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W arm August sunlight slanted across the dusty windshield of Cameron McLendon’s blue Ford pickup as he drove south on Highway 93. It was such a beautiful day in Montana’s gorgeous Bitterroot Valley that he rolled down the front windows to enjoy the afternoon breeze, redolent with the scent of pine. He released a deep breath and tried to toss aside his worries.
West of the four-lane thoroughfare, the Bitterroot Mountains rose with splendid majesty to the clear blue sky, their glacier-chiseled canyons inviting the eye to delve deeper into the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness. Cam, with a professional background in both fish and game biology, knew a totally different world existed in that remote area, a place so rugged and wild that some people couldn’t comprehend it. He kept a close eye on the traffic as he took in the magnificent scenery with quick glances. Someday soon he hoped to have the time to take his son on a hike into those canyons.
His tight grip on the steering wheel relaxed. The tension eased from his neck and shoulders. Then he noticed that a light dusting of snow capped the mountain peaks. Only a little, he reassured himself. Only a freak dusting. But it was still a warning that those locals who were predicting an early winter might be right. Damn . Isn’t it just my luck? If winter strikes sooner than anticipated, my mother will have difficulty navigating our camp.
Upset, tired, and hungry, Cam bypassed the turn that led to his new hometown, Rustlers’ Gulch, and drove farther south to a place called the Cowboy Tree. A bar-and-eatery combo with rustic decor, it offered only limited menu choices, but the food was tasty and easy on the wallet. After parking in the long rectangular lot, Cam checked his reflection in the rearview mirror to fingercomb his hair. Tiny lines had appeared at the corners of his blue eyes. He was only thirty-five, but it had been a stressful summer, and all the worry had taken its toll.
As he pushed through the double doors of the establishment, he felt the casual, welcoming atmosphere surround him. The walls had been papered here and there with dollar bills autographed by customers. Bistro-height tables, handmade from knotty pine and rectangular in shape, flanked the front windows, while regular tables out of the same wood peppered the inner section of the dining room. A bank of poker machines cozied up to a jukebox at one side. Lighted beer signs offset the darkness of aged wood paneling. Three televisions, kept at a low volume, entertained those interested in sports or a news channel.
Though the establishment was busier than usual at this time of day, Cam found an empty place near a window and swung up onto a stool, allowing the hum of conversation behind him to become white noise. A little girl with golden curls wandered over and said hi. He guessed her to be about three, and she was adorable. Cam returned the greeting and watched her toddle back to her parents’ table.
At first it had surprised Cam to see minors in places that served hard liquor. Now he took it in stride. Kids weren’t allowed to sit at the bar, but they were welcome to come in with adults to eat. The state of Montana apparently believed it was up to parents to decide if a place of business provided an appropriate environment for their children.
Long ago, the Cowboy Tree had been constructed around a ponderosa pine that had developed an impressive circumference over the years, necessitating periodic enlargements of the hole in the roof that accommodated the conifer’s massive trunk. Back in his home state of California, Cam had seen trees inside structures, but for some reason they had never seemed so impressive. This pine and the old building appeared to have sprung up from the earth together. The framed hole in the ceiling allowed precipitation to seep in and collect in the massive rock planter at the base. Staff and patrons added water regularly to keep the roots well hydrated, and Cam believed that water had also been plumbed in under the building.
“Hi, Cam!” Trish, an attractive bartender with curly, shoulder-length red hair, flashed a bright smile. “You snuck in on me. Long day?”
Cam laughed and then groaned. “I showed a ranch north of here. Had breakfast at five and not so much as a sip of water since. The potential buyer wanted to walk the land. It’s a twelve-hundred-acre parcel. When I make my first sale, buying a side-by-side will be at the top of my list I can tell you that.”
“What’s a side-by-side?”
“A powerful ATV that seats five. They’re built sort of like a golf cart and are awesome for showing property. Not much will slow them down.”
“Ah. I’ve only ever heard them called mules.” Trish chuckled. “So thirst and hunger drove you here. I can’t imagine trying to walk every inch of that much land. Sounds to me like you should carry a cooler filled with sandwiches and drinks.” She circled the bar to serve him a tall glass of water. “The chicken wings are on special, fifty cents apiece, minimum order of five.”
Cam thanked her for the drink. “I’ll take ten with the apple-cherry glaze. That should hold me until I get supper on the table tonight.”
“Your mom still on deadline?” Trish asked.
“Oh, yeah.” Cam’s mother, Madeline McLendon, was a murder mystery writer of some acclaim. “She’ll be too busy killing someone this evening to help me cook. She’s always there for cleanup, though.”
Trish took a seat across from him. Her green eyes sparkled with amusement. “I finally found time to read one of her books-her most recent, I think, Death by Potato Sprouts. Do you ever worry when she makes you a fruit smoothie that you might not live to drink all of it?”
Cam burst out laughing.
Trish left to place his order, then reappeared behind the bar and held up an empty tumbler. “One for the road?”
“Only one. Make it my usual, please.” Cam stood and took his glass of water to the bar, where he could chat with Trish while he ate. Normally a serving of wings arrived quickly, but the cook seemed to be taking his time today. Trish soon grew busy busing tables. One of her helpers, a thin blonde everyone called Cowgirl, refilled Cam’s water glass. “How’s your day going?” he asked.
“Good,” she said without enthusiasm. Cam could tell she hated being there and wondered why she stayed on. Maybe she couldn’t find other work. “Not much news to report. Same-old, same-old.”
Trish returned, and Cam was glad to see her. At least she knew how to carry on a casual conversation. “I think the cook must have driven to Missoula for more wings,” she teased. She made Cam’s drink, a dash of Apple Crown over ice, and slid it across the counter to him. Then she held up a leather dice cup. “Want to try your luck while you’re waiting?”
The Cowboy Tree ran daily dice games, the details scrawled on a white dry-erase board. The jackpots were often handsome, sometimes as much as a thousand dollars. Cam had won eight hundred one night when his mom had visited Montana to see their land before they purchased it. He’d never thrown a good roll since.
“Nah. I think Mom’s my lucky charm. I’ll bring her back in for dinner some night and try a few rolls then.”
Trish shook the dice, and her cheek dimpled with a saucy grin. “I have a feeling it’s your day to win. Roll a full house, and you’ll have eight big ones in your pocket.”
Cam shrugged, slapped a five-dollar bill on the counter, and stood up. It was only a few bucks, and he rarely gambled. Why not? He took the cup, gave it a shake, and slapped the mouth down on the counter so the dice wouldn’t go every which way.
“Oh, my God!” Trish cried in a hushed voice. Then she yelled, “He won. First roll, five of a kind! A thousand bucks, people!”
Cam had four more tries to go. He sensed a crowd gathering behind him. Then, from the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a woman next to him. When he glanced down at her, he felt as if every brain cell he possessed went AWOL. She was beautiful, not the dolled-up kind of beautiful, but naturally lovely. Her straight black hair fell over her slender shoulders like shimmering silk. As far as he could detect, she wore no cosmetics, but that didn’t detract from her features, which were delicately molded and enhanced her large dark blue eyes, outlined in long sooty lashes untouched by mascara.
She arched an eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to roll again?”
Cam realized that he held the cup frozen at shoulder height. “Sure,” he found the presence of mind to say. “You just took the wind out of my sails.”
“That’s a line that’s seen its day,” she said with a laugh. “Roll hot, cowboy. I like winners.”
Cam shook the dice, and one die shot off the counter. He winced as Trish picked it up, wondering what the hell had gotten into him. He wasn’t a hormone-driven teenager.
“Free roll,” Trish said.
Cam took another turn. Trish shrieked. When Cam focused, he saw that he’d rolled another five of a kind. He tossed the dice three more times and got zip. After Trish counted his winnings onto the bar, he plucked one bill from the pile and handed it to her.
“You don’t have to do that , Cam. A hundred bucks? No way.”
“Hey, you’re the one who convinced me it might be my lucky day.”
As Cam collected his money, the other woman shifted closer and asked, “Would you like to join me at my table?”
Cam swept his gaze downward from her remarkable face to take in the rest of her. She wore a fitted plaid Western shirt that had endured some wear, faded Wrangler jeans, and scuffed riding boots, the toe of one sporting a piece of hay. He also caught the familiar scent of horses mingling faintly with her perfume. He grabbed his drink. Just my kind of gal, he thought. Maybe it really is my lucky day.
As Kirstin Conacher led the way to her table, she was acutely aware of the man behind her. He’d caught her attention the moment he entered the building-muscular, six feet of handsome, with tousled hair that gleamed like the well-varnished knotty pine bar. His eyes were a radiant sky blue, and he had a burnished tone to his skin that pegged him as an outdoor enthusiast. She could tell with only a look that he was no stranger to physical labor, and she’d been impressed by the easy, warm way he conversed with Trish. No fake charm, no canned lines. She found the sense of authenticity that he gave off very refreshing. There was also something vaguely familiar about him, but she couldn’t recall ever having met him.
Oh, Kirstin, she mentally scolded herself, what on earth were you thinking to hit on him like that? Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. So what if she’d been searching for the right guy for six years and could hear her biological clock ticking? That was no excuse for her to be so forward. Normally she waited for a man to hit on her , not the other way around.
She resumed her seat, where a martini, extra dirty and straight up, still awaited her. In Kirstin’s opinion, Trish made the best one in the valley. Only she hadn’t come here for an afternoon drink. The martini was merely one of her stage props. She’d learned over time that men in bars tended to steer clear of a lone woman having a soda. A recognizable mixed drink seemed to spur on conversation.
Cam took a stool across from her. “Have you already ordered?”
She met his gaze, and a tingling sensation moved up her spine. That surprised her. She’d met dozens of handsome men, but she’d never felt like this. “Yes. The cook seems to be dragging his feet today.”
“Come here often?”
“Not that often.” Liar, liar, boots on fire. She came to the Cowboy Tree as often as she was able to escape from her dad’s ranch for a couple of hours. The male patrons tended to be landowners who put in an honest day’s work. She knew most of them, and unfortunately, they also knew her. Local men didn’t mess with Sam Conacher’s daughter. She kept hoping for a stranger to drop in, someone wonderful who wouldn’t know about her dad. “Are you new to the valley?”
“Oh, yeah.” He flashed a dazzling grin that creased his lean cheeks and displayed straight white teeth. “Anyone whose family hasn’t been in the valley for three generations is a newcomer, or so I’m told. It’ll be years before I earn the privilege of being recognized as a Bitterrooter.”
She bent her head and toyed with her olive pick. Her cheeks went warm again. When she looked up, she said, “I hope I didn’t give you the wrong impression. I don’t habitually hit on guys.”
A twinkle danced in his eyes. “Did you hit on me? It went over my head. I guess I need to get out more.”
“My name’s Kirstin.”
“Cam.”
“I know. I heard Trish talking with you after you came in. Short for Cameron?”
“Yep. Cameron McLendon.”
Her fingers tightened on the olive pick. “Scottish?”
“Only half. My mom’s Irish.”
Kirstin’s father was a Scot, and he was the most stubborn, irascible man she’d ever known. He hadn’t always been that way, though. The death of her mother six years earlier had changed him. “Well, half Scottish or not, you seem nice.”
He chuckled. “I take it you have a low opinion of Scots.”
“Not really. Just a difficult experience with one in particular.” She took a sip of her drink. “So, Cameron McLendon, tell me about yourself.”
He smiled. “Boring story.”
“So is mine, I’m afraid, but to get acquainted, we have to start somewhere, and I asked first.”
He chuckled. “Want me to get two toothpicks so you can prop your eyelids open?” He followed the question with a sigh. “Okay, here goes. I got a job opportunity with Long Barrel Ranches, and I’ve wanted to live here or in northern Idaho most of my adult life. It was finally my chance to chase my dreams, so I took the position.”
“I’m not bored yet. Keep talking.”
He shrugged. “For a long time, my dreams took second seat to my responsibilities, and I got stuck in Northern California. It’s not that I dislike California, but after a couple of trips to this area, I fell in love. I kept hoping I might settle here, but life kept throwing me curveballs.”
“Still interesting. What kind of curveballs?”
“It’s kind of personal to share with a stranger.”
Kirstin huffed. “Oh, boy. You haven’t been in the valley long enough. No one can keep a secret here. You may as well spill your guts.”
“I guess it’s not that personal.” He shrugged. “I got my girlfriend pregnant in high school.”
“Uh-oh. I’m not sure that qualifies as a curveball. More like a demolition ball.”
He paused to search her gaze, his expression conveying a mixture of surprise and appreciation. “Most people just say ‘tough luck’ and then move on to more interesting subjects.”
Kirstin had met individuals who skimmed only the surface with her in conversations. When she told people about a life-altering event and they barely acknowledged her comment, she felt unimportant if not invisible. It also hinted that the other person had little emotional depth. “It was tough luck, I suppose, but the ramifications go well beyond that and probably lasted for years.”
His cheek creased again in a suppressed smile. “Voice of experience?”
She shook her head. “No. I lived a very sheltered life in high school.” She wanted to add that she still lived a sheltered experience, but that would shift the conversation to her, and her own life bored her to tears. “I did have a friend who got pregnant, though. She kept the baby, and her future was totally steered off course.” She popped a green olive in her mouth. “So what happened? After you learned of the pregnancy, I mean.”
He took a sip of his drink. “Well, it didn’t demolish my life, but it did drastically alter it. My dad insisted that I marry her.”
“At seventeen?” If Kirstin ever had kids, which seemed more unlikely with each passing year, she’d never force her son or daughter to get married that young. “That must have been a recipe for disaster.”
“Pretty much. Our feelings for each other-or at least hers-weren’t strong enough to withstand the trials of a teen pregnancy, and she filed for divorce before the baby was born. I think it was the shortest marriage on record.” He shrugged. “Not all her fault, not entirely mine, either. She wanted to put our child up for adoption, but my parents helped me get custody. Right after she had the baby, she faded from the picture completely. No phone calls, no visitations. But even so, she refused to give up her parental rights. That ended up being a mess when I tried to get authorization from her to move my son out of state. She wouldn’t cooperate. I think that, for whatever reason, she still holds a grudge against me. I’m not sure for what. Both of us were just kids.”
Kirstin nodded. “At that point she should have turned loose of it. But apparently she didn’t, and without her authorization to relocate, you were screwed.”
“Pretty much stuck in California, for sure. And then, about five years ago, my dad was diagnosed with stage-four colon cancer.”
She glimpsed a shimmer of moisture in his eyes and felt a burn in her own. She knew how devastating it was to lose a beloved parent to cancer. Kirstin would never forget the day her mother had been diagnosed. “That must have been rough.”
“Three years of rough. He was stubborn and didn’t give up easily. My mother, God bless her, stood by him and cared for him until the end. All during his illness, I lived and worked an hour and a half away. They had a gorgeous home in snow country, and when a storm came during the winter, my first call of the day was to my folks to see how deep the white stuff was. Anything over three inches had me hauling ass north so I could clear their driveway, a necessity in case Mom had to call for an ambulance.” He shook his head. “As Dad’s illness worsened, her burdens increased, and my father needed moral support. What kind of son would have left them?”
Kirstin’s heart squeezed. Though his story differed from hers, she completely understood how he must have felt back then. “No siblings to help you out?”
“I’ve got an awesome older sister.” His eyes warmed with fondness. “She loves our parents as much as I do. But she’d gotten married before Dad got sick, has a family, lives on the East Coast, and has a challenging career. It was really hard on her when things got bad. She couldn’t come home for every rough spot in the road. Airline fares alone made that impossible. Our folks helped with her travel costs, but mostly she tried to come when she could spend quality time with them.”
“When her visits really counted.” Kirstin remembered how her own life had become centered on her parents during her mom’s illness. When she wasn’t needed to care for her mother, she’d been trying to comfort her father. “That must have been so awful for her, wanting to be there all the time and unable to be.”
“Exactly. She couldn’t just abandon her family and career to be around constantly. She did what she could. And at the end, even though she couldn’t catch a flight to get there before he died, she was there when it mattered most, to support me and Mom afterward.” He took a sip of his drink. “It was difficult for me. I won’t say it wasn’t, or that I didn’t feel resentful sometimes. I know she felt awful about it. But, hey, I’d chosen my path, mistake driven though it was, and that left me being the only kid on the ground to take care of our folks.”
Trish delivered their meals. Kirstin smiled when she saw that they’d both ordered wings. “Great minds think alike.” She eyed her basket of food and cringed. Eating chicken wings was messy and required no fewer than ten napkins to keep the sauce off her hands and face. For reasons she had no time to analyze right now, she wanted to be at her best as she got to know this guy. “This isn’t what I would have ordered if I’d known I’d be eating with you.”
He seemed to welcome the distraction, and Kirstin understood that. When she recalled her mother’s painful death, she felt as if her heart was being pushed through a meat grinder.
“Chow down,” he said. “If you smear sauce all over your face, I won’t hold it against you. Just do me the same favor.”
Kirstin grabbed a pile of table napkins and set it between them. “We have a deal. But don’t let good table manners take precedence over telling me the rest of your story.”
Around a bite of food, he said, “Only if you play fair and tell me yours.”
“I can do that.”
He frowned as if trying to remember what he’d been saying. “Anyway, my dad passed away almost two years ago. I think Mom was in shock the first year. Me too, I suppose. And my son took it really hard. Dad was our patriarch, the hub of our lives.” He took two of the napkins. “Last spring, when I got a chance to work for Long Barrel Ranches, selling exclusive agricultural or recreational properties, I really wanted to grab the opportunity. Only I couldn’t leave my mother behind in Northern California. What family she has there is spread out over the state and up into Oregon. She had some friends, of course, but that isn’t the same as people who love you.”
“So she agreed to move here with you?” Kirstin guessed, dabbing the corners of her mouth.
“She said she was ready for a change so she wouldn’t constantly be reminded of Dad-their favorite restaurants, the trails they loved to walk, things like that. So I took my son before a judge. He was nearly sixteen. Caleb told the judge that he had never heard from his mom, that she had never even sent him a birthday card, and he didn’t think it was fair that he couldn’t move to Montana with me. The judge deemed Caleb to be old enough and mature enough to make that choice for himself. In a little over a week, I had permission to relocate my son. I put my farm on the market and came to the Bitterroot Valley to find a piece of land. Now we’re here on our property, essentially camping out while our residences are being built.”
Kirstin nearly choked as she swallowed. “Is your property on the river?”
He wiped his mouth. “Oh, yeah. We got so lucky. A large chunk of property with a lot of river frontage. Gorgeous piece of land. As rough as our living conditions are right now, even my mother loves it. Incredible three-hundred-and-sixty-degree views of the mountains. Fairly private. Good soil for alfalfa. The only problem is that Murphy’s Law reigned supreme this summer, slowing things down as far as construction went. We had to get septic system approval, and the county is especially careful about granting that on river property. The builder hasn’t even broken ground yet. He will soon, though.”
Kirstin collected her composure. “I think we’re neighbors. You’re the people with the-um-huge camp.”
Cam looked startled for a moment and then smiled. “Everyone who drives along Fox Hollow Road probably sees it. I think it’s become a conversation piece, with people speculating about what crazy thing I might do next. When you’re trying to create comfort for your family out in an alfalfa field, you have to be inventive. I’ve nicknamed it the Hillbilly Village.”
“I’m glad you have a sense of humor about it. My father says we’ve been invaded by the Clampetts.”
He threw back his tawny head and barked with laughter. She loved his broad smile. “Fair enough. I got everything in our camp functional, but I couldn’t make it pretty. We tried to rent a house, but no landlord would accept us. We have three dogs and six cats, not to mention horses.”
“We drive by your place going to and from town.” She fiddled with a crumpled napkin. “When I first saw you walk in, something about you seemed familiar. Now I know why. At a distance, I see you all the time. My father owns the ranch behind your property.”
Cam stared at her. “You’re Kirstin Conacher ? Sam Conacher’s daughter?” He thumped himself on the forehead with the heel of his hand, leaving a smear of red sauce above his left eyebrow. “Oh, shit!”
Kirstin realized that he was already aware of her father’s reputation. “My dad isn’t as bad as rumor makes him out to be.” The moment she spoke, she knew she needed to make a retraction. “Well, he actually is pretty bad, but I’ve learned ways around him.”
Cam couldn’t believe his bad luck. He’d actually been thinking about asking Kirstie out on a date. Not happening . Rumor had it that Sam Conacher went way over the top when it came to protecting his daughter. Some people even said he could be violent, but Cam doubted that was true. Mostly the man just destroyed the reputation of any guy who was dumb enough to mess with her. Supposedly she didn’t date. He’d heard that she was beautiful, of course, but he had envisioned a spoiled, snotty rich girl with salon-conditioned hair and pampered skin. Kirstin Conacher didn’t fit that mold. Her nails were clipped short. Her hands, though small, looked strong and hardened from physical work. Her clothing was ordinary.
“Is it true that you’re still a virgin?” Cam wanted to kick himself the moment he asked the question.
She laughed. “Is that what people still say? No, definitely not, but only because I’ve been creative a few times, sneaking out behind my dad’s back.” She passed him a napkin. “Forehead. Right above your left eyebrow.” As Cam scrubbed his skin, she added, “I know sneaking out sounds absurd. I’m a grown woman and should just get a place of my own. But it’s more complicated than that.”
Cam saw sadness in her eyes, and her mouth drew into a pinched line. “Hey, if it’s something that’s hard for you to talk about, there’s no need to get into it. We didn’t sign a full-disclosure agreement, after all.”
“That wouldn’t be fair. Me sharing my details was part of the bargain. Besides, in some ways, our stories are alike. Six years ago we lost my mom to ovarian cancer, and I’m an only child. I had to carry the load, making sure she got her medicine on time and playing roulette with opiates when she couldn’t bear the pain. Convincing my father to put her in hospice was difficult. To him it was like giving up and signing her death warrant. I was nearly eighteen when we found out. She died when I was twenty. It was a terrible two years.”
Cam’s stomach knotted. He’d lived through times like that and knew how horrible they were. “I’m sure you made all the right choices.”
“I don’t know about that.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. She looked out the window instead of holding his gaze. Cam studied her profile. He thought it was perfect, featuring a short delicately bridged nose, lush lips, and a small chin that suggested she might have a stubborn streak. “I was so young. Death had always been something distant to me-an awful thing that would happen way off in the future. Only suddenly, there it was, taking my mom from us.” She took a bracing breath and looked back at Cam with a self-derisive smile. “Sorry. It’s been six years. One would think I’d be over it.”
“Do we ever really get over it?” Cam asked. “Two years, six years. That’s not long enough. Twenty maybe. And then it’ll still make us sad if we let ourselves think about it.”
She nodded. “Losing Mom nearly destroyed my dad. Right after her funeral, he took his first drink, and I didn’t see him sober for two years.”
“Oh, man.” Cam felt grateful that his mother was such a strong woman. After losing her husband, she had never turned to alcohol or tranquilizers to survive. “That must have made things harder.”
“It was horrible. Drunk as a lord, he ran heavy equipment, rode horses, and herded cows. He took stupid risks countless times a day, and I lived on the edge of panic, afraid that he’d kill himself. Finally I told him one morning that I couldn’t take it anymore and was moving out.” She took a sip of her martini and sighed. “Until that moment, I’d never seen my father cry except for when Mama died. But he sank onto the stairs, stared at me with tears rolling down his cheeks, and begged me not to leave. I was all he had left, he said, and if I abandoned him he’d have nothing to live for.”
“Oh, Kirstie.”
She set her glass down with a loud click . “He sobered up to appease me.” She lifted her hands. “When you talked about feeling stuck- Well, that’s how I felt that morning and how I still feel now. He kept his side of the bargain, and I’ve never seen him drunk again. He’ll have a couple of beers or a little wine. I don’t mind that.” Her gaze clung to Cam’s. “I didn’t leave that morning. I realized that he needed me, and I couldn’t abandon him.”
“Of course you couldn’t. He’s your father, and you love him.”
“You’d be amazed by how many people tell me to run for my life and let the ornery old bastard dive back into a whiskey jug.”
“People call him that to your face?”
“That and worse. And it’s not entirely undeserved. My dad is old, he’s ornery, and he can be extremely difficult. He hasn’t always been that way. Before Mama died, he was a great guy-a good neighbor, a wonderful boss, and a fabulous father.” She grimaced. “Now it’s a different story. He treats me as if I’m sixteen. He grew so impossible to work with that all but one of his hired hands quit. He has me and a man named Miguel who shares the responsibilities of ranch manager with me. His wife cleans and cooks for Dad, so she makes a good income as well.” Kirstin pushed the last olive around in her glass. “They’re family-oriented people. I think Miguel understands my dad in ways that others don’t.”
Cam heard the pain that laced her words. Kirstin’s feelings ran deep, and he totally understood how her emotions worked against her. She deserved to live her own life, to feel free to date and maybe fall in love. Yet she’d become trapped by a sense of obligation-just as he had. No longer hungry, he pushed his plate aside and noticed that she had done the same.
“I’m sorry, Kirstin. When our folks get older, it can be hard. I loved my dad. I love my mom. What I wanted to do with my own life got lost in the shuffle. But I wouldn’t go back in time to change a thing. I did no more for them than either of them would have done for me. That’s what family is all about. I know that it’s a small consolation, but someday when you look back, you’ll have no regrets.”
Her gaze clung to his. “I hope for that. But what about my life now? We only get one shot.”
Cam couldn’t dismiss her concerns. He’d felt them himself. “I’m not going to say you’re not missing out on things. I used to worry that I’d bypassed my window of opportunity to meet the right person, and sometimes I still do. All I can do is trust that I’ll meet her soon and get my shot at happiness. Not that I’m unhappy. I love my work. Our new land is beautiful. And my son is a precious gift in my life. But when this chapter ends, will another one open up for me?”
She nodded. “Right. I hear you. Ever since my mom’s death, I’ve felt like a figurine trapped in a snow globe. When I finally couldn’t take it anymore, I started sneaking out.” She gestured at the window. “As often as I can, I visit the restaurants and bars on Highway 93, for better company.”
Cam knew firsthand that most of the bars were similar to the Cowboy Tree, low-key, friendly, and suitable for family dining. “How has that worked out?”
“Well, the overall picture is pretty dismal, but at least I’m no longer a virgin.”
Cam arched his eyebrows. “And how did that happen?” He winced. “I mean the circumstances, not the nuts and bolts.”
“I met a nice guy, arranged to meet him in Missoula, where I can get lost in a crowd, and went to bed with him.” She shrugged. “Nothing spectacular. But after he left my motel room, I went to the lounge and had a drink to celebrate my coming-of-age. I know it sounds sleazy. I didn’t care if I ever saw him again. He was my means to an end.”
Cam thought she was far too lovely and special to waste herself on some guy who meant nothing to her. On the other hand, he’d been intimate with people who didn’t really matter to him, so maybe his opinion was sexist.
She scrunched up her nose. “I’ve dated only a few guys since then. Nobody memorable. Maybe an HEA isn’t in the stars for me.” She laid a crumpled napkin on her plate. “My opportunities to spend a night away from home are at a minimum.” Another sigh conveyed to him her sense of frustration. “I never pictured my life like this. Dad let me attend college in Missoula, but he refused to let me live on campus. He said he wasn’t about to let some ‘liberal pip-squeak’ seduce me. In fair weather, I drove back and forth. If I wasn’t home by six, he was wearing a path on his slate floor, worried sick. In bad weather, he drove me to campus and picked me up when I finished my last class. I felt like an overlarge kindergartner.”
Cam appreciated her honesty. He hadn’t been held back by an overprotective parent, but he had been hemmed in by familial obligations. He wondered if she regretted not leaving the ranch over her father’s drinking. Conacher had been in the wrong, and she’d missed her opportunity to escape by giving him a second chance. Cam knew he couldn’t learn the answer to that question over one order of wings, and there would never be a next time. She was pretty. She was interesting. But with her father as part of the equation, she was also dangerous.
“I’m thirty-five,” he told her. “A little too old for you.”
She gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m an extremely mature twenty-six, going on twenty-seven. The age difference doesn’t seem that important to me. This will sound bold-it seems to be my day for it. But, please, I’d like to get to know you better.”
He glanced at his watch. “Damn, it’s already four thirty. I’ve got livestock to care for, and then I have to fix dinner.”
“Well, I can see I’ve scared you off. Is it my age, or do you just feel that the situation is too complicated because of my father?”
Cam hated being put on the spot, but she was a nice young woman and deserved an honest answer. “I’m taking a huge risk just by sitting here with you.”
“Yes, you probably are,” she conceded.
“If someone in here told your father that we were seen together, I could become his next target. I’ve heard the stories. He goes after any man who messes with you. Gets them fired from their jobs, ruins their reputations.”
She sighed. “I won’t deny it, Cam. By seeing me, you’d be putting yourself in his line of fire.”
“Right, and I have my family to think of. I came with savings to back us up, but buying the land was expensive, so I need to start selling ranches before my money runs out. I don’t want my mom shouldering the load, which she will if I don’t hit my stride in the valley.”
She nodded as if she understood, but she didn’t look happy about it. “Just in case you change your mind, would you like to have my cell number?”
Cam saw no harm in that. “Sure.” He exchanged devices with her and punched in his name and number on her phone while she did the same on his.
She returned his cell. He slipped hers back across the table. An edgy feeling moved up his spine. He couldn’t shake the thought that he was making a huge mistake.
She searched his expression and smiled. “Hey, don’t feel bad about this. You’re playing it smart. My father can be bad news.”
Cam didn’t want to sound as if he were throwing her a crumb to make her feel better, but at the same time, he couldn’t just walk away, either. “You’re a very attractive lady, Kirstin. I have a feeling I’m going to regret not seeing you again.”
“If so, you’ve got my number.” She collected a hand-tooled leather purse from where it sat on a stool beside her. Cam knew with one look that it had probably cost a small fortune. If he’d seen it earlier, he would have known she had money and lots of it. “My fair share,” she said, placing a twenty on the table.
“You don’t have to do that. My treat.”
“Nonsense. Two ships passing in the night should go Dutch.” She stood and extended her hand to him before he could gain his feet. He grasped her fingers. She responded with a strong grip that told him more than she could know, particularly how hard she worked on her father’s ranch. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Cam. I’ve enjoyed it.”
He nodded, still feeling off-center. Looking up at her, he couldn’t recall ever having met someone who appealed to him quite as much or on so many levels. In a short span of time, he’d learned so much about her, namely that she was a devoted daughter, that life had challenged her at nearly every turn, and that she had the capacity to be loyal, even when the circumstances were completely unfair to her. “Likewise. Take care of yourself, Kirstin. When you drive by the Hillbilly Village, toot your horn to say hello. I doubt that your father will go off the deep end over a little neighborly horn honking.”
“You might be surprised what my father could read into a friendly honk.”
Pulling the purse strap over her shoulder, she walked away. With every click of her boots, Cam silently called himself an idiot.