Montana Red. Genell Dellin

She had to check out the thermostat and maybe get the heat going now before the house got too cool. That would save money on the electric bill, wouldn’t it? She was learning to think like a woman who couldn’t afford to be wasteful anymore.

      Happily, she worked at making the house hers and brought in most of what she had in the truck and trailer. She was tired, but moving around and using her muscles was energizing her. It was so much fun to create a new nest and watch it come to life, that she couldn’t quit until she was done.

      The things she’d shipped should be at the freight place by now. When she went to town she’d arrange to have them delivered.

      Finally, as the sun started to slide down, exhaustion dragged at her.

      All she wanted was something hot in her stomach and to lay her body down. The bed was already made with her colorful serape-striped sheets. The perfect ambience for a new life in the West.

      There were eggs in the refrigerator.

      She could take a hot shower and….

      No! It hit her like a slap. She still had chores to do. There was no one else to take care of her mare. No sense reaching for the cell phone because nobody was close enough to do her bidding.

      Clea dropped down onto the couch and let her head fall into her hands. This was it. She was on her own. It didn’t matter one bit how tired she was or what she’d rather do. Poor Ariel had nobody else to depend on.

      Her eyes closed. Her body, aching for sleep now that she’d thought about it, longed to turn, lift her legs onto the sofa and stretch out. Just to reach for the blanket over the back of it and cover up….

      Clea ripped herself off the couch and onto her feet. “Cowgirl up,” she muttered, made a face at herself and headed for the barn.

      It took an unbelievable hour for her to orient herself, decide on a stall, bring in the feed, hay and bedding that she’d brought with her, bed the stall, set up the water bucket and fill it, catch the ornery Ariel, check her over, brush her down and put her in with her feed. When the mare was happily crunching away, Clea heaved a huge sigh of relief and trudged to the house. She didn’t feel like running anymore.

      In fact, she didn’t feel like anything but a shower and sleep.

      Still, there were more chores. She locked up the house and dragged a chair in front of each door. This was out in the middle of nowhere. She would have to get a dog.

      Then she took her shotgun into the bedroom and slid it under the edge of the bed; thoughts of outlaws and bears and cougars drifted through her head. At that moment, as she had been those nights on the road, she was very glad she’d learned to protect herself.

      Turned out the water was hot, thank goodness, and she stood under it until it ran cold. Drying off with one of the delicious, fluffy towels that matched her sheets, she could barely make her arms move. Her muscles ached. But she took an extra moment or two just to enjoy the luxurious feel of the cotton against her skin.

      She wouldn’t be able to buy towels like this again for a long, long time.

      Finally, she finished up, dried her hair until it was only barely damp, climbed into her new cowgirl retro-print flannel pajamas and fell into bed. Just before her eyes fell closed, she saw by the moonlight streaming in at the window that the open closet—which, like the barn, seemed to have some stuff left in it—was tiny. Really, really tiny. Far too small to even be called a closet.

      That realtor was definitely going to come down on the rent.

       CHAPTER THREE

      SOMETIMES JAKE felt like a man he didn’t know, in some place he’d never expected to be. Like now, driving down the road in a rig so new and fancy that it had a closed-circuit TV system between the truck and trailer, meant for show horses but used for wild ones. How crazy was that? If wild horses could survive on the rough, barren ranges where they’d been confined for generations, they could survive a trip down the highway without a babysitter.

      But his employer, Natural Bands, was a horse-rescue organization—from California, which said it all. They aimed to keep the horses in their natural wild state and babysit them at the same time. And here he was, working for them. He had even gone so far as to sign a contract—and for a year, no less. Usually he insisted on the handshake approach to all agreements. Why do business with someone whose word is no good?

      He’d made an exception for Natural Bands, though, because they had such deep pockets. Therefore, he felt like a stranger to himself. Every other job he’d ever had was one he’d taken because it offered him some adventure, or a chance to see some new country, or a big challenge, or excitement. Or because it would give him a chance to learn something.

      Which, in his opinion, was the only true way to live.

       Maybe so, but it’s not the best way you’ve ever tried, Hoss.

      His gut tightened. True. The best way was living with Victoria and her two boys, loving all of them and feeling their love in return. But he’d never live that way again because it depended on other people, and that was a risk. A big one.

      A woman might love a man temporarily. She might go back to an ex-husband because of money. Money was a poison.

      Yet here he was, where he never would’ve thought he’d be, tied down for at least a year bustin’ his butt every day for Natural Bands and riding other people’s colts half the night. For what reason? Money.

      Wanting something that cost a lot of money changed a man.

      “Listen here, Jake. Don’t tell that woman boss of yours we’ve got that orphan filly. I aim to make a helluva usin’ horse outta her.”

      Jake turned in time to see the conspiratorial wink from his uncle Buck, sitting over there in the passenger seat, scheming his schemes.

      Buck’s buddy, Teddy, spoke up from the backseat. “Funny thing to me, this our orphan business,” he said loftily. “I might have some claim to that little mustang but, Buck, you shore don’t.”

      “How you figger that?”

      “I’m the one raisin’ her. I took the night shift last night. So far, you ain’t done nothin’ but try to boss me and Jake.”

      “We ain’t had her a week yet,” Buck said. “She’ll still need her milk fer a few more days. I still got time to do more chores than you do.”

      “Quit lyin’. You won’t do a damn thing. You never do. You couldn’t make my silly aunt Polly believe that.”

      Here was something else as incredible as working on a contract: Jake Hawthorne hanging out all the time with two old men who talked too much and kept nosing into his business. Living with them, in fact—but only for a couple of weeks—so he’d have help feeding the little filly he had so foolishly saved. Every four hours. He’d never get anything else done if he had to do all the feeding himself.

      So, for that reason it was good that he had let them stay when they appeared in his yard a couple of months ago to announce that they’d come to help him with his new job. “Seeing as how we know all about wild horses and you don’t know squat,” they’d said.

      He still couldn’t believe that he’d let them attach themselves to him like that. He was a natural loner and he couldn’t tolerate constant company. Even if Tori had stayed with him, he would’ve gotten tired of her and the boys. And from the minute they’d gone, with tears pouring down their little faces, he’d sworn he would never again take responsibility for the health and happiness of any creature except himself—and Stoney, of course.

      Yet here he was with a helpless foal and these two old men on his hands.

      Right this minute he was wishing like crazy that he’d sent them packing the minute they showed up. He hated being cooped up in a truck with them when they argued. Which was what they did for fun.

      “That