Big Sky Standoff

Unless he had something to occupy his mind. Like rustling cattle vicariously from his prison cell.

“I’m surprised you didn’t work the prison ranch,” she said as she drove onto Interstate 90 and headed east.

“They worried that their cattle would start disappearing.”

She smiled not only at his attempt at humor, but also at the truth of the matter. It had taken her over two years to catch Dillon Savage. And even now she wasn’t sure how that had happened. The one thing she could be certain of was that catching him had little to do with her—and a whole lot to do with Dillon. He’d messed up and it had gotten him sent to prison. She’d just given him a ride.

REDA HARPER STOOD at the window of her ranch house, tapping the toe of her boot impatiently as she cursed the mailman. She was a tall, wiry woman with short-cropped gray hair and what some called an unpleasant disposition.

The truth? Reda Harper was a bitch, and not only did she take pride in it, she also felt justified.

She shoved aside the curtain, squinting against the glare to study her mailbox up on the county road. The red flag was still up. The mailman hadn’t come yet. In fact, Gus was late. As usual. And she knew why.

Angeline Franklin.

The last few weeks Angeline had been going up the road to meet mailman Gus Turner, presumably to get her mail. By the time Angeline and Gus got through gabbin’ and flirtin’ with each other, Reda Harper’s mail was late, and she was getting damn tired of it.

She had a notion to send Angeline one of her letters. The thought buoyed her spirits. It was disgraceful the way Angeline hung on that mailbox, looking all doe-eyed, while Gus stuttered and stammered and didn’t have the sense to just drive off.

The phone rang, making Reda jump. With a curse, she stepped away from the window to answer it.

“Listen, you old hateful crone. If you don’t stop—”

She slammed down the receiver as hard as she could, her thin lips turning up in a whisper of a smile as she went back to the window.

The red flag was down on her mailbox, the dust on the road settling around the fence posts.

Reda took a deep breath. Her letters were on their way. She smiled, finally free to get to work.

Taking her shotgun down from the rack by the door, she reached into the drawer and shook out a half-dozen shells, stuffing them into her jacket pocket as she headed to the barn to saddle her horse.

A woman rancher living alone had to take care of herself. Reda Harper had had sixty-one years of practice.

“I WANT TO MAKE SURE we understand each other,” Jacklyn Wilde said, concentrating on her driving as an eighteen-wheeler blew past.

“Oh, I think we understand each other perfectly,” Dillon commented. He was looking out at the landscape as if he couldn’t get enough of it.

A late storm had lightly dusted the tops of the Boulder Mountains along the Continental Divide to the east. Running across the valley, as far as the eye could see, spring grasses, brilliantly green, rippled in the breeze, broken only by an occasional creek of crystal clear water.

“I got you an early release contingent on your help. Any misstep on your part and you go back immediately, your stay extended.” When he said nothing she looked over at him.

He grinned again, turning those blue eyes on her. “We went over this when you came to the prison the first time. I got it. But like I told you then, I have no idea who these rustlers are. How could I, given that I’ve been locked up for four years? But as promised, I’ll teach you everything I know about rustling.”

Which they both knew was no small thing. Jacklyn returned her gaze to her driving, hating how smug and self-satisfied he looked slouched in her pickup seat. “If at any time I suspect that you’re deterring my investigation—”

“It’s back to the slammer,” he said. “See, we understand each other perfectly.” He tipped his Stetson down, his head cradled by the seat, and closed his eyes. A few moments later he appeared to be sound asleep.

She swore softly. While she hadn’t created the monster, she’d definitely let him out of his cage.

DILLON WOKE WITH A START, bolting upright, confused for an instant as to where he was.

Jacklyn Wilde had stopped the truck in a lot next to a café. As she cut the engine, her gaze was almost pitying.

“Prison makes you a light sleeper.” He shrugged, damn sorry she’d seen that moment of panic. Prison had definitely changed his sleep patterns. Changed a lot of things, he thought. He knew the only way he could keep from going back to jail was to keep the upper hand with Ms. Wilde. And that was going to be a full-time job as it was, without her seeing any weakness in him.

“Hungry?” she asked.

He glanced toward the café. “Always.” It felt strange opening the pickup door, climbing out sans shackles and walking across the open parking lot without a guard or two at his side. Strange how odd freedom felt. Even freedom with strings attached.

He quickened his step so he could open the restaurant door for her.

Jacklyn shot him a look that said it wasn’t going to be that kind of relationship. He knew she wanted him to see her as anything but a woman. Good luck with that.

He grinned as she graciously entered, and he followed her to a booth by the window as he tried to remember the last meal he’d had on the outside. Antelope steak over a campfire deep in the mountains, and a can of cold beans. He closed his eyes for a moment and could almost smell the aroma rising from the flames.

“Coffee?”

He opened his eyes to find a young, cute waitress standing next to their table. She’d put down menus and two glasses of water. He nodded to the coffee and made a point of not letting Jacklyn see him noticing how tight the waitress’s uniform skirt was as he took a long drink of his water and opened his menu.

“I’ll have the chef salad,” Jacklyn said when the waitress returned with their coffees.

Dillon was still looking at his menu. It had been four years on the inside. Four years with no options. And now he felt overwhelmed by all the items listed.

“Sir?”

He looked up at the waitress and said the first thing that came to mind. “I’ll have a burger. A cheeseburger with bacon.”

“Fries?”

“Sure.” It had been even longer since he’d sat in a booth across from a woman. He watched Jack take off her hat and put it on the seat next to her. Her hair was just as she’d worn it when she was chasing him years ago—a single, coal-black braid that fell most of the way down her slim back.

He smiled, feeling as if he needed to pinch himself. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever think he’d be having lunch with Jacklyn Wilde in Butte, Montana. It felt surreal. Just like it felt being out of prison.

“Something amusing?” she asked.

“Just thinking about what the guys back at the prison would say if they could see me now, having lunch with Jack Wilde. Hell, you’re infamous back there.”

She narrowed her gaze at him, her eyes like slits of ice beneath the dark lashes.

“Seriously,” he said. “Mention the name Jacklyn Wilde and you can set off a whole cell block. It’s said that you always get your man, just like the Mounties. Hell, you got me.” He’d always wondered how she’d managed it. “How exactly did you do that?”

He instantly regretted asking, knowing it was better if he never found out, because he’d had four long years to think about it. And he knew in his heart that someone had set him up. He just didn’t know who.

“I’ll never forget that day, the first time I came face-to-face with you,” he said, smiling to hide his true feelings. “One look into those gray eyes of yours and I knew I was a goner. You do have incredible eyes.”

“One more rule, Mr. Savage. You and I will be working together, so save your charm for a woman who might appreciate it. If there is such a woman.”

He laughed. “That’s cold, Jack, but like I said, I understand our relationship perfectly. You have nothing to worry about when it comes to me.” He winked at her.