Man From Montana

Kara closed and locked the door, including the dead bolt. “Some watchdog you are,” she said to Lady as the collie merely wagged her tail. “You could’ve at least growled at him.”

Kara hurried to the kitchen and peeked through the curtains at the well-lit yard, spotting a dark orange, half-grown kitten in the branches of her cottonwood tree.

Kara pulled on her Tony Lamas and stepped outside, Lady at her heels. Derrick stood at the base of the tree, speaking in a gentle, coaxing tone. His voice gave Kara goose bumps, but she told herself it was only the chilly night air.

“He’s cute,” she said, nearing the tree. “Hey, kitty.”

The cat meowed, the bell on his collar jingling as he stretched hesitantly toward the next lower branch.

“Come on, Taz,” Derrick coaxed. “I’ve got to go back to work, buddy.”

“Where do you work?” Kara asked, folding her arms against her chest for warmth. She should’ve grabbed a jacket.

“The Silver Spur,” he said. “I’m a bartender and aspiring country singer.”

Kara couldn’t help but smile. “You play in the band?”

“Every other Saturday, and most Fridays. Tonight I’m just bartending. I’m on my dinner break. Wasn’t really hungry, so I thought I’d run out here and finish unloading a few things…check on Taz.” He turned back to the kitten. At about six foot one or so, Derrick was able to stretch his long arms up and finally grab the wayward Taz.

The tabby yowled and dug its claws into the front of Derrick’s shirt, hissing and spitting as it caught sight of Lady. “Ouch, you little varmint.” Derrick cradled Taz against his chest. “Thanks again.” He held out his free hand. “I didn’t catch your name.”

Hesitantly, she took it. “Kara Tillman.” His hand was strong, his fingers callused from playing the guitar.

“Nice to meet you, Kara.” He eyed her boots and jeans. “A cowgirl, huh?”

“Well, a wanna-be anyway.” She smiled again. “I’ve got a horse, though.”

“Do you like country music?”

“Sure.”

“Why don’t you come on down to the Silver Spur? The band that’s playing tonight is good.” He winked. “Of course, next weekend when Wild Country is playing, the music will be even better.”

Suddenly she felt sick to her stomach. How many nights had she spent dancing with Evan to the beat of some country tune? “Thanks, but I’m not really into the whole bar scene.”

“Well, if you change your mind, the invitation’s always open.” He patted Lady’s head, then scrambled to clutch the kitten once more as it nearly got away from him. “Nice meeting you, Kara. Take it easy.”

“You, too.”

He disappeared into the shadows on the far side of the house, and Kara heard the gate swing open, then click shut as he latched it.

She stood for a moment, listening to the wind stir through the trees. Then, rubbing her hands up and down her arms, Kara called Lady back into the house and closed the door.

CHAPTER TWO

Late May

DERRICK OPENED the curtains near the foot of Connor’s bed to let the sunlight stream in. Today was the last day of school, and Connor would be home at Shelly’s in less than an hour, ready for Derrick to pick him up. He wanted everything perfect for his son at their new house.

He raised the window, letting the fresh air blow through the long-closed bedroom. Taz promptly jumped up on the windowsill and stared through the screen at the birds on the lawn, flicking the end of his orange tail.

Derrick laughed. “Bird buffet, huh, Taz?” He scratched the kitten’s ears, enjoying the view himself. An apple tree grew near the window, its branches loaded with pinkish-white flowers. Their fragrance drifted in, mingling with the scent of damp soil and dust. A comforting, earthy smell. Home. So much better than that damned cramped apartment, where the neighbors constantly complained about his guitar playing.

Whistling, Derrick snapped open a fitted sheet he’d taken from the dryer a moment ago, and set about making up Connor’s twin bed. He’d wanted to buy something better, a double bed for sure, but money was tight. Connor’s medical bills and physical therapy had been an ongoing expense, and a not-so-famous country singer/bartender didn’t make the sort of money Toby Keith and Brad Paisley likely brought home.

With the bedsheets and a dark blue comforter in place, Derrick surveyed the room. He hadn’t hung a lot of stuff on the walls—he wanted Connor to make the place his own. Just a couple of things he thought the boy might like, including an autographed poster of Shania Twain one of the guys in his band had gotten for Connor at a recent concert.

The room looked kind of plain, with only the twin bed, a secondhand chest of drawers and a computer stand for Connor’s laptop in the corner. Derrick had paid for Internet service, even though he didn’t have any use for it himself, didn’t even own a computer. But he couldn’t expect the kid to spend every waking minute with him, even though Derrick would’ve preferred it that way.

His time with his son was precious. The days between his weekend visits seemed an eternity, while the two or three days he had with Connor sped by. Even the longer summer visitations seemed far too short. But it beat the hell out of the supervised, three-hour visits he’d once had.

Satisfied the room was as good as it was going to get, Derrick got the keys to his truck, and his guitar and headed out the door. He couldn’t wait to pick Connor up. Their every-other-Friday-night ritual of stopping by the local burger joint was something he looked forward to. And tonight, he had band practice. Since a love for country music and double cheeseburgers seemed to be two of the few things he and his son shared these days, Derrick intended to make the most of it.

As he neared his pickup, he spotted Kara, struggling out her front door with an armload of tack, including a heavy-looking western saddle and thick saddle pad. The pretty strawberry-blonde had bumped the screen open with one hip, and now attempted to pull the door shut behind her, her collie at her heels.

Derrick was across the street in a few loping strides.

“Hang on. Let me help you.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him and grimaced. “Thanks, but I’ve got it. I’m used to doing this.” But she let him hold the screen and finish closing the door for her. “Make sure it’s locked, please.” She watched as he jiggled the knob. “Thanks.”

“Going riding?” Then he laughed, bending to pat the dog. “Well, I guess that’s obvious. Taking advantage of the longer daylight hours, huh?”

Her freckled nose crinkled as she smiled. “Yep. I go every chance I get.”

“Really? Maybe I ought to get myself a horse.”

Immediately, Kara stopped smiling.

“I hate to be rude, but I’m in a hurry.” She swung the saddle and blanket into the back of her pickup—a sharp-looking, black Ford. “I’m meeting some friends.”

“Yeah. Sure.” She didn’t have to knock him over the head with a riding crop. He leaned against the truck bed, and glanced at the bridle and grooming tools she’d already loaded. “Don’t they have a tack room at your stable?”

“Yes. But things tend to grow legs and wander off. Or so I’ve heard. I prefer keeping my stuff at home.”

“Ah. I can understand that.”

“You’d better get your guitar,” she said, softening her words with a half smile. “Before it grows legs.”

He’d forgotten he’d set it down in the middle of his driveway. “Yeah. I’ve got practice with the guys tonight. We’re playing tomorrow.” He hesitated. She hadn’t taken him up on his invite last weekend…should he ask her again?

“Have fun.” She opened the truck door, and the collie jumped in.

“You, too.”

He watched Kara drive away.

Going riding?