Montana Cowboy (Big Sky Mavericks Book 2) (6 page)

Lazy try, at best, kid.

Jason. Jason. Oh, crap, Jason Briggs. His foreman's nephew. Linebacker. Son of Molly Briggs, one of Marietta's biggest gossips.

"Morning is gone. And so is your chance to earn some money. I will give you one more chance next Saturday. Be here by nine or I'll find somebody else permanently."

"Yes, ma'am."

His cocky manner turned to whipped pup. Austen felt for the kid. If he was anything like Austen in high school, his plate was filled to the brim with sports, classes, girls, and extra-curricular activities. Austen had been required to put in a certain number of hours at his family's hardware store. Those always got pushed to the far back of the line.

"Don't you still need help with the breeding today?" he asked her.

"Yes, but my parents were both school teachers. They didn't believe in rewarding inconsiderate behavior." Her perfect lips pressed together and her brow crinkled. "But I can't do it alone."

She lowered the window again and caught Jason before he could back up. "I'm going to run my neighbor home. If you still want to work today, you can start with a shovel, the rake and the wheelbarrow. The dumpsite is on the far side of the barn. That should keep you busy until I get back."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll get right on it." Jason looked at Austen and nodded.

And so a new rumor is born, Austen thought fatalistically.

He yanked on his seat belt and shoved the latch hard.
Damn.

Serena glanced sideways but didn't say anything. Obviously, the mood had been trashed. And maybe the interruption was for the best. He was too old to be caught
in flagrante delicto
in his hometown with an alpaca wrangler.

She stepped on the gas but hesitated once they reached the main road. "Left or right? I've never been to your place."

"Right."

She put on the blinker, which made him smile. He took a breath and let it out. He hated the new, even-more-cynical-than-the-old Austen Zabrinski. So a kid caught him necking with his neighbor. Big deal. The paparazzi had documented a whole lot worse back in the day.
Z Playboy
, they'd deemed him. His older sister, Meg, was
Z Wolf Whisperer
. 

Paul, business promoter that he was, proudly embraced the Big Z nomenclature—even adapting the symbol to resemble Superman's logo... with a Z, instead of an S. Mia might be the only one to avoid the Zabrinski branding.

"That was awkward."

She shrugged. "No harm, no foul."

"Marietta is a small town. People talk."

She slowed as they approached the next corner. He didn't have to tell her to turn. "Are you the Justin Beiber of Marietta?"

"No, but I have a certain amount of notoriety because I played sports, was class president and went to Harvard."

She looked impressed. "And you live elsewhere, right? You're just here visiting?"

Did her tone sound hopeful? "I'm... on hiatus. Decompressing."
Licking my wounds.

He pointed to a rock column with the street address in wrought iron.

"Nice mailbox. Will you get the gate?"

He hopped out and walked to the matching column with the electronic security pad. He pushed in the code and waited.

"I was just about to send out the troops," a voice said on the intercom. "And drones. How'd you get on that side of the fence?"

Stuart Briggs had been an LA set wrangler for a film studio until he met and married a woman from Montana. The marriage fizzled and she went back to California, but Stu stayed. "Long story. I got a ride from our neighbor. Open up."

"Yes, sir. I've been wanting to meet the Llama Lady."

"They're alpaca."

"What?"

Austen rolled his eyes. "Open up. I'll tell you all about it when I see you."

He walked to the driver's side door and waited for Serena to lower her window.

"Is there a problem?"

The gate gave a shudder and slowly, noisily began

to swing inward. "The only problem is we were interrupted. I need to make sure that kiss was as good as I think it was."

He stepped onto the truck's running board and leaned in.

Her laugh told him she was game. Her kiss... well, yup. That good. He jumped back before his knees gave in. "I'll walk the rest of the way—need a little down time," he said, glancing at the bulge in the jeans he'd borrowed from a dead man. "What are you doing tonight? Are you free for dinner?"

She threw the gearshift into reverse. "Beau will miss me, but...sure. Where and when?"

"Six. I'll pick you up."

S
erena tossed the third try on her bed, shoved her hands on her bare hips and let out a growl of frustration. "What the heck? It's only dinner."

With a gorgeous man who kissed like liquid sex. If she could bottle that, she'd make a fortune. But she couldn't. So dinner, polite conversation, a little give and take of history, and maybe, just maybe, the sizzle she'd felt earlier in the day would trigger an invitation to do the
twiddly delicious
, as Macklin might say.

Her brother-in-law was the cleverest, naughty-minded man she'd ever met. Nobody could make her blush quicker, which, of course, was his stated goal.

She looked from her closet to Beau and back. "One more try."

The little black dress. "Too common."

The red halter dress. "Too summery. It's almost fall. And it gets cold here at night."

Beau let out a low groan and plopped to the floor.

Maybe the black pencil skirt with the Forever 21 sweater her mother tucked in her suitcase before she left. Boots. Tights.
No runs
.
Good.
 

She posed before the freestanding mirror that had been in her parent's bedroom for as long as she could remember. The cherry wood matched their antique set, but this was the only piece that remained in the family. A double bed didn't fit her needs or her brother's lifestyle. The dresser and wardrobe were too heavy and dark for Serena's taste.

Sad, she thought. Their history broken up because people wanted more elbowroom at night and more Ikea lightness during the day.

"All right. This will work. Don't you agree, Beau?"

The dog lifted his big head and blinked, waiting for more instructions. She walked to him and knelt on one knee. "I'll kiss you good-bye now so you don't get white hair all over my skirt."

He flopped to his side for a belly rub.

She wouldn't mind a belly rub...along with fondling several other body parts. "Lord," she murmured. "Austen Zabrinski has turned me into a sex fiend."

I will behave myself in public.
She didn't have any choice. She hadn't been in town long enough to know the players—in particular, those who might have a say in her permanent position at the school. She'd accepted a probationary, part-time auditory specialist position for two reasons. First, it was the only opening the Marietta School system had available, and second, she knew she'd need time to get her herd settled and braced for winter. From everything she'd read and discussed over the phone with other Montana alpaca breeders, winter was going to be far different from the snow and cold of northern California. Her parents raised her to practice responsible animal husbandry. But even if they hadn't, her soft heart broke any time any of her 'pacas were hurt or in pain.

Woof.

The deep bark made her jump sideways and bump into the corner of the sleek, modern dresser. "Ouch, Beau. Darn it. A little warning next time, please."

The big dog shot past her like the projectile from a potato cannon.

"Beau. Hush." Once downstairs, she clamped one hand on Beau's collar and opened the door with the other. "See? It's Austen. Stop, now."

The barking ended once Beau sniffed Austen's outstretched hand. Serena never scolded Beau too much. After all, she'd wanted a big dog once she realized the menace she'd considered an online nuisance became a physical presence that went through her garbage to procure information she'd been scrupulous about keeping private.

"That's a good watchdog you have."

"He is. My brother and brother-in-law found him at a shelter. We think he's purebred Great Pyrenees. He's wonderful with the animals. Super gentle and very loyal. He takes his job of protecting me quite seriously."

"Your brother and brother-in-law? They're gay?"

She nodded, thankful his expression didn't appear the least bit judgmental.

"Where do they live?"

"Portland. They were in Medford, but Peyton—my brother—got a job with a start-up technology firm. The money was too good to pass up."

Requisite small talk. Easy. Nothing that required too much brainpower, which was fortunate since her brain had turned little girl giddy. Her heart palpitated. Her palms went moist. Her knees wobbled slightly. All because her date was more handsome than the cinematic hunk who played Thor.

She swallowed twice to build up enough liquid in her mouth to speak. "Has anyone ever told you you look like Chris Hemsworth?"

He chuckled, his wide shoulders shrugging modestly. "I've been told there's a blog devoted to the subject. I've never read it."

Blog. The B-word.

She'd managed to squeeze in a quick peek online before her shower. Her search engine queued up a couple of dozen pages with Austen Zabrinski's name in big black print. After skimming the headlines, she had a very mixed picture of the man. She wasn't one to believe everything she read—her slightly anti-establishment parents made sure of that, but most of the headlines made him out to be a dilettante playboy at best, a corrupt politician at worst.

Would she tell him her horror story tonight at dinner? Maybe. Maybe, not. She still got chills when she verbalized the possibility that someone tracked her down from the Internet, invaded her space, and compromised her privacy. Could someone with a high profile career even begin to understand how violated something like that made a private, ordinary person feel? She doubted it.

Either way, she looked forward to finding out the truth about Austen Zabrinski one layer at a time. She pivoted and walked to the coat closet. Her leather biker jacket would have to do.

He hurried across the foyer to help her into her coat. This put him close enough for her to inhale his cologne. Something wonderful. Fresh. Like an Oregon woods on a spring morning.

The jacket settled pleasantly over her shoulders then two strong hands turned her about face. "I've been thinking about our kiss all afternoon. I almost convinced myself it didn't happen. Or if it did, it couldn't possibly be as good as I remembered."

She knew exactly what he meant. She'd had the same conversation in her mind half a dozen times today.

"Would you mind if I refresh my memory?"

She'd just applied lipstick, but what the heck. "Okay."

His hands bracketed her shoulders as if to keep her grounded. She kept her hands by her side. No crazy, jumping the gun tonight. If things worked the way she hoped, she'd invite him in...after a good dinner...fuel they'd both need for what she had planned.

He lowered his head to touch his lips to hers.

Tentative at first. Maybe he was worried about the lipstick. She wished she hadn't worn it.

A little more pressure...

She pulled back enough to say, "Oh, come on. It's only lipstick. It'll wipe off. Kiss me, damn it."

So, he did. Masterfully. Mouth open, tongue engaged. Hands shifting to her back to draw her closer. Her front lined up with his. Barely touching.

One hand cupped her buttocks and pulled her hips inward. Bottom half lined up with bottom half. A perfect fit when she rose on her toes. His male part showing instant interest in her female part.

She took a step back, gasping for a breath. "I got so distracted I forgot to breathe. I don't think that's ever happened before. Wow."

His grin was pure ego-stroked male.

"Don't get too cocky. I haven't kissed that many men."

"Oh. Well, you kiss like a pro." He paused. "Not like a prostitute pro. I don't mean that. I meant like someone who kisses well." He pushed a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "I'll quit while I'm ahead, okay?"

"Good idea. But, for the record, do you know how a pro kisses?"

"I'd rather not answer that."

She laughed. She didn't care about his history. She only cared about his future love life for as long as it involved her, preferably in her bed, tonight.

She walked to the door, opened it and whistled for Beau. Although she loved the dog's companionship, he always remained outside at night. His toenails clicked on the plank flooring of the old farmhouse as he hurried to her side. She gave him a loving pat on the head on his way outside. "Protect the fuzzies."

To Austen she explained, "Beau takes his job very seriously. I only hope he never has to take on a bear or mountain lion."

"Or wolf," he added. "I'll have to ask Meg about that. She's the expert. Shall we go?"

T
hree hours later, after a probably unwise cup of the strongest, most delicious coffee she'd ever tasted, she watched Austen peel off a stack of bills to tuck discreetly in the black leather binder that held their bill. She would remember this meal forever. So many firsts. First private table in an ornate alcove filled with fresh flowers and soft music. Champagne, cheeses, and fruit that seemed to explode with flavor. Austen had called ahead to request two special entrees.