The Maverick’s Surprise Family (The Malones of Grand, Montana #3)

Chapter One

L ucas Landry shifted his position on the seat of his Toyota Tacoma, but the last few weeks of upheaval had cranked his discomfort from four-out-of-ten everyday-life to eight-out-of-ten pain-in-the-ass.

According to the hot knife currently twisting deep inside his hip, it wasn’t likely; his adductor muscles were cinched up like a hangman’s noose. He’d had a deep-tissue massage the day before, but stress had a way of eating into even the most functional musculoskeletal systems. And while ninety percent of his body was about as functional as humanly possible, that last ten percent was a mess. Okay, eighty–twenty. Seventy-five–twenty-five, tops.

Every challenge is an opportunity for growth , announced the podcast currently playing through his smartphone.

“Audio off,” he said.

His playlist was nearing a level of healing positivity that was borderline toxic. He knew the importance of self-talk. Your thoughts create your reality and all that. His whole childhood had been about overcoming challenges, accessing your inner power to build your chosen life.

Well, he’d thought, overcome, created, chosen and built and, now, he didn’t want to change a thing. His life was just fine. Great, in fact. He had a thriving business, he got to spend most of his life outdoors, he had great horses, a fine dog to keep him company and, aside from pestering him about when he was going to settle down and give them some grandchildren—perish the thought—he got along with his parents.

Only now, Landry Adventures was not thriving and might, in fact, be finished. Lucas had removed the magnetic logo from the Tacoma’s side panels after a recent Google search of his name—bad idea—showed page after page of speculation, misinformation, and downright malice.

“Disabled cowboy out of his depth.”

“Woman paralyzed after Landry Adventures claim of healing through horseback riding.”

“Misfit maverick nearly kills innocent student.”

People say there’s no such thing as bad publicity. In the early years when he was starting up, he wanted nothing more than top-page exposure. But not like this.

“They forget,” he said to Patch, who was wriggling in the passenger seat, “that exposure kills, too.”

The dog gave him a wide-mouthed grin. He was supposed to be a mix of border collie and Australian cattle dog, but that big broad skull suggested there was pit bull terrier in there somewhere, too. His lovable, will-die-for-you nature and insistence on creeping under the covers with Lucas at night confirmed it.

“It’s not gonna destroy us, though.” He reached over for a quick pat. “We won’t let it, will we?”

He hadn’t done anything wrong. He was almost positive.

He checked his mirrors, signaled, and pulled his rig onto a bumpy forestry service road just outside Arapaho National Park.

“Hang on, girl,” he called over his shoulder.

Stella, the red roan mare who’d been with him from the beginning of his career, stomped a hoof against the metal floor of the trailer. She’d been a hot-headed two-year-old when he’d first started guiding. Now at twelve, she’d gained self-control and keen leadership skills with the other horses that more than made up for any speed she’d lost. If she was slower now than she had been, well, so was he.

Another bang from the trailer. She knew they were almost at their destination and was eager to get onto the trail. He understood the feeling. Nothing like the air in the fresh wilderness of Colorado to clear the head. Nothing like a day on horseback to put his muscles back in working order.

He quickly saddled Stella and hit the trail. Patch ran ahead of them and, with his shaggy coat, you could barely see the missing back leg. The shelter veterinarian had informed him that quadrupeds, like dogs, compensated better than poor bipedal humans for the loss of a leg. And since dogs bore more weight up front, the loss of a hind leg was a best-case scenario. When it came to amputation. After being hit by a car.

He smiled. Patch had him beat. The dog was at least eighty-twenty functional, more if you counted for attitude.

He gave Stella her head in the relatively open woods, so they could all burn off some steam.

“Whoo-hoo!” he yelled.

Patch barked and Stella grunted, her muscles bunching and flexing beneath him. At length, as the cottonwood and aspen gave way to pine, spruce, and Douglas fir, they slowed. Patch’s tongue lolled out the side of his shark mouth and Stella’s hackamore was flecked with foam. Lucas draped the reins over the saddle horn, lifted his arms, and dropped his head back to face the sky.

This. This is what he’d needed to heal, to recover, to regain his sense of who he was and why he was on the planet. Time alone with his animals, in nature. No matter what happened, he’d always have this.

Tanya Schneider, from the few conversations he’d had with her, felt the same way, had felt the same way.

Before.

He sighed. He wished he could just talk to her, find out how she was doing, tell her how sorry he was that this had happened. His lawyer, Jack Morrison, had laughed incredulously at that, in tones that implied under no circumstances and over my dead body .

He was about a mile from the trail head, on his way back to the truck, when he felt his pocket vibrate. Caller ID indicated Jack Morrison.

Lucas winced and let it go to voice mail. Just a few more minutes of peace. That’s all he wanted before he learned what his future held.

He untacked Stella, checked her hooves and gave her a quick once-over with a dry brush before loading her back into the trailer. Then he limped back to the truck and helped Patch into the passenger seat. The dog could get in himself, but it was painful to watch and those front claws were hell on the leather upholstery. Also, he wanted to save wear and tear on Patch’s remaining hind leg.

He stood next to the driver’s door and returned the call.

“Jack. I was out riding. Just got back into cell range.”

“You’ve been cleared of all wrongdoing,” Jack said without preamble. “The panel found no evidence of negligence on the part of Landry Adventures. Congratulations.”

For a moment, Lucas stood frozen. Then his bad leg crumpled beneath him, and he had to grab the door to keep from falling.

He’d been so afraid to hope. But he’d known it. He’d believed in his bones that they hadn’t done anything wrong. He and his crew had made the best of a very bad situation and while the outcome was still tragic, the powers that be weren’t laying blame at his doorstep. He could start rebooking tours, making up for lost time and money while he’d been awaiting the results of the investigation.

So why didn’t he feel better about it?

“Lucas? You there?”

Lucas shook his head. “Yeah. Thanks. That’s great news. I appreciate you letting me know. When will this be released to the media?”

There was a lot of ugliness out there about him and once something was on the internet, it was there forever. But hopefully this news would get enough traction to clear his name in the court of public opinion, too.

“It won’t matter, Lucas.”

In the pause, Lucas heard the shards of his future shatter to the ground.

“Listen,” Jack went on, “there’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just come out with it. The family is launching a personal injury suit. Non-economic damages. Pain and suffering, basically. Sorry, Lucas.”

Strangely, the blow came almost as a relief. It was the one-two punch that he’d been waiting for since that afternoon when they dragged Tanya Schneider out of the backwoods on a makeshift stretcher.

“But I’ve been exonerated.” As if his exoneration made any difference to Tanya.

“You have,” Jack agreed. “All they have is the statements from Tanya’s pals.”

Mia Hsu and Alana Huang were engineering classmates of Tanya’s. The three of them had gone on the trip as a graduation celebration before they started their careers.

“They lied, Jack.”

“You and I know that. The evidence doesn’t support their statements. But the family wants their pound of flesh out of Landry Adventures, and they don’t care how they get it. They’re going to play the optics, here and unfortunately for you, a woman in a wheelchair always gets the sympathy.”

All the half-truths circulating on social media platforms, all the lies about him and his crew, all the misinformation about what really happened that day, all of it would get new life now. It would never end.

“How much is that pound of flesh going to cost me?”

“To be determined. Yes, you’ve been exonerated. But, they’re still entitled to their day in court.”

And that would cost Lucas in legal fees. And negative media coverage, which is what the Schneiders were undoubtedly counting on. They wanted him to offer them money. An out-of-court settlement to shut all this down.

Such a payment would be as good as admitting that he was guilty. And not just him, but Chandra and Brodie and Steve... everyone who did their absolute best that day and it still wasn’t good enough.

If only . . .

No. That was a dangerous spiral to dive into. But he couldn’t help thinking, if only his medical waivers had been more detailed. If only he’d insisted on physicians notes. If only someone had questioned Tanya more closely. If only he’d been paying more attention. If only he’d been able to get to her faster, to break her fall, to keep her spine from hitting that rock—

“What now?” He pulled off his cowboy hat and rubbed a hand through his hair. Insurance had covered most of his legal fees but that would only go so far. He’d refunded deposits. Paid staff for time that hadn’t brought in revenue. Sent a week’s worth of food for twelve—including Wagyu steak, pomegranates, avocados, artisan sourdough bread, gourmet pastries—to the food bank, and yeah, he could have frozen the meat and bread, but he needed to do penance, one small good deed. As if a grocery deposit could right the imbalance in the universe.

“Vacation,” Jack suggested. “Visit friends or family. A cruise, whatever. Just get out of town and for the love of God, stay off social media.”

“A vacation? For how long?”

“A couple of months, at least. They’re preparing, we’re preparing, best thing you can do to help yourself until I know more is stay out of sight.”

A couple of months. Lucas slipped the phone into his jacket pocket, calculating how long he had before he’d have to start dipping into his investments. He’d done well for himself; few wilderness guides catered to people with special needs, so he was always booked up months in advance, despite his high fees.

He’d hoped to start making up for lost time, but if the real battle was just beginning, he was stuck. Paralyzed.

No. That was wrong. He shook his head. Words mattered, and he of all people knew better than to be careless with accessibility language.

Tanya Schneider was paralyzed. Temporarily or permanently was yet to be determined.

He was just screwed.

*

A light Montana breeze fluttered the curtains Bayleigh Sutherland had just finished hanging. She stood back, pressed her fists into her low back and assessed her work. This was the first cabin on her property to be ready for occupancy, and her first guest was arriving within the hour. She hadn’t planned on renting cabins originally, but it was a good way to bridge the income gap while Belle Vista got established.

A whine and scuffle of nails on hardwood alerted her to the presence of her dog, who leaped up onto the freshly made bed with the glee of an animal who knows he’s getting away with something and is determined to make the most of it.

“Mr. Darcy!” she scolded. “Off. Now.”

She pointed to the floor and the pup slunk off. No one knew what breed he was. She’d gotten him from Kendall McKinley, the real estate agent who’d sold her the ranch. While out horseback riding one day, Kendall had followed the mother dog to a den, where she’d hidden a litter of puppies. The stray had been stealing food from Running River Ranch to feed her babies. Kendall brought them all back to her home in town, kept the mother and found homes for the puppies.

Bayleigh bent down and rubbed the dog’s cheeks. He responded by groaning in bliss and trying to lick her face.

“Oh, Darcy,” she said, using a bad British accent. “How I adore you.”

Pride and Prejudice was her favorite book. Who didn’t love Fitzwilliam Darcy?

“Go to your spot.” She pointed to the mat by the door. The dog scurried over and sat obediently, his pink tongue lolling sideways out of his gaping jaw.

He was a very good boy and he’d be a great ambassador for the center.

Belle Vista Recovery Ranch was focused on providing equine therapy, both physical and emotional, but now that she was here and putting her vision into reality, she saw that there was potential for so much more. Horse-assisted physical therapy. Animal therapy with alpacas and goats, eventually. Maybe even art therapy if she could find trained staff to provide it.

But all of this would take time to implement. She had to get the appropriate equipment, retrofit areas for people with various mobility problems and hire specifically trained therapists and facilitators. Eventually, the cabins could be used for therapeutic summer camps for kids, intensive short- term therapy for individuals, and training camps for therapists wanting experience with horses. For now, they were travel accommodations.

A queen bed with a thick duvet and high-thread-count sheets was the main feature, of course. Rustic night tables flanked the bed, both with lamps and charging stations for devices. On the opposite wall she’d installed a flat-screen television. The bathroom was small but included a tub-shower combo. A short countertop housed a coffee maker, a microwave and a bar fridge for snacks, as well as basic dishes and utensils.

It was cozy, welcoming, and private.

She hoped Lucas Landry would like it enough to give her a good review.

Belle Vista would be successful. It had to be. She’d liquidated much of her investments to purchase and renovate the property. What remained was a decent little nest egg, thanks to Jeremy’s life insurance, but that was for Ted if he decided to go to college. Or get married. Or whatever. Plus, she had to support herself for another forty or fifty years.

Forty or fifty years.

Alone, once Ted left.

How would she bear it?

Grief hit her again, as it did in random, unexpected moments. More than two years later, it still snuck up on her. She and Jeremy were supposed to grow old together. What fit healthy man has a heart attack—a “jammer, a widow-maker” as she’d overheard one doctor refer to it—at thirty-nine?

That jammer had certainly lived up to its reputation. The car accident that had resulted when he’d passed out behind the wheel had nearly taken Ted’s life, too.

Poor Ted, trapped in the car with his father’s lifeless body for an hour before firefighters arrived. Then another hour while they used the Jaws of Life to free them. And where had Bayleigh been while this was happening?

Shopping.

Her phone was turned off because she was annoyed with Jeremy because that morning he’d been his usual, thoughtless self and they’d had one of their usual, selfish arguments. She wished her last words to him had been kind, but they’d both been snappy and impatient.

She shook off the grim memories and took a deep breath.

“Enough BS,” she scolded herself. “Shake off the bullshit, Bayleigh Sutherland.”

Darcy barked and leaped off his mat just as a shout sounded outside the cabin.

“Mom!”

She jumped and turned to see her son’s shaggy head peering in through the open door.

“Yes, darling son. Technically, your head is inside this cabin so might I request that you use an inside voice now? Please?”

She walked toward him, pressed a hard kiss against his bony cheek and then stepped back to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

Watching her fifteen-year-old son in a coma for three days, while her husband lay in the morgue, had aged her. But young brains are resilient and once he woke up, still able to walk and talk, the neurologists assured her that Ted was on the way to a full recovery. Of course, traumatic brain injuries could result in changes that might not show up immediately. Mercurial mood swings were part of growing up; how would she know what was the result of his injury and what was just Ted being a normal adolescent?

Right now, he was glowering at her.

“Some random dude is going to be staying here?” At almost eighteen, his voice still occasionally cracked when he was under stress. Apparently he was under stress now.

She frowned. “It’s a rental cabin, my love. That’s what it’s for.”

“Have you done a background check on him? What if he’s a nut job waiting to murder us in our sleep?”

“Ted.” She took a deep breath. “Where’s this coming from?”

He scowled, the look almost humorous on his normally sunny face. He bit his lip.

“Teddy?”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re a single woman living out in the boonies. You’re a sitting duck. Do you have any idea how many sex predators are walking around out there on day parole, just waiting for a victim?”

Casually, Bayleigh leaned forward, then snatched Ted’s smartphone from his back pocket.

“Hey!” he protested.

She held it out of his reach and clicked on his podcast list.

“Murderers Among Us,” she read. “Death Online. The Secret Lives of Sociopaths. Is this what you’re filling your mind with?”

“They’re out there, Mother.”

She tossed his phone back to him and walked past him out of the cabin. “I’m aware. There’s badness and evil out there. Always has been. But most of the people you and I will encounter will be good. Seek and ye shall find, honey. If you look for evil, that’s what you’ll see. But not here, okay? Our world is full of beauty and light and joy.”

“But Mom—” He shoved his phone back into his pocket and followed her out toward the corral where her manager, Sawyer, was feeding the horses.

“Sawyer,” she called. “You a sociopath?”

“Nah,” he replied. “My wife says I’m a pessimist, though. Why? You looking for one?”

“Ted is. He thinks our new guest is going to murder us in our sleep.”

Ted groaned. “Not him, necessarily. Come on, man. Don’t you think my mom should be screening her guests before they come to stay on the property?”

“I think,” Sawyer said, hoisting a pitchfork laden with alfalfa hay, “that she should have stout locks on the doors and windows.”

“Which I do,” Bayleigh interjected. “Plus, I have Mr. Darcy now.”

Sawyer squatted down to pat the dog, who’d rolled onto his back, begging for a tummy rub. “No one will get past this vicious guard dog.”

“Maybe he’s not a murderer,” Ted continued. “But maybe he’s a player, a con man. Maybe he’s here to take advantage of a lonely middle-aged lady.”

For a moment, shock left Bayleigh breathless. Is that how her son saw her? Then outrage kicked in. She gritted her teeth. “In that case, he’ll be out of luck because there’s no one like that around here.”

“You know what I mean, Mom,” Ted said. “You’re not old, but you’re kind of... you know.”

“I do not. Do tell.”

“Well... you’re kind of old-fashioned. You don’t have fun. You just work. It’s a bit... pathetic.”

“Pardon me for giving up the best years of my life to raise my ungrateful son. I’ll get on Tinder immediately.”

Ted made gagging noises.

“Not to interrupt this touching family moment,” Sawyer said, “but your guest has already been vetted. Sort of.”

“Oh?” said Ted and Bayleigh together.

Sawyer grinned. “He’s Leila’s brother.”

“I thought Brade was Leila’s brother,” Ted said.

Sawyer’s wife, Leila, and his little girl, Piper, had been out to the ranch a few times. Bayleigh knew Brade Oliver because he was engaged to Kendall and Kendall was basically the only person she’d had time to get acquainted with so far.

“DNA reports found another one,” Sawyer said. “They’re triplets.”

Bayleigh’s jaw dropped. “That’s why this guy is coming? He didn’t mention it.”

“Leila said he took a little convincing.” He brushed off his jeans and went toward the tack room. “I suspect that’s pretty common with adopted people who are contacted by genetic relatives they never knew they had.”

“If he’s related to Leila,” Ted said, “then he’s got to be a good guy.”

Her son had something of a crush on Sawyer’s new wife, in an innocent way. It was adorable.

“Agreed,” Sawyer said. “But kudos to you for looking out for your mom.”

He winked at Bayleigh.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself but I appreciate the sentiment. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go get the intake forms ready for our new guest. In the event we are murdered in our beds, at least the cops will know where to start.”

“Real funny, Mom,” Ted said.