Her Montana Millionaire

Disappointment settled in his gut. He’d been half looking forward to bantering the night away.

“Cantrell Enterprises got its start with software—business and some gaming—and we’re developing more. But I want to take it in another direction. We’re exploring virtual reality.” This time he was the one leaning on the table, spurred on by his subject. “You know, it never took off like it was supposed to when it was first introduced. The first VRs were uncomfortable, cumbersome. The sound resembled two tin cans tied together with string. Viewing quality left much to be desired. And there was a total lack of software. All in all, virtual reality was expensive and inaccessible, with no basics to support its success.”

He checked to see if Jinni had nodded off yet. Usually, people would tune out his intellectual computer-nerd talk after the first three seconds.

But Jinni’s head tilted, her eyes connected with his. “And that led to the downfall of virtual reality’s possibilities?”

“Yeah. That’s where we come in. I’m looking at ways to make VR more available to the average user. In fact,” he could feel a smile dominate his mouth, “my passion is to develop the female market.”

She angled her chin down, peeking at him from beneath her eyelashes. “I’d say, with a little more effort, you’ll corner it.”

He could live with a woman glancing at him like that.

No. Actually, he couldn’t. Michael would tear her apart before she could step both feet into their mansion.

Get the conversation back to comfortable ground, he thought. She’s way out of your league and you don’t want her to venture into yours.

“At any rate,” he continued, watching two ranch hands playing pool at the nearby threadbare table, “Cantrell Enterprises is working on virtual reality for the training arena: medical, industrial, cultural. And, of course, entertainment.”

He thought for certain that she was dying to say something about joysticks, but Jinni kept her silence, simply watching him.

During the ensuing pause, the men at the pool table started to argue, trading barbed words.

Jinni didn’t seem to mind them. “You fascinate me, Max,” she said, her voice low, smooth as the cream in a chocolate truffle.

His belly tightened. Someone found him interesting. And that someone was a woman whose legs stretched from here to China, whose bearing reminded him of Grace Kelly on acid. She was a potent combination of class and sex—and Max had never seen her equal.

No way she should be interested in a guy like him. A brain. A whiz kid who’d never really socialized with other people while growing up. No one had ever understood him. Not intellectually, at least.

Eloise had tried, for about an hour, and that’s how Michael had been conceived. But after she’d decided she needed to “find herself” in Tibet, she’d left him a single father, trying to figure out what he’d done wrong.

The arguing ranch hands were getting feistier, bumping chests like primates. Max protectively reached across the table toward Jinni out of instinct, and started to rise from his chair.

Ignoring the developing fight, Jinni followed suit, slipping her arm through his, fitting herself right against his side.

Damn, he shouldn’t want this. Shouldn’t need to be with a woman like Jinni. It wouldn’t work out, so why get into it?

“Let me see you home,” he said, guiding her away from the sound of a shattering beer bottle and toward the main bar, the hat and coatrack. He glanced over his shoulder to see the two ranch hands going at each other, while other cowboys herded into the pool room.

“Home?” Her voice rose over the loud music and shouts. “It’s early!”

She retrieved an item of clothing that resembled a cape. Typical. Dramatic, sophisticated.

And here he was, wearing a tie as a hangman’s noose.

“I thought…” he began.

“Don’t think,” she said as he helped her wrap the cape around herself. “Live.”

Live. He hadn’t really been doing that for years. Had he?

Maybe he could enjoy a lovely woman’s company, just for tonight. It’s not like Michael had to know.

He donned his own coat, then followed her out the door, hardly believing he was doing it.

Ha-ha, yes! Jinni Fairchild hadn’t lost her appeal. That’s right. She had Max Cantrell wrapped around her ring finger, and the night was young.

They hadn’t walked far in the cool air, only to a grass field where Max had laid down his coat, inviting her to sit on it. After they chatted about the spell of unseasonable weather and made calls home on his cell phone— Jinni wanted Val to know she’d be out late—he’d sat next to her, arms resting on his knees as he stared at the sky, stars spangling the clear blue like lost fairy dust.

“It’s good to finally see things clearly,” he said. “We had a raging wildfire before you came to town, and the smoke hindered visibility.”

“What do you know. Usually things heat up after I enter a place.”

She shouldn’t have said that. Dumb, stupid Jinni. Two people had died, as far as she knew. Wanda Cantrell and Morris Templeton.

She quickly added, “Is everyone safe?”

“Dee Dee Reingard’s and Old Man Jackson’s homes burned down. And no one knows where Jackson is. He’s gone missing, just like Guy.”

“What about the two bodies that were found?”

Max glanced at her, the slight wind mussing his hair. “My sister-in-law and her boy toy? The cops suspect my younger brother torched them, I think. But Guy hasn’t been around to deny his involvement with the fire. And then there’re those invisibility rumors started by Linda Fioretti, Guy’s fellow teacher. Everyone in town is buzzing about how they think my fool of a brother’s peeping in their windows or stealing socks from their dryers. But you know that much already, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Jinni wasn’t used to men who’d call her out, keep her honest. As a biographer, she tended to ask a lot of leading questions. Maybe Max would be more of a challenge than she’d first thought. “Does the sheriff think Guy murdered Wanda and Morris out of jealous rage?”

“That’s their story.” His jaw muscles twitched, his long fingers dug into his arms. “They don’t realize that Guy hasn’t a violent bone in his body. Sure, he’s scatterbrained and intense when it comes to anything scientific. We were both like that, even as kids. But Guy—” He clamped shut his mouth.

The Montana night enveloped them: pine needles scented the aimless drift of air, bringing with it the faint twang of country music from Joe’s Bar.

Jinni touched his shoulder, allowed her hand to brush down his biceps. There were some muscles under that shirt.

Whoo. She loved good arms.

“No wonder you were fishing for the worm tonight,” she said.

He shot her that miffed glance again.

“Drinking tequila, Max. It’s a colorful way of referring to that worm at the bottom of the bottle?”

“I don’t drink that much.”

“Really? You seem to handle liquor well.” She laughed. “What am I saying? You’re a big guy. I’m sure it takes a lot to affect you.”

“I walked into the bar affected,” he said, shaking his head. “And here I am, laying all this frustration on you. I should’ve just kept my trap shut about Michael, my business, Guy….”

There it was again, that slight trailing off at the end of his brother’s name, just like a mysterious parchment note where someone has written a horrifying phrase: “Something is outside my door, something is coming for me…” and the ink trails off into a tragic, last-breath squiggle down the page.

Having a brother suspected of murder must’ve been equally horrifying. Jinni could sympathize with Max; she knew firsthand what it was like to worry about a sibling.

He hadn’t shrugged off her hand on his arm—not yet—so she began to stroke back and forth with her index finger, feeling a line of sinew beneath the weave of his shirt.

He gave a short, seemingly bitter laugh. “I’m a terrible brother. I must be, because there’re times when I can’t help thinking that Guy might’ve done it.”

Jinni felt her eyes widen. Lord help her, but the biographer, the researcher, the curious monster within was screaming, “What a story! This is your next subject!”

She ignored the ambition, the excitement of catching on to an exclusive opportunity like Max Cantrell—a multimillionaire recluse who didn’t talk to the press.

Still, she couldn’t help asking, “What makes you think your brother could murder his wife and Morris Templeton?”

“Nothing. Just a doubt, a what-if.” He glanced at her. “Told you. I’m a terrible human being.”

Here he was, suffering a major philosophical dilemma while she sat next to him in a Dior ensemble. The juxtaposition couldn’t have been more ironic if she’d been the main character in a Kafka story.

She was as useless to Max as she was to Val, having no idea how to handle a situation more pressing than choosing between two soirees on the same night. But that’s what happened when you distanced yourself from emotion and concentrated on things that didn’t matter so much.

Life hurt much less that way.

Yet somehow Max Cantrell was forcing her to face the music. Face the child who’d been so afraid of her mother’s disappointment that she’d followed in her shallow footsteps.

“You’re not terrible,” was all she could think to say. “You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t have doubts.”

“Yeah, I suppose so. But I seem to have more than my share of trust issues. My brother, my son…”

Trailing off again. Jinni wondered whom he was cutting from the list. That ex-wife?

He lay back on the grass, arms tucked under his head as he closed his eyes. As he reclined, she trailed her fingers down his chest, letting them rest there, feeling his heart beat through her own skin. She watched him for a second, hoping he’d switch from Melancholy Max to a gear more befitting a lover’s sky.

She waited. Nothing happened.

“Welcome to my midlife crisis,” he said. “Can’t say I know how to handle one, either, but I’m pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to dump all my problems on my nemesis from the MonMart parking lot.”

“Hey,” said Jinni, finally taking her hand away and lying down next to him, using his coat as a blanket, “I’m all ears.”

And all worked up, truth to tell.

She listened to him breathe, his chest rising and falling, making her want to rest her head on him, seeing the world float up and down.

He turned his head in her direction. “You won’t know about hitting that midlife brick wall for a while.”

“You flatter me so.”

“You’re…?”

“Yes, forty. And not afraid to admit it.”

She hated her age. It made her want to sit on a park bench, pretending to feed the pigeons like a nice old maid should, and trip all the premenopausal women as they walked by.

“That’s right,” she continued. “Forty’s just a number.”

“You don’t look your age at all. I thought you were maybe thirty-five, thirty-six.”

She gasped, trying to ignore the pain of reality. Even her fake, delusional age was over the hill.

So, now that he probably thought her skin was crumbling to dust right before his eyes, what were the chances of him rolling over and planting a kiss on her? Probably nil.

Joy. Now she knew what all the average girls in school felt like. You know, the ones who were always the guys’ best friends, the ones who listened to the boys’ dating problems while slowly wilting away inside?

Bother with this. Jinni turned on her side, propping her head up with one hand while resting the other on her hip. Very come-hither. It had to work.

Make your move, honey.

Max just grinned at her. “You’ve turned out to be a good listener. I’m glad we met up tonight.”

Oh, brother. “Glad to help. Is there anything else you’d like to do?”

“You mean chat about? Nah. I’m all talked out.”

Okay. He wasn’t getting it, and as a result, she sure wasn’t getting it.

She decided to change tack, lowering her voice to hit-him-over-the-head-with-passion mode. Used only in emergency situations.

“Isn’t it romantic out here? The stars, the moon, the fact that we’re all alone?”

He made an uh-uh sound. Perfect. He’d bared his soul to her, but he couldn’t bare anything else?

Jinni flopped to her back again, losing hope. She didn’t have it anymore. Forty had sucked all the attractiveness out of her. Rumor had already shaped her into Granny Ankle-High-Nylons.

She was done for.

Once again, her gaze lingered over his length. The wingtip shoes, the crisp slacks, the stylish tie. Sigh.

Wait a second.

“Max?”

“Yeah.”

“Wouldn’t a Barbra Streisand song make the moment?”

She held her breath, hoping, praying….

“Bently likes her. Sometimes he’ll throw on one of her CDs, so I’ve got no choice but to listen.”

Bently? Who was Bently?

Ahh. Maybe this was the problem. Maybe Max wasn’t touching her because he was…confused. That would explain it.

Midlife crisis, indeed.

He jerked to a sitting position. “No.”

“No, what?”

“No, I’m not a Barbra Streisand fan. Because I think I know what you’re asking and… God, is that what you were asking?”

“Just wondering.”

He cursed.

“Hey, don’t revert to sailor speak just to prove your manhood.”

“I can’t believe you thought…”

Jinni sat upright, too. “And I can’t believe you think I look thirty-six!”

“You said you didn’t care about age.”

“I don’t.” She smoothed her hair, trying to seem glacial. “Age is immaterial.”

He cursed again, this time with a slight amount of mirth.

She was about to chide him for his course language, but the whole alpha talk bit was lighting her fire. She liked it when he showed some raw emotion.

Too bad he couldn’t extend some of that passion in her direction.

Once again she felt inadequate. So she did the only thing that could cheer her up—reminding herself that she was wanted.

“You remind me of Jordan Clifton,” she said.

“Who?”

Jinni smiled tolerantly at him. “The movie star with five films in the top ten list of worldwide grosses?”

Max shrugged, probably still smarting from the whole “gay” misunderstanding.

“Well, you’ve got the same dimpled chin. When we were engaged—”

“You were engaged to a movie star?”

“Three, actually. But when we were engaged…”

He wiped a hand over his face and slumped back down to his reclining position. “Incredible.”

Good, she’d gotten a rise out of him. Could she hope that his frustration stemmed from the slightest bit of male jealousy?

Jinni followed his lead, leaning over him. “You don’t want to hear about other men, do you?”

Her heart jumped when he took her chin between his index finger and thumb, pulling her toward him. Right next to his mouth.

“Quiet, Jinni. Why don’t you just be quiet.”

Now this was more like it.

Chapter Four

He had her now.

She hovered over him, pouty lips inches from his own, her breath warming his skin as his fingers framed her chin.

Her exotic scent washed over him, a blend of kiwi and citrus, colorful and wild.

“What perfume are you wearing?” he murmured, his mind muddled by the rounded weight of her breasts pressing into his chest.

“An original bouquet named after me by the perfumer.”

Well, la-de-dah. Since he was still smarting from her engagement confession as well as her inquiry into his sexual preferences—Barbra Streisand, his foot—he used a dash of sarcasm to respond. “Were you engaged to him, too?”

She arched over him, almost making Max groan with longing. “No. He keeps asking, but he’s not my type.”

It was enough to take away his steam. Max let go of Jinni, causing her to creep back to his coat blanket, tucking her knees under her with an unreadable expression on her face.

Why had he even entertained the notion that he could be attractive to this woman? He wasn’t the type to sweep ladies off their feet. When Eloise had left him, she’d made sure that she’d packed his ego right along with all her belongings. Hell, his self-confidence was probably on some Tibetan mountaintop at this moment.

She spoke, so softly that he wondered if it wasn’t just the breeze murmuring through the pines. “I thought so.”

He sat up, wanting to run his palm down her back, to feel the sleek shape of her body under the cape and dress.

“Thought what?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

For some reason she sounded so sad. Why would a woman who had men dripping from her fingertips be so down in the dumps?

They didn’t talk for a long time, just watched the dark sky pale with the promise of morning, listened to birds escort an elk from the cover of the trees and into their open field. After a few minutes the animal moseyed back into the safety of the pines.

Three movie stars, huh? That was some back list. Had those jet-setting men made her happy with their fast-lane parties and private love scenes?

She might be married if they had.

But three engagements? Damn. Jinni Fairchild seemed to go through men like most women went through hairdos.

“Jinni?”

She peeked over her shoulder at him, slapping Max with a sting of desire. Something about those lively eyes rubbed against the flint inside of him, creating sparks.

“Yes?”

“These movie star guys—”

“Let’s forget about them. Shall we?” Her smile froze on her face, hinting that maybe she regretted bringing up the subject in the first place.

“Fair enough.” He lay back down, tucking his arms under his head once again. “What’s your pleasure?”

A low, sultry laugh was his answer. Damn him. He’d intended to bait her with a suggestive comment, hadn’t he? Jinni was converting him to her flirty ways, and he was a sucker for it.

But he wouldn’t allow the fun to go too far. He couldn’t.

She also reclined on the ground again, and he was much too aware of her proximity, the length of her body next to his. They’d be a perfect match, skin to skin. Not like Eloise, where he’d had to worry about how tiny she felt in his arms, how he’d had to treat her like a delicate, porcelain doll. Jinni seemed so together. Unbreakable.

Still, if he ever had the chance to hold her, he knew he’d treasure the contact, would stroke her with soft caresses, anyway.

Damn, what was he thinking? Michael would shatter any hopes of a successful relationship with one sharp comment, one hard glare. Bringing home a woman would definitely put more of a strain on their already tenuous relationship.

“You’re suddenly reticent,” said Jinni.

“I’m holding on to the moment.”

“I see.”

Could she tell that he couldn’t afford to see her again? That this was the only peaceful moment he’d had in the past few years and it wouldn’t last forever?

“You just keep on holding,” said Jinni.

He smiled, closing his eyes. The wind brushed over his skin, but he wished it were Jinni’s fingertips instead.

The next thing he knew, he really did feel fingers coasting over his temple. His eyes blinked open to catch her touching him while a wisp of long, platinum hair fluttered against his chin, tickling it. Tendrils of dawn softened Jinni’s face as she smiled down at him.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

He sat up, bringing her with him. “Did I doze off?”

“We both did.”

She was still so close that he could breathe in that scent she wore. So distinctive, so original, just like the woman herself.

“I’ve got to get you home,” he said, standing. He held out his hands, helping Jinni to her feet.

When she rose to her full height, she wavered against him, losing her balance for a second. Long legs and curves, pressing into him, pressing against his heart.

“I’ll drive. My car—” she held up an index finger “—rather, my sister’s car is parked at Joe’s Bar.”

“You want to hide yourself in a vehicle on a dawn like this?” He gestured toward the endless, blooming sky. “Who knows how long we’ll have this weather?”

Driving would be so much easier, true. But he didn’t want the night to end.

“Are you suggesting we walk home?”

He looked up and down her body, making Jinni bat one of those appreciative glances right back at him.

“You can’t stay in shape without exercising,” he said. “Right?”

“I do my time with a personal trainer, thank you. Exercising isn’t supposed to be practical.”

Max chuckled. “Welcome to the real world, Jinni. Out here some people labor to stay fit. You won’t catch many ranch hands jogging on a treadmill.”

She drew a finger down the front of his shirt, each button popping under her nail, echoing his self-control.

“Don’t tell me you’re some boy from the farm.”

“I’m no movie star, that’s for sure. But I do a little work with the cattle on my estate and… Well, I have a pretty decent gym on the premises.”

“See. You are my type. You just don’t know it.”

With that she picked up his jacket from the ground, loaded it in his arms—filling them with something that wasn’t half as good as Jinni would no doubt feel—and left, walking ahead of him.

After shaking his head, he followed, watching the swivel of her shapely hips as she pulled her cape around her.

The dark orange palette of morning lazed over the sky while they walked Main Street, sharing trivia such as favorite foods and travel destinations. Jinni had seen much of the civilized world, whereas Max had gone to places he wished he’d never been. Places where children’s bellies balled out of their skeletal frames, even though they were starving. Places where people lived in plank shacks, faces covered by flies that they didn’t bother to swipe away. He didn’t mention this to Jinni, but he’d made a point of donating money in the hopes that something could be done.

But there were so many problems.

As they approached Logan Street, he acquainted her with the subtleties of Rumor. Not that there were all that many. Off to the left, the silhouette of his mansion emerged against the horizon.

“What’s that?” asked Jinni after crossing the street. “A Tuscan village? It’s gorgeous.”

Max went to tug at his necktie, but it was still loose and nowhere near his neck. “That’s my place.”

“Place?” Jinni looked again, eyes wide. “You’re missing a letter. How about p-a-l-a-c-e?”

“It’s home.” Right. The Cantrell Mansion definitely set him apart from most of the others in town. Truthfully, even the Kingsleys, with their ranch-estate across town, didn’t measure up to his riches.

But none of it meant a damned thing with a brother who’d been running from the law for a few months now. Max would’ve given all his wealth to know that Guy was safe and innocent.

Jinni perched her hands on her hips. “What does your son have to complain about? You know, it’s always the most fortunate people who do the most whining.” She laughed, and he thought he detected a trace of irony. “I should know. I grew up with everything my heart desired, except for….”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, the usual. I rarely saw my parents when Val and I were growing up. They were always gallivanting off on some worldwide adventure or another. We had the best education, the best clothes and servants.” A faraway sheen veiled her eyes. “But Val and I only wanted one thing. Parents.”

He took a step closer to her, thinking that she could use the silent support.

“See,” she said, reverting back to her old self. “What did I tell you? Whine, whine, whine. This is something I don’t need to talk about.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s in the past.” She patted her hair, sighing. “Besides, I love my life. Wouldn’t give it up for anything.”

He had the feeling that she didn’t usually reveal much about herself to people, and the fact that she’d shared anything with him was a boost to his ego.