Tucked Away

By Jennie Marts

Charlie Ryan's cheating fiancé left her with a broken heart—and an even more broke bank account. She's hit rock bottom, but everything is about to change. Suddenly, she's inherited a Montana farm named Tucked Away from a grandmother she never knew existed. A fresh start is just what she needs. Only this time, she’s going to make sure there’s no guy involved…even if the local vet is as hot as summer in Montana.

Zack Cooper is content with his simple life. Running his veterinary practice and raising his daughter are enough to keep him busy, and he doesn't need a high-maintenance city girl who plans to sell her grandma's ranch and split faster than a setting sun. So why can't he stop thinking about Charlie and her hot-pink cowboy boots...or the way her eyes sparkle even as she teases him with plans of leaving?

Just when both start to believe love might be worth the risk...one night will change everything.

Each book in the Hearts of Montana series is STANDALONE:
* Tucked Away
* Hidden Away
* Stolen Away

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Apr 28, 2015
• ISBN: 9781633752627

Jennie Marts

Jennie Marts is the USA Today bestselling author of award-winning books filled with love, laughter, and always a happily ever after. Readers call her books “laugh out loud” funny and the “perfect mix of romance, humor, and steam.” Fic Central claimed one of her books was “the most fun I’ve had reading in years.” She is living her own happily ever after in the mountains of Colorado with her husband, two dogs, and a parakeet who loves to tweet to the oldies. She’s seen every episode of Survivor and loves macaroni and cheese. She’s addicted to Diet Coke, adores Cheetos, and believes you can’t have too many books, shoes, or friends. Her books range from Western romance to cozy mysteries but they all have the charm and appeal of quirky small town life. She loves genre-mashups, like adding romance to her Page Turners cozy mysteries and creating the hockey-playing cowboys in the Cowboys of Creedence. The same small town community comes to life with more animal antics in her Creedence Horse Rescue series. And her sassy heroines and hunky heroes carry over in her heartwarming, feel-good romances from Hallmark Publishing. Jennie loves to hear from readers. Follow her on Facebook at facebook.com/JennieMartsBooks, or Twitter at @JennieMarts. Visit her at www.jenniemarts.com and sign up for her newsletter to keep up with the latest news and releases.

Book preview

This book is dedicated to Todd

The one who filled my life with love and laughter

under the big blue Montana sky

Chapter One

A bead of sweat trickled down her back as she stared into the cold brown eyes of her captor. A gold ring pierced his nostril. He snorted, his breath forming a circle of condensation on the window. She laid on the horn again, hoping this time to scare the beast away. He stood there, unfazed, staring at her and swatting flies away with his tail.

Nice bull. Keeping her voice low, she pulled on the handle and gently pushed open the car door a fraction of an inch. The huge black bull, roughly the size of a small pickup truck, pawed at the ground, then put his head down and rammed the side of her bright red rental car.

She let loose a scream of terror and frustration. The car held all of her worldly possessions, packed in a few liquor store boxes and a couple of Louis Vuitton suitcases, her last shred of dignity tucked into one of the side pockets.

Charlie Ryan had spent the last hour trapped in a car that reeked of stale French fries, her silk blouse clinging to her damp back, desperately rethinking her decision to drink that large iced tea. Why had she ignored the sign reading Last services for 200 miles? Who knew that meant gasoline? She thought it meant cell service, and her phone had died hours ago as she’d crossed the never-ending flats of the Midwest, driving toward her new home and the promise of a fresh start.

Nothing was going as planned. Her dreams, once as bright as the pristine Montana sky, had faded like the paint on the large red barn standing sentinel over the Tucker farm. But this was too much. She’d had enough bull in her life, and she was getting out of this car.

Groaning, she looked around in desperation for a way out. An old two-story farmhouse sat at the end of a dusty driveway. The front door, and her means of escape, a mere twenty feet away.

She pulled her black designer pump from her foot and beat it against the window. Its ineffectiveness against her captor equaled its poor choice as driving footwear, evidenced by the large red blister forming on her right heel.

She studied the beast. His shiny coat seemed to glisten in the afternoon sun. Horns protruded two feet off either side of his huge, triangular block of a head, and his neck was thick as a tree trunk. She leaned closer to the window and noticed his horns dotted with red bits that looked like blood, but were probably flecks of the paint that used to be on her rental car door. A large scar extended several inches above and below his left eye. The scar, combined with the way he stamped his foot and shook his enormous head at her, told her this bull meant business.

Turning away from the animal, she tried the ignition once more, hoping the tank had been visited by the services fairies and magically filled with gasoline. What little fumes were left in the tank had sputtered out just as she pulled into the driveway and coasted to a stop in front of the house.

She would have to think about that coincidence later, but for now, the car battery still worked, so she depressed the button to roll the window down a few inches. Hot, dry air, smelling of what she assumed was hay, wafted into the car, and the bull, alerted by the sudden movement, slid his tongue up the window, leaving a shiny trail of saliva filled with bits of grass.

Charlie screamed again as his tongue, finding the opening in the glass, snaked into the car, as if searching for the source of the fast food scent. She continued to shriek as she alternately whacked at the huge tongue with her shoe and tried to roll up the window.

Having rid her car of the offensive appendage, she now heard the blessed sound of an engine and turned to see a blue and white pickup pulling into the driveway. She registered a black cowboy hat and dark hair as the truck rumbled past her in a cloud of dust. The window was wide open, the radio blared guitar-picking country music, and a tan, muscled arm rested against the faded blue paint.

The truck pulled to a stop in front of her car, and she sighed with relief. How low had her life sunk that her hero had just arrived in an ancient pickup sporting a decal silhouette of a naked woman wearing high heels and holding a shotgun, an NRA emblem, and a bumper sticker that read Git Er Done?

The door of the truck opened. As one cowboy boot hit the ground, Charlie had a moment of fear, wondering if she was now in more danger being stranded alone in the middle of nowhere with a three-toothed redneck who fully believed in his right to bear arms.

She reached to depress the door locks, then remembered she had locked the doors earlier when the beast had first charged the car. She was now pretty sure a bull couldn’t open a car door with its hoof, but it was a moment of panic, and she wasn’t taking any chances.

The rest of her hero emerged from the truck, and any thoughts of door-opening cows left her head as she took in the sight of this man. He epitomized the term hot cowboy, standing well over six feet tall, wearing faded Wranglers, a sleeveless western shirt, and the aforementioned black cowboy hat.

He was tan and had the solid muscles of someone who spent his time outdoors working hard instead of indoors working out. He rested one of those muscled arms on the open door of his truck as he appeared to survey the red car containing a sweaty blonde being held captive by a twelve hundred pound bull.

Why is he just standing there? Charlie gave him a small wave. She didn’t think he could hear her and considered doing a mini-charade to describe her predicament. Two words. Movie title. Help me. But, instead found herself pointing to the bull and mouthing, Help.

The cowboy broke into a wide grin. Definitely more than three teeth. She found herself smiling back, until he leaned forward and let loose a long stream of tobacco juice into the dirt at his feet.

Oh, gross. She watched him amble toward her and lowered the window a few inches.

He peered in through the window and smiled again as he seemed to take in the disheveled mess she was. Her skirt was a wrinkled disaster and had crept up enough to show a considerable amount of her pale legs.

Hey there. Looks like you got yourself in a bit of a pickle.

A pickle? I’m swimmin’ around in the whole jar. She smiled up at him, then watched his eyes do a full inventory of her figure and the fast-food-wrapper-strewn interior of her car. She wasn’t sure if he was checking out her cleavage or trying to discern what the large stain on the front of her blouse was. She couldn’t actually remember if it was ketchup or coffee, and frankly, she didn’t care—she was just so happy to be rescued. Charlie considered burning the blouse if she could ever get out of this blasted car.

That beast won’t let me get out, she explained through the crack in the window, as she pointed at the huge black bull, now standing docile as it watched the cowboy lean against her car. Every time I try to open the door, he rams it with his head.

The cowboy looked down at the scarred and battered door, let out a low chuckle, then turned and sauntered off into the open door of the barn. He reappeared a few minutes later holding a dented coffee can in one hand and a handful of hay in the other. The can must have held something appetizing. Through a series of yips and haws and shakings of the coffee can, the man lured the bull into the dark recesses of the barn.

Emerging a few minutes later, he crossed the driveway, dusting bits of hay from his hands. All right, you can come out now. I put Tommy Lee in one of the stables.

Charlie hit the unlock switch, and he opened the driver’s side door. She pulled the keys from the ignition and dropped them in her Coach bag. Sliding the purse up her shoulder, she swung her legs out and tried to stand while adjusting her wrinkled skirt and blouse.

The pebbles of the driveway dug into her bare feet, and she reached for the door as her knees threatened to buckle. But instead of steel, her hand encountered hard flesh as the cowboy put his arm around her waist to steady her.

Whoa there.

Oh, thanks. I picked the wrong shoes for driving, and I’ve got the worst blister on my heel.

He pulled her against his hip and led her toward the four steps of the front porch she’d been staring at the last thirty minutes. Let’s get you inside and find you some water. How long have you been stuck in that car?

Almost an hour. She leaned into him as the blister on her heel caused her to limp up the stairs. Thinking he would smell like a farm, she was surprised by the nice aftershave he wore. The rest of his body was as hard as his bicep, and she suddenly had the mental image of him swooping her into his arms and carrying her up the stairs. Where had that come from? And why did she seem to be sweating more now than when she was in the hot car?

Why didn’t you just drive away? That old bull would have moved if the car had started toward him.

I would have, but my car ran out of gas as I pulled into the driveway.

The outer screen door creaked as he pulled it open and gestured for her to go in. Hesitating only for a moment, she took a deep breath and stepped into the foyer of not only her new home, but her new life.

She looked around the interior of the farmhouse. A large living room covered the majority of the main floor. An open kitchen sat to the left, and separating the rooms was a long counter and a scarred wooden table surrounded by six mismatched chairs.

The kitchen was a mix of old and new, evidenced by an antique toaster sitting next to a shiny red Kitchenaid mixer. Lace curtains fluttered at the open window above a porcelain sink.

At the back of the room, an open door revealed a set of stairs leading to the upper level. The hardwood floors were scattered with rag-tied rugs, and a light blue afghan lay spread across the back of an overstuffed sofa.

The house had an inviting feel, so different from her small apartment in New York. Driving out to the middle of nowhere, she’d worried she would feel completely out of place, but instead, she was surprised at the sense of peace she felt as she walked through the front door. The air held the faint scent of cinnamon and apples, and she relaxed, feeling as if she’d just come home.

Except her home had never held a tall, dark, and handsome hottie of a cowboy. Her would-be hero pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and guided her into it, gently pulling the purse from her shoulder and setting it on the table. I’ll get you some water. I’m Cash, by the way. I run this place, and I’m assuming you’re…lost?

She sighed and fidgeted with the zipper of her bag. If only he knew how true that statement was. No, evidently I’m right where I am supposed to belong now. Is your name really Cash? As in legal tender?

It says so on my birth certificate. But it’s as in Johnny Cash, you know, the man in black. My parents were big fans. He took a glass from the cupboard and turned on the tap. What do you mean this is where you belong now?

Well, a grandmother I never knew existed left me this farm in her will, but she said I would only get it if I moved here and lived on it for the summer. I’m Charlie Ryan.

He turned from the sink, one dark eyebrow raised and leaving the glass he’d been filling only half-full. You’re Gigi’s grandbaby? That Charlie?

Well, I don’t know any Gigi, but some lawyer called me about three weeks ago and told me I had a grandmother named Geraldine Tucker and that she’d left me a farm in Montana called Tucked Away.

Everyone around these parts knows Geraldine Tucker as Gigi. He set the glass on the table, and she watched him give her body another roving once-over with his eyes. Subtlety was obviously not one of his strong points. I guess I was expecting Gigi’s grandbaby Charlie to be a little less…female.

She took a large drink of the blessedly cool water, too tired to bother caring about the man’s obvious eyeballing of her curves. Yeah, I get that a lot.

He settled his hip against the counter and rubbed the back of his neck while he seemed to process this new information. So, where are you from?

New York City, Charlie said, with obvious pride in her voice.

New York City? he replied, in an accent reminiscent of old salsa commercials. And you dropped your whole life and moved to Broken Falls, Montana? Just like that?

There isn’t much of a life left there anymore. However, she didn’t want to explain that to this man she’d just met. She mused on how a single instant’s decision to come home early one afternoon could change everything you thought about your life. Yep. Sometimes life works that way. Just like that.

So, where’s your dad? We were kinda surprised he didn’t turn up for Gigi’s funeral.

She wasn’t surprised at all. He hadn’t turned up for anything in her life. "I have no idea where or even who he is. I was raised by my mom and have lived my whole life on the East Coast. I never knew my dad or even that I had a grandmother in Montana. I had to look at a map to even be sure where Montana was."

Well, she’s always known about you. Gigi’s been searching for you since you were born but only found you a short time ago. She’s been getting this place ready for her grandbaby ever since. We were all kinda hoping you two would’ve had a chance to meet each other.

I didn’t know about her until after she was gone. She was surprised by the lump that had formed in her throat for a woman she’d never known, but who, it seemed, had been searching for her for years.

Charlie took a deep breath and noticed the faint scent of peaches in the air. Her hair stirred, as if a breeze had brushed past her, and she shivered. She had the oddest impression of feeling as though she was all at once loved and in the right place and time.

You all right? Was there a mouse or something? He looked at the floor below her chair.

A mouse? she shrieked, lifting her feet and temporarily forgetting about the odd sensation of warmth and comfort. Where? In the house? Did you see one?

He chuckled. No, you just looked funny for a second there. Your face went really pale. City-girl like you, I thought you must’ve seen a mouse or a spider.

She eased her feet back onto the floor and laughed at herself. No, I just got spooked. It was nothing.

Old houses will do that to you. But you still might see a mouse or two, he said, and grinned as she picked up her feet again. We’ve got an old mother cat around here who usually keeps them out of the house. ’Bout the only thing she’s good for is mousing and having kittens. I think she’s due to drop a litter here pretty soon.

What was she doing here? As an author, she was used to looking at a pile of manuscripts, not a pile of baby animals. And what would she do if she found them anyway? She’d lived in apartments her whole life and had never had so much as a goldfish for a pet.

Cash was looking at her expectantly. She realized he had just asked her a question, and she’d completely missed it in her musing over the prospect of finding kittens. I’m sorry. I didn’t hear what you said.

He chuckled again and seemed to be amused by her. I asked you how long you were plannin’ on stayin’.

Oh, um, I’m not really sure. She bit her lip and toyed with the floral print placemat on the table in front of her. For a while, I guess. The terms of the will said I needed to live here for the entire summer, but we’ll see how it goes.

Hmmm. Don’t you have a job that you have to get back to? He raised his eyebrows as he looked her over again, his eyes lingering on her bare legs. Her skirt had ridden up as she now rested her feet on the spindle of the chair, instead of the floor. Don’t you have somebody who’s gonna be missing you, if you don’t hurry back to the city?

Charlie pulled at her skirt, heat creeping up her neck. How could this man go from a look of amusement to a look of desire in two seconds flat? She suddenly felt like Little Red Riding Hood and wondered if, by coming into her grandmother’s house, she had just discovered the log cutter who would help her or the big, bad wolf who wanted to eat her for dessert.

She cleared her throat. "First of all, I am a writer, (not that I’ve been doing much writing lately), so I can work from pretty much anywhere. And, not that it’s any of your business, but no, no one is missing me in the city."

It seemed he had the good sense to leave that one alone. Instead of answering, he took a washcloth from the drawer next to the sink and crossed to the freezer.

She felt herself relax. Even though he was flirting shamelessly with her, she got the sense that he was harmless. His easy charm told her that he most likely flirted with anything in a skirt, even a wrinkled one. She still liked his manners and the way he’d welcomed her into his home. Wait, her home.

She couldn’t help but notice his easy movements and the way his muscles tensed as he opened the freezer door and reached for some ice. She’d never seen anyone wear a western shirt with no sleeves, and by the looks of the frayed edges, the sleeves had been torn off instead of being made that way. The blue cotton was faded from wear, lined with white pearly snaps up the front.

He walked toward her, holding out the makeshift ice pack. Let’s get some ice on that blister. Here, give me your foot.

What? Are you crazy? I don’t even know you, her brain said. But her traitorous slut of a foot popped right out toward Cash.

She took another sip of water as he knelt down and took her foot gingerly in his hands. He pressed the ice, now wrapped in the washcloth, against her blistered heel.

Well, if you are stickin’ around, I’d suggest you get some better footwear. Some boots would be good, or even some sneakers. There’s not much call for fancy high heels around these parts.

The ice felt good against her sore heel, and she had to hold in a groan of pleasure as he massaged the arch of her foot.

Her pleasure didn’t escape Cash’s notice, and a slow, shameless grin spread across his face. His hands slowly moved up her leg to her lower calf.

She reached for the makeshift ice pack and pulled her leg free from his grasp. Thanks, I think I’ve got it. I’ll take that shoe idea into consideration. Maybe I can find some cross trainers at the mall tomorrow.

His grin turned into an all-out laugh as he pushed himself to his feet. You’d have to find a mall first. Closest one is in Great Falls and that’s over two hours from here. He opened the fridge and grabbed a can of pop. Your best bet is to try Tate’s Western Shop in town and see if they can find you some boots.

No mall? Is that why he had to rip the sleeves off his shirt himself? Because there was no place to buy decent clothes around here? She was temporarily distracted from her shopping mall thoughts by the sight of the stocked refrigerator. A dawning realization hit her as she questioned why an empty house had a stocked fridge. Did you say you ran this place?

Yeah. Why?

So, do you live here, in this house? With me? I mean, with Gigi? I mean…

He chuckled again. Why did it feel like he was always laughing at her?

Simmer down, he said. I’m not your new roommate. I live on the property, though. There’s a small bunkhouse on the other side of the barn. You can see it from the kitchen window. So I’m close enough if you need me. He raised his eyebrows at her. You disappointed I won’t be staying in the house with you?

What? No, of course not. I just noticed the full refrigerator and thought maybe someone else was living here, too.

Oh, that’s Sophie’s doing. He gestured toward the living room. She’s been in the last few days cleaning everything up and layin’ in groceries for you. I think she said she put some fresh sheets on the bed, as well.

I remember the attorney saying something about sending someone in to get the place ready. I called him when I left the city to tell him that I was headed this way. I thought that meant someone would run the vacuum. I wasn’t expecting anyone to get groceries for me. That was nice of her.

Well, she loved Gigi. We all did. He opened the fridge again and pulled out a Saran-wrapped plate holding a piece of lasagna approximately the size of Colorado. Looks like Sophie made her lasagna for us. There’s a plate in there for you, too. I think I’ll take mine back to the bunkhouse. You want me to help you bring your suitcases in from the car before I go?

She thought of the small, sad pile of boxes that, along with two suitcases of clothes, made up her entire existence. She didn’t really want this cowboy to witness the pathetic state of her current life.

No, thanks. I’ll get it later. She held up the washcloth of ice. I appreciate the help, though, and thanks for saving me from the bull.

He smiled again as he headed for the front door. No problem.

"Hey, did I hear you call that bull Tommy Lee?"

He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. Yeah, he’s named after Tommy Lee Jones. He’s kind of crotchety, but he’s a big hit with the ladies. He gave her a wink, then he was gone, the sound of the screen door slamming behind him.

…

A groan escaped Charlie’s lips as she put the last bite of lasagna in her mouth.

She’d originally cut the Frisbee-sized piece in half, intending to save the other piece for lunch the next day. But after finishing one half, she took a few more bites. After all, it was still warm, the cheese melted and gooey around the noodles and garlicky sauce.

After that, there really wasn’t enough to be considered a meal for lunch, so she’d just finished it. Curse that Sophie and her amazing cooking.

She hadn’t left the security of the kitchen table except to heat up the lasagna. The long car drive combined with her pasta-filled belly caught up to her, and she was suddenly bone tired. The walk to the sink seemed miles away, but she couldn’t stay in that chair all night.

The hardwood floors were surprisingly smooth on her bare feet. The ice must have helped, because the pain in her blistered heel had subsided.

It took opening three cabinets filled with pans and bowls for her to realize there was no dishwasher, so she gingerly set her plate in the large white porcelain sink. Next to the sink, a netted scrubby poked out of a porcelain frog’s open mouth. Deciding it would take entirely too much energy to scrub it, she filled the plate with water and left it to