you dance?” he blurted.
“Only when someone asks.” She tossed him a smile over her shoulder. “Are you asking?”
He smiled in return, trying to block the sudden desire she had awakened. What if they danced in the middle of her kitchen? There was no music, but he was still tempted to try. “I have two left feet,” he told her. “But that wasn’t exactly what I was talking about. I wondered if you had ever studied ballet.”
She laughed for a long minute before realizing he was serious. “I thought you were joking. No, I’ve never studied dance. My dad raised me by himself; there was nothing girly about my upbringing.”
Which made it all the more amazing that she had turned out so feminine. More than just her pretty looks and graceful way of moving, there was something undeniably soft and womanly about her. She would be a good mom, he thought, clamping down on the notion before it could take root and cause him more confusion.
“Sounds like your dad was a good man,” he commented as she poured the cocoa and set it before him.
“He was,” she replied, sitting down beside him and cupping her mug between her hands. “He was the best—a rugged sort of man, but with a hidden tender side he reserved for me. It was tough on him, raising a girl alone. But he did his best.”
“Where did you go?” he asked, startling her out of her memories.
“What?”
“You said you went away once. Where did you go?”
“After he died, the state sent me to live on the reservation with my mother in Oklahoma. I stayed two weeks before running away.”
He sensed the topic of her mother was a painful one that she didn’t want to discuss. “Then what happened? You said you were only seventeen. What did you do?”
“I lived here alone. I was seventeen and a half. Social services figured I was better off staying put for a few months instead of being whisked away to foster care. I finished school and worked in the evenings and on weekends.”
“I’ve never known social services to bend the rules. Things must be different out here.”
She refrained from telling him the truth—that social services hadn’t bent the rules for her; they had bent them for Cam King. Cam had vouched for her, calling everyone from the local to the state level to convince them to leave her alone. The Kings had offered to take her in, but upon realizing how much she wanted to stay in her own home, Cam had instead offered to be her guardian in absentia until she turned eighteen. Once a week he reported to the state on her wellbeing, making sure she was attending school and eating properly. She had so badly wanted to make it on her own that first year, but it was impossible; she was in school too often during work hours. Once again, the Kings had kept her afloat, paying her mortgage in full and providing her with a trust fund that would see to her care.
As soon as she graduated and began working full time, she began paying them back. Cam had tried to protest, saying she owed them nothing, but PJ had burst into tears until he uncomfortably relented and practically fled the room. Last year she had repaid the money they had spent on her food, and now she only paid them a small amount of rent for her house. Cam had set up a land contract, so she was actually buying the property from him, which gave her a satisfactory feeling of accomplishment.
“What about you? What’s your story?” she asked, realizing she had spent much of the evening talking about herself. She realized something else, too. “I know Belle told me your name, but I’m afraid I’ve forgotten it. Could you remind me?”
“Ethan,” he said. “Ethan Prescott, and my story is boring. I’m from a small town in Ohio. At least, I used to think it was a small town until I arrived here. Now it looks like a metropolis in comparison. After college, I went to the big city to make a name for myself.” And wound up a secretary, he
thought bitterly. Sometimes it was better not to examine his life too closely.
“Do you have parents? Siblings? Grandparents?”
“I have everything. My family all lives in the same town. I’m a middle kid, sandwiched between two girls. My parents are still alive and still together, and both sets of their parents are still alive, too.”
PJ smiled. “You’re lucky; that sounds nice. You must miss them.”
He opened his mouth to reply and no sound came out. Suddenly he did miss them, very much. When was the last time he saw them?
PJ, sensing his sudden mood shift, searched around for a new topic. “Was it culture shock to go from Ohio to New York?”
“Not really,” he replied. “But I’ve been there so long, it’s hard to remember.”
“How long have you been there?”
“Since I was twenty two.”
“And how old are you now?”
“Almost thirty,” he said.
She whistled softly. “You’re practically a grandpa.”
He laughed. “Don’t tease the elderly, it’s not nice.” His index finger gave the back of her hand a light, admonishing tap, and they froze, caught off guard by the sudden current of electricity bouncing between them. As casually as he could manage, he shifted away, withdrawing his hand while she raised her mug to her lips and took a sip.
“I should go to bed,” she said when she set the mug down.
“Me, too,” he agreed, but neither made a move. Instead they started a new topic of conversation and talked for the next two hours until he stumbled toward the couch, exhausted and half asleep.