Sweet Home Montana

With the way he’s looking at me, I’m almost certain he’s going to do it, whatever it might be. I’ve never been looked at in such a way. Like he could happily finish me, leave me for dead right here in the gutter, and sleep like a damn baby afterwards.

But, before he can do anything, a shadowy figure lurches out from the darkness, and in what appears to be slow motion, the cowboy is taken down in one fell swoop.

What the hell?

I stagger sideways, breathless as I try to compose myself, looking down at the two men grappling with one another on the pavement to the soundtrack of muttered curse words and bare-fisted knuckles connecting with bone. My mind is a haze of liquor, confusion and emotion. But then, my savior comes into the dim light of the nearby street lamp, looking up at me with one of his arms wrapped tightly around the cowboy’s neck, holding him in place. And everything stops.

I’m rendered speechless, breathless, and everything in between.

Colt.

He forces the cowboy to look up at me, blood pouring from the man’s nose as he chokes against the thick, sinewy arm strangling him.

“Do you know who that is?” Colt’s gruff voice breaks through the silence of the night, a threatening growl. He pummels the cowboy once more in his gut with his relentless fist until he answers him.

“Who? Her?” The cowboy shakes his head, his eyes wide with fear. “What the hell are you talking about? I don’t know—”

“I’ll ask you one … more … time!” Colt says slowly, continuing his incessant assault. “Do you know who that is?”

“No!” the cowboy cries, and I almost feel bad for him.

“Tell him!” Colt shouts, not looking at me. “Tell him who you are, Quinny.”

I stare down at the cowboy, his strength diminishing with every one of Colt’s strikes. His eyes bore into mine and I hold his gaze as I spit the remnants of blood from my mouth to the ground right beside him. “Quinn … Wagner.”

Recognition washes over him at the mention of my surname, his face suddenly falling in stark surprise. Oh he sure knows who I am now. “I’m s-sorry. I’m— I didn’t know, I—” He splutters through his words.

Colt’s fist connects with the cowboy’s face one final time before he releases his hold of the man’s bloodied shirt, leaving him in a heap on the ground as he makes his way up to his feet, brushing his hands over his jeans. Calmly smoothing his chestnut hair back from his face, he blows out a breath between his lips, casting a furtive glance up and down the empty street. He turns to me, barely even indulging me with one single look, doing everything he can to avoid my eyes, his own evidently conflicted.

“Come on, I’ll take you home,” he mutters in a low voice, shaking out the swollen knuckles on his right hand. He turns and stalks up ahead, disappearing around the corner with nothing but the threatening air of anger left in his wake.

I cast one final glance down at the cowboy as he clutches at his side while whimpering in pain; sorrow and regret clear in his eyes when they meet mine. “I’m sorry,” he groans.

I stare at him long and hard, shaking my head dismissively before hurrying as quickly as my drunken feet can carry me to follow after the ghost of my past.

Main Street is dark. Everything is so still. It’s almost as if the whole world is asleep. Eerily silent. Icy cold. Ominous. The only sound ringing through the air is that of my sneakers as they squelch upon the wet pavement, through the puddles. Adrenaline, alcohol and something else races through me as I try to catch up to Colt, his long strides almost impossible to keep up with, even with the unsteady gait caused by the limp of his left leg. I stop then. A painful lump balling into the back of my throat at that thought. I caused that limp. That was my fault. I broke him. My heart suddenly hurts, but I try so hard to ignore the pain, running after him.

“Jesus, will you slow down?” I huff.

Of course, he doesn’t slow down. In fact, I’m almost certain he speeds up. And that’s it for me. If I wasn’t drunk, I probably would just do as I’m told and follow him, but the whiskey in my veins fuels the stubbornness I inherited as a Wagner, so I stop right there in the middle of the wide empty street, glaring at the back of Colt’s head as he surges toward the same shiny Dodge Ram emblazoned with the Wagner Ranch logo that had been parked back at the main house earlier.

I can’t help but wonder … was he there when I was there?

Colt must sense I’m no longer following because he pauses, glancing over his shoulder at me, and when his eyes find me planted to the spot, a deep crease pulls into his brow. “C’mon, Quinn. I’m not playing.”

“I’m not going back to the ranch.” I shake my head defiantly. “I’m staying here. In town.”

Colt guffaws, holding his hands out at his sides incredulously as he looks up and down the dark, empty street. “Where you gonna stay, huh?”

“The Oakmont,” I answer matter-of-factly.

“They’re closed for renovations, genius.”

Of course they are. I’m in no state to get behind the wheel and drive across town to the Lodge. I curse under my breath. “Well,” I begin, shrugging. “Then I’ll just sleep in my rental.”

He offers a sardonic look, quirking a brow.

“There is no way in hell I’m going back to that place.” I shake my head vehemently. “I’m pretty sure Tripp is going to kill me in my sleep.”

Colt looks up to the dark night sky, pinching the bridge of his nose. He seems to hesitate, considering something, then he curses out loud, meeting my eye with a no-bullshit look as he approaches me, stopping just a few feet away. “God dammit, Quinn. I ain’t got time for this shit.”

“So go!” I yell, throwing a hand in the air.

“You’re still a stubborn piece of work,” he grunts under his breath. But before I can even think of a retort, he crouches down and I’m suddenly being lifted off my feet, into the air, thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, the whole world literally turning upside down, which isn’t helping my current state of intoxication.

“What the— Let me down!” I scream, hands and feet flailing. But he ignores my demand, carrying me in the opposite direction of my rental car.

I hear the sound of metal hinges creak in objection before being up-righted and placed into the cab of Colt’s truck. I go to say something, but he just slams the door right in my face, glaring at me through the foggy window before moving around the front and silently making his way up into the driver’s seat. The loud engine comes to life, roaring thunderously through the night and drowning out the palpable silence between us.

“You know, I didn’t ask for you to swoop in and save me back there.”

He scoffs once under his breath, shaking his head to himself, and without saying a word, he shifts the truck into gear and pulls out onto the road and we drive in an uncomfortably steely silence through the pitch black of night.

The air between us is thick with tension, but I take the opportunity to glance at him from the corner of my eye, the dashboard lights illuminating his face, highlighting his infuriatingly striking features. I’d almost forgotten how beautiful he truly was. And wow. It’s as if he’s gotten even more so over the years. His strong jaw is now shadowed with a few days’ growth of scruff. Those dimples are still there, the ones that pull into his cheeks each time he rakes his teeth over his full bottom lip; something he’s always done whenever he feels awkward as hell and doesn’t quite know what to say. A prominent nose, with the slightest bump on the bridge from when he broke it after coming off a bucking bronco for the first time when he was just sixteen years old. Thick lashes frame eyes that capture the glow of the muted lights, reflecting peridot and gold and silver.

He looks exactly the same as he did ten years ago. Maybe a few extra lines and creases at the corners of his eyes, his widow’s peak a little more defined now than it was when we were younger, but he’s just as handsome as I remember him, and the years have been kind. The sheer sight of him brings back those same overwhelming feelings I spent the last ten years of my life trying to get over. Or maybe I’m just drunk.

Colt suddenly casts a fleeting glance across to me, catching me ogling him, and I snap myself from my reverie, clearing the bubble of emotion from my throat while shifting a little awkwardly.

“You know, I could’ve kicked that guy’s ass myself. I was doing just fine on my own.”

“Yeah, you really looked like you were handling it,” he murmurs sarcastically, his eyes focused intently on the road ahead, his grip on the steering wheel tight, causing his split knuckles to glisten as fresh blood seeps from the painful-looking cracks.

“Why do you care, anyway?” I scoff, leaning an elbow on the doorjamb to rest my chin upon my hand. I exhale a heavy sigh. “You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

At that, my brows knit together in confusion and I turn to look at him. He flashes me a casual glance, the anger in his eyes replaced by nothing more than an impassive indifference, blank and hollow, void of any semblance of emotion whatsoever.

He shakes his head once, shrugging one of his shoulders as he turns back to the road. “I stopped hating you a long time ago.”

“Y-you did?” I gape at him, sufficiently confused, and maybe even a little more excited than I’d ever admit out loud.

Colt nods, momentarily meeting my gaze once more. “I don’t care enough about you to hate you, no more.”

My shoulders fall at his words. I stare at him, blinking once as a million and one thoughts race through my mind.

Damn.

I’ve never felt more dejected in all my life.

I’d almost prefer he did hate me; I’m pretty sure it would hurt less.

Chapter 5

I wake with what can only be described as the taste of trash in my mouth. I don’t necessarily know what trash tastes like, but I’m assuming this is it. Pure trash lingers on my sandpaper tongue, as does the taste of blood, while pixelated memories of the night before come over me in nauseating waves. When a vision of Colt flashes through my mind, I think I might actually be sick. But I’m startled by the faintest murmur of a cheeky giggle that sounds light years away, pulling me back to the now and rendering me frozen.

What the—?

One heavy lid opens, my eye scratchy as I search the dimly lit darkness surrounding me.

Where the hell am I?

Suddenly, warm breath fans over my cheek, followed by a wet tongue slobbering all over my face. I jump up, screaming out, pushing what feels like a furry beast away from me, but after a moment I come to enough to realize the weird-as-shit situation I’m actually in; I’m hungover as hell, in a dark room where I don’t know where I am, and a freaking dog is licking my damn face.

I manage as best I can, pushing up to my elbows, finding a German shepherd almost as big as me, panting in my face, next to a shaggy-haired boy who looks exactly like Cash did in the photos from when he was a little boy.

“CJ …” I rasp, scrubbing a hand over my face, managing the best smile I can right now.

But he just squeals, deafeningly so, scampering out of the room as quick as his little legs will carry him, his loyal four-legged friend following closely behind.

I scrub another hand over my face, rubbing my gritty eyes before taking a look at my surroundings. I’m still dressed in what I was wearing yesterday, covered with an afghan, on a sofa in the den of the Foreman’s House where Cash and his small family currently reside. Stretching, I stifle a yawn before forcing myself up. My head throbs causing me to wince, but I push through the pain as I make my way to my unsteady feet, stopping to find what little balance I can collect before continuing out of the room.

The house is quiet, warm, and I can see outside it’s raining again, making the morning appear dark and gloomy. I make my way through the short corridor and into the big kitchen, which is where I find my nephew perched at the table, his eyes smiling at me as he eats a bowl of cereal, giggling quietly to himself. I stop when I find Shelby, Cash’s beautiful wife, standing at the island, a mug of something steaming in her hands. Her ebony eyes go wide when she notices me, gawping at me, and I linger on the spot realizing I must look a state.

“Hey …” I croak, waving my hand awkwardly.

Shelby’s eyes remain wide as she stares at me, her face stark, and while I try not to take offense, it’s not easy when you’re being looked at like you’re a circus freak.

“Cash Junior!” Shelby says in a chastising tone, turning to her son with bulging eyes. “What did you do?”

I glance between Shelby and CJ, my brow furrowing in confusion, but before I can say anything, Shelby places her mug onto the counter, grabs her cell and comes toward me, her phone held up in my face right as a bright flash goes off, almost blinding me.

“What the—” I rub my eyes with my thumb and forefinger, seeing spots as I blink frantically before slowly focusing on the screen held in front of me, finding a picture of myself from seconds ago, my face covered in what appears to be Magic Marker doodles.

“CJ Wagner!” Shelby chides her son.

“It’s okay, it’s just marker,” I placate her with a light chuckle, walking over to the kitchen sink and dampening a handful of paper towels. I scrub at my cheeks, which makes me hiss out in pain, and the memory of being slapped into the middle of another decade last night comes rushing back to me, and I close my eyes tight a moment, taking a few deep breaths.

“I’m so sorry, Quinn.” Shelby’s voice startles me, and I turn to find her standing right there.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about—” I stop when I notice the sadness in her eyes, and I realize she’s no longer referring to the Magic Marker on my face. I manage a tight-lipped smile, fully aware of CJ curiously watching us from the table. “It’s fine,” I say again, nodding once before allowing Shelby to take me in her arms, hugging me tight for a moment.

“Coffee?” she asks while pulling away. Emotion is thick and heavy in her voice as she crosses to the shiny coffee machine sitting on the island, and she clears her throat to even her tone.

“Yes, please.” I amble across the kitchen, pulling out the chair next to CJ.

“How do you have it?”

I meet CJ’s curious gaze with a salacious wink. “Black. Like my soul,” I say in a deep voice directly to him, his eyes widening at my words as he continues shoveling Cheerios into his mouth.

Shelby joins us, placing a mug onto the table in front of me, taking the seat opposite her son. She leans over, ruffling his messy hair with her hand, smiling at him, and he giggles, focusing intently on his breakfast.

“Are you doing okay?”

I nod, shrugging noncommittally, fleetingly glancing at CJ. I don’t know if he fully understands what has happened. That his grandfather is dead. So, I tread carefully. “I think it’s still sinking in …”

Shelby regards her son. “Hey, baby, do you wanna take your breakfast into the living room and watch your cartoons?”

CJ’s brown eyes light up. “Can I?”

Shelby nods, helping Cash Junior off the kitchen chair, handing him the plastic bowl. “Don’t spill it.”

He grips the bowl carefully, looking down at it with every step he takes, disappearing through the doors and into the sitting room. Seconds later, the Paw Patrol theme song can be heard from the next room, and I can’t help but smile.

“How are you, really?” Shelby asks, and her hand on my arm causes tears to sting the backs of my eyes. I meet her kind gaze, her smile soft and genuine. I don’t know her that well, despite the fact she’s my sister-in-law and has been for six years. Our only communication has been via a Skype call every week, ever since CJ was born. I hate that I didn’t make it home for his birth, or the wedding. But I just couldn’t bring myself to get on that damn plane. It was just all too much. Yes, it was a coward move on my part, and an added regret to my long list of regrets. Cash wasn’t happy with me. But Shelby managed to turn him around, made him understand. She’s one of the kindest women I know. And the empathy within her inky eyes right now is warm and sincere.

I shake my head. “I still can’t believe it. I mean, I was only speaking to him on the phone a few days ago. And now he’s … he’s gone.” I stare down at my coffee, tracing the rim of the mug with my finger. “It’s so unreal. This place just doesn’t feel the same, now. It’s like it’s some alternate universe. The same, but different in a way that I don’t like because it’s missing the most important person.” I shake my head. “What are we supposed to do without him?”

I chance a glance at Shelby, finding her watching me with sadness in her eyes.

“He was the glue that kept this dysfunctional family together. Without him …” I shake my head again, at a loss for words, but thankfully she gets it. She shifts a little closer, covering my hands with hers, and we just sit there for a moment, saying nothing, as CJ’s cartoon fills the void of the words neither of us can seem to find.

“So, anyway …” I break the silence, taking a sip from my cooling coffee. “Where is my brother?”

“He went into town to get your car,” Shelby says, quirking a brow at me from over the rim of her coffee mug as she takes a small sip. “What the heck happened last night, anyway?”

I blink at her.

“You passed out in Colt’s truck.” She smirks, a knowing glint shimmering in her eyes. “He carried you inside, and when Cash questioned him about it, he went all broody and Colt-like, and stormed right outta here.”

My eyes widen as I remember back to last night, Colt’s words reverberating through my head: I don’t care enough about you to hate you … Those words sting even more now that I’m sober. Well, semi-sober, at least. I take a big gulp of my coffee, wincing as it burns its way down my throat, but the burn brings with it some semblance of clarity. And I shift a little in my chair, meeting Shelby’s questioning gaze. “I was at Duke’s. He showed up. Brought me back here.” I shake my head dismissively. She doesn’t need to know the rest, and I don’t want to relive it and think about just how badly it could have ended.

“You were at Duke’s?”

I nod.

“And Colt was there, too?” Her brows furrow.

I shake my head. “No. He just found me outside …” I say no more, purposely avoiding anything about being attacked by a cowboy, press my lips together, and an overwrought silence seems to follow my words. And as I stare into Shelby’s eyes, I can tell her mind is working overtime.

“What’s his deal, anyway?” I ask as casually as I can. “He’s still living in the cabin … Is he married?”

“Nope.” Her response is short. Curt. And for some reason, her silence speaks volumes, and I know there’s something she’s not telling me.

“Girlfriend?”

“No.” She shakes her head, looking down at her coffee. “He’s single.”

Before I can press her any further, the sound of tires crunching over loose gravel outside interrupts the moment, and we both glance out through the bay window to see my rental pull up, Cash hopping out and jogging toward the house through the rain with his head down. Moments later, my brother walks through the door that leads from the mud room, through the laundry and into the kitchen, raindrops clinging to his dark hair. His eyes find me, his brow furrowing as he studies my face, the Magic Marker clearly still glaringly obvious.

“CJ saw fit to color your sister’s face.” Shelby answers his unspoken question.

“O-kay …” Cash shakes his head, dismissing his confusion. “Well, we’re going to see Dad at ten o’clock.” He offers me a knowing glance, and I check the time on the clock above the wall oven, realizing I have less than an hour to get ready if we’re going to make it into town by ten. I thank Shelby for the coffee and take my mug to the sink.

CJ suddenly bursts into the kitchen, squealing in delight and launching at his daddy with his arms outstretched.

“Hey, buddy.” Cash effortlessly lifts his son into the air, kissing the top of his head, and I smile watching their exchange, despite the weight of what’s going to happen today hanging over my head.

“I think you should head back up to the main house.” Cash moves in closer, his voice low.

“What?” I gape at him. “Why? You don’t want me here?”

“Of course that’s not it.” He swallows hard. “I just … I think Tripp could use someone up there with him.” He scratches at his bearded chin. “I’m worried about him.”

I gauge him a long moment, considering his words. I know what he’s saying. What he isn’t saying. And, although I can’t be certain my twin brother won’t stab me the second I step foot inside the front door, he’s still my brother, my blood. I can’t stand the thought of him being up there in that big house all alone.

I sigh, nodding once. And, with a quick glance at Shelby, I manage a smile, reluctantly taking the car keys from my brother.

***

The main house is silent when I walk inside with my duffel bag slung over my shoulder, pulling my oversized wheelie-case behind me. Inside the great room, the fireplace is void and cold. In fact, the whole house seems frigid and dark, and heartbreakingly empty. I continue through the main foyer, to the bottom of the stairs, listening out for any sign of life. But I’m met with piercing silence. Nothing.

“Tripp?” I call out.

Still nothing.

With my case weighing almost as much as I do, I begin up the stairs, cursing under my breath with every impossible step. Breathless, sweaty, and exhausted by the time I make it to the landing, I continue down the hall toward my old bedroom, which is when I’m stopped by the unexpected yet obvious sound of sniffling coming from the other side of the door to the master suite.

I pause, standing there a moment as I consider my options. Sure I could ignore the sound of my brother, a grown man, crying. Or, I could go in there and check that he’s at least okay. Either way, I’m sure I’ll be the bad guy for whichever choice I make. Cracking my knuckles, I go over and over the two options in my head before giving up and slowly pushing open the door, entering the room without so much as knocking.

“Tripp?” I poke my head around the door, finding my brother sitting on the edge of the big bed, hunched over, holding what appears to be one of Dad’s button-downs in his hands.

He jumps, clearing his throat loudly before violently swiping at his tears with the back of his hand. When his eyes meet mine, they’re red-rimmed and glossy, the whites painfully bloodshot, and I wonder if he’s even slept a wink since it happened.

I was Daddy’s girl. Cash was almost like his protégé. But Tripp … Tripp and our father never really saw eye to eye. They were always butting heads. Arguing. Fighting. I remember when we were seventeen, Cash was away at college, and Tripp and Dad got into a disagreement that turned so quickly, Colt actually had to pull the two apart. I don’t know what it was about. Like all of their quarrels. I’ve never understood the differences between them. All I know is that they each love hard, but they fight harder. Wagner men, through and through. But it’s heartbreakingly evident that the residual pain of their volatile relationship is making Dad’s passing so much more difficult for Tripp.

“What do you want?” he asks, his voice gravelly and broken. He turns his back to me, busying himself with placing the shirt he’d been holding into the suit bag lying on the bed.

I step tentatively over the threshold. “A-are you all right?”

After a moment he mutters something about being fine, but I know it’s a lie. He’s anything but fine. I can see it in the way his hands tremble, the way in which his broad shoulders seem so small and frail, like the weight of the world is causing him to just about break. But at least he isn’t yelling at me.