His Montana Sweetheart (Big Sky Centennial Book 2) Read online

  “Chicago’s crazy fun,” Olivia offered, and the way she said it, as if she’d been there, stopped him in his tracks.

  “How do you know that?”

  “I completed my studies on East Fifty-ninth Street in the university’s Social Sciences Division.”

  Irked spiraled to flat-out irritated in a heartbeat. “You did your grad work at the University of Chicago? And never contacted me?”

  This time she faced him, and the look she gave him, a mix of resignation and old hurt, put him flat in his place, just where he belonged. “You didn’t want me, Jack. You made that clear. I wouldn’t have even known you were there except that my parents mentioned it. But that didn’t mean I shouldn’t pursue my master’s degree at one of the best schools in the country. So I did.”

  The thought of Livvie in Chicago all that time, while he was slogging away in investment banking, made his head spin. She’d known where he was, had proximity to him and didn’t make contact.

  You told her not to, scolded the internal voice again. Didn’t your mother tell you not to say things you didn’t mean?

  She had, Jack knew. Back in kindergarten. He should have listened better.

  “Because while the city was okay for a while, a means to an end,” Livvie continued in an easy voice, “I was glad to get out of there. Come back to Big Sky country.” She spread her hands out, leaned back and watched the encroaching night. “We used to count the stars at night, Jack. When they came out. Remember that?”

  Oh, he remembered, all right. They’d look skyward and watch each star appear, summer, winter, spring and fall, each season offering its own array, a blend of favorites. Until they’d become distracted by other things. Sweet things.

  A sigh welled from somewhere deep within him, a quiet blooming of what could have been. “I remember.”

  They stared upward, side by side, watching the sunset fade to streaks of lilac and gray. Town lights began to appear north of the bridge, winking on earlier now that it was August. “How long are you here?”

  She faltered. “I’m not sure.”

  He turned to face her, puzzled.

  “I’m between lives right now.”

  He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. She did, after drawn-out seconds, but didn’t look at him. She kept her gaze up and out, watching the tree shadows darken and dim.

  “I was married.”

  He’d heard she’d gotten married several years ago, but the “was” surprised him. He dropped his gaze to her left hand. No ring. No tan line that said a ring had been there this summer. A flicker that might be hope stirred in his chest, but entertaining those notions would get him nothing but trouble, so he blamed the strange feeling on the half-finished sandwich he’d wolfed down on the drive in.

  You’ve eaten fast plenty of times before this, and been fine. Just fine.

  The reminder made him take a half step forward, just close enough to inhale the scent of sweet vanilla on her hair, her skin.

  He shouldn’t. He knew that. He knew it even as his hand reached for her hand, the left one bearing no man’s ring, and that touch, the press of his fingers on hers, made the tiny flicker inside brighten just a little. “What happened?”

  “A really cute office assistant who doesn’t spend all her time with her head in books. Or so I was told.”

  A curl of anger poised alongside the other feelings Jack worked to contain. The look on her face said wrath was unneeded, but old-fashioned sympathy? He squeezed the hand that felt so familiar—and so good. “The guy’s a jerk.”

  She didn’t agree. Did that mean she still had feelings for her ex-husband? That she still loved him?

  Well, why not? It had been over eight years since Jack cut Olivia loose.

  Seeing her raised a wealth of memories. High school dances. Trips to the river. Hiking. Fishing.

  Kissing.

  She’d been his first date. His first kiss. His first love.

  Then he’d blown it in a fit of infantile “why me?” temper.

  And here she was, in Jasper Gulch, standing by his side on the worn, neglected bridge over Beaver Creek, and she was in love with someone else. He deserved no more, but for just a second he wished for more.

  “Do you have kids?”

  She shook her head, and he thought her eyes went moist, but the old-style lanterns at either end of the bridge cast her gaze in silhouette. “No kids.” She turned his way. “How about you? Married? Kids?”

  He dropped her hand and shook his head. “Nope.”

  “And you worked in the city for years,” she continued, looking up at him, straight at him, as if trying to decipher who he was from who he’d been way back then. “But didn’t go back after—”

  “Losing my mother.” He stared into the night, wondering why talking with Livvie Franklin loosened his tongue. “You know, it’s strange, when someone’s so sick, Liv. You help, you care for them, you do all the little things you know are right, you try to be the good person, and no matter how sick they are, no matter how long it takes, when they’re gone, you still have this feeling like you didn’t do enough. Never enough.”

  “And that would be the last thing your mother would want you to feel,” countered Livvie. “She loved you, Jack. She’d never want you to beat yourself up over her death, especially when you already tend to beat yourself up over things. Your mother knew that.”

  She leaned against the bridge, but Jack pulled her forward. “I don’t trust these supports. The bridge has been let go for too long, and I’m not about to let you be the second Jasper Gulch tragedy.”

  “Not fixing the bridge is a foolish lack of tribute to an old accident,” she replied. “I’m sure Lucy Shaw would be appalled to think it, if she’d lived.” She pulled her arm free with a speed that warned him off, and rightfully so, he supposed.

  But being there? On the bridge they’d walked across so often as a young couple? The bridge that marked so much of their town’s history?

  The surroundings, the trees, the thin-lit night and the sound of rushing water below made him feel as if anything was possible, and he hadn’t felt that way in a very long time. But here, with her?

  He did. And it felt good.

  Chapter Two

  It took every ounce of strength for Olivia to keep her cool when Jack took her hand, but she did it.

  And when he talked about his mother’s death, about losing Mary Beth McGuire to cancer three years before, she longed to reach out. Hug him. And maybe never let go.

  Residual nonsense from long ago, don’t you dare. You prepared for this possibility the whole drive down. Stay tough. Stay strong. Maintain a distance at all costs and, whatever you do, Do Not Stare Into Those Amazing Green Eyes.

  Olivia’s gut recognized the sensibility of the mental tirade, but there was a spot around her heart, a fairly big spot, that longed to make everything right for Jack McGuire. Which meant she was a pushover for that cleft chin and crooked smile, even after all this time. She erected an internal Danger Zone sign and kept her voice calm, her face serene, but inside?

  She wanted answers. She wanted love. She wanted something functional out of the past eight years of study, work, marriage and building a home.

  And here she was, jobless, homeless, divorced and sleeping in her old room in her parents’ house, as dysfunctional as you could get. She’d become the statistic she abhorred, the failure-to-launch young adult who crept back to the nest. How had this happened?

  The sweet rhythmic toll of a bell interrupted her funk.

  She turned, surprised, and Jack pointed northwest. “First Monday prayer service at the church.” When she frowned, he continued, “Our new pastor started this. It’s an evening prayer service to mark the first Monday of each month. A call to worship. Ethan says he wants folks to pause and think about things
now and again, and there’s nothing like an evening prayer service to do that.” He directed his gaze back to town in a silent invitation to retrace their steps, then added, “It’s kind of nice, though I’ve only been to one so far.”

  The thought of Monday-night church seemed odd enough, but the idea of Jack leaving the ranch, getting cleaned up and rolling into town for a prayer service surprised her even more. Work had always come first on the Double M. School. Baseball. The ranch. Chores. Church had fallen well down the list of Jack McGuire priorities, but the look on his face said that might have changed.

  She fell into step beside him, thoughtful, letting the recorded bells’ chime call them back to Main Street. They drew near to the corner as the bell went silent. An awkward quiet rose around them until Jack motioned west toward the quaint stone-and-wood church. “Would you like to go? We wouldn’t be all that late.”

  She wouldn’t, no, but she didn’t know how to say that and not sound like a jerk. She hemmed and hawed, and let Jack draw his own conclusions.

  He did. Quickly. He gave her a glimpse of that endearing smile, then doffed his hat, cowboy to the core. “Nice seeing you, Liv.”

  “Nice, yes. You, too, Jack.”

  He watched as she climbed into her car, ever the gentleman, except when he tossed her aside like yesterday’s news.

  And then he watched as she drove away, his gaze following her until she turned left on River Road and headed home.

  Did he turn and go to the church service? She had no idea and wasn’t sure she cared to know, because she used to pray all the time. About life, about love, about Jack, her family, her sister, her dog. Her latest prayers had centered on her marriage and the family she’d longed to have, a couple of cute kids running around, wreaking havoc, making her smile.

  She’d lost Jack, her sister had moved away years before, the dog had passed on while she was married to Billy and she’d watched her marriage and dreams of a family go up in a puff of divorce-petition smoke.

  So if there was a God...? If He existed somewhere other than the pages of an often-interpreted book? She hadn’t seen much evidence of it, and right now didn’t care to search anymore.

  She’d count her blessings, the human ones, and move on, heart guarded, because fewer people got hurt that way. Mainly her.

  Bright windows welcomed her back to her parents’ home on Old Trail Road. The house, set into the edge of a wooded grove, looked happy and natural, at peace with its surroundings. The front screen door slapped shut as she exited the car, and the scent of fresh-baked cookies hit the evening air like a gift. “You baked? In this heat?”

  Her mother’s smile said yes as she nodded toward the second porch rocker. “I figured evening time would be fine. We’ve got fans in the bedrooms and the cool night air will chase off the oven’s heat by morning.”

  “True enough. I know it’s the beginning of August, but the thick morning dew says fall isn’t far off.”

  “I won’t wish the summer away,” her mother replied. “They’re too scant here, and after last winter’s wrath, I’ve no desire to see snow for a while. And while fall was always my favorite season in Michigan, here in Montana it comes and goes too fast. And the colors aren’t the same.”

  “I noticed that when I went to visit Grandma and Grandpa in Detroit a few years back.” Liv settled into the rocker, and let the easy motion ease the tiredness from her back, her shoulders. “Have you heard from them this week?”

  “I call Mom every night, actually.”

  Liv turned, sensing trouble, because fear or concern would be the only reason her mother and grandmother would be in constant contact. “Is Grandpa okay?” Her mother’s expression said he wasn’t. “Tell me, Mom. What’s going on?”

  “We think it’s Alzheimer’s.”

  The possibility of her grandfather succumbing to the mind-numbing illness chilled Livvie. She leaned forward. “You think it is? Or you know it?”

  Jane Franklin pursed her mouth and shrugged. “It’s hard to tell in the beginning stages because everyone forgets things from time to time, but for Grandpa it’s been over a year of little things building up.”

  “Over a year?” Liv sat straight up in the chair. “And you haven’t said anything?”

  “Your grandmother was adamant about not making a big deal if it was nothing more than a phase. But it looks like it’s the real deal, and we can’t leave Grandma to care for him alone. She hates the idea of coming to Montana, but their neighborhood isn’t like it used to be, and a forgetful old man makes an easy target on the streets.”

  Mixed emotions swept Olivia.

  Her grandparents loved Detroit. They’d been a big part of their local church; they’d known every family, every elder, every kid in their congregation for decades. The butcher on the corner was her grandfather’s best friend, the local bakery was run by a neighbor’s daughter, and the small diner up the road was owned by her aunt’s godparents. Tucked between the city and the suburbs, their neighborhood had survived when others failed, but Olivia had seen the beginnings of decay when she’d visited five years ago.

  Guilt swept her. Why was there five years between visits? She hadn’t been that busy, not busy enough to ignore her grandparents. But that’s exactly what she’d done, believing things would go on forever.

  Right, her brain chided. How’s that whole forever thing working out for you? She shushed the internal stab and faced her mother. “What’s the plan?”

  “Dad and I are spending next week there. We’re taking the car instead of the SUV because Grandma has a harder time climbing into a taller vehicle. And I think...” She paused, then firmed her gaze and her stance in the chair, “I hope we’ll be bringing them back here. That way we can all help each other.”

  “Change scares folks.”

  Her mother acknowledged that with a dip of her chin.

  “But I’d rather have them cranky for a while than hurt. Or alone. Or fearful in their own house.”

  “Exactly the case, but now I have to convince my mother of that. Dad’s kind of oblivious to the whole thing. But Mom?” The look she sent Olivia said she was preparing for battle. “She’ll be tough to convince.”

  “Which is where I come in.” Dave Franklin approached the porch from his workshop in the garage. “I was able to sweet-talk the daughter into moving west. I think I’ll do just fine with the mother.”

  Her parents exchanged smiles, a tangible warmth of time, love and faith, the kind of married-forever look Livvie had longed for.

  “I’m okay with you taking the helm,” Jane declared. “My mother hates to think her kids are bossing her around—”

  Liv sent a mock-guilty look her mother’s way, because hadn’t she scolded her mother that very morning for leaving fruit on the counter, a breeding ground for dozens of fruit flies?

  Her mother’s smile said the fruit was still on the counter because refrigeration broke down the sugar content or some such nonsense. Three bossy women in one house?

  That scenario meant Liv better figure out where she was going and what she was doing sooner rather than later. But for now— “Dad’s got a touch, that’s for sure. I’ll make certain the downstairs bedroom is clean.”

  “A few prayers would be a nice addition,” her father mused. “I think Grandma’s had a lot on her plate, and the thought of closing up the house, selling things, or sorting through and giving them away, weighs on her.”

  “A daunting task,” Jane agreed. “But we can help while we’re there. And if we bring them here, I think your aunt Kathy would step in and oversee the real estate sale. She’s closest.” Jane turned back to Liv. “I’m sorry we’re ducking out on you your second week back, but you’ll be busy with your historical research and the centennial stuff, so it should be fine. Right?”

  Talk about embarrassing. To have a mother coddlin
g a thirty-year-old daughter in the very nest she was born in?

  Liv bit back a growl of self-contempt and nodded. “I’m knee-deep in research now, and actually loving it. The Lewis and Clark influence on this part of the country, the early settlers east of here, the problems that brought the Shaw and Massey families across the state to settle in the gulch? There’s some truth-is-stranger-than-fiction stuff in those old stories. So I’m fine, I’ll take care of everything here—”

  “Including Tabby.”

  The overweight cat shifted on the porch glider. He yawned, stretched and settled back into slumber on the woven floral cushion, a purr of contentment lulling the old boy back to sleep.

  “I’m putting him on an exercise regimen the minute you’re gone,” Liv confirmed, but she softened the order by reaching out and stroking the gray-striped cat’s head. “He’s gotten lazy with Tank gone.”

  Dave’s expression said he agreed. “Cats are disinclined to exercise when they get older. Or maybe he just misses his old friend.”

  “We talked about getting a new dog, but a puppy might be too much for Grandma and Grandpa. The way things are going, we didn’t want to jump into anything.”

  Kind. Considerate. Thoughtful.

  Her parents were that and more, cornerstones of their community. And they did it together, bound by love.

  “I almost wrapped up that picnic bench in time to get to the prayer service tonight,” Dave noted as he leaned a hip against a strong, solid porch rail. “Hearing those bells ring, knowing what it meant, to pause and remember what we’ve been given, I think I did an even better job of sanding those seat boards.”

  “I love hearing the bells from Mountainview Church, even though it’s a recording,” Livvie admitted. “The area churches near my old condo had to silence their bell towers because neighbors complained.”