Running Wild Read Online Free Page A

hall.
    Nick fell back into his favorite chair and rubbed his neck.
Promise and beauty, combined with an amused-but-sensual unspoken communication
passing back and forth between them, which was as implausible as it was
undeniable.
    False promise, he cautioned himself. Ladies did not
deliver on such things, not outside of marriage, anyhow. Those meaningful
glances, those unspoken words were just the tools of a practiced flirt. He’d
never fallen for one himself, but too many times he’d seen men who had, who’d
gotten tangled up in pleasing a lady, certain that this time she’d come
through, only to be kicked into the dust. Seen men so twisted up in love and
lust that it ended in shootin’, sometimes in killin’, but no matter what, it
never ended good. No sir, he thought, and took a long pull on his drink, no
sir, he would not buy into that.
    He looked into the glass. The brandy was a few shades darker
than Miz Montgomery’s eyes, and he recollected her looking at the decanter. In
spite of himself, a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. He oughtn’t to have
offered her a glass, but he couldn’t resist the wistfulness in her gaze. Her
answering smile and the mutiny in her eyes when her brother argued had made it
worth it. Star Montgomery was sure enough a lady and a flirt, but under all the
fancy clothes and gentility and come-hither looks lurked a strong, stubborn
woman who was used to getting her way. The kinda woman who’d mess up a man but
good, the kind Ma would have warned him about if she’d lived.
    Closing his eyes, Nick leaned back in his chair and rubbed
his chin as a worn out memory of his father and mother rose in front of his
eyes. Fifteen years dead and he still missed ’em.
    Like Ward Montgomery, Pa’d been a Yank, born and bred. He’d
had the same, “if you please” manner of negotiation, which was just a tactful
way of saying, “do it, or I’ll tan your hide.” Even with Ward’s highfalutin’
back-East ways, Nick reckoned not much could ruffle his feathers. Again, like
Pa, who, upon learning Ma had developed a lung complaint, up and moved the
whole family to Colorado, hoping the dry mountain air might cure her. Wasted no
time in griping, just closed down his printing press, packed up his family and
vamoosed, even though he had no notion of how to run a ranch beyond what he’d
read in books. Because that’s what a man did, he took care of family.
    He’d done a damned fine job, too. Even got along with the
Injuns, who took his measure and never gave him a lick of trouble. Eight years
into it, though, a wagon accident had killed both of ’em, leaving Nick, at
eighteen, to run a ranch and raise his brother. Which Nick had done without a
second thought, like Ward, a Boston aristocrat who’d traveled fifteen hundred
miles by train and coach to help his son, because that’s what a man did, took
care of family.
    Yup, Nick thought, polishing off his drink, he liked Ward.
He liked Ward’s daughter. And he was damned glad they were both ridin’ out of
his life in a couple days, ’cause he reckoned having the two of ’em at the Bar
M was more than an ol’ cowpoke like him could handle.
    ***
    Crossing the dirt yard, Star watched Nicholas, dressed in a
black Stetson, jean pants, a scratched tan leather coat and leather gloves,
climb the corral fence and lean over the top. “Harley, you lazy bastard, get
your ass back up on that sonuvabitch, and show it who’s boss. Don’chu let it
push you ’round, boy, or I’ll kick your ass from June to Jericho.” After that,
he spouted a string of delightfully obscene language, which Star had never
heard before. Had she been a proper lady, she would have colored up and run.
She wasn’t, however, and the obscene language made her smile.
    Inside the corral, two men boxed a dun-colored horse,
foaming at the mouth, into a corner. Harley pulled himself off the ground and
slapped the dust out of his pants, mumbling under his breath.
    Nicholas jumped off