Manhunting in Montana Read online

The main living area of the house was deserted, with all the noise coming from a doorway off to the right which led into the dining room. Although the aroma of food drew her, Cleo’s artistic eye would never let her race through a room as interesting as this one.

  The decor was more sensuous than she would have expected, a stimulating blend of masculine and feminine aspects. A native-rock fireplace with a rough-hewn mantel dominated one end of the room, and the scent of wood smoke and pipe tobacco hung in the air. The rugged ambience was balanced by overstuffed leather couches so plump they begged to be enjoyed. She ran a hand over the arm of the one nearest her and felt a jolt of pleasure at the butter-soft texture.

  What fun it would be to roll around on one of these couches with—Cleo stopped herself with a grimace. She needed to get her plan up and running and she needed to do it in a hurry, before she embarrassed herself.

  A short, sturdy Hispanic woman wearing a food-stained apron came to the dining-room door. “Are you going to eat?” she asked.

  “Yes, please.” Cleo started toward the dining room. “You must be Juanita.”

  “And you’re the photographer.”

  “That’s right.”

  Juanita assessed her with dark eyes. “Tom said you brought a bunch of candy bars with you.” It sounded like an indictment.

  Thanks, Tom. “I like to eat at irregular times, and I didn’t want to bother you.”

  Juanita looked her up and down. “If you keep eating candy bars, instead of good food, you won’t keep that figure for long.”

  Cleo tried to keep from smiling. If Juanita’s figure was an indication of what good food could do to a person’s figure, Cleo was better off with her candy bars. “I suppose you’re right, but I honestly don’t like bothering anyone when I want something to eat, and Tom said you didn’t like to have people messing around in your kitchen when you’re not there.”

  “Well, Tom’s right. If I started letting the dudes, I mean the guests, go in there whenever they wanted, I’d have nothing but trouble.”

  “I don’t want to louse up your program, and the candy bars will do just—”

  “I could make you a deal.”

  Cleo looked at her in surprise. “What kind of deal?”

  “I have two little ones, Rosa and Peter, and they’re growing up so fast. My mother and father in Mexico are begging me for pictures, but I’m no good with a camera. If you’d take some special ones that I could send as Christmas presents, you can come into my kitchen and fix yourself whatever snacks you want.”

  “I don’t usually take pictures of kids.” Cleo didn’t even know where she’d start.

  Juanita waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “I know. You take pictures of hunks. I have one of your calendars on my wall right now, the one with the construction guys on it.” She winked. “Muy bueno.”

  It was a moment Cleo had never experienced before—meeting a stranger who had bought one of her calendars. The sales figures had been numbers to her, not people. She felt gratified, but a little self-conscious. “Thanks.”

  “You can do a fine job with Rosa and Peter. Now come on in and eat dinner before everything gets cold.” Juanita turned and started back into the dining room, as if the matter was settled.

  Cleo shrugged and followed her. She’d have to remember to tell Bernie about this when she called her tomorrow. Her friend would get a kick out of it, the sophisticated Cleo Griffin snapping shots of rug rats.

  TOM HAD TROUBLE getting to sleep that night. As he lay in bed, most of his thoughts involved excuses for checking on Cleo. The storm battered the ranch with enough force to scare a New York woman, he reasoned, and he wasn’t absolutely sure her cabin didn’t leak.

  Finally he got up and went to the bedroom window. From his vantage point on the second floor, he could see one end of Cleo’s cabin, and her light was still on. He hadn’t left her with any buckets, so she might be frantically trying to find containers for drips. He’d never installed phones in the cabins, so of course she wouldn’t have a way to call the main house if she had problems.

  Then logic prevailed. Luann, his extremely efficient head housekeeper, would have reported any evidence of a leak when she mentioned the stopped-up toilet. In fact, he would have noticed stains on the floor when he was in the cabin fixing the toilet. The roof was secure.

  He went back to bed and closed his eyes, but he was still too revved up to sleep. He listened to the storm blow itself out, and got up again to see if Cleo’s light still shone from the window. It did, beckoning him with her presence, creating a restlessness he hadn’t felt in some time.

  Standing naked in the darkness staring out the window, he imagined how the yipping of coyotes and the rattle of raccoons trying to pry off garbage-can lids might frighten somebody who’d never heard them before. He should probably go down there and make sure she was okay.

  Before he finished dressing, he reversed the process and took off his clothes again. He was too damn eager, and that meant trouble. That meant she might turn out to be more than a casual fling, and casual flings were all he was in the market for these days. Once upon a time he might have figured that a New York woman was a perfectly safe bet for a brief affair. Now he knew himself better.

  If he started something with Cleo tonight, she’d have two weeks to burrow under his skin. It would be more than enough time to screw up his life but good. If he intended to get involved with her at all, he’d better pace himself so that before he started to fall for her, she’d be long gone.

  He disciplined himself to take slow, deep breaths, and finally found sleep, but sleep also meant dreams. Dawn greeted him with an erection that required a cold shower before he could pull on his jeans. Impatient with himself, he headed down to help Jeeter and Stan with the morning feeding, and wished that his first thought hadn’t been whether Cleo would make it to breakfast.

  Sometime later, as he was on his second cup of coffee, he concluded that she wasn’t going to show up. The other guests had come and gone, leaving Juanita and Luann to the cleanup chores in the big sunny dining room. Tom had checked with all of the dudes to find out who wanted to go on the cattle drive tomorrow, and he’d had five takers—one young childless couple and another couple with a fourteen-year-old daughter.

  Now he sat alone at one end of the room’s twin trestle tables and lingered over his coffee. He had no business taking it easy on this fine June morning, not with the amount of work to be done today, but he wanted to see Cleo again, if only for a moment.

  Just as he was about to give up and tackle his list of chores, Cleo came through the double doors to the dining room looking like a zombie. A beautiful blond zombie, but a zombie nonetheless.

  Juanita stopped wiping the table she’d just cleared and glanced up.

  Tom braced himself for the tirade. Juanita considered tardiness at mealtime a personal insult, and it didn’t matter if the offender was a paying guest or not. Fortunately, the Whispering Winds had a lot of return customers, and most everyone took Juanita’s dictatorial ways in stride because she cooked like a goddess.

  Juanita put down her dishcloth and walked over to Cleo. “You look like you could use a cup of coffee, querida.” She cupped Cleo’s elbow and guided her to the bench at Tom’s table. “Sit here and I’ll bring you some. How about some toast? A soft-boiled egg?”

  Tom’s mouth hung open in amazement.

  “Toast and black coffee is all I need, Juanita. Thanks so much.” Cleo slid onto a bench and glanced down the table toward Tom. “Do mornings always come this early around here?”

  Tom closed his mouth. “Generally speaking.” That sleepy-eyed look of hers registered on his libido. He imagined waking up next to her and gradually, patiently kissing that sleepiness away.

  Juanita bustled in with a steaming mug. “Here you go. Toast is on the way.”

  Tom was staring at Juanita in amazement, but she ignored him and hurried back out of the room.

  “Thanks, Juanita,” Cleo called after her. T
hen she took a long sip of coffee and closed her eyes.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m getting there.” Her eyes drifted open again and she took another swallow of coffee. “My brain will start functioning any second now. I swear to God I heard a rooster crowing outside my window.”

  “That would be Rooster Cogburn. He pretty much has the run of the place and he does tend to crow when it gets light out. That’s a rooster’s job.”

  “I don’t suppose you could give him a few days off? Send him to visit his brother in L.A. or something?”

  “You’re not a morning person.”

  “Doesn’t look like it, does it?” She drank more coffee.

  “How was your night?”

  “Noisy.”

  He snorted. “Compared to New York with all the sirens and constant traffic? Are you kidding?”

  “But I’m used to those noises. Here there’s quiet, and then howling, and quiet, and then rustling, then more quiet, and yipping. Howling, rustling, yipping. Rustling, yipping, howling. All night long. I felt like I was sleeping on a bench at the Bronx Zoo.”

  “I wondered if I should check on you.”

  She looked more alert “You did?”

  “But then I decided a New York chick like you wouldn’t be scared.”

  “I didn’t say I was scared. Just awake.”

  Juanita swept back into the room. “Here’s your toast, and some homemade apple jelly.” She set a plate and a crock of jelly in front of Cleo and poured her some more coffee.

  “This looks just fine. I appreciate it. And the coffee’s great.”

  “If you want anything else, just call me.” Juanita patted Cleo on the shoulder before starting back toward the kitchen.

  “Hold it,” Tom said. “If I may be so bold as to ask, what exactly is going on here?”

  Juanita turned to him, the coffee carafe in one hand.

  “I’m serving our guest a little breakfast. Isn’t that what you hired me for?”

  “Yeah, but you’ve never let anybody else get away with coming in late for a meal, unless it’s some sort of emergency. And you’re treating Cleo like...like Cleopatra on her barge, for God’s sake.”

  “This woman is an artist,” Juanita said disparagingly. “She can’t be expected to live by the same schedule as the rest of us.”

  Tom looked down the table at Cleo, who was trying to hide a smile behind her coffee mug. He gazed at her for several seconds. “I see.”

  “I’ll be back with a coffee refill in a little while, Cleo.” Juanita started out of the room.

  “I could use a coffee refill about now, myself,” Tom called over his shoulder.

  Juanita paused.

  “If you can spare the time.”

  Juanita walked over and poured coffee into his mug. “Are you going to pose for her?”

  “No, I’m not” He took a sip from his mug.

  Juanita studied him for a moment. “I guess you’re a little old for it”

  He choked on his coffee. Thirty-eight wasn’t old. Men hit their prime at his age, and he’d never felt better, more alive, more ready for...well, that wasn’t the point. He cleared his throat. “As a matter of fact, she asked me.”

  “He turned you down?” she asked Cleo.

  “Flat.” Cleo had perked up considerably in the past few minutes and looked delighted with the conversation.

  “Why on earth would he do that?” Juanita turned to him, her expression disbelieving. “You might not be the most handsome man in the world, but you’re not bad for a cowhand. I’ll bet she could make you look even better.”

  “As flattered as I am by that speech, Juanita, I’d rather clean the chicken coop with a toothbrush.”

  Juanita shrugged. “Some people wouldn’t know a golden opportunity if it bit them in the backside.”

  “I guess not,” Cleo said. “Thanks for breakfast.”

  “Anytime.” Juanita left the room shaking her head.

  “You’ve cast a spell on my cook,” Tom said when Juanita was out of earshot.

  Cleo laughed. “Apparently. Want to know my secret?”

  “I imagine everyone in the county would like to know your secret. Juanita’s the best cook in these parts, and she knows it. Why she hangs around the Whispering Winds is a mystery, except that I let her do whatever she wants. She doesn’t dance to anyone’s tune, but you seem to have her wrapped around your little finger.”

  “My trigger finger, to be more exact. She wants me to take pictures of her kids.” Cleo bit into the toast and murmured her approval

  “Oh.” Tom watched with pleasure as she sank her teeth into the crunchy bread and swiped her tongue over a spot of jelly that landed on her lower lip. “That makes sense. She dotes on those kids.”

  Cleo swallowed the bite of toast “Where’s the dad?”

  “The marriage didn’t work out, but they’re both staunch Catholics, so divorce wasn’t an option. He’s on the rodeo circuit and stops by every month or so to see the kids, but she’s pretty much on her own. She’s hired a teenage girl to watch them when she’s busy in the kitchen.”

  “Sounds like a difficult situation,” Cleo said.

  “It is.”

  “But she strikes me as pretty tough. And damn, she makes good coffee.” Cleo took another long drink.

  Tom wondered how long he could put off work without somebody coming to look for him. He was having a great time sharing this slice of morning with Cleo. “Juanita’s tough, all right I thought she was going to punch out Deidre once.”

  “Really? Did Deidre insult her cooking?”

  “No. They...let’s just say that Juanita didn’t approve of Deidre’s behavior.” Deidre had imagined Juanita would back her on the abortion question, that they’d unite as two women who both faced the problems created by men. Deidre had miscalculated on that one.

  Cleo gazed at him over her coffee mug. He figured she wanted to ask what behavior had caused Juanita to consider violence toward his ex-wife, but she held back. He probably shouldn’t have brought up the subject, but the warm sun through the windows, the taste of Juanita’s coffee and the quiet that had settled over the dining room all combined to give him the relaxed impression that he could tell her anything at all and she would understand. Still, Deidre’s abortion wasn’t the sort of topic you threw out to someone you’d known less than twenty-four hours.

  With a sigh of regret, he pushed himself away from the table and stood. “I’d better get going.”

  “What’s on the schedule for you today?”

  He liked the feeling of having someone—someone soft and feminine—ask the question. He’d had an image of marriage that never came quite true with Deidre. They didn’t spend enough time together to fall into a routine, and he’d discovered routine was comforting to him.

  He adjusted his hat, a newer Stetson than the one he’d worn for her benefit yesterday. “Some repair work on the barn this morning, and we’re breeding one of our mares this afternoon.”

  Her cheeks grew a shade pinker. “Really? Will it be one of those artificial insemination jobs?”

  “No, we don’t get that fancy around here. For the few times we get involved in the process, the old-fashioned way is good enough.” He wondered if the conversation was affecting her the way it was affecting him. “You’re going to take pictures of Jeeter today, aren’t you?”

  “We’re scheduled for right after lunch, probably in the barn. I’m going to scout out some locations this morning. I’ll make sure we don’t get in the way of your...breeding.”

  “That’s not until two-thirty. A neighbor’s bringing his stallion over then.”

  “Love in the afternoon,” Cleo said.

  “It’s not what I’d call love.”

  “Lust, then.”

  “That’s closer, I guess. I sometimes feel sorry for animals. We can manipulate them so easily because of their biology.” While he was so much more sophisticated, he thought. Sure he was. That’s why he was
picturing Cleo on her back in a pile of hay, wearing nothing but a smile. “Stop by the corral if you want, after your photography session,” he said.

  “Stop by the barn if you want, before your breeding session,” she countered, putting down her mug and standing.

  “We’ll see.” He glanced at her plate. “You’d better get some more toast or something before you go. I doubt that will hold you until lunch.”

  She grinned at him. “You forget. It doesn’t have to.”

  “Oh yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I still can’t believe all it took was a camera to make Juanita your devoted servant.”

  “A camera’s a powerful tool.”

  “I guess you’re right. You probably know that Native Americans used to believe it stole your spirit.”

  “I’d heard that.” Her gaze was searching. “You halfway believe it yourself, don’t you?”

  He paused to think about the concept. At last he nodded. “Yeah, Cleo, I do. See you around.”

  5

  CLEO MUNCHED her way through the morning, dropping by the kitchen several times to pilfer snacks. In the process she met Rosa, aged four, and Peter, aged two, when the baby-sitter brought them in for lunch. Cleo had no idea how she’d go about photographing the dark-eyed cherubs when the time came, but Juanita was so entranced with the idea that Cleo pretended more confidence than she felt.

  Her morning snacking made her own lunch unnecessary, so while the hands and guests were inside the ranch house eating, Cleo took advantage of the deserted barn to set up for the photo session with Jeeter. During the morning, she’d figured out that light filtering through the big double doors would give her enough to shoot without a flash, which she preferred. Using ambient light instead of flashes or strobes was one of her trademarks, and she was vain about it

  Just inside the door the light fell just the way she wanted, and she positioned a bale of hay up against the weathered side of a vacant stall. All the stalls were empty on this warm summer day, now that the horses had been turned out to graze. Cleo wondered where the mare of the hour had been taken and if she was having her hooves painted and her mane curled for her big date. Cleo was dying with curiosity about the event, but she’d heard that watching such goings-on had an effect on the humans, and she didn’t need any more of that certain effect, thank you very much.