miles away.
“I’ll be fine. Besides, your cousin caught those thieves.” She switched on the interior light and pointed to her winter coat. “And I’m plenty warm.” A flat tire during her first winter in Big Sky country had taught Sierra to keep a heavy jacket in her vehicle year-round. Unlike Chicago, car trouble in rural Montana could mean waiting an entire day for help to arrive and the state’s weather was anything but predictable—sixty degrees one hour, a blizzard the next.
“How long did you say you’ve been waiting for Stan?”
“Twenty minutes maybe.” When had she become such an accomplished liar?
Beau walked to the front of the car and placed his hand on the hood.
Busted. She’d been parked for over three hours—surely the engine was stone cold. “Thanks again for stopping to check on me,” she called out the window, hoping he’d take the hint and leave.
“You’re sure you don’t want a ride to the diner?”
“Positive.”
“Okay. Take care.” He retreated to his truck where he took his dang tootin’ time pulling back onto the road. As soon as the livestock trailer disappeared around the bend in the road, Sierra breathed a sigh of relief.
Then the tears fell.
Ah, Beau. Darn the man for being…nice. Handsome. Sexy.
Over a year ago, Sierra had become aware of the subtle changes in her eyesight, but she’d steadfastly ignored the signs and had gone about life as usual. Her resolve to pretend her vision was fine had grown stronger after each encounter with Beau. Then her aunt had arrived unannounced—thanks to the busybodies who’d informed her of Sierra’s recent mishaps around town—determined to persuade Sierra to schedule an appointment with an ophthalmologist. Sadly, she didn’t need an examination to tell her that she’d inherited the gene for the eye disease that had led to her aunt’s blindness.
Why couldn’t Beau have paid attention to her when she’d first arrived in Roundup years ago? Darn life for being unfair. Sierra rested her head on the back of the seat. Maybe she’d see—ha, ha, ha—things in a different light come morning.
Morning arrived at 6:25 a.m., when a semi truck whizzed by her car and woke her. She wiggled her cold toes and fingers until the feeling returned to the numb digits. If she hurried, she’d have time to mix a batch of biscuits before the diner doors opened for breakfast at seven.
She snapped on her seat belt then checked the rearview mirror. Oh. My. God. Beau’s pickup, minus the livestock trailer, sat a hundred yards behind her. Embarrassed and humiliated that he’d caught her red-handed in a lie, she shoved the key into the ignition and the SUV engine fired to life. After checking for cars in both directions she hit the gas. The back tires spewed gravel as she pulled onto the highway. Keeping a death grip on the steering wheel she glanced at the side mirror—Beau remained fast asleep, slouched against the driver’s-side window.
Don’t you dare cry.
Her eyesight was blurry in the mornings, and if she gave into the tears that threatened to fall she’d be forced to pull off the road again—and then what excuse would she give Beau?
* * *
BEAU WOKE IN time to catch the taillights of Sierra’s SUV driving off. The least she could have done was thank him for watching over her through the night.
Sierra mystified him. After finding her stranded on the side of the road he’d been puzzled by her insistence that he not wait with her for a tow. Then, when he’d placed his hand on the hood of the car and discovered the engine was cold, his suspicions had grown. For the life of him he couldn’t figure out what she’d been up to, but she’d made it clear she didn’t want his help, so he’d moseyed along. When he’d reached Roundup, he’d driven past Davidson Towing. Stan’s tow truck had sat parked in the lot, the lights turned off in the service garage.
For a split second, Beau had wondered if Sierra had intended to rendezvous with a man, but he’d nixed that idea. Before he’d begun his campaign to convince her to go out on a date with him he’d asked his cousin Dinah, the town’s sheriff, to find out if Sierra was involved with another man. According to Dinah’s sources Sierra wasn’t. Boyfriend or not, Beau hadn’t been about to leave Sierra alone in the dark.
He’d delivered Bushwhacker and Back Bender to Thunder Ranch, then had hollered at his father through the door that he was meeting up with friends at the Open Range Saloon. Alibi taken care of, he’d high-tailed it back to the highway.
When he’d passed her SUV, the truck’s headlights had shown her asleep in the front seat. Alone. Relieved he’d been wrong about a clandestine meeting, he’d parked behind the car, resigned to wait until morning for answers. Those answers were right now fleeing down the highway.
Although tempted to stalk Sierra until she offered an explanation for the crazy stunt she’d pulled last night, he started his truck and turned onto the county road that bypassed Roundup and brought him to the back side of Thunder Ranch, where the Adams men were in charge of the bucking bulls and the cattle that grazed this section of the property. He pulled up to the small house his father had raised him and his brother in after their mother had died in a car accident thirty years ago. He shut off the engine then tapped a finger against the steering wheel. Was he coming on too strong with Sierra?
When he’d first begun pursuing her, his brother had pointed out that folks might mistake his actions as those of a man on the rebound. He’d discarded Duke’s words. Beau and his former girlfriend Melanie had given their long-distance relationship a shot but they’d grown apart months before their official breakup last December. Now that Duke and all their cousins, except Tuf, had married, Beau was feeling left out of the holy-matrimony club. He wanted for himself the same happiness his brother and cousins had found with their significant others, and something about Sierra made Beau believe she could be the one.
He hopped out of the truck and used the side door to enter the house. He found his father sitting at the kitchen table, eating donuts—usually by this time in the morning he was checking the water tanks and feed bins in the bull pasture. Beau hung his sheepskin jacket on the hook by the door. “Skipping your oatmeal and English muffin today?”
“Jordan sent the donuts home with me last night. Leftovers from the diner.”
Jordan Peterson was Sierra’s aunt and his father’s…friend…girlfriend? The moment Jordan had stepped off the bus with her seeing-eye dog in July, his father had been hot on her heels. Beau had no idea where the older couple’s relationship was headed, but he was ticked off that his father spent most of his time with Jordan and neglected his responsibilities around the ranch.
“When did you get in last night?” Had his father been home when Beau had dropped off the bulls?
“’Round midnight.”
Guess not.
“Since we’re keeping tabs on each other’s whereabouts....” His father nodded at Beau’s jacket. “Where’d you hang your hat last night?”
Admitting that he’d slept in the cab of his truck would raise more questions than Beau cared to answer. Besides, he doubted Sierra wanted her aunt or the good folks of Roundup to learn she’d spent the night on the side of the road.
Rather than lie, Beau changed the subject. “Did you eat supper at the Number 1 yesterday?”
“Only an emergency would keep me from missing the Saturday special.”
Beef potpie baked in a homemade crust. Beau had memorized the daily specials when he’d begun his campaign to woo Sierra.
His father carried his coffee cup to the sink. “Sierra phoned Jordan and said she wouldn’t be back in town until morning, so I helped close up the diner last night.”
Sierra had covered all her bases—clever girl—but why?
“Speaking of Sierra…Jordan