Montana Secrets Read online

  She chalked up Trace’s uneasiness to the fact that he had lived too long in the Middle East with its ancient rivalries, suspicions and conflicts to accept the peaceful serenity of these Montana mountains at face value.

  In spite of his newly acquired reserve, Trace was polite when they returned to the house after their ride. They discovered Mrs. Mac pushing Megan in a swing in the back yard. He gave the older woman and Megan a friendly greeting before launching into silence again.

  “Have a nice ride?” her neighbor asked.

  “Excellent,” Cat replied. “How’s Dad?”

  “Still asleep. I made tuna salad and left it in the fridge for sandwiches for your lunch.”

  Cat saw Mrs. Mac off, awakened her father and went into the kitchen to prepare the midday meal. Trace remained outside with Megan, pushing her in the swing and catching her when she came down her sliding board, but as Cat observed them from the kitchen window, her chatty daughter did all the talking.

  During lunch, Trace remained preoccupied until her father started talking about the upcoming graduation ceremonies at the high school.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” her father said, “but I don’t see how I can go tonight. If I take my pill, I won’t be able to stay awake. If I don’t take it, my sneezing and hacking will spoil the ceremony for everybody.”

  “But Grandpa,” Megan said, “you hafta come and see me.”

  “You?” As if jolted from sleep, Trace looked at her daughter with surprise. “Aren’t you a little young to graduate, short stuff?”

  Megan puffed out her chest with pride. “I’m the mascot. They picked me. I get to wear a robe and hat—”

  “Cap and gown,” Cat corrected.

  “—just like the big kids.”

  Trace’s gaze met Cat’s. “I didn’t know senior classes had mascots nowadays.”

  “They decided to resurrect an old custom this year,” Cat explained.

  “Just for Megan,” Gabe added, inflated with grandfatherly vanity. “The students have known her since she was a baby, and they want her to participate. I’m sorry I’ll miss the graduation, Megan, but you can model your cap and gown for me before you go.”

  “Will you take my picture?” Megan asked coyly.

  Cat laughed. “You know he will. Dad has albums full of photos from the day Megan was born.”

  “Really?” Trace gazed at Megan, that strange hunger shining in his eyes once again. “Can you show them to me?”

  “Can I, Mommy?”

  Cat couldn’t believe their guest was really interested in Megan’s photos, but she knew how much Megan enjoyed showing them off. “Are you through with your lunch?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Then go wash your hands and bring your baby book down for Trace to see.”

  With a happy grin, Megan slid from her booster seat and headed upstairs.

  Gabe waited until her footsteps sounded in the upstairs hall, then turned to Trace. “I have a favor to ask, young man.”

  “Ask away. You’ve been so kind to me, I’m glad for a chance to repay you.”

  Cat waited, puzzled over what her father had up his sleeve.

  “I want you to escort my daughter and granddaughter to the graduation in town tonight.”

  “Oh, Dad, Trace will be bored to tears. He won’t know a soul there.”

  “But I’d still enjoy it,” Trace insisted. “I’d like to go. I can use a dose of good old Americana after so many years of foreign culture.”

  “If you really want to come,” Cat said doubtfully, “you’re welcome, but it isn’t necessary for my sake.”

  Gabe, his expression somber, wiped his mouth and tossed his napkin onto his plate. “That’s where you’re wrong, Cat. It is necessary.”

  “Are you expecting trouble?” Trace asked.

  “No,” Cat insisted, frustrated by her father’s over-protectiveness.

  “Yes,” Gabe answered at the same time.

  Trace looked from one to the other. “Well?”

  “Snake Larson,” Gabe said, scowling, “the man who was here just before you arrived yesterday, may be in town tonight. If he’s drinking, he’ll be as ornery as a grizzly with a cub, and he’s already shown more than a passing interest in my daughter. I don’t want her and Megan facing him alone.”

  “For Pete’s sake,” Cat said with a sigh of exasperation. “Is Snake what you’re worried about? He won’t cause trouble. Everyone in town will be at the school tonight. We won’t be alone.”

  “Maybe so,” her father said, “but everyone in town won’t be following you home up that deserted highway.”

  Since Snake’s first appearance at the ranch, Cat had kept a gun in a locked box at home and carried one in her car. And she knew when and how to use them.

  “I can take care of myself—and Megan,” Cat insisted.

  “Of course you can,” Trace said agreeably, “but I’d like to come anyway, if you don’t mind. I don’t know the other students, but I’d enjoy watching Megan take part.”

  Gabe looked pleased with himself, and Trace appeared so innocently cooperative that Cat had to squelch the impression she’d been manipulated. Besides, Trace was their guest, and since he’d expressed an interest in attending the graduation, refusing him would seem rude.

  After lunch and time spent with Megan’s album, Cat returned with Trace and Megan to the barn where they saddled up the pony and their horses. After a sedate ride down to the gate and back, Cat tucked Megan in for a nap. Megan begged to stay up with Trace, but Cat reminded her she’d be up past her bed-time that night and needed her rest. The clincher came when Cat warned that without a nap, Megan might fall asleep on stage during her mascot duties.

  Her father, still groggy from his allergy pill, had completed a few chores before returning to bed for a nap. With the house quiet, Cat fixed tall glasses of iced tea and carried them to the front porch where Trace sat in the swing, staring at Preacher’s Ridge, as if daring the morning’s mysterious watcher to show himself.

  She handed Trace a glass and sat beside him. “Dad has binoculars in the hall closet if you want them.”

  “No, thanks. I’m sure whoever was there this morning has moved on by now.”

  She settled back in the swing. “I appreciate how patient you were with Megan after lunch.”

  “Patient?”

  “Letting her show you all those pictures.”

  His face lit up with a smile so brilliant, it had to be genuine. That kind of enthusiasm was hard to fake. “I enjoyed them. And I loved her stories. She talks about those times as if she can really remember them.”

  “She’s heard Dad and me tell her about Marc and Ryan a hundred times. They’re her favorite bedtime stories.”

  “She talks about Ryan as if she knows him.”

  “I want her to understand her father and be proud of who he was.”

  “A hero, she called him. Does she know what a hero is?”

  “She knows her daddy and her uncle Marc saved the lives of nearly a hundred people, but she doesn’t yet grasp the concept of their sacrifice. She will when she’s older.”

  He finished his tea and set his glass aside. “Tell me about Marc. I was still in the hospital when they transferred him here. Was he aware that he’d come home?”

  Her throat tightened with sadness. “I’m not sure. On fair days, we’d bring him out here in his wheel-chair, and I can only hope he knew where he was.”

  “Seeing him like that must have been really tough on you and Gabe.”

  Understanding and compassion resonated in Trace’s voice, and she appreciated having someone to talk to about those days when Marc lay in a coma, so unlike the strong and vibrant brother she remembered. Discussing Marc even now was too painful for her father, and not wanting to upset Gabe, Cat had kept all her feelings bottled up inside.

  “One of the worst parts,” she said, “was how helpless he was. Marc had always been so big and energetic and self-sufficient. I hope he wasn�
�t aware of all we had to do for him. He would have hated it.”

  “Did he ever speak?”

  She shook her head. “Sometimes he moaned and cried. Sometimes he laughed. The neurologist explained that those responses were reflexive and we shouldn’t attach any meaning to them.”

  “That must have been hell for you, having to witness that.” He slid his arm around her and squeezed her shoulder gently, and without thinking she settled easily into the solace of his embrace.

  “Marc’s incapacitation was hardest on Dad, and now, since I’ve had Megan, I understand why. For a parent to see his child suffering and not be able to help has to be the most awful feeling in the world.”

  “I’m sorry. I wish Marc had come out of his coma to talk to you both.”

  “Oh, but he did, right before he died.”

  Trace stiffened beside her. “He did?”

  Cat nodded, fighting tears. “He opened his eyes. I was sitting beside the bed, and as clear as day, he said, ‘Hi, Pest.’ In that one instant, the Marc I’d known and loved was back. I ran to get Dad and Megan—she was only a few months old. When we returned, Marc told Dad and me how much he loved us. I showed him Megan and told him who she was. He asked for Ryan.” Her voice broke. “But we didn’t have the heart to tell him Ryan was…dead.”

  “Did he say anything else?”

  She couldn’t be certain, but Trace’s voice sounded heavy with sorrow—and a hint of excitement. “He asked a question about Ryan, something that made no sense.”

  “What was it?”

  “Oh, the words seemed clear enough. It sounded like, ‘Did Ryan hit the button?’ but the closest we could come to a meaning was that Marc wanted to know if Ryan had sounded the alarm at the embassy before the bombing.”

  “And that’s all Marc said?”

  “He lapsed into unconsciousness and died shortly after.” She choked back a sob. “I miss him so much.”

  “I know.” Trace pulled her against his chest and held her. His hand caressed her hair while he rocked them gently in the swing with the toe of his boot.

  The tears she’d held back for so many years, trying to be strong for her father and not wanting to add to his pain, escaped in torrents, racking her body with sobs. The more she tried to staunch them, the harder she cried.

  With amazing gentleness, Trace held her, soothed her and let her cry.

  When her tears were finally spent, she pulled back, embarrassed by her display, horrified to see that her tears had left a huge damp splotch on the front of his shirt.

  “You must think I’m an emotional fool,” she said.

  With a tender smile and a shake of his head, he pulled a fresh handkerchief from the pocket of his jeans and handed it to her. “I think you’re a woman who loved her brother and misses him.”

  She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “I’m sorry about your shirt.”

  “It’ll dry.”

  He still had his arm around her, and when she looked at him, the warmth of his expression eased her pain. He lifted his hand, and she turned her face into it.

  His palm cradled her cheek. “You’re a remarkable woman, Cat Erickson.”

  Before she realized what was happening, he had bent down until his lips touched hers, soft and consoling. She gasped in surprise, breathing in the distinctive masculine scent of him. He tasted of lemony iced tea, yet provocatively male. Her lips opened beneath his, and she leaned toward him, sliding her arms around his neck, yielding to the longing she’d experienced inexplicably since she’d met him.

  Pulling her to him, he threaded his fingers through her hair. Unresisting, she surrendered and molded her body to his. Her breasts crushed against the hard muscles of his chest, and she could feel his heart hammering against her blouse and the heat of him seeping through the dense fabric of her jeans. Long buried emotions and stifled longings roused and stirred within her, and she reveled in the heady sensation of being alive, a feeling she hadn’t experienced since she’d lost Ryan.

  Had she lost her mind, as well?

  As if struggling to surface from deep water, with the flat of her palms she pushed herself away and returned to her side of the swing. Confusion and alarm overwhelmed her, and more heat, not of passion this time but of embarrassment, surged up her neck and flamed into her cheeks. She forced herself to meet his steady gaze.

  Trace’s greenish-brown eyes appeared smoky with desire, but his words were contrite. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  “No apologies needed.” The words tumbled out sharper than she’d intended.

  That she could present such an unaffected attitude amazed her, since her emotions were a seething cauldron of desire. She stood on slightly wobbly legs, feeling as weak as a newborn foal, and straightened her clothes.

  She edged closer to the door, beyond his reach, more to remove herself from temptation than from expecting him to reach for her. “You were only being kind.”

  A slight smile quirked the corner of his wide, delectable mouth. “Is that what you think?”

  She shrugged, pretending nonchalance, while her rebellious heart fluttered. “What else could it be when a woman blubbers all over your shirt?”

  “It may have started out as comfort—”

  “Don’t explain,” she begged.

  “Why?”

  “Because…”

  She couldn’t think of a logical excuse to resist him, so she grabbed the first reason that came into her head.

  “Because I’m still in love with Ryan. I’ll always be in love with Ryan.”

  She didn’t wait for his reaction. Turning on her heel, she fled inside and bounded up the stairs to her room.

  Chapter Seven

  Trace watched her go, stung by the irony that he was competing against himself for Cat’s affection. He shouldn’t have kissed her. He had pushed her too far, too fast. Of course she’d drawn back. His practical, down-to-earth Cat would never commit her heart to a stranger, even if the attraction between them was undeniable. She’d loved Ryan for years before she’d given him a clue to her real feelings.

  He shouldn’t have kissed her at all. Until he could tell her who he was, he had no right. But now that he had kissed her once and realized how much his memories had dimmed compared to the reality of Cat in his arms, her lips against his, the taste of her more delicious than he had recalled, how could he stand not kissing her again?

  He sighed. He probably wouldn’t remain at High Valley Ranch long enough to get another chance—or for Cat to admit she was drawn to him. He’d already discovered what he’d come for. Before he died, Marc had said nothing of any significance to Wentworth’s investigation. And Trace’s repressed memories showed no sign of returning. The colonel would have to look elsewhere for a clue to finding Righteous Sword.

  And in a day or two, Trace Gallagher would leave High Valley Ranch forever.

  HOURS LATER, in the summer twilight, Cat parked the car in the high school lot and unstrapped Megan from her car seat. Trace climbed out of the passenger side.

  “The ceremony won’t start for another hour,” she explained in the brisk, impersonal manner she’d adopted since their kiss earlier on the porch, “but I have to issue the seniors their caps and gowns.”

  “And I get to help,” Megan said. “Mommy promised.”

  He grinned at his daughter. “I’m sure she’s counting on it.”

  “You’ll be on your own,” Cat told him, “until the ceremony starts, unless you want to hang out here. There’re probably magazines in the library—”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Trace said. “I can walk downtown and still be back in plenty of time.” He scanned the parking lot and noted a few other cars. “You won’t be by yourself in there?”

  Cat shook her head. “Todd Brewster, the principal, and several faculty members are already here, and the others will arrive soon. We’ll be fine.”

  “I promised your father—”

  “Dad worries too much. Always has, but he’s been wors
e since Marc died. Do some sight-seeing. I’ll meet you here at the car after the ceremony.”

  Trace watched until Cat and Megan were safely inside before he turned toward downtown. He could have walked the whole area blindfolded and still known his way. The same prim, Victorian houses lined the streets, lawns neatly mowed and flowers blooming in perennial borders with the small-town charm he remembered.

  Through undrawn curtains, he spotted one family enjoying a late supper around the kitchen table. Passing another house, he glimpsed a lighted living room with the father reading a newspaper, the mother with a baby on her lap and two children in front of the television, watching “Wheel of Fortune.”

  The sights filled him with longing. Except for the few years he’d lived in Margaret Sweeney’s foster home, he’d never had a real home, never belonged anywhere. In the Marine Corps he’d lived in foreign lands, uncovered plots and conspiracies, experienced danger, lost his best friend and several buddies and almost forfeited his life. It had been exciting at the time, but he’d had enough. All he wanted now was a place of his own, with Megan on his lap and Cat at his side. Even such a mundane activity as watching a TV game show held a seductive charm, if Cat and Megan were there.

  He shook off his yearnings. The terrorist bomb had spoiled his plans for establishing his home and family at High Valley Ranch with Cat anytime soon—plans his injuries had wiped totally from his mind until a few weeks ago.

  That thought reminded him that he needed to report to Colonel Wentworth, and if his present memory served, the supermarket had a pay phone out front he could use. Trace had requested a cell phone for this mission, but Wentworth had warned against it. “Too easily monitored,” he’d explained, “and unreliable reception in the mountains.”