Montana Secrets. Charlotte Douglas

covered dishes had been cleared and the tables disassembled in the park, and the sun had set, leaving the area in darkness except for the faint twinkle from strings of tiny white lights.

      Ryan threaded his fingers through hers and led her to a park bench in the shadow of the trees. She sat on one end, and he settled beside her.

      Her plan for being alone with him had worked perfectly. She’d had her dance with Ryan, and she should be happy that they were together in this cozy, secluded spot, but all she could think of was his departure in a few days for the other side of the world.

      “Why did you join the Marines?” she asked.

      He leaned against the back of the bench and stretched his long legs in front of him. “I have no family. The Corps gave me a place to belong.”

      “No family, not even aunts or uncles?” She couldn’t imagine life without her brother and father, and she was only now adjusting to her mother’s death. Even though Ingrid had been gone for several years, Cat still missed her every day.

      Ryan shook his head. “No family that I know. I was abandoned on the steps of a Chicago church shortly after I was born. Father Ryan at Saint Christopher’s found me. That’s how I got my name.”

      He’d never talked about his childhood before, and his story fascinated her. “You were raised by a priest?”

      Ryan laughed, a pleasant, throaty sound that echoed in the emptiness of the park. “I’d probably have turned out better if I had been. I spent the first ten years of my life in an orphanage, then bounced from one foster home to another—when I wasn’t in juvenile detention.”

      Her heart went out to the child he’d been, orphaned, abandoned and alone. “Somehow I can’t picture you as a juvenile delinquent.”

      “I was one tough, angry little kid, and I took out my frustrations and unhappiness on everyone and everything around me.”

      “But you’re not like that now. What changed you?”

      “Margaret Sweeney.”

      Cat’s heart sank. There was another woman in his life after all. “How did she change you?”

      “When I was twelve and already had a rap sheet as long as my arm, I went along with some older boys when they stole a car. They wrecked the car, and the cops caught us. When I went before the juvenile judge, she gave me a choice. I could go to live with Margaret Sweeney as my foster mother or be sent to the strictest, most dreaded juvenile facility in Chicago.”

      Cat was relieved to learn the woman was no rival for her. “And you opted for Margaret Sweeney?”

      He nodded. “I’m a walking example of your choices-and-consequences theory. If I hadn’t made that choice, I’d either be a lifer or dead by now. Instead, I have my whole life and a great career ahead of me.”

      “What was so special about Margaret Sweeney?”

      Ryan laced his fingers behind his head and gazed into the darkness as if remembering. “She only took in the toughest cases, the boys and girls on the verge of ruining their lives forever.”

      “She must have been a very strong person.”

      Ryan grinned. “That’s the irony. She was a small, almost birdlike woman that a puff of wind could have blown away.”

      Cat frowned. “Then how did she handle such tough kids?”

      “She loved us and believed in us with her whole heart. Most of us would rather have died than disappoint her. I lived with her for the next six years, until I went away to college—on scholarship, thanks to her.”

      “She sounds like a wonderful woman. I guess you could consider her your family.”

      Ryan sighed, and when he spoke again, his voice was heavy with sadness. “If she were still alive. She died of cancer the year before I graduated. I always wished she could have seen how I turned out. More than anything, I wanted Margaret Sweeney to be proud of me.”

      “I have a feeling she knows what you’ve done,” Cat said softly, “and she is proud.”

      Ryan draped his arm around her shoulder and drew her closer. “You’re a good listener. How come I’ve never noticed that before?”

      “You’ve never really talked to me like this before.” Cat’s breath caught in her throat as he dipped his head toward hers, and she closed her eyes in anticipation of his kiss.

      “There you are, Catherine Erickson,” a coarse, slurring voice called. “I been looking all over for you.”

      Startled, Cat opened her eyes. Ryan withdrew his arm and glanced at the tall figure gazing down at them. The long neck of an empty beer bottle dangled between his meaty fingers. Her heart sank when she recognized Snake Larson, an old classmate of Marc’s who had graduated from class bully to town menace. Tall, muscle-bound, with no neck, beady eyes and a constantly flickering tongue that had earned him his nickname, Snake was trouble personified.

      “Why were you looking for me?” Cat asked, unable to keep the irritation from her voice.

      “I was watching you inside,” Snake said with a leer that was evident even in the darkness. “For a skinny kid, you filled out good. Come back and dance with me.”

      “I’ve had enough dancing, thank you.” Cat hoped he’d take the hint and leave.

      “Not until you’ve danced with me.”

      “She said no.” Ryan’s voice was soft but deadly. Only a fool or a drunk would have missed the threat in his tone.

      Snake was both.

      “Oh, yeah?” Snake said with a snarl. “We’ll see about that.” He lunged toward Cat.

      With a move so rapid, if she’d blinked she’d have missed it, Ryan sprang off the bench and twisted Snake’s arm behind his back, effectively immobilizing him.

      The bully winced in pain. “Lemme go and I’ll beat your ass.”

      “You’re drunk.” Ryan released the big man and pushed him away. “Go home and sleep it off.”

      “Nobody tells me what to do.” With a fierce swing, Snake shattered the beer bottle against the nearest tree and retained the jagged top as a weapon.

      Cat stifled a scream and jumped to her feet. Her first instinct was to run for help, but Snake Larson stood between her and the town hall.

      “Don’t worry, Cat.” Ryan’s voice was calm. “Stay out of the way. I’ll take care of this.”

      Cat’s heart caught in her throat. Ryan was tall, but Snake towered several inches above him and outweighed him by almost a hundred pounds. From all accounts Cat remembered, Snake also fought dirty. Plenty of men in the area bore the scars of Snake’s wrath.

      With a howl of rage, Snake charged Ryan. The Marine stepped deftly aside, and the bully plowed headfirst into the trunk of an ancient maple. He straightened for a moment, shook his head as if to clear it, then crumpled into a heap at the foot of the tree.

      “We’d better call the paramedics,” Ryan said. “He probably gave himself a concussion.”

      Ryan had won the fight without throwing a punch.

      Cat moved to his side. While she was grateful for his physical prowess, she was sick with disappointment over the way the night had ended. She’d planned for every contingency.

      Except Snake Larson.

      Ryan seemed to know her thoughts. “Don’t let that drunk spoil your fun. I’ve had a great time.”

      “Me, too.”

      Before she realized what was happening, she had found herself in Ryan’s arms. His fleeting kiss had been swift and gentle but filled with promises of much more to come.

      Before his