Montana Fire: A Small Town Romance - Book 1 Read online

  “I’m more a boxers kind of girl.” I darted a quick glance at Ty’s lower region wondering what he had on.

  He noticed and waggled his eyebrows. “Wanna see if I’m a boxers kind of guy?”

  Yes. “Um…” I felt like a fifteen-year-old girl with brand new, raging hormones mucking up all modest thoughts. I tapped the box. “This is all Goldie. My mother-in-law. She thinks I need…sex. She thinks I need sex with you.”

  I ran my hand over my face, hoping to wipe off some of the scorching heat I felt there. I was more than competent to embarrass myself without any help from Goldie. Especially since I’d been caught checking out his package. I considered how I was going to murder her. Strangulation was good. I could strangle her with the pouchless briefs.

  “Your mother-in-law…your MOTHER-IN-LAW thinks we should have sex?” Ty’s eyes bugged out, his mouth open, looking stunned. He took a big glug of beer. “Jesus. Your mother-in-law thinks we should have anal sex.”

  “Can you please stop saying anal?” I asked, dying a slow death.

  “I’m not sure if I should be thankful or hurt. Does she think I need that much help with a woman?” He pointed at the box.

  I groaned. I had no doubt Ty knew exactly what to do with a woman.

  “Let’s take Goldie out of this for a minute because she’ll be dead by morning. You haven’t thought about having sex with me?” Might as well put him on the spot.

  “Well…yeah,” he replied. He grinned, looking a mixture of sheepish and eager. “Definitely. Very thoroughly and in about twenty different ways.”

  Twenty? My panties were now officially ruined.

  “Especially the other morning when you weren’t wearing a bra and your nipple… And that other time when your nipples—”

  I held up my hand to stop him. Obviously, the man wasn’t a monk and had a breast obsession. “I get the picture.” I did. I had the image in my head of his mouth on my breast, sucking and licking, tugging on the tip, maybe even using a little bit of his teeth, my fingers tangled in his hair. Yeah, that was a really good picture.

  “I really like your nipples.” One side of his mouth tipped up in one of those wicked male grins. It was the grin of a man with sex on the brain. “And they really seem to like me.”

  They did. They certainly did.

  I felt heat shoot to the roots of my hair as my very desired nipples got hard beneath my thin bra. Time to change the subject.

  I cleared my throat. “Goldie doesn’t think you need help, she thinks I do.”

  He raised one eyebrow, then looked me up and down. The gaze was heated and intense. He took his time doing it, too. Especially in the nipple region. “If you keep going the braless route, you’ll have guys lined up around the block.”

  Thank goodness I was wearing one right now, although it wasn’t doing much to hide my…interest in him. “I’ll…um, keep that in mind.”

  Ty took another swig of beer. “You have an…interesting family. Never a dull moment around here.”

  “Excitement’s not so bad,” I said. My life had been ho-hum for so long, I had to admit the past few days had been…action packed. Exciting. Thrilling.

  Ty shook his head. “I’m done with excitement. Two tours in the Middle East and I’m full up on excitement. I’m trying for the quiet life.” He grabbed the box of condoms, left the rest. “I’ve got to go.”

  I frowned. “Hey, I thought you didn’t need Goldie’s help.”

  His grin was back when he turned to me. “Goldie helped by saving me a trip to the store.” He held up the box of condoms. “Tell her thanks for me.”

  He walked toward the door but stopped and came back, stood right in front of me. Close enough I could see the blond stubble on his jaw, smell his fabulous scent, whatever it was. “Look, I’m more than okay with sex. That’s adventure, not excitement. A relationship, not happening. That’s more than I can handle right now.”

  “What are the condoms for then?” I wondered.

  He lifted the box. “Condoms are for sex. A relationship is when you don’t use them.”

  Made sense to me in a single, commitment-phobic male sort of way. Goldie had said that I needed sex, not a relationship. She obviously thought an orgasm or two would help. In theory, I couldn’t argue with that. An orgasm would be darn good, but in reality, unless I pulled out that fingertip vibrator from the box, I’d have to get up enough nerve to be with a man. And with Ty, it was obviously no-strings-attached. While I wanted to jump him right now, it was something to think about

  Ty brushed the knuckles of his hand holding the condom box ever so gently over my left breast. I felt my nipple harden from the contact and I watched as his pupils dilated at the sight. “Let me know.”

  My mouth dropped open, my eyes briefly closed at the scorching, and surprising touch. It had been years since I’d had male contact like that.

  Before I had time to react, Ty opened the door to leave and ran square into a man who had George the Gnome hugged against his chest. He was about five-ten, white, scraggly brown hair with an attempt at a mustache above his lip. He had a startled look of a deer about to be run over by a semi.

  “What the…?” Ty said, surprised.

  The man turned and bolted, Ty making chase after a moment to process. I dashed after them once I’d gathered my wits about me. I had a slower pace as my legs weren’t nearly as long as Ty’s and I didn’t have the same adrenaline rush as Gnome Stealer. Ty grabbed the guy’s arm but he wriggled free, stripping off his shirt in the process. He kept going as if the hounds of Hell were on his heels.

  The gnome slipped out from under his arm and fell onto the street, breaking into pieces. Ty skidded to a stop, breathing deeply, the man’s flannel shirt dangling in one hand, box of condoms in the other. We watched the man take off around the corner onto Lincoln. He wasn’t coming back anytime soon. He was halfway to North Dakota.

  After a moment of stunned silence, we looked down at George. He was broken into four large pieces of ceramic. I wasn’t sure how I would explain this to Zach. I couldn’t even explain it to myself. Hopefully, it could be put back together with the glue gun.

  “What the hell?”

  Ty knelt down next to the pieces and picked up a small bundle that had been hidden inside the gnome. Clear bubble wrap protected something that wasn’t gnome gizzards. It fit easily in Ty’s palm. I heard a car approach, so I quickly scooped up gnome parts and we walked together back to the house. I placed the pieces on the kitchen counter and watched as Ty unwrapped the packaging. Inside were an empty plastic bag and a glass vial with a black plastic screw top, the kind scientists used to create secret potions. It was filled with some kind of white goo.

  “What is that?” I peered closely at it, squinting. “Glue? Dish soap?” This was super weird. Why was glue inside a gnome?

  Ty lifted it up to the light, turned it around. Eyed it funny. “Looks like bull semen to me.”

  That was the last thing I thought he’d ever say. Bull semen? I tried not to think about how one got sperm from a bull and into the vial. Yuck. Double yuck.

  “I need to wash my hands.”

  4

  “Can you please explain to me how you know that’s cow sperm?” I pointed at the vial and cringed before I went to the sink to pump and pump soap onto my hands.

  I knew a little about sperm. My eggs had met some sperm and made two babies. I worked in a store that sold products to keep sperm away from eggs. But that was it. None of this vial stuff.

  “My parents run a cattle ranch,” he replied, still eyeing the stuff. “The term is bull semen. Cows are female. They can't have sperm. Bull semen.”

  Right. I forgot about that one. “Then how did it get into Zach’s gnome? And why?”

  Ty didn’t look any happier about this than I did. “I have no idea. I’ll call my parents to help figure this out.”

  He pulled out his cell. I was glad there was an expert for everything. As he waited for someone to pick up he told me, �
��This isn’t some kid’s prank. I guess we just figured out it wasn’t a damn deer in the yard the other night.”

  That was a scary thought.

  He held up a finger signaling me to wait. “Hey, Mom—”

  I pulled the glue gun from the craft bucket, plugged it in and waited for it to heat up while Ty talked with his mother. Unnerved, I went in and checked on the boys. They were conked out, Bobby on his back with his arms flung over his head, Zach on the top bunk completely buried in the blanket except for one exposed foot.

  When I returned, Ty was off the phone and downing the rest of his beer. “My mom can’t say for certain it comes from a bull. There’s really no way of knowing by looking at it. She said it also might be from a horse. Or, it might not be semen at all.”

  Ick. I wrinkled my nose. “Could it be from a…person?”

  Ty pondered my question for a moment. “It’s possible, but there’s no real black market for it. There are sperm banks and more than enough willing guys to make donations. This baggie was wrapped in with the vial.” He held up the plastic bag. “I think dry ice was in there to keep the semen fresh.”

  Again, ick.

  “If someone was selling it to make money, it would only be worthwhile if the semen was viable. My mom said it has to be kept below thirty-eight degrees to be worth anything. Frozen even, to last as long as possible.”

  “I’m impressed you recognized what it is. If I’d found it on my own I probably would have opened it and used it as glue for a kid project.” I was making myself nauseated. “That’s so gross.”

  He offered a small smile. “I grew up on a cattle ranch, so this isn’t all that gross for me. My parents still run it with my two brothers. Cows, chickens, pigs. The works. What freaks me out is the fact that it was in a garden gnome and that some crazy son-of-a-bitch has come back here twice to steal it. He could come back again.”

  “So you’ve had tons of experience with horny bulls?” I kidded, trying not to think about the man returning, a possible danger to the boys, cow sperm, no, make that bull semen. All of it.

  He chuckled and scratched the back of his neck. Obviously, he didn’t know how to respond to that. I guess I wouldn’t know what to say to that if I was asked, either. Nice. I’d done it again. Nerves made me say stupid things.

  “Bulls, no.” He lifted a brow and said with a sly grin, “Horny, definitely.”

  I rolled my eyes, realizing I’d set myself up for that one. I wanted some sexy times with him, but with bull semen on my kitchen counter between us, I’d lost some of my eagerness.

  “Now what?” I asked, changing the subject.

  “I suggest we look in the other gnome, see what’s inside that one. Then we throw out whatever we find,” he said as he tossed the plastic bag into the trash.

  My roiling stomach gave way to anger. How dare someone steal from my kids! The man had taken the gnome right off my front stoop and the other night traipsed through the back yard. And Ty wanted to forget about it? “I’m going back to the garage sale where we bought the gnomes.”

  His head whipped up to look at me, his blue eyes blazing, and not with heat, but with anger of his own. “No way. It might be dangerous.”

  “A dangerous garage sale?”

  A muscle in his neck grew taut as he was most likely grinding his teeth. “You have no idea why that vial was in the gnome or what kind of people we’re dealing with here. This guy,”—he pointed his thumb toward the front yard—“can’t be a big player in this. He’s pretty stupid to try and steal back his vial while it’s still light. He could have waited two hours when it was dark and you were asleep. He’s either desperate or an idiot.”

  I stood facing him, arms folded over my chest. “That’s why I need to go back there. To find out why and who and what. I definitely want to know what.”

  “Someone wanted this stuff enough to snoop around your backyard at night. He even came right up to your kitchen door. Which was unlocked!” He was breathing hard, his hands on his hips.

  “That’s because I let you in!” I poked my finger at his chest with each word. He might be stubborn, but I could do stubborn really well. I could be more stubborn than a pack mule in the summer.

  He took hold of my hand, held it over his heart. I felt it thump-thumping, its cadence strong and reassuring. “Why do you want to look into this? Let it go. It could be dangerous.”

  I shook my head, pulled my hand free, although he’d felt pretty darn good “I don’t want the boys to get hurt.” Duh. “That crazy man could come back. So, I need to know what’s going on, to know that lunatic isn’t going to show up again on my doorstep. The next time he does, the kids might be awake. Or out front playing.”

  Ty went to my fridge and helped himself to another beer. He downed half of it before he spoke. I watched his throat muscles work before he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Fine. When do we go?”

  * * *

  By six thirty the next morning, I was out the door with the kids in the car. I had successfully glued George the Gnome back together before I went to bed, although he did look a little rough. Zack had minded a lot less than I expected and decided it needed a Band-Aid on one of the glued cracks. After close inspection, Bobby’s gnome had no signs of tampering. No vials. No semen.

  I called Kelly, my freshman roommate at MSU and best friend, and dropped the boys and the gnomes—couldn’t leave them behind—off at her house so I could track down the Gnome Stealer.

  Kelly lived west of town about ten miles, south of Four Corners in a neighborhood called Elk Grove. It was a subdivision about fifteen years old built on a swath of farmland. Surrounding it was more farmland. No trees. The Spanish Peaks were front and center and that meant Big Sky, the ski resort was nearby, and further on, Yellowstone. The Gallatin River flowed just across the road, home to some of the best rainbow trout anywhere. The houses were all different, the fences the same and the neighbors were friendly. You had to drive slowly or you’d run over a kid or two. They were everywhere. Kelly’s house looked like a red barn. You couldn’t miss it as it was the only one in that unusual style. With seven kids, they were piled in, but she was happy and that was what counted.

  She’d married her college sweetheart, Tom, at twenty-one and pushed out her first kid a year later. Every two years after that another one came. She had a brood ranging in age from fourteen to two and she’d wanted each and every one. They were all planned, although she seemed to get pregnant by just being in the same room with Tom. They didn’t need any help from Goldilocks.

  If Kelly was über-mom, I was average mom. She home schooled. I’d rather stick a fork in my eye than do it. Her kids were well mannered and they all got along really well. No bickering or fighting. Or at least not much. I was so impressed by her ability to juggle everything life had to offer. But she’d known what she wanted way back in college. A big, crazy family. I, on the other hand, was still trying to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up.

  Zach and Bobby ran to the jungle gym in the backyard to play with Kelly’s kids before I could get out of the car. I saw at least five or six heads jumping and swinging and heard a whole lot of screaming and yelling—even at seven in the morning. No hugs and kisses for me. Oh well.

  Kelly waved to me from the front door. She wore shorts, a pink tank top and flip flops. At five-one, she was what you’d call petite. After seven kids, she was round in all the right places but seemed to melt off the baby fat like Crisco in a hot pan after every birth. Keeping up with them could do that. Her hair was blond and cut short into a chic style. A cross between Meg Ryan and Tinkerbell. I wasn’t not sure how she did it, but it always looked good. Brushed, never a hair out place. Maybe she used tons and tons of hairspray. I never asked. I didn’t want to seem petty and jealous of her gorgeous hair. My curly, dirty-blonde mess always looked like I kept my head out the window of a car like a dog. And that was after attempts at styling. It was impossible to tame wayward curls. Usually, my hair went into a ponyt
ail and stayed there.

  Kelly was jealous of me being skinny, I was jealous of her hair. Go figure.

  Cute or not, jealous or not, I did not want seven kids. Having only two was worth a perpetual bad hair day.

  I stepped out of the car and leaned an arm on the top of the door. “They’re in the backyard,” I told her.

  She laughed from the porch. “Seven kids, nine kids, what’s the difference?”

  To me, a lot. To her, not much.

  I promised her an update when I came back later and was off.

  I cruised back into town to get Ty, my older-model Jeep Cherokee chugging along. It was black and I’d had it longer than I’ve had the boys. It wasn’t that pretty anymore. It only got an occasional summer wash so the shine was gone. A few door dings, kid stains and hail damage from the storm last summer. But it got me where I wanted to go, especially in the snow and cold. There was no point in wasting money on a flashy car when I didn’t go far and had messy kids, so it would have to catch fire before I replaced it.

  Ten minutes later, I pulled in front of Ty’s house and knocked on his door.

  He was holding a cup of coffee when he let me in. He looked me up and down.

  I wore a pair of olive capri cargo pants, a white V-neck T shirt and a pair of Keds sneakers. My hair was down as I’d showered and let it wind dry in the car on the way to Kelly’s. It now spilled around my shoulders in a windblown casual look. Or at least that was what I was going for.

  If you had to dress up in Bozeman, you wore a clean pair of jeans and your best boots. My wardrobe screamed casual. Why dress fancy when I usually collected dirt, grease—from food and bike chains—grass stains and other mystery spots over the course of a day? At least I had mascara, sunscreen moisturizer and lip gloss on, and that was pretty darn fancy. Oh, and a bra which if Ty were asked, he’d have said was optional.