Montana Cowboy (Big Sky Mavericks Book 2) (2 page)

"Lord," Austen muttered.

His imagination supplied an image of a hippy-dippy chick in long skirts and a tie-dyed shirt. He hadn't met her. Didn't even know her name. Hell, he wasn't a hundred percent certain he knew what a llama was. It wasn't a breed of cattle, he knew that much. And people in Montana raised cows. Period.

He set off at his usual places-to-go/people-to-see pace but froze when he heard the most dreadful sound of all.

Not a rattle.

A crack.

He looked down. Sure enough, when he lifted the toe of his black, triad skull and crossbones boot, the lens of his brand new iPhone sparkled like a shattered crystal spider web.

He picked it up and kept walking... his cuss words painting a blue streak against the bright Montana sky.

T
he low rumble in Beau's throat quickly escalated from suspicious question to full-on bark. The big, quaking woof of a Great Pyrenees who took his job of protecting hearth, home, and master very seriously was not something you ignored—even if you could.

"Is Jason here?" Serena James asked, abandoning the sloppy, icky mess of mucking out a stall filled with ancient... well, many years old... horse manure. She kept a firm grip on her flat-nose shovel, just in case the call to alarm involved a slithering vertebrate with rattles, and followed the big white dog to the open doors of the barn. "It's about damn time."

She'd been waiting over an hour for her recently hired high school helper to show up. She'd hung a 'Help Wanted' sign on a community board at the Marietta Library last week. Jason... she couldn't remember his last name... had been the only call back so far.

"I need someone on Friday morning. I pay fifteen dollars an hour. Cash."

Since school didn't start until Monday, she figured she'd get some kind of response from kids who spent their wad at the fair and needed a buck or two. Jason promised to show up.

She turned her ratty, old ball cap—stolen from her brother, Peyton, years ago—bill forward again before reaching the bright sunlight. She'd worn it backwards to avoid banging her crown on the built-in feeding bins. Someone had taken good care of the animals at some point in the old barn's life. She didn't know who that person might be, because she'd only arrived in Marietta, Montana, a week and a half ago.

"Where is he?" She turned toward the road, squinting as her eyes adjusted from the gloom. "I don't see a truck turning in." She hadn't heard an engine, either, but that wasn't surprising given the fact she'd had the volume turned up on her snazzy little portable mobile speaker, which was tuned to the "Mostly Country" playlist on her iPod.

"Woof."

The thick white hair on Beau's back rose like a two-inch Mohawk. His gaze pointed her in the opposite direction. "Holy smokes. That's something you don't see every day."

A person. On foot. Crossing the open field beyond the gate that adjoined her farm's property to her neighbor, a man she believed to be her landlord's brother.

"You'll probably never see my brother," Paul Zabrinski mentioned when she signed the lease agreement. A year seemed fair and the price had been right since Paul deducted a generous amount for feeding and watching over his five horses. "He's an absentee landowner."

Serena watched the man striding as if on his way to conquer his next piece of the known world. Not a hired hand, she decided. Even in jeans, a pale blue shirt with rolled up sleeves, and boots, he gave off a sort of I've-got-money-and-attitude vibe.

She grinned at her presumption, but one didn't grow up with hippie, off-the-grid parents without being able to spot the haves from the regular Joes, like her.

He paused to examine the lock—a combination type, and then climbed the fence with more grace than she would have guessed. His broad shoulders and athletic-looking ass made her hands tighten on the shovel handle. Her mouth went dry. She hadn't run into a man like this in too damn long. He wasn't her type, of course, but that didn't mean she couldn't feast on eye candy when it presented itself.

Beau's muscles bunched, ready to spring into action.

"Easy, boy. He looks harmless."

Beau looked at her, obviously questioning her opinion, but he settled into a sit, leaning protectively against her thigh.

"Hey," the stranger called out the moment he spotted her. "Sorry to bother you, but my horse got spooked by a snake and I wound up on my ass." He rubbed said hunk of anatomy and gave a slight wince. "Broke my phone, too. Can I make a call from here?" He pointed to the house.

"No land line, yet. Sorry. But you're welcome to use my cell."

She pulled off her right glove and fished her cheap burner phone out of her hip pocket.

"Woof."

The volume and depth of the bark made her visitor take a step back. "Big dog."

"Beau. He's been my protector his whole life."

In Serena's experience, which, granted, was limited, there were two kinds of men—those who made friends with strange dogs and those who ignored the strange dog out of fear or dislike of animals. This guy did something completely unexpected. He dropped into a squat—conveniently bringing his throat into range if Beau chose to attack—and looked Beau straight in the eyes. "Hello, big guy."

He didn't hold out his hand or try to pet the dog. He just stared. And waited.

Eventually, Beau extended his neck and sniffed.

"I'm Austen Zabrinski." His gaze remained fixed on Beau, but Serena knew his words were meant for her.

"Serena James. I take it your brother is my landlord."

"Correct."

You look nothing alike.
She stepped back, afraid for a second she'd uttered the words aloud. She spotted a slight family resemblance in their facial bone structure, but Austen's gaunt cheeks sported casually chic stubble—the kind made popular by pop stars and big screen heartthrobs, and his blue-green eyes shared none of his brother's cheerful, positive candor. This man spoke from his mind, not from the heart.

He stood—no grunting, no wincing, no complaining because his knees were shot—each a complaint she'd heard at one time or another from her previous boyfriends.

"Thanks," he said, taking the phone.

Their fingers touched. Was it possible to exchange something as small and slim as a phone without touching, she wondered the instant a charge of warm sizzle shot through her hand and up her arm?

She nearly dropped the phone, but he grabbed it securely.

"I don't want to break another."

Another what? Phone? Or heart?
With looks like his, the man should have the word 'Heartbreaker' tattooed on his forehead.

He fiddled with the phone a moment, his long, beautifully manicured fingers dancing across the keypad. An all-female reaction—the hot, damp, tingle type—took place, leaving Serena bemused. She'd put her love life on hold after her last epic fail of the dating kind. And at the moment, she didn't have time for men, dating, sex... and all the emotional drama that came with each of those things.

Nope. She had fifty-four sweet souls under her care, counting Gandhi and Dolly, her llamas, and Beau and Brutus, her dog and cat, respectively. The last thing she needed—or wanted—was the complication of a man in her life. And one didn't need to be a Great Pyrenees to spot a dangerous complication when it hopped over their fence.

A
usten punched in the only number he could remember but hesitated before putting the cheap, old school phone to his ear. Her hand was small and not very clean, despite the glove she'd been wearing. Her hands reminded him of his mother's. Mom had complained for as long as he could remember about her ugly hands. Fingernails she couldn't grow long enough to paint like all her friends.

"These are the hands of a Montana pioneer woman with ten kids," Sarah Zabrinski would wail from time to time. "I only have four. How did this happen?"

Serena James didn't have any children, according to his brother.

She wasn't married, either. At least, he didn't see a ring. And despite her grubby cut-offs, Lady Bug rubber boots, and faded, men's denim work shirt tied at her waist, she was hot. Really hot.

He'd always been a fan of auburn hair, and the deep reddish-brown ponytail bouncing over her shoulder looked thick and wavy. Her bright orange tank top showed just enough cleavage. Her long, shapely thighs were athletic without being too muscular.

He may not have been a fan of barn smells and dirt, but something about this woman intrigued him. Her equally frank appraisal of him, maybe? The women in Helena had coy down to a science.

Or, possibly, she was staring because she was waiting for him to make his call so she could have her phone back. He punched in the only number that came to mind and raised the phone to his ear.

"Big Z's. Your full service hardware center. Can you hold?"

"No—"

The woman on the other end didn't wait for his answer before starting the God-awful canned sales spiel featuring his brother's peppy, uber-positive voice.
"Give a man a hammer and a nail and he'll hang a photo. Poorly. Give him a Do-It-Yourself class taught by a Big Z professional and he'll have a skill his wife will put to good use for years to come."

Austen looked up. "I'm on hold."

He touched the speaker button, bringing Paul's mainstream Country music to the background.

He examined the green camouflage plastic case. "Heavy duty. Burly, even."

"Lost my iPhone in a steaming pile of 'paca poop."

"Oh." He flexed his fingers gingerly.

"The guy at the phone store in Billings called this model invincible."

It wasn't an iPhone but it did seem rugged... or a bit butch. Was that the reason she wasn't married? She batted for the other team?

Paul's voice came on the line again. "
Have you heard about Big Z's plan to add an outdoor living center to our Marietta store? Look out, Cabela's, the Fish Whisperer will teach fishing enthusiasts how to tie the best flies in western Montana."

"The Fish Whisperer," Austen muttered, forgetting for a moment he had an audience. "Trying to impress his fiancé by putting her father to work is more like it."

"Your brother's engaged? He didn't mention it."

Austen felt his cheeks flush.
Loose lips, idiot
. "Just happened. At the Big Marietta Fair. Were you here in time to check it out?"

"I made it the last day, for a few hours. Next year, I hope to set up an Alpaca exhibit. My parents did that for years at our county fair. It's really good for business."

The music resumed.

"What exactly is your business?"

"I breed and sell Alpacas."

"Alpacas? I thought you had llamas."

"I have two. Gandhi and Dolly. They're bigger and more aggressive by nature. They help guard the Alpacas, along with Beau here."

Before he could comment, a non-recorded voice said, "I'm sooo sorry. It's a little hectic here today. How may I direct your call?"

"Paul Zabrinski, please. This is his brother."

"Oh, hi, Austen. I thought that was your voice. He's not here. The kids are leaving for Disneyworld in the morning so he and Bailey went to Bozeman to tell them good-bye."

He looked at the newest addition to Marietta.
Welcome to the town where everybody knows your business.
Her pretty, rueful smile gave him the impression she understood even if he hadn't spoken the words out loud. A funny sensation faintly reminiscent of pleasure passed along his spine.

"Okay. I'll try my mom."

"She's not home, either. She and your dad just stopped by with Mia's kids to grab some bug spray. They said something about hiking to Coffin Lake."

Austen grimaced. His city-raised niece and nephew wouldn't be thrilled, he was certain. "O...kay. I guess I'm SOL. Thanks..." For the life of him, he couldn't recall the name of his brother's secretary. "For the update. I'll catch you later."

He tapped the end button.

"Forgot her name?"

"Yes."

"Best part of moving to a new town. Nobody expects you to know anybody."

She held out her hand and quickly checked her messages. "Damn it. Where are you, Jason?"

"Jason?"

"I hired a local kid to help me today. He was supposed to be here an hour ago. I have his name and number on a post-it in the house, but I keep thinking he'll show up if I wait long enough." She bit her bottom lip in consternation.

Damn, she was cuter than he first thought.

"I really need him today."

"Maybe I—" He stopped. He didn't volunteer for grunt labor. "What's so important you have to do it today?"

"Betty Lou has the runs."

He opened his mouth but no words came out. This, he realized, might very well be the first time in his life he was speechless.

"I know. Big deal, right? But the fact is, alpacas have very delicate digestive systems. If you don't nip this sort of thing in the bud, you could lose an animal within a couple of days."

He checked his watch. Stuart, his foreman, wouldn't be back from Livingston for another hour. He'd text him to pick him up, but he didn't have his number memorized—or anybody else's, for that matter. Like everyone he knew in the city, Austen relied on his phone's contact list to keep him in touch. He was stuck here, or he'd have to walk back to the ranch, across open range populated by rattlesnakes, or he had to help her treat an animal with diarrhea.
What a choice!