Her Montana Man

Stories of family and romance beneath the Big Sky!

“That is the skimpiest bathing suit I’ve ever seen,” Pierce told Chelsea as she rose out of the icy water of the lake.

She looked at her two-piece suit. It was cut high on the legs, as all of them were. “Surely not,” she said airily.

Uh-oh, wrong thing to say. He looked as if he would like to choke her.

“That outfit might be modest for the city, but around here, folks dress more circumspectly.”

Chelsea couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing. “I’m sorry. It’s just that you don’t sound at all like the Pierce Dalton who dared me to go skinny dipping in the pool at my apartment building at three o’clock on a January morning.”

“I’m not here to discuss the past,” he informed her. “If the guys working here see you like that, they’ll take it as an open invitation to visit. I won’t have them distracted by a siren from the city.”

Chelsea rubbed the end of the towel over her dripping hair. “You’d better watch yourself, too, Pierce. City sirens are hard to resist.”

Her Montana Man

Laurie Paige

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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LAURIE PAIGE

“One of the nicest things about writing romances is researching locales, careers and ideas. In the interest of authenticity, most writers will try anything…once.” Along with her writing adventures, Laurie has been a NASA engineer, a past president of the Romance Writers of America, a mother and a grandmother. She was twice a RITA® Award finalist for Best Traditional Romance and has won awards from RT Book Reviews for Best Silhouette Special Edition and Best Silhouette, in addition to appearing on the USA TODAY bestseller list. Recently resettled in Northern California, Laurie is looking forward to whatever experiences her next novel brings.

To Bobby and Melba,

for all the adventures in Montana.

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 One

Chelsea Kearns stripped the surgical gloves from her hands and tossed them in the Contaminated Waste Disposal bin. In the locker room she showered, then dressed in street clothing of khaki slacks and a cotton shirt of cool, mint green.

Once outside the hospital, which housed the county morgue, she breathed deeply several times before unlocking her car from the passenger side, opening both doors and letting the accumulated heat escape.

Here in the Beartooth Mountains of Montana just north of Yellowstone National Park, summers were usually pleasant—low eighties during the day, forties at night. The temperature on the digital display at the bank proclaimed the temperature to be ninety-three.

“This heat is terrible. It must be global warming,” a passerby said to her companion as they strolled past Chelsea. “The government should do something.”

“Maybe we’ll have a thundershower later this afternoon,” the companion said in a soothing voice.

The first woman grimaced. “Those only bring lightning and forest fires at this time of the year.”

Chelsea sympathized with the ill-humored woman. She felt out of sorts herself. The bank clock indicated it was well past the noon hour on Wednesday, July third.

She’d eaten a quick breakfast at five-thirty, but she wasn’t hungry. She never was after a morning spent in the morgue, doing her job as a medical examiner. The autopsy had disclosed information that was going to shock most people in the town of Rumor, located twenty miles from here.

Tossing her purse onto the passenger seat, she reluctantly followed it inside the hot car and started the engine. She turned the air conditioner on full blast and aimed the vents directly at her face.

Leaving Whitehorn, she followed the highway to the turnoff that would take her to Rumor, Montana, and the lakeside cottage where she would be staying for the next three weeks. This first week she had to work, but after that she had two solid weeks of vacation.

Ah, bliss.

However, before the fun began she had bad news to report to the deputy sheriff in charge of the investigation. The autopsy she’d performed indicated murder, not suicide; although, the perpetrator had tried to make it look that way.

The absence of powder burns precluded a self-inflicted shot, or else the victim would have had to have held the weapon with her toes in order to inflict a wound in her left temple at a sufficient distance. Besides all that, the angle of entry of the projectile was all wrong for suicide.

Chelsea sighed. This was going to be a tough case. She could feel it in her bones. The trial, assuming they caught the guy who did it, would be time consuming. She’d have to come down from Billings, an hour’s drive each way, and testify about her findings. The defense attorney would try to prove she didn’t know what she was talking about.

She sighed again. There was also the complication of Pierce Dalton—successful businessman, mayor of Rumor where the murder had been committed, brother to her best friend, Kelly, and…former lover.

Her life, which had seemed calm and sensible when she’d accepted the position as medical examiner in Billings, suddenly seemed complicated.

Maybe she should have stayed in Chicago. She’d been busy but lonely in the city, she admitted. And she’d missed the mountains. Had she also wanted to see Pierce again? She didn’t have an answer for that.

Arriving in town, she slowed to the requisite thirty-five miles per hour for the short drive down Main Street, then turned right onto Blue Spruce Road and right again onto the lane that took her to a modern cottage set among towering evergreen trees next to a jewel of a lake.

With a deck built out at the edge of a tiny cove, the place was as enchanting as a scene in a fairy tale.

Grabbing her purse, which held her recorder and the notes dictated that morning, she went in and changed to shorts, a comfortable T-shirt and flip-flops. On the deck, with a tall glass of iced tea and her handy laptop computer, she began her formal report.

Sometime later, the sound of tires on the gravel lane interrupted her concentration. She heard a car door slam, then silence. She waited until a knock sounded on the cabin door before calling out, “I’m on the deck.”

A male figure appeared at the corner of the cabin. Dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, his stride long and assured, the visitor exuded power and authority.

She instantly recognized the sandy-blond hair and six-two frame of her long-ago lover. Pierce was a man with a commanding presence. She hadn’t been surprised when Kelly had told her Pierce was now mayor of the town.

The jagged edge of remembered hurt plucked at her heart, a never-forgotten melody of love and wonder and, ultimately, rejection. Pierce had made it clear he was not a settling-down kind of man the last time she’d seen him.

“Hello, Pierce,” she managed to say in a quiet manner.

Two years older than she was, at thirty-six he looked trim and fit, a prime male specimen with his blue eyes and handsome, somewhat rugged features. He’d always reminded her of the mountains—strong and solid and inspiring.

It had been eight years since she’d last seen him. They’d parted one stormy April night, two months before she graduated medical school. So many dreams ago.

He ignored the three steps and leaped to the deck in a single, graceful bound. “Chelsea,” he said, acknowledging her greeting. He didn’t smile.

So what had she expected—that he would gaze soulfully into her eyes and declare he’d never gotten over his love for her and that she must marry him at once so they could live happily ever after?

Dream on, she thought, and would have laughed had it been the least funny.

“You have a wonderful place over there,” she said, indicating the resort, the lake and the idyllic setting.

He nodded, his mind obviously not on the scenery. “What did you find out?”

Blunt and to the point. She’d wondered how he would react to her being here—on his turf, so to speak—so now she knew. She could be all business, too.

“I’m preparing a report for the deputy,” she told him with a polite smile. “He’ll have it Friday morning.”

“I want it now.”

She started to make a smart remark, but, seeing the concern in his eyes, she refrained. This was his hometown and he was the mayor. Murder was serious business.

“You’d better have a seat,” she advised. “Would you like a glass of iced tea?” She’d finished her own glass while working on the report.

Impatience flickered over his face and was gone. He nodded and settled in the deck chair facing the lake.

She quickly prepared the refreshing drinks, then, after a struggle with herself about playing the polite hostess, arranged a tray of crackers, cheese, veggies and dip and carried them outside.

“Thanks,” he said, taking the glass she indicated and pulling a table between their two chairs so she could set the tray down.

When she was seated, he leaned forward, his blue eyes focused intently on her. It would have been exciting, except she knew he was interested only in her information.

“The victim died of a gunshot wound to the head,” she told him. “The bullet entered the left temple and ricocheted in the skull without exiting, inflicting severe brain damage and instant death.”

“I can’t believe she’d commit suicide.”

Chelsea gave him a level perusal. “She didn’t.”

“She didn’t?” he echoed, his eyes hot blue lasers as he glared at her.

“She was semiconscious from a blow to the back of the head. Prior to that, she’d been slapped hard enough to leave a bruise. From scrapes on her elbow and knees, she probably fell to the floor. She was then placed in a chair and shot from a distance of three or four feet. Panicking, the perp decided he’d better make it look like suicide.”

“Why panic and why a he?”

Chelsea considered the evidence before replying. “The victim was hit hard enough to knock her unconscious or nearly so—”

“Harriet,” he broke in. “Her name was Harriet Martel.”

Chelsea kept a bland expression. She’d learned during her five years of pathology training and three years on the job to keep an emotional distance from those who’d died by violence; otherwise, her job would become unbearable.

“From the deputy sheriff’s report, Miss Martel was knocked to the floor, then lifted, not dragged, to the chair. Both facts indicate strength. If you’re looking for a female perp, she’s strong as an ox.”

He gave a grunt that could have indicated agreement, skepticism or any number of things. “Why did he panic?”

“His anger cooled after he killed her. He realized he needed to make it look like suicide and that someone might have heard the shot. He wanted to get away, so he was hasty in setting up the scene. He wiped the gun, then pressed her fingers into position around it.”

Pierce frowned at her. “The gun was found on the floor beside the chair.”

“Planted to look as if she dropped it after the shot.”

Chelsea watched a couple push off from a dock across the lake. Cabins nestled among the trees over there. Pierce had started from scratch and made a huge fortune in real estate and recreational activities for tourists, so his sister had said. Good for him.

“However,” she continued, pulling her gaze from the happy couple, whose laughter she could hear drifting over the water like an echo from happier times in her own past, “he messed up. Suicide victims usually retain the gun in a death grip that’s almost impossible to break.”

Pierce was quick on the uptake. “Usually?”

“Yes. That’s the first thing you look for in a suspected suicide. But it doesn’t always happen, so I examined the weapon. From the fingerprint evidence, Miss Martel didn’t exert enough force on the gun to pull the trigger, much less hold it in place to kill herself. There were no powder burns, either.”

“So the gun had to be held at least a few feet from her,” he murmured, frowning as he considered this fact.

Chelsea nodded and lifted her glass. The tea was cold and tart from the generous squeeze of lemon she’d put in. She hadn’t added any lemon to his glass on the assumption he still liked it with one spoon of sugar and no lemon.

Eight years was a long time, she reflected. Perhaps his tastes had changed. However, he didn’t say anything as he took a long drink, then rubbed at the condensation on the glass while he thought.

She continued with her conclusions about the crime. “I think the killer didn’t decide to shoot her until he placed her in the chair. They’d been quarreling. Perhaps she’d hit him first. Now she was vulnerable, in his power. He needed to get rid of her, to keep her quiet—”

“Why?” Pierce demanded.

Chelsea met his gaze. “The victim…Miss Martel…was pregnant. About four months, I would say.”

“She couldn’t have been,” he said. “She was an old maid, the town librarian, for Pete’s sake. She didn’t date anyone.”

“Maybe not,” Chelsea said coolly. “But she was certainly having an affair. I’d look for a married man with a lot to lose if the scandal got out, someone in a prominent position in town, maybe someone on the city council.”

“Yeah, right,” Pierce said in a snarl, rising to his feet and looming over her. “The council is composed of a retired rancher, a high school coach at least fifteen years younger than Harriet, plus three women. That’s certainly a bunch of likely suspects.”

“The motive was conjecture on my part,” she readily admitted. “Your investigators will have to ferret out fact from fiction. I’d start with the woman’s secret life.”

Lips that had once kissed her thousands of times thinned to a straight line. “What about your life?” he asked in a soft tone that sent shivers along her neck.

She met his gaze that contained no signs of welcome for her in it. “What about it?”

“Why did you come back to Montana?”

Smiling slightly, she answered truthfully, “I always loved the mountains.”

He studied her for another ten seconds, then walked off, disappearing around the house. A minute later she heard his vehicle on the gravel as he left.

Peering through the trees at another house no more than a football field away, she wondered why he’d bothered to drive. He lived over there, just across the creek that fed icy mountain water into the lake. Kelly had said it was a marvelous house, meant for a family.

Chelsea sighed as gloom settled over her. An innocent life had been snuffed out when the librarian was killed. The violence of deliberately inflicted death disturbed her. The person hadn’t cared about the child at all.

Laying a hand over her abdomen, she recalled her own plans. She’d assumed she would have a home and family. She’d thought Pierce would be the man in her life. Instead she had an apartment and no husband or children in sight.

Some things were never meant to be. She managed a smile at life’s ironies, reviewed the report and went inside before dark.

“Chelsea, I can’t believe you’re here!” Kelly Dalton Brenner threw her arms around her best friend and gave her a bone-shattering hug late Thursday afternoon. “I’m so glad.”

Chelsea returned Kelly’s bear hug. They’d met in medical school and had been assigned the same cadaver to autopsy. The horrifying—at the time—experience had made them friends forever. Now Kelly was a family physician with a busy practice in a large county with few doctors. Her husband, Jim Brenner, was a hunting and fishing guide and owned the local sporting goods store.

“I’m glad, too. This is a beautiful place.”

Kelly tucked a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear. “Bet you couldn’t sleep—not enough noise. All the city dudes complain about that the first couple of nights.”

“Actually, there was too much racket. Those crickets and tree frogs kept up a chorus all night. One of them was definitely off tune.”

“Come on. It’s nearly time to eat.” Kelly pointed toward the house barely visible through the trees lining the creek.

“Are you sure it’s okay for me to come?” Chelsea hated the uncertainty that plagued her. With it was an undefined sense of excitement brought on by more than the prospect of a Fourth of July picnic and fire works by the lake.

“Of course. The whole town is invited.”

That news didn’t make her feel more comfortable. She was hesitant to see Pierce again. Perhaps because her dreams last night had been so graphic. She’d woken once with the feel of his lips on hers, so real she’d had to touch her mouth with her fingers to be sure it hadn’t happened.

“Bring a jacket. It’ll be chilly by the time we have the fireworks,” Kelly advised.

Chelsea went inside, clipped a fanny pack on and stuffed a jacket inside it. With a straw hat to protect her from the sun, she rejoined her friend and set off along the lakeside path.

Her mouth was dry by the time they covered the two or three hundred feet between her cabin and Pierce’s home. The scent of sizzling meat and the sound of children’s laughter filled the air. Volleyball, baseball and a game of horseshoes were in progress. Several people swam or rode in paddleboats about the lake.

And a good time was had by all, she thought, mocking her nervousness as she and Kelly approached the cooking area.

Pierce and his brother-in-law, Jim, manned the huge barbecue grill, where steaks, chicken, hot dogs and hamburgers cooked.

“Hey, about time,” Jim called out. “We need help.”

“What should we do?” Kelly asked, volunteering for duty. She grabbed an apron and tossed one to Chelsea.

Chelsea had no choice but to smile, don the apron and get to work. Jim assigned her to slicing tomatoes and onions while Kelly set out condiments and bags of chips.

Pierce had been laughing and talking when the women arrived. Now he was silent. Chelsea felt like an intruder.

“Hey, Doc,” a male voice called. Holt Tanner separated himself from a crowd of friends and came over. “I heard you finished the autopsy yesterday.”

Chelsea admitted she had.

“Will the report be ready tomorrow?” he asked.

Around Pierce’s age, the lawman shared the same intense intelligence and curiosity that Pierce had displayed about the case yesterday.

“Yes. In fact, it’s ready now. I printed it out this morning,” she told him.

“Great. Let’s go get—”

“You’re off duty this evening,” Pierce broke into the conversation. “The report can wait until tomorrow.”

The quick warning glance he flashed Chelsea told her he didn’t want the news about Harriet Martel to be disclosed today.

“Holt, how about meeting in my office at nine in the morning?” He flicked another glance her way. “Dr. Kearns, will you be available?”

“Yes.”

“Good. We’ll discuss it then.”

“I’d better tell the sheriff,” Holt said, peering around the lake. “He’s interested in the case and would probably want to attend the meeting.”

“I don’t want anyone there but you and Chel— Dr. Kearns.”

Deputy Tanner stared at the mayor for a moment, then shrugged. “Sure. I’ll be there. See you, Doc.”

Chelsea had met the lawman Monday afternoon when she arrived in Rumor. He’d told her of the arrangements for her work at the morgue and directed her to the lake house Kelly had put at her disposal. Chelsea had liked the deputy’s no-nonsense directness and his easy mannerisms.

After he ambled off, Pierce looked her way. “Is the cabin satisfactory? You have everything you need?”

“Yes, it’s a lovely place. I’m quite happy there.”

“Good. Call the office if something doesn’t work. They’ll send a man over.”

She realized the cabin must belong to the resort, rather than to Kelly and Jim as she’d thought, and therefore to Pierce. He was her host for the duration of her vacation.

“Thank you,” she said, and smiled graciously while her heart jumped in alarm. This could get complicated.

Pierce gave her a keen glance as if noting the lack of real warmth in her thanks, as if he knew she wouldn’t have accepted accommodations there had she known it belonged to him. His gaze hardened.

Kelly gave him a poke in the ribs. “I hate to mention this, oh great chef, but the hot dogs are burning.”

He moved the blackened ones to the back of the grill. “Ring the dinner bell, smart mouth,” he ordered.

Chelsea smiled at the teasing between the two. Unlike her family, the Daltons were closely knit. Their father had died when Pierce was thirteen. He and Kelly had pitched in to help their mom make ends meet on her housekeeping earnings. Kelly and Pierce had made being poor sound like an adventure. Chelsea knew it must have been hard.

Her own family had been split by divorce when she was four. Each parent had remarried and had two other children, leaving her the odd man out in each family.

Poor, pitiful me, she mocked the odd sorrow she couldn’t quite shake.

The ringing of the bell brought a flock of hungry kids and parents to the table where she and Kelly toiled for the next two and a half hours, keeping everyone supplied with napkins, paper plates, tons of chips, mustard, relish and mayo while the men served an equal amount of meat.

“Hey, the end of the line,” Kelly sang out in relief. “We can fix a plate and sit down.”

Chelsea had to admit she was happy for a respite, too. Holding a soda can in one hand and a full plate with the other, she glanced around the picnic area.

“Come on,” Pierce told them. “There’s a table on my deck where we can sit.”

His house nestled in the trees that screened the resort from view. Like hers, it was made of stone on the bottom and logs on the top half with lots of windows to let in light. The deck wound around several trees near the edge of the creek. They settled in padded chairs at the patio table.

“Hi, Dr. Kelly,” a little boy called out.

“Hi, Dr. Kelly,” a girl around the same age echoed.

“Two of my favorite patients,” Kelly said, waving at the pair. “They’re twins and just full of mischief.”

Chelsea noted the longing on Kelly’s face as she watched the twin brother and sister run across the lawn and join a man and woman at a table by the lake. They looked like a happy family.

“Shall we tell them our surprise?” Kelly asked her husband.

“Sure.”

“Jim and I think we’re going to become parents in about eight months,” Kelly said softly.

Chelsea’s throat closed up at the exchange of gentle glances between husband and wife. Kelly was also thirty-four. It was time they were starting their family.