Big Sky Dynasty

Georgia could only assume she meant the cowboy. “I doubt he would look for you here again.”

“I suppose not.”

“It’s none of my business but—”

“No, you have a right to know why that man was after me. Especially if I rent the apartment.”

“Would you like to see it?” Georgia asked, changing the subject temporarily.

She brightened. “Oh yes, please.”

NICCI WAS ALIVE! Dalton pulled the truck over at the edge of town, got out and threw up his breakfast in the weeds. He was shaking, his mind refusing to admit what his senses knew as truth. Nicci had somehow survived. Not just survived but was now in Whitehorse. And he knew what that meant.

If she was here after nine years of letting him believe she was dead, then he was in serious trouble. As if just crossing paths with Nicci wasn’t trouble enough. His heart hammered at the thought. Knowing Nicci the way he did, he could only assume she’d come to finish what she’d started.

But why, if she’d been alive this whole time, had she waited nine years to come after him?

Shaking his head, he tried to make sense of this and couldn’t. He knew he’d acted like a crazy man back there at the yarn shop. He’d scared that poor young woman so badly she’d been ready to call the sheriff on him—might even have called after he left.

He cursed under his breath. He’d done insane things from the first moment he’d met Nicci nine years ago and it had only gotten worse. Why did he think now would be any different?

He had to get control of himself. But how could he?

Nicci was alive and in Whitehorse and playing some game he knew would only get deadly given their history.

Lightning splintered the sky in an explosion of light that made him jump. The clap of thunder immediately following it reverberated through him, making the hair stand up on the back of his neck. He glanced at the greenish blackness of the clouds moving across the prairie toward him. Hail.

Quickly, he put the truck in gear and looked for the largest tree he could find. The feed was covered with tarps in the back, but the truck itself…Slushy raindrops sounding as hard as hail pelted the hood and roof, drowning out all other sound.

Dalton pulled the truck under a large overhanging limb and cut the engine just as pebble-sized hail began to bounce off the pavement next to him. The hail tore through the thick green leaves of the tree he’d parked under, pinging off the truck and covering the ground in icy white.

He turned his thoughts from Nicci, to the apparent owner of the yarn shop. The young woman was the classic girl next door with her short curly chestnut brown hair, big brown eyes and glowing skin. The kind of woman who would protect another.

He recalled the determination he’d seen in her gaze and cringed remembering how he’d called her a liar. But she had helped the blonde disappear. He wasn’t sure how, just that she had. Understanding why didn’t help given who they were dealing with.

Tomorrow he’d go back to the shop and apologize. Maybe he’d take her some flowers. Anything to get her to tell him where Nicci had gone.

With a start, Dalton came out of his thoughts to silence. As quickly as the hailstorm had begun, it was over, having moved on. He sat for a moment, listening to water drip from what was left of the tree’s leaves onto the truck roof before he pulled out and headed for the ranch, knowing what he had to do. It was something he’d put off far too long.

Dalton hated asking. Grayson Corbett had raised five overly independent sons. All of them would rather chew nails than admit they needed help.

As hard as it was going to be, he dialed his brother’s cell phone number and said without preamble when Lantry answered, “I need a lawyer. I’m in trouble. Serious trouble and I need your help.”

AGNES PALMER hurried home after her knitting class, praying she could beat the storm. The weather service had updated the forecast and was now calling for hail.

Agnes’s pride and joy was her tomato garden. She was known all around the county for growing the biggest, beefiest and most beautiful tomatoes anyone had ever seen and had been for years.

This year she’d outdone herself. Her tomatoes would win blue ribbons at the fair and have people talking for years, although that wasn’t why she did it. She raised tomatoes because her husband, Norbert, God rest his soul, had loved tomatoes. It was her way of never forgetting the man she had married and loved for more than fifty years.

As she drove up in her yard, she saw the thunderhead at the edge of her field. Ignoring the weatherman’s advice to stay inside and away from windows, she hurried to the back porch for her plastic tubs and hightailed it out to her garden.

She could hear the thunder rumbling. Flashes of lightning lit the darkening sky. The air smelled of rain, which would be bad enough, but hail would destroy her tomato crop and Agnes wasn’t going to let that happen even if it killed her.

Clouds obscured the light, pitching the day into a premature darkness as she began to pick. She’d filled half a tub when a bolt of lightning lit the darkness in a blinding flash of light. Agnes glanced up at the angry sky and considered the danger.

But she still had too many tomatoes to pick. She wasn’t leaving them to this storm. More determined than ever, she began to pick more rapidly, filling one tub after another and dragging them over to the oak tree her grandmother had planted so many years ago.

Her roots ran deep in this part of Montana and she took a certain pride in that just as she did in her tomatoes.

As she scurried back to the garden to save the rest of her precious tomatoes, the first drops of rain slashed down from the dark heavens. Large, heavy and icy, the raindrops hurt as they struck her thin back and shoulders.

She bent her head against them and thought of something pleasurable—her knitting classes. While she enjoyed knitting, it was Georgia Michaels who made the classes so enjoyable. Never having had any children of her own, Agnes thought of the loving, caring woman the way she might have a daughter or granddaughter.

Not that she didn’t find something to like in everyone. She’d gotten that from her mother, who always said, “People are like gardens. While they need sunshine, water and a healthy dose of prayer, grace grows good gardens and people. Mind you remember that.”

Agnes had remembered.

The rain soaked her to the skin, beating her slim back and running in rivulets off the brim of her garden bonnet.

She glanced at her watch. Only a few more tomatoes to go. A bolt of lightning lit the garden in a blaze of white light. The thunderous boom was deafening and directly overhead.

Agnes reached for one perfect, large tomato, perhaps the one that would take the blue ribbon this year. She never saw the lightning bolt that hit her.

GEORGIA PICKED UP her keys for the apartment from where she’d thrown them on the counter earlier before her class and opened the door to the second floor.

Leading the way, she climbed the stairs to the landing and unlocked the one-bedroom apartment door across the hall from her own. Stepping back, she let her prospective renter enter.

“Oh, it’s wonderful,” the blonde exclaimed. “Did you decorate it yourself? Of course you did. I saw how you decorated the shop downstairs. You have a real talent for it.”

The woman moved through the small apartment admiring the things Georgia had done, making her flush with embarrassment and pleasure. She’d hoped to rent the apartment to someone who appreciated what she’d done to make it more comfortable and homey.

Georgia watched the woman step to the front window that looked out over the main street. Directly across the street was a small city park and past that the old train depot next to the tracks. The depot wasn’t open, but you could still catch a passenger train from here that would take you to Seattle or Chicago and all points in between.

The woman stared out at the street for a long moment as if looking for the cowboy, but when she turned back to Georgia, her face was glowing. “It’s perfect.”

“I’m so glad you like it.”

“I love it,” she said excitedly. “You’re sure you won’t mind renting it to me? But you don’t even know me.” She took a step toward Georgia and, smiling, extended her hand. “Forgive me, I should have introduced myself before. I’m Nicci. Nicci Corbett.”

“Georgia Michaels,” she said, taking the woman’s hand, her eyes widening as she recognized the name. “Corbett?”

AGNES PALMER came to lying in the soft dirt, soaked to the skin and staring up at the rain. She blinked and sat up, relieved to see that when she’d fallen, it had been between her tomato rows and she hadn’t hurt either her plants or her tomatoes.

“How odd,” she said as she saw the overturned tub of tomatoes and saw where her body had left an imprint in the freshly turned earth. What had happened?

She glanced at her watch, shocked to see that she couldn’t account for the last twenty-two minutes.

“Strange indeed,” she said as she bent to pick the largest of the tomatoes and felt a little dizzy. Holding the tomato she stared at it, seeing it more clearly than she felt she’d ever seen anything in her life.

Hail began to pelt the cabbage patch, tearing through the leaves before bouncing along the ground toward her.

Agnes quickly righted her tub of tomatoes and lifting it into her arms, skedaddled over to the old oak. She wormed her way back in against the trunk, pulling her tubs of tomatoes with her and sat down, suddenly tired but content.

Smiling to herself, she reached into one of the tubs, took out a fat, juicy tomato and took a bite as she watched hail as big as gumballs ravage her garden.

It wasn’t until later, when the storm passed and she went inside with her tubs of tomatoes that she caught sight of herself in the hall mirror.

Her salt-and-pepper short brown hair was completely white—and curly. She’d stood staring, stunned, then she’d smiled at herself in the mirror. She’d always wanted curly hair.

GEORGIA COULDN’T HIDE her surprise as she shook Nicci’s hand. Everyone in town had heard about the five Corbett brothers. In fact, two of Georgia’s friends had fallen for Corbetts.

“That man who was chasing me was Dalton Corbett,” Nicci said. “He’s my husband. Soon to be ex-husband if I have anything to do with it.”

Instantly Georgia regretted offering the apartment. The last thing she wanted to do was get involved in a squabble between a husband and wife in the middle of a less than amicable divorce. From the look on Dalton Corbett’s face earlier…

Nicci must have seen her doubts. “I love the apartment and appreciate the offer, but I can’t chance that Dalton will come back here under the circumstances and upset you.”

Georgia nodded, relieved, but also feeling a little guilty. “But I thought you said you couldn’t go to a motel?”

“Please, don’t worry about me,” Nicci said. “You’ve already done so much. I never expected to see a friendly face in Whitehorse, not with my husband’s family living here. I wasn’t joking when I said you’d saved my life. I wasn’t looking forward to spending possibly months here waiting for the divorce to go through without even a friend.” She glanced away from Georgia to look wistfully at the apartment.

“I think you should stay here,” Georgia said impulsively.

“Are you sure? I promise I won’t let him know where I’m staying,” Nicci said hastily. “There won’t be any trouble.”

“I’m not worried.” Crazy, yes. Worried, well, maybe that, too. But Georgia felt as if she was doing the right thing. The woman needed help. How could she turn her out onto the street?

“Dalton is harmless. Unless you’re married to him.” She’d looked sad for a moment, but quickly altered her expression to one of delight as she looked around the apartment again. “You won’t be sorry you befriended me.”

Georgia laughed. “Please, I haven’t done anything.”

“Just saved my life, that’s all. You think that is something I’m likely to forget?” Nicci reached into her big leather shoulder bag. “The sign out front said four hundred dollars a month, first and last month’s rent, and two hundred for the security deposit.”

“But you don’t know how long you will be staying,” Georgia said. “I suppose you could pay by the week…”

“I won’t hear of it. You’ve been too kind already.” Nicci counted out ten one hundred dollar bills into Georgia’s hand and smiled jubilantly at her. “What a lucky day it was for me when I ducked into your shop.”

LANTRY CORBETT was waiting for his brother in one of the guest cabins just down the road from the main ranch house. Like his brothers, he’d come home when summoned by their father, Grayson, fearing bad news.

Their sixty-year-old father, it turned out, was just fine. Happily married to Kate and loving the new ranch in Montana. The problem was that after years of being unable to go through his first wife’s things, he’d finally gotten the courage, thanks to Kate.

Grayson had found some letters that his sons’ mother, Rebecca, had written before her death. One had been to him, telling him of her dying wish to have each of her sons marry before the age of thirty to a Montana cowgirl. The other letters were addressed to her five sons. They were to be read on the day of their weddings.

Stunned by this revelation, the brothers had all been caught up in the emotion of this find from the mother they had never really known and had done something crazy. They’d drawn straws to see who would marry first rather than go by age.

Jud had drawn the shortest straw, but he’d managed to weasel out of it by finding the perfect cowgirl, Maddie Cavanaugh, for his brother Shane. Shane, who’d drawn a straw just to shut up his brothers, had drawn the longest one. But fate had stepped in and the next thing he knew he was in love with Maddie and was now engaged and planning their wedding.

In a rare turn of events though, Jud had fallen in love just last month with a true Montana cowgirl, Faith Bailey. They were busy working on starting a stunt riding school on part of Faith’s ranch. Both weddings were pending.

Lantry, who’d drawn the second shortest straw, was next in line to find a Montana cowgirl to marry, but everyone in the family figured he’d try some legal maneuver to get out of it.

“Whoa, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Lantry said, opening the door to Dalton.

Dalton gave a humorless laugh as he stepped into the guest cabin and turned to face his brother. “I wish it had been a ghost.”

“Well, sit down and tell me why the hell you need a lawyer,” Lantry said. “You’ve never asked for my help before. Wait a minute. If this is about getting out of the marriage pact we all made…”

“I’m already married. I got married nine years ago and kept it a secret.”

“You’re joking.”

“I wish I were.”

“Where is your wife?”

“It’s a long story.”

His brother studied him for a moment, then said, “I think you’d better sit down before you pass out.” Lantry stepped to the bar, poured them both a drink and shoved a glass of brandy into Dalton’s hand.

Dalton took a drink, fortifying himself, and sat down. He dreaded this. It would be bad enough admitting the truth to a stranger, but to his brother Lantry?

“I can think of only one reason you’d get married and keep it a secret,” Lantry said as he took the seat opposite his brother. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Dalton took another drink of the brandy. It burned all the way down but it seemed to steady him a little. “She wasn’t pregnant. She drugged me.”

Lantry laughed, thinking he was joking. He sobered and swore. “You’re serious.”

“Yeah.”

“What the hell? The marriage would be invalid if either party was under the influence of alcohol or drugs.”

“And how do propose I prove that after nine years?”

“Not even a justice of the peace would have married you if he thought—”

“You don’t know this woman or what she’s capable of. I have no idea how she pulled it off but she did. I saw the marriage license.”

Lantry shook his head. “So how exactly did you end up drugged and married?”

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“How about the beginning. Where’d you meet this woman?” Lantry asked. He’d put his law practice in Houston on hold for a while. It was clear to all five sons that their father wanted them in Montana to be closer to him and Kate.

It was still unclear what Lantry planned to do since his Houston law practice specializing in divorce was very lucrative. He’d go broke in Whitehorse, Montana, since the population—let alone the divorce rate—was low.

Not that any of them needed the money. Grayson had divided a vast portion of his fortune between them years ago. That was one reason nine years ago, Dalton had been in a bar in Galveston just down from where he kept his sailboat.

“I met Nicci in a bar in Galveston,” Dalton began. “The moment I saw her I was like one of those cobras that comes out of the wicker basket to the sound of the flute. Later, I realized that she was the one who’d come after me.”

Lantry shrugged. “The woman did a number on you.” Clearly he’d heard more than his share of stories like this one as a divorce attorney in Houston. He just hadn’t heard one quite like this, Dalton would bet on that.

“To say Nicci came on strong is like saying getting hit by a freight train hurts.”

“She targeted you, clearly knowing who you were.”

Dalton cut his eyes to his brother. “Damn, I had no idea you were so cynical about women.”

“Not women. Marriage. Come on, this one is a nobrainer. She pretended she’d never heard of Grayson Corbett, right? And the next thing you know you’re married.”

Dalton was shaking his head, although Lantry was right. Nicci had said she’d never heard of the Texas Corbetts and he’d believed her.

“She did come after me, but not for the Corbett money,” he said. “Nicci’s wealthy, the only heir to multibillionaire Nicholas Barron Angeles. Hell, she’s richer than Dad.”

“She told you this, right? And you bought it hook, line and sinker. Damn, Dalton, what were you thinking? Let me guess, you didn’t sign a prenup.”

“I told you, she drugged me. Anyway I was eighteen. I didn’t have much and she was rich. So what would have been the point?”

“The point is that even if she wasn’t lying through her teeth about how rich she was at the time, now it is nine years later. Now you have money and maybe she’s blown all of hers, if she ever had it. The point is you’re screwed.”

Dalton realized Lantry might be right. Nicci could have blown through her fortune by now and was looking to pick up a little cash. That would explain why it had taken her nine years to show up in his life again. But when he thought of that dark, humid night on the water, he doubted Nicci’s thirst for blood was monetary.

“So where has she been the last nine years?” Lantry asked.

Dalton shook his head. “I haven’t seen her since our honeymoon at sea. We parted ways a few days in.”

His brother looked surprised. “And you never heard from her, tried to contact her, thought about divorcing her?”

“I thought she was dead.”

Lantry looked momentarily taken aback. “What made you think she was dead? No, don’t answer that.” He suddenly looked as sick as Dalton felt.

Dalton rose from his chair and stepped to the window to look out. The black clouds of the thunderstorm hung on the horizon. It must still be storming not far from the ranch.

“Do you believe in evil?” When Lantry didn’t answer, Dalton turned to look at him. “Nicci’s evil incarnate and now she’s come to Whitehorse.”

Lantry shook his head. “If she’s in town, she isn’t after your soul.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

Chapter Three

An hour after Georgia had closed the shop for the day she glanced up at the sound of a key in the alley door. For an instant, she was startled.

The door swung open, a gust of cool evening air rushing in before the door closed again. For a moment, she’d completely forgotten that she’d rented the apartment.

“Georgia?” Nicci called as she stepped into the shop.

“Over here.” The only light was a small one near the shelves where Georgia was busy finishing unloading the boxes that had arrived that morning.

The day had gotten away from her. She’d called in Miss Thorp, her former spinster teacher, to watch the shop while she helped Nicci bring up her bags from her rental car and then had gotten caught up in visiting and helping Nicci get settled in.

Miss Thorp had been Georgia’s typing teacher in high school. “You’ll never be a typist,” the spinster had told her repeatedly during the course. Georgia still didn’t know Miss Thorp’s first name since the woman refused to be paid for watching the shop.

“Sitting here isn’t all that different from sitting at home,” Miss Thorp had said. “I like the change of scenery.”

As long as Georgia didn’t get Miss Thorp started on the evils of computers, she proved to be the perfect parttime, occasional helper for the shop. Especially since she didn’t mind being called in at the last minute and worked for free.

Since business was often slow between classes, Miss Thorp would sit and read, which was just fine with Georgia. The one time she’d had her help her with a shipment of yarn, the typing teacher had complained about the way Georgia was doing it.

Georgia had enjoyed visiting with her new renter. Normally, she was shy, especially around strangers, but Nicci set her at ease at once by getting her talking about her two favorite subjects, Whitehorse and knitting.

Their conversation had been interspersed with laughter and comfortable silences as Nicci set about moving in. For a woman not planning to stay long she had a lot of summer clothing.

“Thank you for keeping me company,” Nicci had said at one point. “I feel as if I’ve known you forever. Is that odd?”

“No,” Georgia said. “I feel the same way.” And it was as if they’d only been apart and were now just getting reacquainted.

Georgia was thankful when Nicci didn’t ask about the Corbetts. Anyway, she figured Nicci probably knew more about them than she did.

“Still hard at work just as I suspected,” Nicci said now, smiling as she joined her. She carried what appeared to be two takeout containers.

Georgia caught the delicious smell of fried chicken. Her stomach rumbled and she realized she hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast.

“I brought you some dinner,” Nicci said. “I doubt you got a chance to eat today and it’s all my fault for talking your ear off and not letting you get your work done.”

Before Georgia could be polite and deny it, Nicci rushed on. “I hope you like fried chicken. I was walking by the Great Northern restaurant and I saw they had a chicken special. Chicken, JoJos and coleslaw with sour cream for the potatoes. I couldn’t pass it up.”

Georgia laughed. “My favorite. But there is no way you eat like that all the time and stay as slim as you are.”

“You’d be surprised. I can’t stand depriving myself of anything. It’s one of my tragic flaws,” she said and laughed. “Come on, you can’t let me eat alone.”

Georgia hesitated. She really had wanted to get the yarn all put away before the shop opened in the morning.

“Take a break and eat with me, please,” Nicci pleaded. “I hate eating alone and I refuse to let you starve given how wonderful you’ve been to me.”

Georgia couldn’t have said no under the circumstances even if she hadn’t been hungry. She could eat and finish up afterward.

“You had me at fried chicken,” she said. “Thank you.”

“I’ll take it up. Meet me in my apartment?” Nicci said over her shoulder. “I also got us some wine.”