Holding the Reins (Montana Mavericks #5)

Chapter 1

The man belonged behind a bar in a western town. Or on a movie screen.

Bianca let her eyes adjust to the dim interior, taking in the quiet stretch of wooden tables worn smooth by time and use.

The air smelled faintly of lemon cleaner layered over old pine and a deeper scent that spoke of late nights and long conversations.

At the far end of the room stood a long, hand-carved bar, solid and grounded, with a man behind it.

A real man—muscled and strong.

Dark curls brushed his forehead, a five o’clock shadow roughened his jaw, and intense brown eyes tracked her with deliberate patience as he wiped water from a glass with a crisp white towel. He didn’t rush. Didn’t pretend not to notice her. He simply watched.

“Hi,” she whispered. Where the heck was her voice?

“Howdy. Darlin’, we don’t open for a few more hours,” he murmured, the Montana cowboy accent slow and unforced, the words pitched low.

Bianca swallowed. “That’s okay.” She walked toward him, suddenly aware of her high heels and designer jeans, both a gift and both wrong.

She wanted to wear those new cowboy boots she’d bought at the airport.

With every step, his attention followed her, not bold, not crude, but thorough in a way that curled heat low in her belly.

“I’m guessing you’re Adam,” she added, hopeful despite herself.

The roughly carved sign outside, appearing rather new, read ‘Adam’s. ’

A quick flash of a grin stopped her in her tracks. The man was seriously, dangerously good-looking. “That’d be me.” He set the glass aside. His gaze lingered on her mouth a beat too long before lifting to her eyes. “But again, we don’t open for hours. Or are you lost?”

She shook her head as memories tugged at her. Mineral Lake in Maverick County held some of her fondest moments, though Adam himself was new to the landscape. “I’m not exactly lost. Is this your bar?”

“It is.” He tilted one eyebrow, curiosity sharpening his expression. “You looking to buy a bar?” The corner of his mouth curved, as if he already knew the answer and enjoyed asking anyway.

She laughed, the sound escaping before she could stop it. “No.” She studied him openly, cataloging the kind of presence cameras loved, the kind that read as confidence without effort. “You ever think about acting?” she blurted.

His focus swept down to her heels and back up to her face, slow, assessing, and unapologetic. “Acting? No.” There was amusement in his voice, lazy and warm. “I prefer real audiences.”

Was that an innuendo? It sure sounded like it.

“I see.” Her pulse ticked faster than it should have. He seemed entirely comfortable in his own skin. The kind of man who didn’t need a spotlight.

“Darlin’, can I help you?” he asked again, softer this time.

The drawl wrapped around his words and slid under her defenses. Not Southern. Montana. Slower. Less honey, more quiet charm, and somehow far more dangerous.

She moved closer, forcing herself to focus. She worked with famous and handsome men daily. This should not throw her. She held out her hand. “Hi. I’m Bianca Estrada, the location scout from Canyon Road Films.”

He stacked the glass neatly by the sink, dropped the towel on the counter, and took her hand. His grip was warm, confident, and lingered just a fraction longer than necessary. His thumb brushed lightly against her knuckles. “Are you, now?”

Holy moly.

His calloused palm engulfed hers in a way that sent a sharp, unexpected jolt up her arm and straight through her carefully maintained composure.

The contact felt deliberate, grounding, as if he knew exactly the effect it would have and was enjoying it without rushing.

Perhaps she should’ve had Clancy contact the local bar owner.

She disengaged quickly, though her pulse didn’t get the memo. “Yes. Hi.” She cleared her throat, annoyed at herself. “I’m scouting towns for a movie directed by Lyle McCombree.” She paused deliberately, letting the name sit between them like bait.

Nothing flickered across Adam’s chiseled face. Not surprise. Not interest. Just calm attention, fixed squarely on her, making her want to blush.

“Okay, well, he’s kind of famous,” she said, a little dry. It had been a huge get for Bianca’s cousin Randi to hire him for her first movie, and if it didn’t work out, Randi’s new production company was sunk. Completely. “This bar is perfect for a couple of scenes, so I was hoping…”

“No,” Adam said softly, but unmistakably, the word delivered with a quiet confidence.

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I said no.” He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t shift his stance. The certainty stayed right there, steady and immovable.

Her chin lifted. “We would pay you.”

“I prefer privacy to money.” His gaze didn’t leave her face, and there was something almost intimate about the refusal.

Bianca surveyed the establishment, her professional instincts kicking in despite the distraction of him.

Beyond the bar sat a small stage. Past it, another area held a couple of pool tables and dart boards lined neatly along the wall.

An air hockey table sat tucked into the corner.

The floor was clean, the tables solid, and the bar stools sturdy.

It was freaking perfect. “Everybody could use more money.”

Her eyes traveled over his black T-shirt stretched across a hard, defined chest, then down to the narrow cut of his waist and the worn denim clinging to his hips.

She didn’t bother pretending she wasn’t looking.

She would bet her last dollar there were cowboy boots on his feet.

“You could even be an extra if you wanted.”

That smile came full on this time, slow and devastating, and nearly knocked her back a step. “Darlin’, I don’t want to be an extra.” His tone dipped, playful now, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to her equilibrium.

Darlin’. Again. The word curled through her thoughts, warm and unforced. Montana drawl, she reminded herself.

So she couldn’t charm him with the offer of screen time. Yeah. There was nothing extra about this guy. He was all leading man, whether he wanted the role or not. “Are you sure? We could bring more business your way.”

“I appreciate the offer, Bianca,” he said, polite but firm, “but Adam’s is not available for movie rental.”

“It would take two days,” she pressed. “Three days, tops.” She held his gaze, unwilling to be the first to look away. “I’ve scouted for a dozen movies, and I know a perfect location when I find one.”

He studied her then, his expression sharpening as he spoke. “You’re good at your job?”

“Yes,” she said, heat creeping into her cheeks.

“How does one become a location scout?” The question came easily, curiosity threading through his voice, the edge of challenge gone, replaced by interest.

She shrugged. “Like most jobs. My mother married her fifth husband and he was a Hollywood director.” She paused. “They died about five years ago. I was already around sets and took a job as a PA to start, helped out, and noticed things other people didn’t.”

He leaned closer, close enough that the scent of warm bourbon wrapped around her, rich and unmistakable. Of course it did. He was surrounded by it. “What did you notice?”

Was he flirting? It felt like flirting, subtle and dangerous, and that was a problem.

Darlin’ or not, she couldn’t afford to fall for some charismatic bar owner.

She wasn’t built for flings, and usually small townspeople ended up disliking her after a movie shoot, even when she followed the contracts.

“I don’t know,” she said, lifting one shoulder.

“How light falls at different times. Which places can handle trucks. How to work with a small town.”

“Why Montana?” His voice was quieter now, closer.

She shrugged, meeting his eyes. The guy didn’t need her resume. He certainly didn’t need to know that the production company was owned by her cousin, her one and only relative in the world, who needed her help. Bad. This had to work.

The door opened then, breaking the moment, and two elderly women hurried inside with their arms loaded with baskets of yellow Alstroemeria, their blooms just opening.

Adam moved immediately around the bar and reached for the bundle held by the nearest woman.

“Mrs. Hudson, I told you I’d come out and get these. ”

“Oh no, dear,” Mrs. Hudson replied cheerfully. “The Lady Elks are a full-service organization.” She deposited several small baskets into his hands and turned to her friend. “Right, Bernie?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Bernie said, carrying small pink potted versions. “Sweet Adam, I’ll just start putting these pretty lilies on the tables. We so appreciate your support for our spring fundraiser, and these should last a couple of weeks.”

Adam started placing the baskets in the center of each table. “Of course.”

Another woman walked in carrying several more bouquets. She appeared to be in her twenties with blonde hair and light blue eyes. “I think we have enough,” she laughed.

Adam moved toward her to take them off her hands. “I agree. It’s nice of you to donate so many of these at a discount, Ellen.”

Ellen grinned. “The Lady Elks can be persuasive.” She looked at Bianca. “Hi. I’m Ellen, your local flower guru.”

Bianca grinned. “Bianca. It’s nice to meet you. I love working with flowers and plants.” She paused. “If they have intact roots, you could replant them outside after ten days. You’d need deep mulch and a bit of shelter.” Her hands itched to help.

“Well, hello,” Mrs. Hudson said, walking toward Bianca. Dressed in a blue tracksuit bedazzled down both sides, she cocked her head and studied Bianca. “Are you a gardener?”

Wouldn’t that be nice? “No,” Bianca said.

Mrs. Hudson squinted and pursed her red-painted lips. Her expression cleared. “Bianca Estrada, is that you?”

Adam paused with a basket halfway to a table and turned toward them. “Um. Yes, it is.”

Bianca shook her head, already smiling. “I’m so sorry, I don’t…”