Moon Over Montana

Stories of family and romance beneath the Big Sky!

“Don’t forget to come by my place tomorrow,” Tag told her at the front door.

“Uh, right. What time would you like me?”

I’d like you in the morning, in the afternoon and all night long. “If you come in the afternoon you could stay for dinner and experience one of my famous barbecued burgers.”

“Stay for dinner?” Linda nervously bit down on her lower lip.

“I think you’ll like Samantha,” Tag said in a casual tone.

Linda relaxed considerably. When he’d said dinner, she had immediately envisioned a cozy dinner for two. But his little girl would be there, and he certainly wasn’t going to try anything in front of her.

“Yes, all right,” she said. “Want me to bring anything? A salad, maybe?”

“Just bring yourself.” Tag reached out and gently moved a straying tendril of her long hair from her cheek. “See you tomorrow,” he said quietly.

Then he was gone. Almost starry-eyed, Linda closed the door and made sure it was locked. Tag Kingsley was pure dynamite.

But maybe it was time she walked through a minefield.

Moon Over Montana

Jackie Merritt

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JACKIE MERRITT

is still writing, just not with the speed and constancy of years past. She and her husband are living in southern Nevada again, falling back on old habits of loving the long, warm or slightly cool winters and trying almost desperately to head north for the months of July and August, when the fiery sun bakes people and cacti alike.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter One

The students and teachers at the Rumor High School were looking forward to the end of the school year, some more than others. Art teacher Linda Fioretti was more inclined to look ahead to the new school year rather than rejoice in the completion of this year’s curriculum.

But then, Linda had only been a teacher for a short time—living in Rumor that same duration and loving her new job. Having been born and raised in the Los Angeles area, this was Linda’s first experience with the slower pace of a small town and she was amazed by how quickly she had adapted. Of course, liking the pretty little town and the people she had met created a sound foundation for contentment.

She had established a comfortable routine, Linda decided while feeding her dog one sunny Saturday morning. Did she really want almost three months of total freedom from routine? Driving around the country and setting up her easel in places that took her fancy held much appeal, granted. But recently—Rumor’s influence, undoubtedly—she’d been discovering things about herself that she hadn’t known before. Maybe she was even less like her oddball parents than she’d always believed. Considering her unusual upbringing, it was a simple matter for Linda to assume that Vandyne and Hilly Vareck, her mother and father, had absolutely no conception of the word routine, if they even knew it was part of the English language. Certainly routines weren’t something they had put into practice in her presence.

“There you are, Tippy,” Linda said as she set his bowl of dry food on the old newspaper on the floor of the tiny laundry room in her apartment. She returned to the two-stool counter in her small kitchen, sat on one and picked up her cup of coffee. She still had three weeks to prepare for the end of the school year, as well as the science fair she’d organized with the science teacher and local inventor Guy Cantrell. Plenty of time to decide how she would spend the summer.

She was just beginning to relax and read the front page of the Rumor Mill, the town’s newspaper, when someone rapped on her front door.

Tippy came tearing out of the laundry room, food forgotten, barking and sliding around corners in his haste to reach the front door and save Linda from whatever monster was daring to make noise just beyond the door.

“Tippy, calm down,” Linda said. “Sit,” she told the little white dog, which he did, but with a watchful, suspicious eye on the door.

Linda peered through the peephole and saw a man she hadn’t yet met. He looked innocent enough, not at all like the characters that had recently called on her and then practically run for the street, mumbling something about having the wrong address when she opened the door. She’d been amused the first time it happened because the man had been wearing a perfectly ghastly-looking toupee. The second time it occurred she wondered if she should alert the law about the man dressed as an overweight woman who had just knocked on her door.

But hadn’t she laughed herself silly at the way he had hastily limped away in huge high heels? Where on earth did a man find shoes like that? Anyhow, she’d decided the guy was probably the town’s one eccentric and that she really shouldn’t cause trouble for someone so obviously a cookie or two short of a full box. She certainly hadn’t felt threatened by him or his penchant for knocking on strangers’ doors, after all. At any rate, she hadn’t alerted anyone. The sheriff would probably have laughed it off anyway.

When the normal-looking man on her doorstep knocked again, Linda opened the door and said “Yes?” in a polite but questioning manner.

“I’m here.”

Another eccentric? Good grief! Linda suddenly wasn’t so polite. “So you are,” she said dryly. “Would it be too much trouble for you to explain why you’re here?”

“No trouble at all. You’re next on my list.”

How many nutcases lived in Rumor? Linda asked herself with an inner sigh. This one was awfully cute with his longish dark hair and twinkling hazel eyes. Very tall—over six feet, Linda was sure—and lanky. And he had the most incredible mouth—sensual lips—and an adorable grin. But precisely what list had he placed her on? Should she be worried?

No, she wasn’t afraid. This good-looking guy had to be a salesman. She started to shut the door. “Thanks, but I’m not interested.”

“Whoa, wait a minute. Didn’t Heck tell you I was going to be here today to get started on the renovations to your apartment?”

Heck Sommers managed the building, the man from whom she’d rented her cozy and rather unusual two-story apartment. The two bedrooms were on the second floor. One had a tiny wood balcony, just big enough for a couple of chairs, and the other had a skylight. Linda had signed the lease immediately, envisioning warm summer evenings on that little balcony. Plus, the bedroom with the skylight made a perfect studio.

Heck had mentioned some building renovations when she’d first rented, but she’d put the whole thing from her mind. Besides, she liked her apartment just fine, and she had turned it into a cozy little home for her and Tippy.

“I don’t need you to do anything in here, but thanks,” she said, and again tried to shut the door.

“Look, my name is Tag. Call Heck for confirmation if you wish, but I have a contract to do some work in this apartment and I’m supposed to start today.”

“Good idea,” Linda snapped, getting impatient with this guy, cute or not. “And I am going to shut the door while I make that call, so let go of it!”

“Fine.” Grinning, Tag stepped back.

Linda slammed the door shut and made sure it was locked. She went to the phone and dialed Heck’s number. When he answered she got right to the point.

“This is Linda Fioretti. There’s some guy named Tag at my front door who says he has a contract to destroy all the improvements I’ve made in my apartment. Does he? Do I have to let him in?”

“Now, Linda,” Heck said in a voice that Linda found annoyingly obsequious; Heck Sommers wasn’t even slightly servile in person, and he was putting on a big act to soothe her ruffled feathers. After all, teacher or not, she was still just a woman. Sexist attitudes really fried Linda, but she let Heck finish without interruption. “Tag has a contract to do renovations to the whole building. He’s a darn good carpenter and painter, and I’m sure he isn’t going to destroy any of your improvements.” Heck was suddenly his normal gruff-speaking self. “Which, by the way, consist of what? Your lease clearly states no painting or wallpapering without owner approval.”

Oh, for crying out loud! “Believe me, I haven’t challenged or compromised the terms of the lease in any way. All I’ve done is hang a few pictures and…oh, forget it. I’ll let him in. Goodbye.”

Linda returned to the front door and jerked it open. “Come on in,” she drawled. “Make yourself at home, which for some reason I’m certain you fully intended to do.”

Tag had been told that a single lady lived in this apartment, and now that he’d seen her he deemed that information to be good news because she was just about the prettiest woman he’d ever met face-to-face. He was especially taken with her long blond hair and gorgeous green eyes, although the rest of her was just as noteworthy.

He held out his hand. “Tag Kingsley.”

Linda didn’t want to shake his hand. She touched it tentatively and said, “Linda Fioretti.” Drawing back quickly, she asked, “So what are your marching orders? How much mess am I going to have to contend with?”

Tippy yapped, which Linda knew was a bid for attention. Obviously, the little dog didn’t sense danger from Tag, and if the nice man wasn’t dangerous he was a friend.

“Tippy, Tippy,” she said with a sigh that labeled her best buddy a traitor.

Chuckling, Tag bent down and petted the dog’s head. “So you’re Tippy,” he said. “Well, maybe your mistress will let me bring you doggy treats next time I come by.”

“No, she won’t,” Linda said, getting more put out by the minute. “I would appreciate knowing what you intend doing to my apartment.”

Tag stood again. “I’m going to check the woodwork and paint in each room, for starters.” He took out a small spiral notebook and pen. “Where would you like me to begin?”

“How about Siberia?”

“Very funny.” With a crooked grin curling his lips, Tag walked away from her and went into the kitchen.

Linda stewed for a moment then followed. He had the nerve to look into her cupboards! Every one of them, even the one under the sink.

“You’re a good housekeeper,” Tag remarked, making some notes in the spiral. He went on to the adjoining laundry room, checked it out and made more notes.

Linda followed him into the living room, stood in the hall while he inspected the first-floor powder room and then up the stairs into the bedroom she used as a bedroom. Then there was the main bathroom and finally her studio.

“Hey, you’re an artist,” Tag said, visibly impressed by the canvases he could see around the room.

“Big deal,” Linda muttered.

“It is a big deal.” Tag squatted to better see the detail in a painting leaning against a wall. It depicted a crowded-street scene. “This is terrific. You didn’t use Rumor as a model for this one,” he said with a laugh.

“Of course not.”

“Is this oil or acrylic?”

“You actually know there’s a difference?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

Tag stood and, eyes twinkling, looked at her. “Imagine that,” he drawled good-naturedly. “So, what’s on the easel? May I take a look?”

“I’d rather you didn’t. I never know if I’ll finish anything until it’s actually…finished. Some pieces start out good and then inspiration sort of dribbles away to nothing.”

“I know exactly what you mean. I’ve started dozens of projects in my shop through the years that ended up on the scrap heap. Of course, being good wood to begin with, I keep every piece. Never know when something I’m working on will require one more length of mahogany, or redwood or teak, or…well, you get my drift.”

“I’m not sure I do. What kind of projects do you work on in your shop?”

“Oh, tables and things. I’m a carpenter.”

The light dawned. “Oh, you have a carpentry shop. Then home renovation isn’t your only job.”

Tag grinned. “It’s not even my second job. I don’t consider anything I do a job.”

“But it’s how you make your living, isn’t it? What is carpentry to you if not a job?”

“A passion. After my daughter, carpentry is the most important part of my life.”

Surprisingly, Linda’s stomach sank; he was married. “You have a daughter. How old is she?”

“Five. My wife died when Samantha was still a baby.”

“Oh! I’m…very sorry.”

“Thanks.” He looked around the room. “These walls could use a coat of paint. Could you spare the room for one day? Actually, it’s a small area and I could probably do it in half a day.” He swung around to see Linda again. “What do you think?”

She shrugged. “You’re the one with the contract. What do you think?”

“I really hate the thought of me causing a blip in the progress of great art.”

“Oh, come on. This is hardly great art.”

“Looks pretty great to me.”

“Oh, sure, like it should be hanging in the National Gallery.”

“Maybe it should. Maybe it will. Someday.” Damn, she was pretty. How long had it been since he’d been instantly attracted to a woman? Had he ever been instantly attracted to a woman? Wasn’t this some kind of first for him? “Do you sell your paintings?”

“I’ve sold some, yes, but not since I moved to Rumor.”

“Where, then?”

“In Los Angeles. My parents are both artists, quite well-known in the L.A. area.” Linda felt her face color. Why on earth was she running off at the mouth with a man she’d just met? She never volunteered information about her past, her life-before-Rumor, so to speak. Was her divorce anyone’s business? Her unusual childhood?

“When did you move here?” Tag asked. “I don’t remember seeing you around town, and I’m sure I would have noticed.”

Linda’s pulse quickened. He was flirting with her! He’d been flirting from the moment he stepped through her door. “If you hung around the high school, you would have seen me. I teach there,” she said, cursing her inability to put an end to this question-and-answer session. Yes, she’d been as guilty of curiosity about him as he was about her, but this was all extremely foreign territory for her and it might be safer to nip it in the bud.

Tag’s face lit up. “You’re the new art teacher! I’ve heard about you.”

“Yes, well, I’ve only lived here a short while, but it didn’t take long to discover that very little goes on in Rumor that doesn’t spread with the speed of light.”

“Rumor’s a typical small town, Linda. People gossip, sure, but it’s still a great place to live.”

She actually felt a thrill go up her spine when he said her name. It occurred to her to ask him to call her Ms. Fioretti, just as she had told her students to do.

But how childish would that be? Just because she was feeling giddy over a good-looking guy, experiencing physical sensations she’d only been equipped to imagine before this, didn’t mean she should turn prim and proper and forbid him to use her given name.

“I take it you’ve never lived anywhere else?” she said, definitely not speaking her mind.

“Rumor’s always been home and probably always will be. You know, I live on this same street, other side of Main. You should drop in sometime and see what I’ve got to offer.”

“Wha—what?”

Tag chuckled. “Sorry, that didn’t come out the way I meant it to. I was referring to the finished pieces of furniture in my shop.”

Linda’s face was flaming. “Oh…I see. Well, are you through in here?” She began sidling toward the door.

Tag wrote something in his notebook and shoved it into his shirt pocket. “My inspection is over. Now all I need to do is discuss what needs to be done and set up a work schedule convenient to yours.”

“You need a discussion. I see. All right, let’s take care of that in the kitchen.”

“Anyplace is fine.” Tag followed her down the stairs and to the kitchen. He’d spotted the almost full pot of coffee his first time in there, and it smelled awfully good. He could ask for some, but he would rather that Linda offer it.

The newspaper and a single cup were on the counter in front of one stool, so he went to the other and waited for her to sit first.

She did, then he did. He took out his spiral again and began flipping through it. Automatically, so it seemed, Linda reached for her cup and realized the coffee in it was cold. She sighed inwardly. She couldn’t get coffee for herself without offering some to Tag.

Oh, what the hay. “Would you like some coffee?” she asked, sliding from the stool. “I’m getting myself some.”

Tag smiled. “I would love some. Thanks.”

My Lord, this guy’s smile could melt solid steel! Feeling clumsy but managing to fill two cups without knocking anything over or spilling coffee, she brought them to the counter.

“There you are,” she said. “Do you need milk? I don’t have any cream. Or sugar?”

“Nope. Black is perfect. Thanks.” Tag picked up his cup and sipped. “You make good coffee.” He had the strongest feeling that Linda did everything well. It was a thought that went straight to his groin, and he instantly sent his brain in another direction.

“Um, the whole apartment could use a coat of paint,” he said. “And some of the woodwork needs refinishing. But I shouldn’t be in your hair for more than four, five days.”

“Beginning when?”

“I’d like to start today, if you can put up with me.”

“And you’d start in which room?”

Tag looked around the kitchen. “This room will take more time than any other. I’d like to get it done first.”

“You already have the paint and other materials you would need?”

“Every apartment in this building is painted the same shade of white, so I’m ready to go, yes. Unless you want a different color, which I’m sure you know has to be approved beforehand.”

“Heck was kind enough to remind me of that clause in my lease,” Linda said dryly. “I do prefer more color on certain walls, but this apartment is very small and decorator colors would have to be carefully planned so it wouldn’t appear even smaller. Maybe I’ll do something about the walls later on—with approval, of course—but for the time being white is fine.”

“You’re still not completely settled in, are you?”

“What gave you that idea?”

“The stacks of taped boxes in the closet of the room you’re using for your artwork.”

“Those boxes contain books. I don’t have anywhere to put them. I shopped for bookshelves in Billings, but this apartment doesn’t have a lot of available wall space and everything I found was too wide. Tall is fine. I can use tall, but I need some very unusual widths. Anyhow, I can’t unpack my books until I figure out what to do with them.”

“I can build bookshelves in any width,” Tag stated.

Linda slowly turned her head to look at him. He was looking at her, as well, and the warmth in his eyes was unmistakable. He liked her. She knew that as surely as she knew anything. What’s more, she liked him. It surprised her that she actually knew she liked him. Never before had she formed an opinion that seemed so ironclad about a man this fast. Of course, there’d only been one man in her life, the one she had married…and divorced. The word divorced went around and around in her head, and she was struck by an impulse to tell Tag about it. And about her screwball childhood, as well, her peculiar parents and the untraditional way they’d brought her up. Dragged her up was more like it, for they had unquestionably lived the typical bohemian artist’s life. They hadn’t believed in babysitters, so wherever they’d gone, so had she. She had fallen asleep on many a strange sofa back then, a tiny little girl dressed like a doll and treated as one, as well. Treated as a plaything rather than as a living, breathing child that needed regular meals and bedtimes.

But maybe another time, she told herself. Liking a man at first sight didn’t—or probably shouldn’t—include an immediate baring of one’s soul.

“If you came by the shop and saw my work for yourself, you might feel good about ordering some custom-made bookshelves from me,” Tag said quietly, though his blood had started running hot and fast in his veins. Her eyes were stunningly beautiful, the most unusual shade of green he’d ever seen. A man could get lost in Linda’s eyes, he thought, and wouldn’t he just love to twine his fingers into her glorious mane of hair.

“I…I suppose I could do that,” she stammered huskily. “One day when you’re there instead of here. You’d have to let me know.”

“I never work away from home on Sunday. Come by tomorrow.”

So soon? Just so she could stop looking into his eyes without making her retreat blatantly obvious, she glanced at her cup before raising it to her lips. “I might be able to do that,” she murmured.

“Are Sundays busy days for you?”

“Well, there’s church…and next week’s classes to plan…and student work to look over.”

“Yes,” Tag said solemnly. “I can see how those things could take up an entire day. But maybe you could squeeze out fifteen or twenty minutes to see me? I should say to check out my work. You wouldn’t be stopping in just to see me, after all.”

Linda cleared her throat. He was the biggest flirt she’d ever met. But he was also the nicest flirt she’d ever met. And he was so cute. For some reason, telling herself that Tag’s brand of good looks meant zilch in real-life situations wasn’t doing a bit of good—she still felt breathless sitting this close to him and listening to his line of hooey.

But that was the bottom-line problem. She liked his line of hooey.

“Will you try to make it?” Tag asked quietly, boring a hole in her with his penetrating gaze.

She flicked a glance at him and immediately looked away. “Yes, I’ll try.”

“Great!” Tag picked up his coffee and took a swallow. “So is it all right if I start working in here today?”

“How can I say no?”

“You can always say no, Linda,” Tag said softly.

A frisson of sensual awareness traveled down Linda’s spine, giving her a tiny shiver. His voice did that to her, she realized, and when he combined it with sexual innuendo, the result was even more intense. Not that she couldn’t stop this…this thing building between them from growing too huge to control. At least she was pretty certain that she could. But did she really want to stop it? She had never felt so womanly before, so warm and fuzzy and tingly because of a man. And being a voracious reader, she knew that women should feel something during lovemaking. Although she’d never told a soul, she never had.

“All right,” she said without looking directly at Tag. “You can start today.”

“You’re a sweetheart.” Getting off his stool, Tag bent over and planted a brief kiss to her right cheek.

Shocked to speechlessness—no one had ever kissed her without provocation before, and she would swear that she had not invited any such familiarity—she sat there all the while he hauled in cans of paint, brushes, rollers, a tool chest and so many other items that she stared in amazement. Her kitchen floor was practically covered with the tools of his trade.