His Montana Bride

“Is there something I can do?” Katie stood in his kitchen, red hair that framed her pretty face and green eyes that were studying him, as he moved toward the fridge.

“I’m going to put some sandwiches in a pack, maybe some chips, cookies and bottled water. It shouldn’t take long to get it all together.” Okay, the truth was that Sandy Wilson, his parents’ housekeeper and right-hand woman, had already made the sandwiches. Four of them, bagged and ready to go. He grabbed them out of the fridge and tossed them on the counter.

Marci headed out the backdoor. He whistled and she stopped, turning with a smile.

“Where are you going?”

She looked innocent as a fox in a henhouse. Funny how a kid with blond braids and wide brown eyes could look so ornery. “I’m going to feed your dog.”

He shook his head. “Not that cookie you have in your pocket.”

No, he hadn’t seen a cookie, but he knew how she worked. He’d been in her life a long time.

“Okay, no cookie.” And out the door she went.

“She’s cute.” Katie shoved water bottles in the pack he’d put on the counter. “Are you okay?”

Her back was to him and she didn’t turn to ask the question. Probably because she knew she was overstepping the boundaries, or something to that effect. He had invited her on a picnic, but he hadn’t invited her into his life. Or Marci’s life.

“Why do you ask?” Not exactly the “back off” response he’d planned.

But then, he’d invited her today. He’d put her squarely in his life. He’d enjoyed the subtle scent of oriental perfume that had lingered in his truck, a reminder of her presence. And because of that, he’d extended an invitation that had taken him by surprise. He probably wasn’t the only one questioning the invite.

She added the sandwiches to the pack. “You looked a little lost for a few minutes. I just thought... I’m sorry, it isn’t any of my business.”

“No, I guess it isn’t.” He sighed and brushed a hand through his hair.

“Marci, she’s your...”

“Goddaughter,” he offered the one detail. “And it isn’t really something I can discuss right now. But I appreciate that you asked.”

The backdoor opened, ending the conversation. Maybe God would hear this one prayer of his—that Lulu Jenson would be okay and that he wouldn’t have to break Marci’s heart. As they headed out the back door, a hand brushed his. The touch took him by surprise and when he glanced Katie’s way he thought maybe it took her by surprise, too. What stunned him more than the touch was that the simple gesture, her fingers against his, made him want to be less of a rock, handling everything on his own.

Once, a long time ago, he’d thought he’d be married, have kids, and have someone to be a partner in the tough times. It hadn’t happened, obviously. And it had convinced him there weren’t many women interested in a relationship that included a child that wasn’t even his.

It had been a long time since he’d trusted.

Chapter Four (#ulink_ed0489ff-94f7-5daa-84cb-523711b7aa3c)

They shared a picnic on the banks of the lake, horses tied nearby and the border collie, Jake, nosing in the brown grass of early October. Nearby, a stream trickled, the water emptying into the lake. There had been a good rain a few days ago, which had set the nearly dry source of water into action once again. He told her that come spring, when the snows melted, it would be more of a rush rather than a trickle of water.

Katie had listened, watching as Marci wandered away to walk along the lake, playing with the dog as she went.

“So, you don’t ride or fish. What do you do for fun in Missoula?” Cord asked as he leaned back on the blanket, a careful eye on Marci.

What did she do in Missoula? Katie shrugged one shoulder as she searched for an answer because in the last year she’d changed a lot. She no longer partied. She no longer cared about the dating scene. She doubted he wanted those answers. He was being polite, not really wanting insight into her life. “I work.”

One corner of his mouth kicked up. “Of course you do. What else? Do you date? Do you play bridge?”

She laughed at that. “People still play bridge?”

“I have no idea. It was just the first thing that came to mind.”

“Bridge came to mind? I’m not sure what that says about you. Do you know how to play bridge?”

“Not a clue,” he confessed, his cheeks turning a little pink under his deep tan. “I know that we’re trying to rebuild a bridge and hoping this wedding brings enough business to town to aid in that goal. I take it that’s the wrong kind of bridge?”

“Yes, the wrong bridge.”

“So,” he prodded again.

“I work. I spend time with friends.” Most of whom were getting married or moving away. That left fewer friends. She did have a collection of never-to-be-worn-again bridesmaid’s dresses hanging in her closet.

“Family?”

“Nothing like yours.”

“Is Gwen your only sibling?”

She glanced at him, a sideways glance, taking in his handsome profile half shaded by the black cowboy hat he had donned after church. “Yes, she is.”

He had been leaning back on one elbow. He sat up, watching her. She chose to look toward the lake because it was easier to focus on water that shimmered and sparkled than to face his piercing blue eyes, softened as they were by dark lashes. On the bank of the lake Marci picked up a rock and skipped it across the glassy water.

“You’re close, you and Gwen?” Cord pushed.

“We’re close.” Enough. They were close enough.

“Your parents?”

She looked away from Marci back to the man sitting next to her. “Are they close?”

He grinned and her insides melted a little. “Sure, okay, we’ll go with that.”

“They’ve been married for thirty-three years and they wouldn’t not be married. But I’m not sure if they like each other.”

She sometimes wondered if they liked her. And she wasn’t a melodramatic person, just a realist. She didn’t fit. When she looked at family pictures she was the odd one out. Gwen, beautiful, petite, dark brown hair and a brain that never forgot a fact. Carla, her mother, was a dentist. James, her father, was a lawyer. Katie’s red hair came from her great-grandmother. She’d once heard her mother say that she’d wanted Katie to have black hair, like her husband’s.

“My parents were high school sweethearts,” Cord said with a shrug. “I don’t know how they stay in love but they do.”

“They are proof that some marriages work.”

“Yes, I guess they are. They’ve been a great example to us. We’ve seen them work out their disagreements, go through hard times and still hold on to each other.”

Katie wondered, but she didn’t comment. What she’d seen in the few days since she’d arrived in Jasper Gulch on the first day of October was a couple that loved each other but maybe weren’t in agreement. There was something beneath the surface, something going on. Katie saw it in the looks they gave one another and in whispered conversations. If something was going on between Jackson and Nadine Shaw, it couldn’t be easy to work through it with strangers in their home.

“Thank you for letting me join you today,” Katie said, shifting to a safer topic. “I know this is usually your day with Marci.”

He pushed his hat back and gave her a closer look. “You know that, do you?”