Montana Red. Genell Dellin

of steel resolve in him that didn’t bode well for anybody’s opposing will.

      Especially a woman’s. Like most men, he saw her as a sex object. His gaze had drifted to her mouth.

      She stared at him until he met her eyes.

      “I am going to get a refund,” she said. “I had ten lessons and the best score in the class.”

      “That’s the devil of it,” he said. “Most times, lessons can’t put a patch on real life.”

      Real life. The words hit her like a blow across the back of the knees.

      Clearly, this Jake Hawthorne could handle whatever real life threw at him. While she on the other hand had just proved she had a long way to go to even get started on a real life. She’d shot up his truck, misunderstood his remark about living there, moved into the wrong house. If this was the best she could do, how could she survive out here? This was a place filled with tough men.

       Get tough yourself, Clea. Say what you think. Say what you want. Sound like you intend to get it.

      “Is this what you do? Pin a person up against the wall where they can’t even move—after you tell them to get out of your house?”

      “First experience,” he said.

      He took the gun and stepped away to lean it against the wall.

      “I declare, miss,” one of the old guys said. “You nearly blowed me and Teddy right out of our boots. How come you’re tryin’ to shoot your own snakes, anyhow?”

      It was the one who’d killed the snake who was stomping up the steps. He had keen, very keen blue eyes that seemed to see everything. His buddy was right behind him.

      Both of them were grinning at her but she was in no mood to smile back. She felt shaken now that Jake Hawthorne had finally let her go.

      “Because I’m not really fond of snakes,” she said. “I thought it might get into the house. I thought it might bite me or my horse. I thought this place wasn’t big enough for both of us.”

      Completely immune to her sarcasm, the old guys headed straight for her. She moved away from the wall.

      “Well, o’ course that’s right,” the blue-eyed one said. “Ma’am, I’m Buck and this here’s my pardner, Teddy.”

      They both tipped their hats to her.

      “What I was askin’ by my question was, where is your man? Are you here by your lonesome, Miss…uh, Miss…?”

      “I’m Clea.” That was all she intended to tell them.

      Teddy spoke to her as if he’d known her all her life. “Well, don’t you worry none, Miss Clea. We done kilt that rattler fer you deader than a rock.” His faded brown eyes were as calm and steady as Buck’s were lively.

      “You want us to get Jake out’n’ yore hair, ma’am? He can be a real bother sometimes. Won’t listen to a word nobody says. Cain’t tell him nothin’, you might say.”

      Jake snorted derisively.

      “This here’s quite a party you’ve throwed, Miss Clea,” Buck said. “I ain’t had me such a rousin’ good time since the Miles City Bucking Horse Contest the last year I rode.”

      His twinkle and Teddy’s nod of agreement made her smile in spite of all the aggravation of her insecurities. “Usually I entertain at my own house,” she said wryly.

      They laughed, then Buck drawled, “Wal, this can be your house if you want. Jake can live with us. You oughtta stay here so you’ll have a nice mantel board where we can tack up this hide.”

      He lifted the dead snake. Clea screamed. She hadn’t even noticed he was carrying it by his side. Held up in the air at the old man’s shoulder, its tail brushed the floor. Its mouth was open with the fangs hanging out. It was a horrible sight.

      “He’s a beauty, ain’t he?” Teddy said. “Might be near as long as Buck is tall.”

      “Don’t worry none,” Buck said. “I’ll skin him out for you.”

      The vision of that activity made her whirl on her heel and run into the house. Her stomach clutched. Partly because the snake repelled her so and partly because it had just occurred to her that she might never want to carry her beautiful snakeskin bag ever again.

      She got as far as the worn old sofa and collapsed onto it. “Please go,” she called, through the open doorway. “And take the snake away.”

      Nobody answered. Clea let her head fall back onto the top of the cushion. Even with her eyes closed, she saw the snake on the backs of her eyelids. Saw it coiled on the ground beside her truck, waiting for her when she went for the door.

      Saw it dead, fangs reaching, hanging from Buck’s hand.

      What if it had been a mountain lion…or a bear? At least she could stay away from a snake if she saw it soon enough. It hadn’t chased her when she went to get the gun.

      Voices murmured out on the porch.

      Here was another example of her mishandling real life. No, two examples. Screaming and running away.

      Weariness flooded her jangled nerves. This was the wilds of Montana. She was here for a year. She felt completely exhausted and she hadn’t even found her own house yet.

      The scuff of boots against the floor and the squeak of the screened door took the place of the voices. She sat up.

      Buck stepped through the door. Holding both hands out to show he was without the snake. “I’m sorry, Miss Clea,” he said. “I never thought you might be scairt of a dead snake. Can I get you a cool drink of water?”

      It made her feel like a character in an historical novel, a delicate lady who needed a dose of smelling salts. She opened her mouth to say no, but Buck went on to the kitchen.

      When he came back with a tin cup of water he called, “Come on in, boys.”

      To her, he said, “We ain’t throwin’ you outta this house ‘til you git over this little upset. Mebbe not ever. Jake can take the house over there by the lake that you’re s’posed to have.” He grinned. “Or he can move in with me and Ted, ‘cause…”

      Jake interrupted, “I’m not goin’ anywhere, Buck.” He was headed for the bedroom but he glanced at Clea over his shoulder. “You can move tomorrow.”

      “I’m moving today,” she said, shooting the words back at him as briskly as he’d spoken to her.

      “Don’t rush her,” Buck called after him.

      Teddy said, “No, don’t. But Miss Clea does need to get settled into the right place so’s she can get started on her—”

      He interrupted himself to come closer to Clea, his kindly brown eyes questioning her as he finished, “Well, doing whatever you come to Montana to do, ma’am.”

      “Whatever it is,” Buck added helpfully.

      Hopefully. They both looked at her expectantly and fell silent, giving her a chance to tell them what she was doing here. In Jake’s house. With her bright orange cashmere afghan thrown over the arm of the couch and her burled wood bowl with its meandering turquoise inlay sitting on the mantel.

      Not to mention her sheets on his bed.

      She couldn’t help but like the two old-timers who were so lively and curious but no way was she going to get into her story with them.

      “Runnin’ from the law, more ‘n’ likely,” Buck said with a grin and a wink.

      Clea jumped and spilled water on her jeans.

      “I’d lay money on it,” Teddy said. “Don’t she look jist like a hoss thief to you?”

      She felt her eyes