Free Dances with Wolf by Farrah Taylor Page B

mirror. “I’ve been to Choteau before. Stop pretending it’s the O.K. Corral.”
    He laughed, then took the opportunity to look her over, to admire those shapely hips straining against her jeans. He felt a warmth in his chest that made him want to throw his jacket over her shoulders and button them both inside. Then he remembered the icy look her mother had given him when he’d showed up that morning. After offering him eggs—knowing that open-armed hospitality was practically a state law, he hadn’t gotten too optimistic—Marcie had given him a quick once-over that said in no uncertain terms, you hurt my daughter, I’ll hand you your ass on a plate. He’d said no thanks to the eggs, tipping his hat like a gentleman.
    Abby slid into a booth and picked up a menu, then handed one to him. The table’s Formica surface glimmered with a thin coat of grease. He peered at her over the top of his menu. “You remember the time you, me, Bridget, and John Tanner went to that no-name barbecue joint opposite Swan Lake?”
    “The Home of the Grizzly Burger. I remember ordering a double. It was so overcooked it took two beers to get it down.”
    “Yep.” Abby laughed. “And they probably would have served beer to a ten-year-old in there, but I was too scared to order one, so that charcoal taste just stuck to the top of my mouth.”
    “Well, the burgers are a little better here. Just avoid the tuna melt; it might be a little past prime.”
    “Noted.” Abby nodded. “You know what else I remember about that place?”
    “What?” Wolf felt his throat tighten around the single word.
    “Bridge disappeared out back with John Creswell, giving us a few precious minutes to ourselves.” Wolf shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He knew exactly where she was going, but he sure wished she’d stop. “You were going to tell me something about your family, some big, carefully guarded secret, but you never got around to it.”
    It was all coming back to him now, the Talk That Never Was at that godforsaken burger dive. He’d been two or three beers in, and wishing he didn’t have to leave home so suddenly. He’d wanted to tell Abby everything, he really did. But then, just in time, he’d realized he couldn’t tell Abby about his dad, about the debts, the ranch, the whole mess. She was only two years younger than him, but two years meant a lot in high school. She was mature for sixteen, sure, but he didn’t think she’d be able to handle hearing about his dad’s complicated ways. He regretted a lot of things about the way he left town, but he didn’t regret keeping his dad’s secrets to himself.
    “I was going to tell you,” Wolf hesitated, “that I wasn’t long for the Flathead, that I’d be leaving home soon.”
    “You knew, even then? That was over a month before prom.”
    “I didn’t know I’d miss prom, but I knew I had to get out and start…earning my own keep…it was complicated.”
    “You were eighteen. I was sixteen. How complicated could it have been?”
    “One day,” he said, “I’ll tell you. That’s a promise.”
    “Fine,” she said. “But I’m going to keep you to it.”

    Wolf’s property was nestled in a valley that paralleled the Rockies, with a view that rivaled any ranch in the Flathead. There were two horses in the pasture, a mare and a yearling. Stella barked a greeting as the humans got out of their trucks.
    “So, Abs, when I left here, I didn’t know I was going to have a houseguest, and—”
    “The place is a pig sty, and you’d like to tidy things up without me sticking my nose in there first?” she asked.
    “Your mama didn’t raise a fool.”
    She laughed. “I’ll go see how Bullet’s doing after three hours in that musty old trailer.”
    “Cool. See you in ten.”
    He honestly didn’t know how bad the house was. He’d had some buddies over on his last night here, and couldn’t specifically recall whether he’d cleaned up the hungover morning after. But he was