Montana Cowboy Romance (Wyatt Brothers of Montana Book 1) Read online

  He turned and looked straight at her, his gaze locking with hers through the store window. Had he known she was watching him? Her cheeks suddenly burned, and her stomach did a little flip.

  Adrenaline rushed through her, and she forced herself to exit the store and meet him at his truck. “I probably should have helped, shouldn’t I?” she said.

  “I wouldn’t have let you.” He went around to the passenger side door and opened it for her. “Let’s go eat.”

  He drove down Marietta’s main street and parked in front of an old red brick building. Much of the street was lined with turn-of-the-century brick buildings. It had a western feel, like something one might see in a movie, and she tried to take in everything as she followed Joe to the front door of the restaurant.

  The interior walls were exposed brick, and along the back wall was a long counter and counter stools. The waitress seated them at an empty table and placed the menus in front of them promising to be back with waters.

  Sophie glanced down at the plastic coated menu. Main Street Diner. Joe opened his and then closed it almost as quickly. She glanced at the options. Lots of beef and bison. Roast pork and chicken, too. She closed her menu as the waitress returned.

  “Do you know what you want?” Joe asked her as the waitress set their waters down.

  She nodded. “Bacon cheeseburger with fries.”

  He smiled crookedly. “The same,” he said to the waitress. “Except I’d like my burger rare, and my fries extra crispy.”

  “Anything to drink?” the waitress asked.

  “Coffee,” Joe said.

  Sophie handed her menu to the waitress. “A Diet Coke for me.”

  *

  She waited for the waitress to leave to speak. “I know I probably didn’t make a great impression, getting off the plane crying. I promise I didn’t cry the entire flight. I just teared up as we were landing. I don’t know why I got emotional, either. I’m sure you’re just as nervous as I am—maybe more—because you’re taking me home. This can’t be easy for you, bringing me into your world, and now you have to introduce me to both your mom and your grandfather.”

  “I’m not that nervous.”

  “No?”

  “I know what I’m doing. I just wonder… if you do.”

  She glanced down at her hands where she’d knotted her fingers together. “I want this, too. I’m thirty in a few months and my biological clock is ticking and I’m ready to start a family.” She hesitated. “I want to start a family with you.”

  He smiled and, when he did, it was megawatt, with white teeth and a glimpse of a dimple that fascinated her. “Sounds like a plan.”

  When their food arrived, they mostly concentrated on eating, and Sophie tried to relax and not think about what would come next. It was one thing to have a burger with a stranger in a public place. It was another to go home with him, and to become utterly dependent on him. He said he lived at a fairly high elevation, that their ranch had beautiful views of the Yellowstone River, but they weren’t close to anything.

  “How far to your nearest neighbor?” she asked him as they left the diner and headed to his truck.

  “Fifteen minutes, maybe.”

  “So you didn’t grow up playing with your neighbors.”

  “I had my brothers. We did everything together.”

  Sophie was glued to her window as they left Marietta, eager to see the famed Paradise Valley which she’d read a lot about after investigating the Wyatt family. Paradise Valley had originally drawn miners, and then ranchers, and now celebrities and affluent Americans bought up large parcels of land for their own piece of the West.

  “Do you have any celebrities near you?” she asked, as Joe left Highway 89 and began driving toward the mountains.

  “No. They prefer the valley floor and the foothills. We’re rather inhospitable where we are.”

  It didn’t take long for Sophie to realize Joe hadn’t been exaggerating when he said the Wyatt ranch was high in the Gallatins. Sophie felt as if they’d been climbing and climbing, the narrow, gravel road winding up and around the mountain, for miles. In places, the narrow road was swallowed by a thicket of poplar trees, but at every turn there was a jaw-dropping view of the valley. If the road felt steep and treacherous in spring, she couldn’t imagine navigating this in winter with all the snow and ice and wind.

  She chewed on her bottom lip, fighting yet another flurry of nerves as it crossed her mind that she might have overplayed her agricultural background. Yes, she was the daughter of a dairy farmer, but she’d been raised to work in the front office, not in the dairy barns. Her brothers did that. She and her sister helped their mom with the business side, and there was plenty of it, but it was comfortable work, in a comfortable office. Her gaze slid across the rocky mountain with scattered pine trees and patches of lingering snow and tried to imagine what she’d do here, and how she’d help Joe. What was the life of a Montana cowboy wife?

  “Are we on your land yet?” she asked.

  “Ever since the cattle guard a mile back. The Diamond W Ranch property line extends to the top of the mountain, giving us seven thousand acres total.”

  “How do your cattle survive winters up here?”

  “We move them to our lowest pastures in October, and feed them daily. Granddad and I will be taking them back up in just a couple weeks.” He shot her a glance. “We still take hay and feed up a couple times a week.”

  “You must envy the ranchers on the lower slopes.”

  “I don’t really think of it that way. This property has been in the family four generations. My grandfather was raised here, my dad was raised here, and I’ve lived here since I was almost eight. This is home, simple as that.”

  It wasn’t a rebuke and yet she felt the distance grow between them.

  Or, maybe it was her own fear making her shut down and retreat.

  She didn’t want to be afraid, though, and she didn’t want him to second-guess his decision—not yet. She had to pull herself together, had to show him who she really was. Smart, self-sufficient, successful. She’d spent the past five years managing the import/export business for Brazer Farms, one of Central California’s largest dried fruit growers, and she’d grown their business, and figured out ways to cut waste, making the company even more profitable. She loved positive returns on investment. She loved to see how she could make a difference. That was what had appealed to her about Joe’s ad. He’d wanted a wife, and a partner, someone to help him ensure the success of his ranch for the next generation. Having come from a family that was a multigenerational business, she understood the values, and the history, of a family business, and she was looking forward to becoming part of his.

  “Tell me about your mom again. You said she’s become frail, and isn’t as mobile as she used to be. What happened to her?” she asked. “If you don’t mind telling me?”

  “She has rheumatoid arthritis,” he said. “She was diagnosed in her early thirties and it’s not going to get better. She’s increasingly dependent on those around her.” Joe glanced at her before focusing again on the rough gravel road. “You’re not coming to be her nurse. If and when she needs an aide, I’ll hire one. She hasn’t had an easy life, and her happiness means a great deal to me.”

  “I understand.”

  “It will be an adjustment for her, having another woman in her house, in her kitchen.”

  “Does she still cook then?”

  “She wishes she could, but no. She’s not very mobile. You’ll see she uses a cane, but even then her balance isn’t good. Granddad and I do most of the cooking—well, mostly me now. It’s not great, but we’re not starving.”

  Her gaze swept over him. He most definitely wasn’t starving. The man was built, with muscles and more muscles. “I’ll be happy to take over cooking,” she said, “if that makes things easier for you and your family, although I can’t promise that my food will taste much better than yours.”

  A solid two-story log cabin home came in
to view with a large barn off to one side. The house looked solid and sprawling, with wings off the original structure, and covered porches wrapping the entire lower level. A series of six dormer windows lined the second floor, the windows tall to allow sunlight deep into the room. The metal green roof was steep, and looked new against the weathered logs of the house. A tree in the front had a few bright green leaves but most of the shrubs and roses planted near the front door were still dormant.

  In the distance, Sophie could hear barking.

  “Home, sweet home,” Joe said, braking, slowing. “You always have to be careful as you get near the house. The dogs like to chase cars.”

  “Dogs?”

  The sound of barking grew louder. He pointed to what looked like a pack of dogs racing toward them. Two big black-and-gold German shepherds and a blonde Lab. Sophie stiffened and held her breath, trying not to be alarmed. She wasn’t a fan of big, working dogs.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, glancing at her. “You don’t like dogs?”

  “I don’t dislike cute fluffy dogs, but I was bit by a German shepherd when I was little.” She held up her hand, showing a faint line. “I had to get stitches. It was pretty scary.”

  “Our dogs won’t hurt you. They just get excited to see cars.” He shifted into park in front of the imposing house, and turned off the engine. “But at the same time, you can’t act scared. You have to be the dominant one. Dogs sense fear—”

  “I’ll be fine,” she interrupted, not wanting him to think she was a total sissy. “Don’t worry.”

  He pointed to each of the barking, circling dogs. “That’s Penny, Duke, and Runt.”

  “Penny is the Lab?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And Runt is the smaller shepherd?”

  He laughed, amused, the sound a low rumble in his chest. “No, Runt’s the big one. The dogs are from the same litter. Runt wasn’t supposed to survive but he turned out to be one fine dog.” He swung his door open. “Sit tight and I’ll come around, introduce you to the dogs, and then take you into the house. Once you’re in the house, they’ll calm down. Runt is very protective to the property and boundaries. Once you’re in the house with me, he’ll realize you’re supposed to be there.”

  “But until then he’ll want to take my head off?” she said with a weak laugh.

  “Something like that. But if it’s any comfort, I don’t think he’s actually ever bit anyone. He just gets real close.”

  “Doesn’t really make me feel better.”

  “Just remember, be the alpha.”

  Joe climbed out behind the steering wheel, put cowboy boots on the ground, and slammed his door closed. Sophie watched him scratch the dogs’ heads, and behind the ears, before giving each of them big pats. The dogs wagged their tails, howled with pleasure. It’s okay. They don’t actually bite. You’re going to be fine. Act confident.

  “Be the alpha.”

  Runt lunged forward but Joe issued a sharp command and the big dog sat down immediately.

  “Ignore Runt,” Joe instructed. “Focus on Penny. Call her and she’ll come to you, and she’s very gentle. Lavish her with attention, and pretend Runt doesn’t exist. The fact that you’re spoiling Penny will make Runt wildly jealous. The longer you ignore him the more he’ll want to be your friend. Trust me, by the end of the week, he’ll be eating out of your hand.”

  So, Sophie did exactly what Joe told her. She called Penny over, and scratched her head, and behind her ear, and told her how pretty she was in her best crooning voice, and when Sophie looked up, she saw Runt watching intently, so intently, she thought Joe was right. Runt looked a little jealous.

  The interior of the log cabin was much like the rustic exterior, split logs, lots of wood, and a stacked stone chimney. Joe’s tour of the house was brief—this is the downstairs, this is the upstairs, this will be your room—before she was taken to the family room to meet his mother.

  “Mom, this is Sophie. Sophie, my mom, Summer Wyatt. She was born in California but has lived in Montana for twenty-some years now.”

  Summer Wyatt probably once fit her name. Even now, Mrs. Wyatt was pretty, a fine-boned faded blonde, reminiscent of sun-baked flowers in the hot part of August. She had hazel eyes and a generous mouth, and wore her long silver-streaked blonde hair in a loose side braid.

  “Nice to meet you, Sophie. Where about in California are you from?” She shot Joe an unsmiling side glance. “Joe hasn’t told us much about you.”

  “A small town called Tulare. It’s in Central California, halfway between Fresno and Bakersfield.”

  “Home of Bob Mathias, the Olympic champion,” Summer said.

  “That’s right.”

  “So what brings you to Montana?” Mrs. Wyatt said, not missing a beat. “I’m sure you didn’t come out all this way just to see Joe.”

  Sophie shot Joe a quick look. “But I did.” She struggled to hold her smile. “We’ve been messaging back and forth and I thought it was time to meet.”

  “Only messaging?”

  “No, we had some calls and we FaceTimed.”

  “And now you’re here,” Mrs. Wyatt said, and from her tone, it was clear she wasn’t happy.

  Sophie’s heart fell but she wasn’t about to let her disappointment show. “Two flights later, plus an hour drive from Bozeman.” She kept smiling as she looked at Joe. “But look at him—he’s worth it.”

  Chapter Two

  It wasn’t going well.

  Dinner was stiff and conversation stilted. Joe found it hard to chew the roast; the moist meat might as well have been sawdust in his mouth. He was aware this wasn’t the norm at the dinner table. He’d known his grandfather would be reserved, but he hadn’t expected his mom to be cold and unwelcoming. He actually felt sorry for Sophie, wishing he’d better prepared her, but Sophie was earning his respect by keeping her cool despite the chilly welcome. He didn’t know how she managed to be smiling right now, but he appreciated her cheerfulness more than she knew.

  “That was delicious,” she said, as Joe rose to clear the dinner plates. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Wyatt.”

  “Glad you enjoyed it,” his mom answered with a tight smile. “But thanks should go to Joe. He put it in the oven before he went to collect you.”

  Joe counted to three, and then five, as he stacked the plates and dirty cutlery. His mom was about as warm as an iceberg. “Coffee, anyone?” he asked. “We’ve got some lemon cake, too. I picked it up from the bakery this afternoon.”

  “Nothing for me,” Granddad said. “I’ve got a show I want to watch.”

  “None for me,” his mom chimed in, even though every night she drank a cup of black coffee after the meal. It was her evening ritual.

  “You’re sure, Mom?” he asked, standing in the doorway. “You love Rachel’s lemon cake.”

  “I’m sure.” She gave him another strained smile, and he cursed inwardly, baffled and frustrated by the wall she’d put up tonight. “But thank you, Joe. I might have a slice of that lemon cake for breakfast.”

  Joe turned to Sophie. “Sophie, what about you? Coffee? Tea? We have some herbal tea in there somewhere if you prefer that.”

  “I’m good, thank you. Let me help you clear,” she said, rising and reaching for the platter.

  His mom’s hand flew out, stopping Sophie. “Don’t do that, Sophie, sit. Please.”

  Sophie hesitated, forehead creasing. “I’d like to help. I’m not used to being waited on.”

  “That might be true, but guests don’t work, not in my house,” his mother answered, smiling tightly.

  Joe couldn’t remember when he was last so uncomfortable. He loved and respected his mom, but he was so disappointed in her right now, and ashamed that his family wasn’t being more welcoming to Sophie.

  Sophie glanced from his mom to him. “But it’s not work,” she replied. “I’m grateful—”

  “Sophie,” Joe interrupted, quietly. “It’s okay, I’ve got this. I’ll be right back.”r />
  *

  Sophie sat back down at the table, exhaling silently. She wouldn’t call dinner miserable, but it hadn’t been fun. Joe had carried most of the conversation, talking about general subjects like the weather, his brothers who were competing around now on the professional rodeo circuit, and if any of them might make an appearance for Easter which was less than two weeks away. She’d asked when his brothers had last been home, and his mom had said they always came home every year for Christmas, which must have meant that the three younger Wyatt brothers hadn’t been home since December. It was hard to say.

  Joe’s grandfather, Melvin—whom Joe rather resembled if aged forty plus years—pushed up from the table, excusing himself, leaving Sophie and Mrs. Wyatt alone together.

  Joe’s mom didn’t try to make conversation, though, and they both sat at the table in silence. Sophie hated it. She suddenly wondered how any of this was going to work. What had she gotten into, coming to Montana, agreeing to marry Joe and live on his family’s ranch?

  Joe returned then, emerging through the swinging door from the kitchen. He came to stand behind her chair, his knuckles lightly brushing her shoulder, letting her know he was there.

  But she knew he was there. Joe had an intensely masculine energy that made her aware of him the moment he entered or left a room. She could feel him behind her now, his energy so potent it felt as if he was still touching her.

  “Mom, is there anything I can do for you before I steal Sophie away?” he asked.

  Mrs. Wyatt’s gaze swept over her and then lifted to look at her son. “Where are you going?”

  “Thought I’d grab Sophie’s luggage from the truck and get her settled in. She’s had a long day. I’m sure she’d be happy to just unpack and relax.”

  Mrs. Wyatt’s hand clenched where it rested on the dining table. “Could we have a minute, Joe?” She glanced to Sophie. “Would you mind, dear?”

  “Not at all,” Sophie said, sliding out of her chair. “I can go outside—”