Her Montana Millionaire

“And why?”

“God, like we need to go through this again?”

Max’s temper crept over his sight, straining it. “Evidently, we do.”

“Jeez.” The teenager paused, probably knowing that he was singeing his father’s nerves. “Strike one—I sneaked into Uncle Guy’s house even though it’s been taped off by the police and off-limits. Strike two—I sneaked in said house because I wanted to catch a smoke.”

“Even though Rumor came this close to being wiped out by a wildfire.” Max quelled his nerves, telling himself that his son’s close relationship with Guy didn’t factor into his frustration. Just because Max and Michael had nothing in common and were constantly at each other’s throats didn’t mean Guy had stolen Michael’s affection.

The teen rolled his eyes. “And strike three—I’m your victim of the week and have to suffer the consequences.”

“That’s enough.” He hoped he didn’t sound too weary. He really wasn’t up for another confrontation today. “I don’t want to catch you playing around with the simulators.”

Michael got out of the device, tugging a baseball cap backward over his dark hair. “The simulator’s gonna make me a kickin’ driver when I take my test. It gives me practice. I don’t see why you won’t let me use it.”

“You’re so deprived, Michael. Deal with it.”

Michael’s black hair—so much like his own—escaped the hat and flopped over one blue eye. His baggy jeans and flannel shirt hung from a lanky frame, making Max think that the boy hadn’t reached his full height—or temperament—yet.

The teenager said, “You’re right. This punishment stinks up the ying yang. Ever since Mom left—”

“You were four, Michael. Don’t bring this up again—”

“—you’ve been in a bad mood.”

Neither of them said a word for a second.

Max ran a hand through his hair, thinking that there was a good reason it’d sprouted more gray this past year. He couldn’t do anything right by Michael, especially when it came to women. Whenever he brought one home, his son inevitably found a way to alienate her and Max.

No wonder he hadn’t gone on a date in months. Who needed the grief?

“You’re right,” said Max, bitterness getting the best of him. “Maybe you know what’s best.”

The words went unspoken between them, as they had for years. Max had fouled up one marriage and messed up his relationship with Michael.

Maybe his son did know more than he did.

“This is bull,” said the teen, rushing out of the room.

“Where’re you going?”

Without looking back, Michael said, “To Grandma’s. You can’t hound me there.”

Hound him?

Max let him go. At least he’d be in a safe place tonight, not puffing on cigarettes in houses that were being watched by the police or getting into even more trouble.

He waited until he thought he heard footsteps. Then a door slammed.

Life was the pits. First Guy, then Michael….

God, he hoped his younger brother was okay, hoped that these invisibility rumors were only that. Rumors.

And he didn’t even want to think about the possibility that Guy had murdered his wife and Morris Templeton, her lover.

Damn. He should have more faith in his brother. He couldn’t have murdered anyone. Could he?

Max left the auto simulation room, trudging down to the kitchen, where Bently was putting the finishing touches on dinner.

“Sorry, chum, I’ve got to blow off some steam,” Max said.

Bently held a platter of garnished red snapper. “We all need to decompress sometime, sir.”

“Will you do me a favor? Call my mom’s to see that Michael is staying over? He’ll pitch a fit if he finds out that I’m the one checking up on him.”

“Certainly. And how about dinner?”

Max smiled at the older man’s concern for the commonplace. “I’ll grab something at Joe’s Bar.”

“Oh.” Bently sniffed. “The dive.”

“It’ll erase memories of a bad day, Bently. And as for the food, why don’t you go ahead and call that lady friend of yours. Share a romantic meal.”

Bently cocked an eyebrow. “Sound advice. Phone when you require a ride home. Please.”

“I will.”

With that, he rushed out of his mansion, intent on wallowing in cheap beer and even cheaper company.

Chapter Two

When Jinni pulled the Honda into her sister’s driveway, she vowed that she would somehow, some way, get another car. What kind of woman could retain any sense of class in a vehicle that staggered down the road like a drunk weaving through the aisles of a society wedding?

Not her.

She shook out her legs after alighting from the Fantasyland carriage—flippancy seemed an effective way of dealing with the vehicle problem—and stretched her arms toward the sky, grinning at the always-amusing quaintness of her sister’s home. White siding with dark trim on the shutters and window boxes. A dark cedar shake roof. A jaunty, serene yard, its lawn decorated with trees and flower beds.

Jinni thought it looked like a doll house with rancher flair. Par for the course in Rumor.

She unloaded groceries from the cramped back seat, her hormones still singing from her encounter with Mr. Tall and Mysterious. Had he called yet? Maybe she shouldn’t seem too excited, just in case Val was in a pensive mood, as she’d been so often lately.

As she strolled into the house and set the groceries on the kitchen counter, she noticed that all the lights were off. Doffing her hat and glasses while moving into the family room, she found Val, staring out the window into the backyard, where a deer had wandered.

Jinni’s heart clenched as she watched her sister, the soft hue of twilight shining over Val’s light brown hair and reflective countenance.

Thirty-five years old.

For the first time in her life, Jinni felt no control over a situation. She couldn’t find the words to comfort.