The Rancher's Daughter

“That would be me,” Ash said with deadly calm. He hadn’t moved a muscle, but his skin had turned white under his five-o’clock shadow, and Maura wondered what could have made it so.

“If you’ve, by God, touched a hair on her head, I’ll horsewhip you and leave you for the buzzards to pick over, you young outlaw,” Stratton warned.

Maura gasped. “Dad! What on earth is wrong with you? Chances are I wouldn’t be standing here if it weren’t for Ash!”

She stepped between them, although she couldn’t have said what impulse told her to do so. “Why are you acting this way toward the man who risked his life to save mine?”

Stratton jabbed a pointed finger in Ash’s direction. “Did he tell you, then, who he is and just what kinds of risks with people’s lives he’s normally used to taking?”

“What?” Maura asked, thoroughly confused, except for the thin thread of a memory that spun its way through her head like a familiar melody that she couldn’t quite identify the name of.

“You remember Emmeline McDonough, don’t you, Maura?” her father went on. “She was in the grade ahead of you in school—till she got taken out when she was about thirteen and put in a foster home over in Big Timber. See, her mama’d died and there was no one to take care of her on account of her brother Karl fighting over in Desert Storm—”

“And her other brother being in prison, sent there on a drug conviction that disgraced the family and broke his mother’s heart.”

This had come from Ash.

He turned to face her at last, his face a mask even as he held his strong chin not aloft in defiance nor tucked in shame, but level, as would a man who’d come to terms with his faults and mistakes and was going on with his life.

Then she looked into his eyes and saw the real story. For they no longer glowed silver, as they had when he’d made tender, passionate love to her.

Ash’s eyes instead were the dull gray of ashes, cold and lifeless.

“That’s right, Maura,” he said in as colorless a tone, “you’re lookin’ at none other than Ash McDonough—otherwise known as the bad seed of Rumor, Montana.”

He should have known better. Known that luck was not currency that could be hoarded and stored up for a rainy day when you really, really needed it—or really, really wanted it.

And, oh, he’d wanted Maura! Ash had wanted her so much he had drained his luck down to a zero balance, just so he could believe for one night that he might have a chance with this woman. A chance at life. A chance at happiness.

Clearly, that was impossible now.

Who’d have known that out of the hundreds and hundreds of firefighters from all over the country, the one he’d share such an encounter with would be from his own hometown, giving her ready access to every sordid detail of his past, like it was on loan at the library.

It wasn’t as if he’d intended to keep his history a secret from Maura forever—just until he’d made it right and put it behind him for good. And even with her finding out about that past now, he might have had a chance of convincing any other woman that while he might not yet be the man she believed him to be, he intended to become that man or die trying.

But not Stratton Kingsley’s “little girl.”

How? How was he to know the unpretentious, gutsy, warm, accepting woman he’d spent the night with was a member of one of the wealthiest families in this part of Montana? The Kingsley ranch alone would have put them up in rarefied air, but they also owned MonMart, the superstore chain that was poised to give such giants as Walmart a run for their money. There was even a Kingsley Avenue running smack-dab through the middle of Rumor!

There was no way he could convince Maura Kingsley—or her father—that he could make her happy.

So. He didn’t have much choice now but to get through the next few minutes and go on with his life.

“I guess I’m not surprised to be treated like a noaccount by you, Stratton, or anyone who’s acquainted with my past,” Ash drawled, getting a bit of his own back when the other man’s eyes widened in anger at the use of his first name by Rumor’s bad seed.

He shifted the fawn to the side, hiking the little guy on one hip and tucking him under his arm, thoroughly aware of how ludicrous he must look standing there holding Bambi. “Rest assured, though, that you’ve got nothing to worry about when it comes to compromising your daughter here. There’s no reason for either of us to have anything to do with each other from here on out.”

Maura’s face filled with confusion. “But, Ash, you just said you wanted for us to—”

“I said a lot of things, Maura,” he cut her off. He couldn’t stand for Stratton to hear his most private of desires. “But you’ll remember the one I kept repeating was that I couldn’t make you any guarantees.”

He saw the shock in her eyes at his harsh tone, and he hated himself for it. But it was best to make this quick and final. She’d thank him some day.

“We both’ve got to live in the same town, and contrary to what your dad here is thinkin’, I don’t want any trouble,” Ash went on. “Sure, I’m still on parole for a few more months, but I paid my dues and now I’m back to make amends to family and build a respectable life for myself. I don’t want any trouble,” he repeated, and hoped he didn’t sound as desperate to Maura and her father as he did to himself. “And from my point of view, you’re exactly that.”

He steeled himself against the hurt and confusion he saw in her eyes. He couldn’t let it get to him, let her get to him. It was too much of a risk, and he’d risked enough already. And lost.

Not trusting himself to utter another word, Ash gave a short nod in lieu of goodbye and walked away, the little fawn still tucked under one arm.

Maura turned on her father like a fury.

“How could you, Dad?” she exclaimed. “Ash saved my life!”

He had the grace to look abashed. “Fine. I owe him my eternal thanks for that. But that doesn’t mean you need to.”

He actually shook his index finger at her. “And you know what I mean. I don’t need a damned crystal ball to know what happened in that cave last night. I don’t care if he did snatch you from the jaws of death, he’s no gentleman to take advantage of you that way.”

Maura set her hands on her hips. “I can’t believe you! I wasn’t exactly coerced, you know.”

At her implication, Stratton looked about to burst a blood vessel, his face was so red. Still, he didn’t continue his tirade.

Maura sighed. Her father’s lung cancer had been in remission for five years, but she didn’t need to do anything to aggravate him right back into it. Why, though, was he treating her as if she were a teenager who got picked up by the sheriff for parking out by Lake Monet?