Montana Skies

North Star, Montana, sure isn't the big city. And that's fine with Rissa Mathews--but not with her daughter. Fourteen-year-old Skylar refuses to fit in. To Rissa's relief, though, Skylar finally makes a friend, Caroline, the daughter of Sheriff Jonas Taggert.

But Jonas isn't completely happy about the newest additions to his town. Truth is, the mother he likes; the daughter he may have to arrest. Which means his second chance at a family could be over before it begins.

Life as a single parent can be stormy--whether you're a mom or a dad--but thanks to Jonas, Rissa might be seeing blue skies again.

Reviews | Reader Comments

Excerpt

Rissa Mathews glanced into the rearview mirror and groaned when she spotted red and blue lights flashing behind her. “Oh, great. Oh, this is just great!”

She yanked her foot off the gas pedal and rolled to a stop off the road, the police cruiser following closely behind. Swearing under her breath, she automatically reached beside her for her purse.

It wasn’t there?

Mouth open in panic, she leaned over and spread her fingers to feel beneath the empty seat beside her. Had it slid in between the passenger seat and the door? “No, no, no, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Put your hands where I can see them,” a deep baritone ordered from her left. “Slowly.”

Raising her head, she found herself staring into a pair of thickly lashed green eyes set amidst a sun-browned face and sharp, angular features. A broad-rimmed Stetson covered the officer’s head, a khaki uniform shirt stretched across his wide chest, but it was the sun’s reflection off the man’s badge and nameplate that had her imagining they winked at her and laughed.

She’d been pulled over by North Star, Montana’s very own sheriff. What were the odds on him letting her go?

Rissa straightened--slowly--immediately noticing from her higher position in the truck that his hand rested on the butt of his gun.

“Ma’am, do you know how fast you were going?”

“Not exactly.” Who had time to pay attention to the speed limit when summoned by an irate principal?

“You were driving seventy-nine in a fifty-five. License and registration, please.”

“Oh, ah...”

“Is there a problem, ma’am?”

Rissa looked at the empty seat beside her, her hands fisted in frustration. Why today of all days? “I don’t have it,” she admitted, her voice low. “M-my license. I mean, I do have a license, but it’s–I don’t have it with me.” Her embarrassment heightened when one of the sheriff’s dark brown brows rose in response to her words.

“I see... Your name?”

“Rissa Mathews.”

“And where were you going in such a hurry in the Rowland’s new truck, Ms. Mathews?”

The casually posed question didn’t disguise the underlying query, and Rissa realized if she didn’t talk fast, she’d not only wind up with a ticket she couldn’t afford, but also a free trip to jail until he could determine whether the truck was stolen. Then where would her daughter be?

Probably right beside her.

“Do you know the Rowlands?” she asked, hopeful. “I’m Maura’s cousin--I’m staying at the Second Chance and helping Seth and Grace. You can call and confirm I have permission to drive the truck.”

The sheriff stared at her, his gaze assessing. Maybe loosening up a little? She and Maura resembled each other, had the same hair and build passed on from their mothers.

“I just might do that,” he drawled with a bit of a western twang, “but first tell me why you were speeding. Are you on an errand for the ranch?”

She wanted to say yes, but she would be lying and she was a horrible liar. The Second Chance was a very unique yet fully operating ‘dude’ ranch-vacation resort, one for physically impaired guests and their families. Open year round, guests could ride horses, fish, snowmobile, and ski with full thought and consideration given to any physical limitations or special needs. Maura had made two trips to town this week to obtain something for a guest so it wasn’t unusual.

“No, but...I’m late. I ran out of gas and had to walk back to the ranch and borrow the truck. Now my daughter’s waiting for me to pick her up at school, I’m late for appointments I can’t miss, and--” She clamped her mouth shut with a snap. If he was going to give her a ticket there was nothing she could do about it. Rambling certainly wouldn’t help, and doing so only reinforced the typical first impression most assumed when they spotted her blond hair and curvy frame.

But pride or no pride, she couldn’t afford a ticket. Smothering a moan, she rubbed her aching temple. “Look, Sheriff, I know you’ve probably heard every excuse under the sun when it comes to people trying to get out of tickets, but I had my purse in my car when I left the house. Really. I must’ve left it behind when I switched vehicles. And I know I was speeding,” she reluctantly added, “but I had the truck under control, no one else was on the road--”

“I was on the road.”

“--and most highway speed limits are seventy now so I wasn’t driving that much over the norm.” She tried to appeal to his sense of fairness. “Surely you’ve been late at least once and driven faster than you were supposed to?”

Her direct question earned a slight lifting of his lips at the corners, and Rissa chose to take the gesture as a sign the lawman was softening. Hope soared, and she gave him a rusty smile. Why not? Her appearance was often a hindrance to her goals, and it was definitely a hindrance when it came to her occupation. A female pilot in a male dominated vocation, she’d often down-played her looks. Maybe this once they would help?

Without comment the sheriff’s gaze shifted from her eyes and face to where her arm rested along the window, his expression carefully neutral. “Give me your social security number and spell your name.”

She did and watched while he wrote them down.

“Keys?”

He lifted his hand, palm open, the callouses on his skin rough against hers when they brushed together during the exchange. A tingling sensation shot up her arm.

“Don’t move.”

Rissa watched him via the rearview mirror, unwittingly noting the masculine grace in his long-legged stride.

A couple cars passed, and she wanted to sink down and hide when the occupants rubber-necked to get a look. Ignoring them the best she could, Rissa leaned her head back against the seat and stared out the window up at the cloudless sky.

Her mind rapidly sifted through the upset she felt at herself for making such a stupid, costly mistake, and finally settled on the long list of things she needed to be doing instead of sitting by the side of the road with her fate in the sheriff’s hands, and awaiting what would probably be a huge fine.

Minutes passed, and with them her impatience grew until she spotted a bird flying high overhead in the vast sea of blue and focused on it instead. Dipping and soaring, gliding, the sight brought a smile. Some women took hot baths to relax, she liked to skim the treetops. But in the fallout after 9/11, pilots had become a dime a dozen in the flailing market, her wings clipped, and that left Jake’s truck taking the honor of being the fastest thing she’d piloted after selling her BMW Z4.

“Ms. Mathews?”

She started at the sheriff’s return, but if he noticed her reaction, he didn’t let on. Instead he studied his notepad, the broad-rimmed hat shading his face until all she could see was his mouth and chin.

“It seems speeding isn’t new to you, and you received a ticket a little over a year ago for the same problem. Were you running late then, too?”

Rissa straightened the hem of her light pink T-shirt. “Actually it was a family emergency. My...My husband and daughter had been in a car accident and--” she pictured Skylar lying in the ER hospital bed, cut and bloody, hysterical, screaming for her dad on the other side of the curtain-- “my husband didn’t make it. My daughter couldn’t be sedated because– The hospital said to hurry so I did.” She wasn’t about to apologize for it either.

Silent, the sheriff shifted his weight and tapped the narrow book against his fingers twice. Finally he flipped it closed with a heavy sigh.

Rissa blinked at him, confused, until she took in his expression and realized she wasn’t the only one who’d known loss and pain.

“If I let you go...”

“It won’t happen again,” she promised huskily.

“Make sure it doesn’t. You might be running late today, but no one is hurt. Slow down and keep it that way so that your daughter isn’t trying to get to the hospital—to you.”

“You’re letting me off?” Relief swept through her, and she caught
her breath at the wry twist of his lips she received in response to her question. It softened his angled features, made her heart do a little jump-skip-and-thump thing she didn’t expect.

“Yeah, I’m letting you off—with a warning to slow it down or else pay the price next time.”

“Understood. Thank you, um--” she glanced at his name tag--

“Sheriff Taggert. Seriously... thank you.”

He held out the truck keys. “Drive safely.”

“I will.” Rissa flashed him a grateful smile and started the engine, waited for him to step away before she slowly eased her way onto the highway. Within moments the sheriff’s broad-shouldered image faded in the distance, but she had a hard time making him disappear from her thoughts. What had happened to him to put that look in his eyes? What kind of pain had he endured?

***

Jonas knocked on Caroline’s bedroom door and waited until she said he could enter. She’d already showered and now wore a T-shirt and gym shorts, her long red hair pulled back at her nape in a ribbon.

“Didn’t we wash your pj’s?”

She shrugged. “They’re getting too small.”

Already? When he added that comment to what he’d noticed earlier in the evening, he knew he’d been given the perfect opening to discuss... things.

“I, uh, talked with your grandma before she left about taking you shopping.” He cleared his throat, the sound emerging louder than he’d intended. “For some new under-uh... things.”

“Dad, you didn’t!”

He walked over to stare out the window, easily able to imagine Caroline’s face blazing with embarrassment much like his probably was at the moment. “She’ll do fine.”

“She likes old stuff. Can’t I go by myself?”

“You’re too young.”

“I’m almost fourteen!”

Like he didn’t know that? Wasn’t reminded of it every time he
looked at her and remembered the moment she’d been placed in his arms mere seconds after she was born? “If your mother were here--”

“But she’s not.” Caroline stomped over to her dresser, her head down. “And I am old enough. There’s a store by the grocery now, and they have stuff like that. Couldn’t you wait in the car while I went in? That would work, wouldn’t it?”

He’d forgotten about the little shop that opened up a year ago, The Blooming something. But what did his daughter know about shopping for bras? What did he know about it?

Jonas ran a hand roughly over his face. “I thought since you and Marilyn had to go look for a dress, you could get some things then.”

“Grandma will order one before we ever get a chance to go shopping. She thinks if she buys things, I have to wear them.” She grabbed a handful of CDs and pulled one from the middle. “Dad, you know how she is, she wants me to wear pink! I’ll never get a dress I like.” CD in hand, she stomped back across the room, and the bed squeaked when she flopped on it.

“Whatever you get will look great.”

“Uh-huh. You don’t have to wear it and look like a red-headed bag of cotton candy. Everybody knows red hair and pink dresses only work for movie stars.”

He rubbed the muscles in his neck in a poor attempt to ease the tension. The teenage melodrama was getting to him. “Look online for a few dresses you like and then send her some suggestions. Your Grandpa Dave can print them off at work and give them to her.”

“Why can’t we do that with the other stuff? Just order something?”

“You’ll need to try things on, sweetheart. To, um... get the right size.” Jonas felt his face heat again and cursed silently. There were some things dads weren’t meant to discuss with their daughters. That’s where mothers came in. Knowing your little girl was growing up versus having to follow the process first hand through underwear sizes was just cruel.

“But if it’s wrong, we could send it back and order something else.”

“What about the shipping charges? Sweetheart, the answer’s no.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. Disappointment clouded her face, and he sighed. Against his better judgment, he thought of a compromise. “I guess if you really want to go to that store by yourself, I could call and ask one of the saleswomen to help you.”

She covered her face with her hands. “That’s even worse!”

“Why?”

“Because! Everybody knows about Mom leaving us and if you call for help and I go in to buy that stuff, they’ll give me those funny looks people give us sometimes.”

He knew exactly which looks she meant. Pity, curiosity. Thoughtless scorn as to what they’d done to drive their small town princess away. Jonas turned to face her and found Caroline watching him. Her gray eyes revealed the same thoughts, the same doubts about herself. Insecurities they’d both received from Lea’s desertion.

“We’ll do all right, and get things taken care of, Caro. Don’t worry.”

Once again she left the bed, but this time she padded over to where he stood, sliding her freckled arms around his waist and laying her cheek on his ribs. Jonas hugged her tight and kissed the top of her head like he had nearly every day since her birth.

“I’m sorry, dad.”

“For what?”

“That you have to do this stuff. Maybe Mom would’ve stayed if--”

He squeezed her to shut her up. “No, honey. She wouldn’t have stayed. Your mom wanted to leave North Star long before we ever got together, before she got pregnant with you. Some people are meant to live in small towns, others aren’t. It’s as simple as that.” He kissed her hair again, her forehead. “You did absolutely nothing wrong, you hear me?”

She nodded, but the movement lacked substance and belief.

“Sweetheart, no amount of helping around the house or extra good behavior would’ve changed things. She didn’t leave you, honey, she left me.”

“But she didn’t leave until after--”

“Trust me,” he ordered, anxious to drop the subject before she became upset. “I know what I’m talking about, and you aren’t to blame. Now... homework done?”

“Almost.” A heavy sigh left her chest. “I can’t believe we get homework on the weekend. It sucks.”

He chuckled. “Finish it up tonight then and be done with it so you’ll have the rest of the weekend free.” He loosened his grip, but she held tight, her nose pressed into his chest, her forehead hot pink.

“Dad...think maybe we could go to The Blooming Rose tomorrow?” Her words were muffled against his shirt. “Things are kind of tight.”

Which meant she hoped to get it before school on Monday, with or without help. Jonas sighed and rubbed her back. “I’ll take you on my break, how’s that?”

“And I can do it by myself? Please, dad?”

“I guess you can’t get things too wrong.”

“Really?” She hugged him again. “Thank you!”

“I love you, baby. Don’t worry so much about things, okay?”

Caroline nodded, not looking at him while she walked over and seated herself on the bed. She grabbed a pillow to hold in front of her, and waited for him to close the door behind him, smiling when he looked through the space one last time before he pulled it shut.

A second passed. Two. Tears filled her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall.

Her dad was a good guy, the best. People liked and respected him. Came to him for advice. She knew he only said those things about her mom leaving because he was trying to make her feel better.

She dropped to her side and grabbed the photo album next to her bed, cracking the CD case when she put too much weight on the plastic frame. Ignoring that, she stared down at the proof right there on the first page of the album.

Newspaper clippings and photos, announcements. All the stuff her grandma had collected over the years. Her mom had danced, cheered or played sports every season of the year from grade school to high school. She was pretty and popular, a model for local tv and print ads. She’d worn the latest styles, always looked neat and clean and great. Always had a cute boyfriend. Wrote words like ‘smooches’ and ‘kiss-kiss’ in her notes.

Caroline rolled over onto her back and stared up at the poster of Harry Potter tacked to her ceiling. How many times had her mom told her she was a mess? Complained that her hair too wild, her teeth too crooked, her freckles too dark? She didn’t stand right, didn’t walk right, always looked weird because she stood out. The only red-head in her class and smart, too.

Sniffling, she pulled her pony tail over her shoulder and looked at the frizzy split ends. Why couldn’t she have been pretty like her mom? Like Mandy or the other girls in school?

She swung her feet off the bed and padded over to her computer desk, wishing she’d win a trip to one of those makeover shows. Now that would be an awesome birthday present. She bit her lip and found her mouse, clicking on the box to maximize the screen, and going back to what she’d been reading online before her dad had come in. She told herself to forget about it, but she had to know what they said about her. Every day.

Inhaling deeply to get rid of the lump in her chest, Caroline read to the bottom of the chat room posts, and this time she couldn’t hold back the stupid tears no matter how hard she tried. She slumped in the chair, drew her knees up to her chest and hugged.

Her mom definitely hadn’t left because of her dad, she’d left because of her. Because of how embarrassed she was to have such an ugly loser for a daughter.

Everybody thought so.

From the book Montana Skies by Kay Stockham
Harlequin Superromance ® January 2007, ISBN 0373713959, ©2006 Dorma Kay Stockham.

Order Montana Skies

Cover Copyright ©2007 Harlequin Enterprises Limited
® and T are trademarks of the publisher.
The excerpt published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
For more romance information surf to: http://www.eHarlequin.com