Sleepless in Montana (13 page)

Ben swallowed the emotion tightening his
throat. Before his accident, she’d just started a little business,
pouring jam into pretty little jars, sealing them, and placing
gingham cloth over the lids. She’d loved herbs, wanting to share
her little pots of chives and oregano.

He’d wanted to provide for her, to give her
everything, and couldn’t. Sunlight died in him the moment Dinah had
walked out of his house.

He pushed away a smile, the good and the bad
memories twisting inside him like a horsehair lariat. She’d seduced
him into agreeing to let his wife be a businesswoman, to make a
little profit, his lovely Dinah.

At first, he’d been uncomfortable with a
woman’s touch, the changes in his life—putting his dirty clothes in
a hamper and not dropping them on the floor, going to church on
Sunday morning, and going to dances and potluck dinners.

His mother had abided by old Aaron’s strict
rules; she’d died young, used and empty, leaving Ben with a harsh
father. Ben gripped his saddle horn with one leather-covered fist.
He should have known what a boy like Hogan needed.

Moon Shadow came alongside Sagebrush and from
the corner of his eye, Ben admired the fine loose Western way his
son sat in the saddle, commanding the horse. It was a fine feeling
riding beside a grown son and Ben’s heart filled with pride. They
rode together in silence, neither acknowledging the other.

At the shack, Hogan dismounted, already
striding inside the cabin before Ben could ease his prosthesis to
the ground. He admired his son’s movements, prayed that nothing
would happen to that young, strong body— Hogan had enough pain.

“He’s been here. City shoes... new,” Hogan
said grimly when he emerged, his expression hard.

Ben nodded, walking around young serviceberry
bushes crushed by a four-wheeler. “Likes toys.”

They worked quickly, efficiently, and Ben
paused to look at his family gathered in the ranch yard. The blaze
scrolled up into the midday sky, destroying the shack that old
Aaron treasured. It had been built by Jedidiah Kodiak, a drover who
didn’t want to go back to Texas.

Then Hogan ripped off his gloves, tucked them
in his back pocket and turned to Ben. “Let’s get this
straight.”

The hard punch of the words raised Ben’s
anger, a familiar battle between father and son. He’d pushed his
own father just like this, and inside him pride swelled— his son
was a man. The old words came to Ben’s tongue before he could stop
them. “You’re talking to me, boy. I set the rules.”

Hogan’s anger flashed back. “If I want to
make Dinah welcome here, I will. A few boards and paint charged to
my account shouldn’t hurt you. We’re not labeling who pays for what
this go-around. I don’t like feeling like I’m taking food from your
breakfast table.”

“I pay my own bills, and she’s your mother.
Call her that.” Ben heard the snarl in his voice and regretted
it.

Ben refused to back down or apologize. The
boy should know he wasn’t stabbing at him; he just wanted his
family fed and well, putting good solid food into their bodies. He
didn’t have the sweet way of saying it, but that was what was in
his heart.

He couldn’t help fighting back; Aaron had
bred that hard edge into him. “The pup wants to fight with the old
dog, does he? Why didn’t you stay last night, if you’re so
concerned? Why didn’t you stay to supper?”

Hogan’s quick flash of pain should have told
him to back off, but Ben had had his heart set on seeing his family
together at the supper table. The empty chair that first night had
mocked and hurt him.

Hogan’s cold words slashed at Ben. “Your
table? Ben Kodiak food? Why do you think I didn’t stay?”

Because you’re too much like me, unable to
show your emotions, and so you hide.
Ben ached for his son and
regretted the damage he’d done.

“I want to know about my mother, Ben. My real
mother, not Dinah,” Hogan stated, slapping his Western hat along
his thigh.

Ben hadn’t wanted to hurt the boy, and he
didn’t want to hurt the man. “That’s best left alone. She’s buried
now anyway. And you’ve got trouble coming right now. Probably more
than you can handle.”

Hogan’s black eyes flashed, a man who took
challenges and hurled them back. “What do you mean? Is that a
threat?”

“Hell, I knew when I saw that damned earring
in your ear and that black getup this morning that you were out for
blood. What kind of a righteous man wears black jeans? It isn’t me
that you have to worry about now. Look.” Ben nodded toward the
trail winding upward to the knoll. “She sure can’t ride.”

Her hair fiery in the sunlight, Jemma bounced
along on Sandy, a gentle quarter horse, the saddle slipping a
little to the side. The girl loved color, Ben thought, the hot pink
jacket contrasting with a purple sweater and tight jeans. The
yellow boots were meant for city streets, not Montana dirt and mud
and cow piles.

Ben smiled as Hogan slapped his Western hat
against his thigh, this time hard. He slapped it again as Jemma
bounced into the burning shack’s clearing. She almost spilled out
of the saddle and came up with a too-bright smile, clearly an
intruder out to make peace with warring men. “Hi. Did anyone bring
the marshmallows?”

“You still can’t ride worth a damn, city
girl.” Ben tossed a board onto the fire. While he loved her, the
battle with Hogan and the past left a rough, angry edge to his
voice.

“Of course I can’t ride well. I was meant to
ride in a padded seat on a smoothly moving, very expensive car. I
haven’t really wanted to bruise my backside that much. But I can
outshop you any day, and that’s important. As a matter of fact, who
is going to loan me a pickup? I’m not getting my pretty rig dirty,
and Dinah wants loads of potting soil.”

“More money,” Ben grumbled, and hated himself
for being stingy, hated himself for barely managing to keep Kodiak
land.

“It’s potting soil, not gold. Leave her
alone.” Hogan straightened, his body language challenging Ben’s.
“No one asked you for anything.”

“It’s my house.” Ben’s words shot into the
sunlight like cold steel, and the sound of old Aaron’s voice tore
at him. Maybe he was too old to change, his father’s son.

“Of course it is your house, but—” Jemma
began, her wide gray eyes glancing at one, then the other tall
Kodiak.

“Dinah doesn’t like it?” Ben asked curtly,
more wounded than if his heart had been sliced from him, but
shielding that pain with anger.

“I like plants, but mine die. Dinah and
Carley want houseplants, and they want the garden plowed. If you
can’t bother, then I will. Driving a tractor and plowing a garden
can’t be that hard. Hogan will lend his pickup for the potting
soil, won’t you, Hogan?”

Hogan stared at the brilliant blue sky and
wondered how Jemma always managed to use him as her backup plan.
“Let it go.”

Ben didn’t back off, digging in to argue. He
wasn’t letting anything go, furious with himself. He remembered
raging at Dinah about potting soil, asking her why Montana cow
manure and dirt wasn’t good enough.
He’d been so wrong.

“The girl doesn’t know how to saddle a horse.
She’s lucky she didn’t fall off with that loose cinch.”

“Boys,” Jemma purred, moving smoothly between
them, placing a hand on each of their chests. Her fingers moved
slightly across Ben’s buttoned shirt, and she frowned before
looking up at Hogan, who had pushed her hand away. “Why are we
having a bonfire? And where’s the marshmallows?” she asked
lightly.

“Look.” Both men said at the same time,
pointing down to the Kodiak ranch yard, clearly visible from the
knoll.

Jemma expression darkened immediately. “He
can see everything from up here.”

“We’re just not making him comfortable,” Ben
said.

“Well, then you’d just better hug and make
up, because Carley is going to need each of us, not a war between
you two. This morning, something set you both off. What was it?
Ben? What got to you?”

“That damned earring,” he muttered, looking
away to the foothills of the Crazy Mountains.

“Hogan looks good in anything. It’s an
in-thing to do. See his black jeans? I’ll get you a pair when we
get to town. You’ll be dynamite, and we’ve got to do something
about these old flannel shirts, too. Maybe a sweater or two.”

Jemma rubbed Ben’s cheek lightly. “You need a
new razor. Hogan wears his own designs. They suit him. He can be
pretty when he wants, not all dark and broody-looking.”

Ben scowled at the onyx earring. “It’s just
not right.”

Because he needed to push the father who
hoarded too many secrets, Hogan removed his earring and handed it
to Ben. “It’s yours.”

It wasn’t a peace offering; it was a
challenge. This time Ben looked hounded. He looked at the fragile
earring in his callused, scarred palm. “It’s a strange thing for a
son to give his dad. Women and daughters, maybe. I won’t wear it,
of course.”

Hogan inhaled— his work wasn’t a trinket, but
Ben would see it as silliness.

“You’d look cool with it on. Very exciting
and studly.” Jemma slung her arm around Ben and rested her head on
his shoulder. She touched the earring in his palm, prodding and
turning it. “Isn’t it pretty? It’s a beautiful gesture, Ben. Take
it. Doesn’t Hogan do marvelous work?”

Ben frowned, his expression something that
Hogan couldn’t define, and he blamed it on disgust. “I design
jewelry, Ben. You’ll have to swallow that.”

“Kodiak Designs sell all over the world, in
the best shops,” Jemma said. She prodded it, revealing a tiny
printed Kodiak with an arrow beneath it. “See? Kodiak. Your name.
There are expensive stores just waiting to get on his client
list.”

“Do you have some of it?” Ben asked softly,
still studying the earring.

“I can’t afford it, but Carley gave me
earrings and Dinah gave me a ring to match, from his Fire Bird
collection. They’re in my safety-deposit box in Seattle. I think
they’ll become collectors’ items, and I can make a mint off
them.”

Ben stared at the earring in his rough palm,
rolling it gently to catch the sunlight. Then he tucked it in his
flannel shirt pocket, carefully buttoning the flap over it. There
was just that one pat over his heart, then Ben’s glance skimmed the
old cabin, in full blaze.

He nodded to Jemma, walked to his horse,
swung into the saddle and locked a dark look at his son. “That’s
old Aaron’s cabin. It’s gone now.”

Hogan returned the hard look; the cabin was a
monument to rawhide-rough men and old Aaron.

Then Jemma nudged him aside, and,
unwillingly, Hogan’s gaze dropped to the neat curve of her backside
in tight jeans.

“Wait!” she said, hurrying to Ben. “Ben, I
thought you might like to show me how to fly fish. I’ve got that
producer coming, and I have to learn a little bit to make the
series sell. If you could just point me to a stream with some
hungry fish in it. I bought all this great stuff, and I have a
license—”

“Oh, no. Not me. I want my skin all in one
piece, and I don’t fancy wearing fishhook jewelry on my backside.
And I’m not showing anyone my fishing hole,” Ben returned with a
rich chuckle Hogan hadn’t expected. “You tell my sons to get that
old chest down from the attic. Not the camelback, but the old blue
footlocker. Dinah will be wanting to have pictures of you children
around her.”

“I suppose I can make do with Hogan teaching
me how to fish, and I’ve got until July anyway,” Jemma muttered.
She gripped Ben’s shirt and tugged him down to kiss his cheek.
“We’ll be changing the house a bit, Ben. You’ll help, won’t you?
Not hide out? Men and women manage households together now. You and
Dinah could go grocery shopping—”

Hogan looked at Montana’s blue sky. The
rule-setting he had planned with Ben had turned into a
“father-and-son-relate” session. From there, Jemma had driven the
conversation into grocery shopping.

As he straightened, Ben cast a wary, cornered
look at Hogan. “Maybe. Maybe, I’ll help her.”

“Aaron and Mitch and Hogan are all helping
redo the house, and you did say for us to make ourselves
comfortable, Ben. You’re helping, too, aren’t you?”

Because Ben was clearly uncomfortable with a
man entering what he considered a woman’s domain, Hogan smiled.
“Okay, Ben. I’ll wash, you dry.”

When Ben shook his head and left the clearing
to ride down the hill, Jemma turned to jab a finger in Hogan’s
chest. “Don’t you start with him. Didn’t you hear how he says, ‘my
son,’ as if his heart is bursting with pride? You came to breakfast
with a big chip on your shoulder, aching for a fight. From those
shadows under your eyes, you were probably up all night planning on
how to make life rough for Ben.”

“I was there, wasn’t I?” Hogan didn’t feel
like explaining his dark moods. Part of his lack of sleep was due
to the woman who battled him now, that fire warming his cold
shadows.

Her slap on his back was companionable, a
coach to a student; instead, it nettled Hogan.

“I knew I could count on you. He’s wearing
his wedding ring beneath his shirt. I just felt it. He still loves
Dinah, and she loves him. You’re not tearing them apart a second
time.”

Hogan turned toward her, his defenses rising.
He remembered Ben lashing at Dinah, her crying behind closed doors.
“You’re blaming their split on me?”

“No. They both wanted something different.
You’re inventive, Hogan. You’ve got the ability to step back,
analyze, and proceed logically. But maybe you could have engineered
a reconciliation if you weren’t so busy running away....
Maybe.”

Jemma followed Hogan to her horse, where he
flipped up the stirrup and tightened the cinch. She hit his
shoulder. “See what I mean? You’re always running. I’m exhausted,
standing between you two snarling yard dogs, and my butt
hurts.”