in Montana, even though the town was no more populated, at least as far as Chance could tell.
After the parade there’d been a picnic. Most folks had brought their own baskets of fried chicken, along with blankets to spread on the grass, but there were plenty of food concessions for those who wanted to buy hot dogs and fries and cotton candy.
The celebration was wrapped up that night with fireworks. Chance had choked back bile at the oftrepeated announcements that the lavish display had been donated by none other than Harlan Adams and his sons.
“Y’all be sure and thank ’em when you see ’em,” the mayor said.
Petey’s eyes had widened at the mention of Harlan Adams. “That’s Granddaddy’s—”
Fearing he’d be overheard, Chance had put a hand over Petey’s mouth, cutting off the blurted remark in midsentence. It was too soon for anyone to know he was connected in any way to the powerful Harlan Adams. He wanted to size things up before he made his presence and his intentions known—if he ever did.
But hearing all that boasting had solidified one thing: he was staying. He wanted to see just how the other half of the family had thrived after running his father off. Resentment he hadn’t known he felt simmered all night long.
During the day he had asked around about employment and learned that a rancher named Wilkie Rollins was looking for an experienced foreman.
“It’s a small place compared to White Pines.” one man told him. “Then, again, most are. White Pines is about the biggest cattle operation in the state, bar none. Harlan’s got himself quite a spread out there. That boy of his, Cody, has doubled the size of it these past few years. He’s a smart one, all right, every bit as sharp as his daddy.”
“Is that right?” Chance said, absorbing the information about his cousin and tucking it away for later consideration. “How do I go about finding this Rollins place?”
“You can’t miss it if you head west going out of town. If you come up on them fancy gates at White Pines, you’ve gone too far.”
The directions had been easy enough to follow. The next morning he’d driven out there, talked with Wilkie Rollins and had a job and a new home by the end of the interview. He and Petey had been settled in by sundown. Petey had been ecstatic that they were staying on.
In the weeks since, Chance had been happy enough with the familiar work. Wilkie’s spread was smaller than his own had been in Montana, but the man was getting too old to handle it himself. He left most of the decisions to Chance and drove into town every day to hang out with his cronies. Chance had been able to keep up with the work with time to spare to contemplate his next move with Harlan Adams.
Petey was hell-bent on charging over there and introducing themselves and staking their claim. He’d been all but deaf to Chance’s admonitions that slower was better. Fortunately, despite being the next-door neighbor, White Pines was too far down the road from Wilkie’s for Petey to sneak off there on his own to snoop around.
“Patience, son, patience,” Chance said over and over, but he figured he was pretty much wasting his breath. Petey was intent on fulfilling his grand-daddy’s last request.
Through the years Chance hadn’t gotten caught up in his father’s bitterness. It had always seemed a waste of energy to him. But now, the more he heard about those paragons of virtue out at White Pines, the more the high praise grated.
He wondered what folks would have to say if they knew that Harlan Adams had stolen half of that ranch right out from under his younger brother. He wondered how they’d react if they knew that Hank Adams had been sent away all but destitute. In the past two months Chance had started working up a pretty good head of steam over it himself.
While he debated the best way to go about making his presence known, he gave Wilkie his money’s worth and let the idea of revenge simmer. Some of his plots were subtle and downright sneaky. Some were blatant and outrageous. All of them ended with him and Petey ensconced in that fancy house a few miles up the road from the little foreman’s cottage they currently called home.
He was just trying a new scheme on for size when he glanced up from the wood he’d been chopping and caught sight of a slender dark-haired woman striding in his direction, a purposeful gleam in her eyes. Since she also had his son in tow, he suspected Petey had been up to some sort of mischief again. He’d hoped the start of school today would settle the boy down, but it looked like just the opposite had happened.
The boy was darn near out of control. He managed to find a way to do mischief where Chance would have sworn none was possible. Chance would have tanned the boy’s hide, if he’d thought it would help, but his own father’s lashings had never done anything except make Chance more defiant than ever. Since Petey had his temper in spades, it seemed likely he’d react the same way.
Chance wiped his brow with the bandanna he’d stuck in his pocket and stood back to watch their approach. Might as well appreciate the sight of a pretty woman while he had the opportunity. In a few minutes they were going to be on opposite sides of something or other. That much was clear from the scowl on that pretty face of hers.
She was tall, five-eight at least, he gauged from a distance, and thin as a poker in her fancy doeskin-colored linen slacks and bright orange blouse. Her black hair was cropped short as a boy’s, emphasizing wide cheekbones and eyes as dark as coal. There was a hint of Native American ancestry in her angular features.
He put her age at anywhere from late twenties to early thirties. She had the brisk no-nonsense stride of a man, but as she neared, he saw that she had the surprisingly ample curves of a woman beneath that clinging silk blouse of hers. His body reacted as if he’d just spotted a primed and waiting sex goddess in his bed.
The reaction, of course, was the result of too many months of celibacy. This woman wasn’t at all his type. She was way too skinny, and that determined jut of her chin warned him she’d be a handful of trouble.
“Mr. Adams,” she called out as she neared. She sounded way too grim to be dropping by for the sheer pleasure of it.
“That would be me,” he confirmed, glancing at Petey. When his son determinedly refused to meet his gaze, Chance looked the woman over from head to toe, hoping to rattle her. The action was as instinctive as breathing. He’d always enjoyed flirting with a pretty woman, no matter the circumstances. If he could distract her from her mission, so much the better. Instead, though, her gaze remained fixed squarely on his face as she patiently withstood the examination.
“Satisfied?” she asked eventually.
There was no hint of color in her cheeks, but Chance felt his own flaming. “Not by a long shot,” he said, trying to reclaim the edge he’d lost
She shrugged. “Let me know when you are. I can wait.”
He concluded that trying to best her was a losing cause. “Who are you?” he asked since no one had seen fit to fill him in.
“I’m Petey’s teacher.”
He’d guessed as much—Petey was coming home from school, after all. And the woman with him had a prim and prissy attitude about her, just like every teacher Chance had ever had, though she was definitely a whole lot sexier than most.
“You have a name?” he asked.
“Jenny Adams.”
