The Rancher’s Christmas Bride (The Westons of Montana #4)

Prologue

December, a Year Ago

Willow didn’t want to open her eyes. Somewhere in her brain, an army of tiny men were hammering away.

Maybe she’d just dreamed the whole thing, maybe she was in her own bed, maybe she hadn’t gone to Grey’s Saloon last night, flirted with the bartender and drank way too many glasses of tequila because she’d missed her brother something fierce.

Walker. Her brother with the big laugh and big heart was gone. Nearly four years ago she’d been the one who had persuaded her four brothers to go into town, because a cowboy from a neighboring ranch she’d just met that afternoon had said he’d be in Grey’s Saloon that evening.

Now she only had three brothers left. On their way back to the ranch, Walker had been killed when their truck hit an elk crossing the road. The cowboy she’d wanted to see so badly hadn’t even showed up and had since moved away.

What had she been thinking anyway? She could never get entangled with anyone, something she’d realized way back while she was still at school.

“It’s a blessing,” child, her grandma used to say when Willow complained about her ability to know things, to experience other people’s feelings. “Accept it and manage it,” she would say in her no-nonsense Irish way.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” a deep voice rumbled close to her.

Her eyes flew open to find Hunter Grant leaning over her, his deep-blue eyes filled with mirth.

“Where am I?” she croaked through parched lips.

He dropped a shirt on the bed. “At the Circle C. In my house. In my bed. Put this on.”

Sick to her stomach, she peered beneath the blanket and promptly lost her breath. “I’m naked! Why am I naked? What happened?” Pulling the blanket up to her chin, she glared at him.

“You couldn’t get the door of the car open in time and well, you puked all over your clothes.

I’ve washed them and they’re still in the dryer.

Should be done soon.” He motioned toward nightstand next to the bed.

“The tablets will help the headache. The shower is through that door. I’m making coffee.

” He turned to leave but not before she saw the grin on his face.

“It’s not funny,” she fumed.

Chuckling, he closed the door behind him.

Clutching her head, she sat up, but every movement was anguish, the hammering behind her eyes wouldn’t let up. With unsteady hands she took the tablets on the nightstand, while snatches of last night flashed before her eyes.

She couldn’t believe what had happened. Puking on her clothes in front of Hunter Grant of all people.

Groaning, she gingerly touched her eyes where the throbbing seemed to have increased.

Humiliated didn’t begin to describe the deep-gutted anguish at thinking she’d puked in front of the devastatingly attractive cowboy.

More scenes from the previous night raced through her mind. She’d been sitting at the bar, feeling sad and heartbroken, tossing back tequilas while trying to get rid of a really creepy guy who wouldn’t leave her alone. And then out of nowhere, Hunter Grant had appeared.

The cowboy had been the talk of the town ever since he’d started working at the Circle C. Every woman in town, married or not, swooned about the tall, muscled cowboy whenever he came into town.

So had she. Yes, she wasn’t interested in hooking up with any man, but that didn’t mean she was dead.

She could appreciate a drop-dead gorgeous man when she saw one.

And Hunter was the quintessential sexy cowboy—tall and muscled with a killer smile, unfairly thick lashes for a man, and incredible indigo blue eyes.

Rubbing her temple, she tried to string together the sequence of events of the previous night. She’d been on her way home, that much she remembered, when Hunter had taken her arm. The rest was foggy, though. Except for the puking part. In front of Hunter. In his car.

And here she was, sitting on his bed, naked.

Frantically, she looked around her. Where was her bag? Her phone was in it, if she remembered correctly. She had to phone Cooper. He was the only brother who would understand.

She looked everywhere in the room, but her bag was nowhere to be found. Either she’d lost it at the bar, or it was somewhere else in the house with Hunter. Before she could face to him again, she seriously needed a shower.

Grabbing the shirt, she found her way to the bathroom. The hammering behind her eyes hadn’t eased up, even for a moment.

In the bathroom, she stared at herself in the mirror. Oh, no! She looked like something straight out of a horror movie. Makeup smeared, hair standing on end—and in front of Hunter of all people.

Well, it was official. After today she could never see him again.

Frantically, she tried to comb her hair with her fingers but all she succeeded in doing was to increase the hammering. No wonder Hunter was grinning.

Turning away, she opened the shower door and stepped inside. As she opened the tap, she lifted her face. The hammering behind her eyes subsided. Slightly. Squinting, she looked around. Soap. Surely, the cowboy would at least have soap?

Turning her head, she found different bottles on the small glass shelf, including several bottles of different shampoos for women.

Strangely upset, she grabbed one bottle and poured a generous amount over her hair. Why on earth would it upset her that he had shampoo for women? Of course he’d have women over, he was single and gorgeous and sexy …

Fed up with her thoughts, she got out of the shower. What he did or didn’t do had nothing to do with her.

*

Hunter tried to prepare himself for when Willow would walk into his kitchen, but even before he heard her behind him, he had trouble breathing. He hadn’t even turned around to look at her yet. It happened every time he saw the tall, leggy brunette.

As the sister of the Weston brothers of the Weston ranch, she was practically royalty around these parts.

As a well-known artist, known for her beautiful Montana landscapes, she moved in totally different circles to what he was used to.

Her favorite drink was champagne, she dressed in soft flowing clothes that seemed to move with her slender body, something that had been driving him crazy ever since he’d seen her the first time.

Rumor around town was she was cold, had no heart, and shot down any man daring to come close to her. Apparently, nobody had ever seen her cry.

Nobody needed to tell him she was way out of his league.

He was a beer-drinking cowboy who loves the silence of a ranch and who avoided cities and people as far as he could.

Worse, even though he was a cowboy, he cried.

Babies, soppy movies, books, people suffering, animals suffering, he had a hard time not bawling his eyes out.

Willow Weston was also known for being difficult, for not suffering fools. And according to just about every source in town, she was strange, obviously saddled with loads of emotional baggage.

Although she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met, he’d vowed to stay clear of anyone with issues of any kind. Been there, done that and realized everyone had to solve their own problems. Nobody else could do it for you.

He’d still been studying Agricultural Sciences at University of Colorado twelve years ago when he’d met the beautiful Linda Harrison.

Only later, he’d discovered how unstable she was.

He wasn’t equipped or even had the inclination to listen to someone else’s temper tantrums, ranting, and manipulation.

When he’d walked away, she’d made his life very uncomfortable for a few months with phone calls and texts until she’d disappeared one day.

Somewhere, he’d heard she’d left the university and had moved back home.

It was no secret in the small town of Marietta that all the Westons, including the beautiful Willow, were carrying scars after their brother’s untimely death. Over time he’d heard so many versions of the story, it was difficult to know what really happened.

The tall brunette, with legs that seemed to go on forever, had caught his eye when he’d arrived in Marietta the first time. He’d just started working on the Circle C, another ranch outside town, when he’d seen her in Grey’s Saloon.

She’d kinda knocked his breath from his chest for a few moments but when the other cowboys with him had seen his stunned look, they’d quickly filled him in.

Willow Weston didn’t date, rarely mingled with other people besides her family and friends, and she definitely wouldn’t look sideways at a lowly cowboy. Stay away.

He’d managed to do just that until he’d stepped into Grey’s Saloon the previous night and saw her sitting at the bar trying to get rid of Cyrus Jones, a cowboy who worked on a neighboring ranch.

His first instinct had been to go and rescue her, but he’d been at the end of her glares enough times to know not to approach without caution.

“What happened last night?” she demanded behind him.

Turning to face her, he had to put out a hand to steady himself against the kitchen counter.

His knees were actually buckling. Damn, she was something.

Not only was she more beautiful than other woman he knew, there was also something in the way she held her head, the expression in her eyes, he found mesmerizing.

Paler than usual, but clearly ready for battle as always. She’d found her clothes he’d left on the bed and was dressed, her long, brown tresses, still wet, hanging over her shoulder.

“So, what happened last night?” she repeated, not quite looking him in the eye.

He picked up one of the mugs. “Coffee?”

She nodded.

As he handed her the mug, their fingers touched. Briefly, but the slight contact was enough to send all his blood south. Damn, she was killing him and completely oblivious to the fact.

Grabbing her bag that he’d left on the table for her, she rummaged through it. Probably looking for her phone.

Clearing his throat, he took a sip of his coffee. “I saw you were tossing back way too many tequila shots while trying to get rid of Cyrus Jones. When you finally got up, you were clearly in no state to walk, let alone drive.”

Her eyes flashed. What color were they? Not quite blue, not quite purple, but something in between.

“So what did you do? Brought me home and … and had sex with me?”

He gnashed his teeth and counted to ten, a trick his mom had taught him way back when.

“I helped you to my truck. It was late, I didn’t think you’d appreciate it if I phoned your mother or any of your brothers at one o’clock in the morning and you were in no state to communicate.

I couldn’t leave you there, so I brought you home.

You were sick on your way here. I had to undress you and wash you … ”

She jumped up. “So that’s how you explain me being naked?”

“Didn’t think you’d like to wake up with puke all over you.”

Dropping her head in her hand, she groaned out loud. A sound that went straight to his loins. Damn it.

She slowly lifted her head again. “So did we? Have … sex?”

He put his mug down and walked up to her. “I don’t have sex with inebriated women. When we have sex, Willow, you’ll remember. Every. Single. Second. Trust me.”

Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she turned away. “Thank you. I’ll phone Coop to come and get me.”

Just then they heard the sound of a truck pulling up outside.

“That’ll be Cooper. I phoned him earlier.”

Inhaling sharply, she glared at him. “What did you tell him?” she demanded.

“That you were sick and I brought you home.” He walked toward the front door. Just before he opened the door, he looked over his shoulder. “I didn’t tell him about your dreams.”

“What dreams?”

“Last night you told me you dream about me, remember? And you smiled at me. A bit tipsy, but you actually smiled at me. You never do. Just for the record, you’re not the only one with dreams.” Grinning, he opened the door.

Sputtering, she stomped past him. “I don’t know why you would say something like that. I’ve never dreamed about you, damn it and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. I don’t ever want to see you again!”

Swallowing his grin, he followed her outside.

*

Willow got into Cooper’s car. “Thank you. I don’t wanna talk.”

“Suits me,” Cooper waved as they left but Willow didn’t look up. She’d been humiliated enough.

As the left the ranch, she turned to her brother. “Are there any stories doing the rounds about … about last night?”

“By the time Hunter helped you to his truck, nobody else was around except the bartender and he won’t say anything.”

“How do you know?”

“Because Hunter asked him.”

Willow closed her eyes. Yeah, right.

When we make love … Hunter’s words were still echoing through her mind. How was she supposed to ever forget that?

Cooper patted her leg. “You’ll be okay. Hunter’s a good guy.”

She glared at her brother. “Since when do you read minds?”

“I choose not to, but it’s difficult with you sitting next to me. You’re obviously … something,” he winked at her. “And Hunter has something to do with it.”

“Can we keep this between us?”

“Of course. Close your eyes, you’re very pale.”

Like her, her younger brother was very intuitive, but he preferred animals to people and would rather spend his time talking to the numerous dogs, cats, horses, and the odd elk that always seemed to find their way to his house than making small talk around a table.

This was Marietta, though, and stories, whether they were true or false spread faster than a wildfire.

Well, at least her experience had given her two New Year’s resolutions: never enter Grey’s Saloon again and avoid Hunter Grant at all costs.