Montana Sky

see them.”
    “I would.” She patted her pocket. “I have my camera. Can you come with us? Bess sent plenty of coffee along.”
    “No, I’ve got things to do. And Nate’s coming by later.”
    “Oh?” Tess lifted an eyebrow, struggled to sound casual. “When?”
    Willa slid the gearshift into first. “Later,” she repeated, and drove away toward the house.
    She knew very well that Tess had her eye on Nate, and she didn’t intend to encourage it. As far as she was concerned, Nate would be completely out of his depth with a slick Hollywood piranha.
    And maybe he had his eye focused right back, but that was only because men always got dopey around beautiful, stacked women. Grabbing her thermos of coffee from the seat beside her, Willa climbed out of the rig. Tess was beautiful and stacked, she admitted, with just a quick twinge of envy. And confident and quick-tongued. So sure of herselfand her control over her own femininity. And her power over men.
    Willa wondered if she’d be more like that if she’d had a mother to teach her the ropes. If she’d been raised in a different environment, where there were females giggling over hairdos and hemlines, over lipstick shades and perfume.
    Not that she wanted that, she assured herself, as she stepped inside and pulled off her gloves. She wasn’t interested in all that fussing and foolishness, but she was beginning to think those very things could add to a woman’s confidence around men.
    And she wasn’t feeling as confident as she wanted to. At least not around one man.
    She shucked her coat and hat, then carried the thermos with her to the office upstairs. She’d changed nothing inside it yet. It was still Jack Mercy’s domain with its trophy heads and whiskey decanters. And entering, walking over, seating herself at his desk always brought a quick twist to her gut.
    Grief? she wondered. Or fear. She just wasn’t sure any longer. But the office itself brought on a swarm of unpleasant and unhappy emotions, and memories.
    She had rarely come in there when he was alive. If he sent for her, ordered her to take a chair across from that desk, it was to criticize or to shuffle her duties.
    She could see him perfectly, sitting where she sat now. A cigar clamped between his fingers, and if it was evening and the workday finished, a glass of whiskey on the blotter.
    Girl, he’d called her. He’d rarely used her name. Girl, you fucked up good this time.
    Girl, you better start pulling weight around here.
    You’d better get yourself a husband, girl, and start having babies. You’re no use otherwise.
    Had there ever been kindness in this room? she asked herself, and rubbed hard at her temples. She wanted badly to remember even one moment, one incident when she came in here and found him sitting behind this desk and smiling. One time, only one time when he’d told her he was proud of what she’d done. Of anything she’d done.
    But she couldn’t. Smiles and kind words hadn’t been Jack Mercy’s style.
    And what would he say now? she wondered. If he walked in here and saw her, if he knew what had happened on the land, to one of his men, while she’d been in charge.
    You fucked up, girl.
    She rested her head in her hands a moment, wishing she had an answer for that. In her mind she knew she’d done nothing to cause a vicious murder. But in her heart, the responsibility weighed heavy.
    “Done and over,” she murmured. She opened a drawer, took out record books. She wanted to check them over, the careful detailing of number of head, of weight. The pasture rotations, the additives and grain. She’d make sure there was not one figure out of place before Nate came later today to look over her accounts.
    Burying her resentment that he, or anyone, had power over Mercy, she got to work.
     
    N EARLY TWO MILES FROM THE RANCH HOUSE . LILY happily snapped pictures of mule deer. It made her laugh to look at them with their shaggy winter coats and bored eyes. The prints would likely be out of focus—she knew she hadn’t inherited her mother’s skill with a camera—but they would please her.
    “I’m sorry.” She let the camera dangle from the strap around her neck. “I’m taking too long. I get caught up.”
    “We’ve got some time yet.” After a brief study of the clouds, Adam shifted in the saddle and turned to Tess. “You’re riding well. You learn.”
    “Self-defense,” she claimed, but felt a warm spurt of pride. “I never want to hurt the way I did