Montana Cowboy (Big Sky Mavericks Book 2) (10 page)

Six years of law school smacked him upside the head. His spine stiffened. "What kind? Cyber? Phone harassment? Workplace?"

"All of the above. He's the reason I quit my job and moved here. I gave up everything I knew and loved about my old life—except my alpacas. But I figured if I moved out of state and kept a low profile, he wouldn't find me."

She waited for him to draw his own conclusion. The toast crumbs in his mouth turned to sand.

"Oh, God. Last night. Will Paulson. You're afraid your stalker will see your picture."

She made a wobbling gesture with her hand. "I doubt if he has facial-recognition software. I'm more worried about Mr. Paulson learning my name and using it in his blog. I thought about taking my mother's maiden name when I moved, but the process of changing one's identity is a little daunting and I didn't really have time."

He'd heard horror stories of stalkers. Mia's college roommate was raped by a guy who harassed her for a whole semester and the school authorities refused to do anything...until after the fact.

"Is it sexual? Has he tried—?"

"No. I call him a he, but I honestly don't know this person's gender. His or her online handle is: FairShareLove. We met in a chat room for adoptees." She made a hand gesture. "I told you Peyton and I were both adopted, right?"

He nodded.

"I'd just started a blog called
Not My (Birth) Mother's Daughter
. Like a lot of adoptees, I'd decided I didn't want to reconnect with my birth parents. I have nothing against them. I simply feel our lives split into two separate paths when they put me up for adoption—for whatever reason. I'm okay with that." She stressed each word. "But FairShareLove is convinced I'm in denial or I carry some horrible grudge or whatever. He or she is determined to make me reconnect with these strangers, if they're alive."

"That's bizarre. The police can't find this person?"

"The police don't give a shit," she snapped. "Sorry. Swearing on a Sunday morning. Not good. But as far as the Shasta police were concerned, persistent emails, posting crazy crap on a blog, even going through my trash might fall under the harassment label but doesn't constitute stalking. Since my folks wanted to downsize, I decided to move out of the area and hope he forgets about me."

"And then I came along...with a stalker of my own."

"With a blog."

His phone chimed again. Time to leave or he'd be late for church. He didn't want to go. He wanted...what? To help her? How? The best thing he could do for Serena James would be to leave her the hell alone.

"You're not thinking about leaving Marietta, are you?"

"I have fifty sweet souls under my care, not counting Gandhi and Dolly. Plus, Beau, and Brutus, my barn cat. My life is like a poorly financed circus—it doesn't turn on a dime."

Her frustrated tone made his gut churn.
Shit. Is there anything I can do right?

She jumped to her feet. "You'd better go. My parents are devout agnostics, but I'm pretty sure it's a sin to be late for mass."

He swallowed the dregs of his coffee. Cold and bitter. Exactly what he deserved. Without intending to, he'd just screwed up another woman's life. Good thing he was on his way to church. Prayer might help. It sure as hell couldn't hurt.

He'd pray for the self-control to stay out of Serena James's life—even if she was the most intriguing, most positive new development his life had seen in a long, long time.

S
erena hopped on a hay bale to check her phone. Again. This new, ridiculous habit she'd developed over the four days since making love with Austen Zabrinski drove her mad. Today was Thursday. She'd gotten a dozen texts and two emails from Austen since Sunday. Pleasant. Polite. Neighborly, for God's sake. And, despite a severe lecture every morning, she hadn't broken herself of the stupid wish—the hope—things could be different where her handsome neighbor was concerned.

He'd gone from the hottest one-night stand of her life to buddy. Pal. Friend. Exactly the sort of relationship a smart woman would be thankful for. Only she wasn't happy. Not a bit.

Maybe the fact that despite scouring the Internet as tenaciously as a bloodhound she hadn't found any new mention of her name anywhere made her second-guess her reason for distancing herself from Austen. But dodging one paparazzi's scoop didn't mean she'd be that lucky a second time, or a third. Unless she was prepared to date Austen on the sly, never leaving the ranch, she couldn't see them as a couple.

She scrolled through her emails. A few lame jokes from Macklin. A musical "Thinking of You" card from Mom. A terse "Don't tell Dad about your new boyfriend" from her bother. As if she would. For one thing, Austen Zabrinski wasn't her boyfriend. For another, Dad was just beginning to unwind and have fun. Mom told her he'd joined a men's pinochle club that met every afternoon.

Donald James was the sweetest, kindest man she'd ever met. Peyton called him an alpaca-in-men's-clothing. Fear for his children's safety and well-being seemed to trigger his first, very small stroke. Medical tests showed a blood issue, which doctors could control with medication, but, Dad, being an old hippie who had little to no faith in western medicine, had insisted on trying alternative therapies.

A second stroke—around the time when Serena decided to sell everything and move to get away from her stalker—left behind a few scary reminders—a slight limp, a droopiness on the left side of his face, his beautiful musician's fingers permanently curled.

Dad's health was the other reason her parents decided it was time to downsize. Serena had made sure they were settled in their new adult living complex before she left Redding.

She got up and walked to the music player where she plugged in her phone so it would charge while she listened to music. She had another two hours, at least, before she could call it a day.

Yesterday, she'd picked up a dozen chicks at the feed store. On impulse. Maybe partly as a way to flip off the Universe. After three days of struggling with the question of how, when, and where to move, she'd finally come to the conclusion she wasn't going anywhere. Not this winter, and maybe not in the spring, either. In fact, she planned to meet with her landlord and ask if he'd be interested in selling the ranch to her. The place had everything she needed, and, dammit, she couldn't run scared the rest of her life.

Her parents were safe. Peyton's life couldn't be better, and he had no worries where her stalker was concerned. Her brother's junkie birth mother's final overdose prompted the ER doctor to deliver Peyton prematurely, saving his life before his brain-dead mother was taken off life supports. His biological father was anybody's guess.

Serena needed to find a way to make the past a non-issue in her life, too.

Somehow.

"What to listen to?" she murmured.

She picked the most upbeat playlist in her cache, then turned up the volume and was headed toward the tool shed-slash-tack room when Beau leapt to his feet and started barking. Her heart rate spiked and her mouth went dry. Would she ever not fear unexpected visitors?

She hurried to the barn door to see a taupe SUV with two women pull in. She didn't recognize either woman, but her jitters subsided. Someone selling religion, salvation, or cosmetics wasn't a threat. She stuffed her leather gloves in her hip pocket and headed their way.

"Hi," a brunette with long, wavy locks called as she exited the passenger side.

The cowgirl princess in a pink western shirt, and skinny jeans tucked into the coolest turquoise and buff suede boots Serena had ever seen, advanced toward her with long, purposeful strides. Serena might have missed the slight hitch in her step if not for the silver ankle-bracelet, adorned with charms that tinkled like musical notes with each step.

The driver was slower to get out. She was slim-borderline-skinny, swimming in an off-white, fisherman-style sweater, long, gray jersey pants, and a cream-colored fedora that set off her high cheekbones and thin but beautiful face.

A sweater? On the hottest day since I got here?
"Hello. I'm Serena James. How can I help you?"

"Serena," the brunette repeated. "So nice to meet you. Austen said you were beautiful. He didn't do you justice."

"Austen?" Her butterflies returned.

The thinner woman took control. "My brother. I'm Mia Zabrinski and this is Bailey Jenkins. She's engaged to my brother, Paul."

"My landlord."

Mia glanced around. "Right. I forgot about that. Chemo brain."

"We're here—" Bailey started.

"Because I'm a nosy twin and that's allowed. No matter what my brother says."

Her honesty made Serena laugh. "Okay. Well, then, welcome. Would you like some iced tea?"

Bailey sprang into action. "We came bearing welcome to the neighborhood gifts. Tea and cookies from the new bakery in town. And some of Sage's chocolate."

She darted to the car and from the back seat pulled out a cooler with the Big Z hardware logo. "Is the picnic table still standing? My dad built it when I was a little girl," she said over her shoulder as she walked to the backyard.

"You lived here?" Serena asked, following Mia, who, despite her outward-looking fragility, moved with grace and purpose. She'd been an athlete at some point of her life, Serena would have bet.

"Yep. This is the house I grew up in. After I graduated from high school, I moved west."

Another light went off in her brain. Austen had mentioned his brother's "second time around" girlfriend. Serena had gotten the impression Austen was less than enamored with Paul's choice, but apparently Mia didn't hold the same reservations. The two seemed like fast friends.

"California, Austen said. That's where I’m from. The Redding area. But, now, you're back to stay. Right?"

Bailey looked at Mia and laughed. "Why does everybody ask me that?" To Serena, she answered, "I am. I sooo am." She held up her left hand and wiggled her fingers. "Newly engaged. Already planning the wedding. Very happy."

Serena could tell by the glow in her face. She felt a moment of envy and wishful thinking that couldn't be allowed. Men didn't marry women like her. She looked toward the herd of alpaca still nibbling on their morning flakes of alfalfa. Women with an ark-size load of baggage.

"Where should I put this?" Bailey asked, hefting her armload.

Mia gave the picnic table a little jiggle. "I think the table is sturdy enough."

"It should be. I crawled under it the other day and tightened as many screws as I could reach."

"Resourceful," Mia said. "I guess you'd have to be to live alone on a ranch and raise livestock."

Serena shrugged. "I not only grew up on a farm, my brother and I were homeschooled by our parents who were both teachers. Mom and Dad were big believers in hands-on teaching of practical applications for our lessons. We designed and built shelves, storage boxes for feed, and chicken coops. Plus, we sold wool and crafts and produce at the farmer's market to help pay for college."

Mia was the first to sit. She removed her hat, and Serena was happy to see a very short but attractive, Halle Berry-type hairdo. Mia ran her fingers back and forth through her short locks. "It's so good to have hair again," she said. "I assume Austen told you about me."

"Breast cancer."

She scowled. "I really hate that my illness has become my identity. I used to be Mia Zabrinski lawyer. Or mom. Even wife was acceptable in certain circles. But, now, I'm Mia Z, cancer patient."

"I remember my mother saying the same thing. It got so she wouldn't talk about her health to anyone except my dad."

She didn't remember about the state of Mia's marriage until she caught the look between the two women. To cover her gaff, Serena started toward the house. "Do we need ice or glasses?"

Mia caught her hand. "Relax. If Austen told you about my boobs, he told you about Ed. Our loathsome ex."

"
Our?"

"My husband was Austen's best friend. He cheated on us both, but I was the one married to him at the time." She sighed. "I'm finally past the point where that label—divorcee—bothers me. In my mind, I'm a recoveree—recovering from cancer and from a shitty marriage to a real asshole." She grinned. "Sorry. Mom made us quit swearing around the kids, so I save up the bad words to use when I'm with adults. Is that wrong?"

Serena did an about face and sat. "Not in my book."

"Pour the tea, Bailey. I like her. I think we're all going to be good friends."

Serena held the glasses as Bailey poured an aromatic tea over ice cubes. She inhaled deeply. "Raspberry?" she asked. The scent made her mouth water.

"Yes. I thought it would pair well with Sage's new raspberry-macadamia truffles."

Serena popped one into her mouth and closed her eyes to fully contemplate the complex, sweet and tangy flavor combination housed in a robust dark chocolate shell. "Oh, my God. This gives new meaning to the word: decadent."

"Yes," Mia agreed. " Copper Mountain Chocolates is my new go-to ice breaker. Sage Carrigan is amazing. Have you met her?"

Serena shook her head.

"She's wonderful," Bailey said. "A strong, resourceful, independent businesswoman. Marietta seems to be the new Mecca for women like us."