Diamonds And Denim (Country Brides & Cowboy Boots) Read online

  Willow tried to smile as Pilot left his side of the bench seat and curled up next to Willow, placing his head on her knee. Gratitude for the dog’s sensitive nature wrapped its warm cocoon around her as she rested her right hand on Pilot’s head. His read of her was always correct, and he could gauge when she was even a little sad or upset.

  Willow took a deep breath as she ran one hand over the dog’s shoulders. She turned her attention to the countryside she was passing alongside the road. This must be foreboding country for a city boy. Mountains, frigid and unyielding, rose against the darkening night. Their cold presence created a barrier to what that rich city boy was hoping to attain. And apparently, Mick was rich, with his broken-down Jaguar and fancy clothes. He pulled money out of his wallet like he was pouring water out of a bottle.

  Willow roughed up Pilot’s fur. “So he passed your test, huh?” She gave the dog a sideways glance. “I think he’s pretty harmless.”

  Willow geared up the truck and flicked on her brights before patting the old, worn dashboard. “C’mon, Clementine. Dad will be wondering why we’re late, and I don’t want to blame you.” He would want the cows milked and fed, along with the rabbits and chickens looked after. She’d have to clean the coop tomorrow.

  Her right hand fell back to Pilot as the dog let out a contended sigh, giving her an upward glance. Willow loved his warm, thick fur, and she absently stroked the dog while steering with one hand. To be honest, she didn’t think she needed to steer at all. Clementine, the old pickup, had made so many trips to Sunrise Creek from the Double W Ranch that it could practically drive itself.

  Satisfaction trickled into Willow. She loved life on the ranch with its four seasons of routine. Now it was autumn, and the earth was preparing to hibernate. Hay was in the barn, and this year’s calves had grown fat on their mother’s milk and pasture. The pantry was filled with what she spent the summer canning from the garden. They had plenty of chickens with all the new chicks that hatched during the summer, so eggs were plentiful, and the older chickens were in the freezer.

  Her dad complained about that. He didn’t like tough birds. But their cook, Shorty, knew how to soften any piece of meat.

  Willow would miss summer’s fresh produce and huge salads, but she was alone in her love for greens. Both her father and Shorty preferred a plate full of meat and potatoes. But Shorty always made sure she got her salad.

  Willow smiled. She loved Shorty. The man looked perpetually old from being in the weather his whole life, and he was so bowlegged, the legend was that he learned to ride before he could walk. But his skill with cast iron was well-known, and she felt lucky to have him cook for the Double W. In fact, she liked him so much, she made sure he stayed on by paying him through the winter with room and board, so he wouldn’t wander off to another ranch. Shorty’s cooking was a big draw for the hands to return to the Double W in the spring.

  Even though Willow worked beside her father in the day-to-day running of the ranch, she let her dad or Curtis take care of the ranch hands. She didn’t like the way most of those men looked at her.

  Curtis. Willow’s shoulders slumped. Pilot noticed the change and raised his head to look up at Willow.

  “It’s all right, boy.” Willow smoothed Pilot’s fur. The dog put his head back on Willow’s knee.

  Curtis was going to school in Texas. Already, he’d graduated with a BS in Agriculture Economics and was working on his master’s in the same field. Willow didn’t understand the importance of the postgraduate degree. Four years of school was enough. But Curtis was determined to learn all he could about the money of ranching.

  She rarely saw him, and sometimes days would go by without hearing from him either. Willow guessed that what Curtis did while he was in Texas was supposed to stay in Texas. But when he got home, everyone expected her to marry him, even though the words between them had never been spoken, and Willow didn’t wear a ring.

  Every summer, when Curtis came home, Willow anticipated a proposal, and every autumn, Curtis packed his pickup and headed back to Texas without any sort of promise, leaving her with an undefined yearning that mingled with confusion. Had she missed something? Maybe Curtis had proposed when she was feeding the cows or weeding the garden, and she just didn’t hear him.

  More likely, he believed she’d marry him because that’s what everybody else envisioned. The whole town of Sunrise Creek talked as if they were going to marry. After all, they’d been together since high school, and their marriage would merge two of the smaller but prosperous ranches in Sunrise Creek. Wasn’t it a done deal?

  In spite of the frustration that welled up over the lack of an engagement ring, even Willow carried the expectation deep within her soul. There was something comforting about the idea of marrying Curtis. Willow knew him. She knew the touch of his skin and the way his clothes hung on his body. She could pick him out of a crowd from any distance with his broad shoulders, shock of blond hair, and deep blue eyes. Their histories merged into one story that had been the narrative of her life from the time she was old enough to walk, and if that wasn’t love, Willow didn’t know the meaning of the word.

  Willow geared down as her headlights swept across the Jag. Bert would most likely be right behind her, so she didn’t linger, even though curiosity spilled inside her. What in the world was Mr. New York City doing in Sunrise Creek?

  When she glanced in her rearview mirror, reflecting headlights caused Willow to squint. Most likely that was Bert. Willow resisted the urge to pull over and meet them at the Jag. She didn’t have any reason to be there. What could she say?

  Her cell phone jangled, startling Willow. It was a text from Curtis. Hey, babe. Just wondering how your evening is setting up. Can we talk later?

  A slow irritation burned in the center of Willow’s chest like a single coal. She hated it when Curtis called her babe, and the picture it conjured of her as some helpless girl child—everything Willow was determined not to be. She let the aggravation go and spoke into her phone. On my way home. I’ll call later.

  No reply.

  Pushing on the gas, she geared up the truck toward the ranch as her thoughts slipped to the owner of the forlorn Jag. What would it be like to travel from one end of the country to the other or live away from home?

  Every one of Willow’s friends, except Ruby, had left Sunrise Creek with its population of ten thousand. They moved to places like Denver, Missoula, or even L.A., Portland, and Seattle. But some stubborn part of Willow stayed.

  Whenever Curtis came back from Texas, he usually spent the first week of his return extolling the virtues of his adopted state. But lately, Curtis seemed to miss home. He’d been away almost six years. Maybe that was enough.

  Nothing could sway Willow from Montana. After her mom died, she felt the need to stick close to her dad and the ranch. She wasn’t exactly sorry. She loved this place she called home with its ever-changing grasslands, rugged mountains, forests, and lakes. But there were some things for which she wished, and travel was one of them.

  Willow longed to see the Pacific Ocean. She yearned for a marine breeze and to watch whales play and frolic underneath the waves. And sometimes, in the far-reaching corners of her mind, she wondered what life was like beyond this small town and big valley.

  * * *

  After the evening meal, Willow settled on her bed with Pilot within reaching distance on the floor and dialed Curtis’s number.

  He picked up on the last ring before it went to voice mail. “Hey, babe.”

  Willow gritted her teeth before sucking in a deep breath.

  Curtis continued, “I can’t talk long. Me and Jonah are working on a group project with a couple of guys.”

  Willow’s temper settled. She didn’t want to spend their few minutes together fighting. “What’s the project?”

  “The pros and cons of ranchers’ alliances. I think it’s something I’m going to try to implement when I come home after graduation. I’ll talk with you and your dad about it, too. It�
��ll be a good way to bind the ranches together.”

  Willow wasn’t sure if Curtis was referring to their neighboring ranches or the greater conglomerate of ranches across the nation. She was about to ask when Curtis changed the subject. “Uncle Bert sent me a text earlier this evening. He said you brought in some bedraggled stray whose car conked out. He was going to take the guy down Three Dog Road to tow it back to the shop. He said it was a Jag.”

  Willow swallowed her shock over Bert’s quick text to Curtis. “Your uncle Bert doesn’t waste any time in making sure he gets to tell the story first.”

  Curtis laughed. “You know how he is.” He pushed on, his voice holding an edge. “So tell me about this guy.”

  Willow laughed. “You’d be better off asking your uncle. I only talked with him for a few minutes—enough to get him settled in the bed of the truck for the cold ride into town. I introduced him to your uncle and went on my way.”

  Curtis hooted, and a sense of ease came over the phone. “You made him ride in the back of the truck?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, good for you, babe. I guess I don’t have to worry about you and stranger danger, do I?”

  Willow’s irritation overflowed. “I’m pretty good at taking care of myself, Curtis, which is why I’d prefer you to stop calling me babe. We’ve talked about this before. I’m not a babe, okay?”

  Curtis’s voice softened. “You’re my babe,” he said. “And I’ve known you since we were both babes, so give me this one, okay?”

  Willow’s defenses dropped a notch and her heart mellowed at Curtis’s silvery tone. In all of their years together, she had never heard him use this sweet timbre of voice with anyone but her. It brought a mood that only the two of them shared. “All right,” she breathed. “But—”

  “No buts,” Curtis said. “Look, I’ve got to go. I’m sorry to end this call. I’d rather talk to you, but duty calls.”

  Reluctant melancholy filled Willow. She hated saying goodbye to people. Her life was filled with goodbyes. She sighed. “Yeah. I know.” She sighed.

  “I love you, Willow.”

  Curtis’s sweet voice offered her a soothing balm.

  “I love you, too,” she said before they both hung up.

  She looked down at Pilot, who met her eyes with a sweet face full of innocence. “That was Curtis,” Willow told Pilot.

  The dog didn’t blink.

  “I know you don’t like him, but maybe someday …” Her voice trailed off. Maybe someday, what? Maybe someday she’d be wearing a glittering diamond on her left hand and be able to count on all of the promises that came with it? Did she want to marry Curtis?

  Willow sobered as she replayed Curtis’s words of love. The sweet tone of his voice echoed in her heart. They’d loved each other since they were children playing together in the barn and holding hands under the table in the school cafeteria, when they were in the second grade and she wasn’t even supposed to like boys. They’d loved each other in high school, when other girls made a play for Curtis. And she’d fallen in love with him when her mother died five years ago, and Curtis sacrificed so much to offer her a life raft in her sea of grief. Yes, she loved Curtis, and through their lives together, it was Curtis who’d taught her the meaning of the word.

  Chapter 4

  Mick woke to a weak morning sun shining through the window blinds. The unforgiving clock read six-fifteen. The farther west he traveled, the earlier he awoke. Stumbling out of bed, he stared at the suitcases in the corner and was instantly reminded as to why he was here. The Jag was parked in Bert’s lot across the street, while he was parked in a roadside country motel. The room wasn’t bad. It was the cleanest room he’d stayed in during this whole journey, and it smelled of fresh linen. Even the sheets felt as if they’d been pressed.

  His room had two doors, which was a bit odd. But when Mick finally settled in last night, he didn’t care about the number of doors. Even though it was eight o’clock in the evening, he simply locked everything and fell into bed. Early bedtimes were another symptom of traveling west.

  Walking across the room, Mick picked up the coffee packets and made a face. How he wished for a shot of Simone’s espresso. Instead, he tore open a packet of freeze-dried make-do and started the small coffee maker. Dumping several packets of sugar into his steaming Styrofoam cup, he took a peek out the front window. He couldn’t see much. The predawn light gave off a dismal cast over the street and mechanic shop. Was the view out back any better?

  Pulling on the bathrobe offered by the motel, he made his way to the back door, unlocking the deadbolt before he gently turned the knob.

  His eyes could barely take in the whole of the beauty that stretched out like unfurled parchment. A mountain lake was greeted with a new lover’s kiss from a benevolent sun. Hushed water lapped into lush grass just feet from where Mick stood. Facing south, the mountains and forest rose above the water. Evergreens, too innumerable to count, welcomed the sun with their stalwart branches and delicate needles. The air was fresh with their scent, and Mick breathed deeply, the aroma of the cool autumn morning chilling his nose and making him feel alive in a new way that was both raw and inviting. Never before had he witnessed such enticing beauty and his jaw fell open in awe.

  Houses dotted the shoreline of the lake, looking small and quaint against the grandeur of their surroundings. A few homes braved the mountainside—their east-facing windows reflecting the sun. What must it be like to live here, surrounded by so much rough and real nature?

  For as long as Mick could remember, his world cocooned him in steel, concrete, and a good deal of pavement. Green popped up in the form of parks and the occasional tree-lined street. But even those were from his childhood. His current residence was an ultra-modern condo in New York City, where the only green was on a plate that a waiter hauled out of Mick’s well-known kitchen at the restaurant, Red, where he worked as the head chef.

  Mick shivered in the cold morning and sipped from his cooling cup of coffee. A sense of his own smallness rose from the organic beauty that surrounded him. It mingled with a foreboding uncertainty of the unknown that lurked in those mountains. This lovely allure could be deadly. In fact, it could’ve indiscriminately killed him in the form of a freezing night in his car. What else lay hidden among those trees? Bears? Cougar? Wolves? How did a woman like Willow manage in this kind of country?

  Willow.

  Would she really come look in on him this morning? It would be better if she didn’t. Even as he realized this, a pinprick of desire needled him. His thought drifted to her lyrical laugh and how she took his presence in stride.

  She didn’t make fun of him or show any contempt for his lack of preparation to be in the mountains. If Simone were with him, she would still be harping on his ineptness.

  Not Willow. With some sleep and caffeine, Mick understood Willow’s decision to keep him out of the cab of her truck. At least she’d stopped and offered him and his bruised ego a soft place to land, even if it was the dirty bed of her pickup. Not everyone would be so kind. His short time with Bert made that perfectly clear.

  Mick shifted his weight from one bare foot to the other as the uncomfortable thought of Simone played along the edges of his mind like lapping water at the edge of the shore. He didn’t want to think about Simone or Bert. And he shouldn’t be thinking of Willow. After all, she was engaged—another fact Bert made perfectly clear.

  A quiet sorrow pushed at him. Their lives had barely intersected, and yet Willow was the most memorable part of this trip with her sweet laugh and easy smile.

  No! He would not think of Willow. She had better things to do than check on a New Yorker who’d lost his bearings, and he needed to get the Jag fixed and drive out of town. He hoped to be on his way by the afternoon. If last night had taught him anything, it was that he wasn’t prepared to be out in a western mountain autumn, where cold rain could turn to snow or worse at any time.

  Mick turned back to his room, but he couldn’t l
eave the view. The pull of the autumn morning rustled around him in the soft kiss of the breeze and offered him its stunning exposed beauty. Hurrying back into his room, he pulled his cell phone from its charger and returned to the shore, where he lined up a picture and snapped. He might be leaving Sunrise Creek today, and all of the memories might not be great. He could still smell the cab of Bert’s tow truck, and he was sure he would never get that greasy odor of cigarettes out of his clothes. But he didn’t ever want to forget this beautiful morning, where he walked out his back door to find a mountain lake in the middle of a scene fit to be on the cover of National Geographic. Simone would be so jealous, and she deserved every bit of that visit from the green monster!

  Quickly, he posted the picture to his Instagram page with the caption reading, “Morning from Sunrise Creek, MT. A little detour on my way to Seattle.” He didn’t mention the broken-down Jag.

  Turning from the lake, Mick hurriedly showered and dressed before walking outside to see his car had been pulled into the garage. Bert started early! He found the mechanic up to his elbows into the Jag’s motor.

  “Well, what do you think?” Mick asked.

  “You’re here awful early,” Bert said before motioning to the car. “I don’t know yet. Come back around noon, okay?”

  “Noon! I was hoping to get out of town by noon.”

  “This ain’t no New York minute,” Bert said. “I don’t see many of these cars, and I want to make sure I’m getting this right. I wouldn’t plan on leaving today at all. For one thing, I’ve got a couple of cars ahead of you, and I still don’t know what’s wrong with yours. I came in early to see if I could figure it out.”