Chapter One
Six weary patrons had taken refuge in the Open Range Saloon, attempting to escape the chilly February afternoon. Every one of them looked up when Wyatt Malone strode through the door.
Flickers of recognition lit the faces of three people. One leaned in and whispered something to his neighbor.
“You don’t say?” came the loud response.
Wyatt removed his heavy coat, dispersing a shower of half-melted snow, and took stock of his surroundings.
Not much had changed in the last twelve years since he’d been gone. The polished mahogany bar with its brass foot rail, paper cocktail napkins printed with the saloon’s logo serving as coasters and deer antlers mounted above the wall-length mirror were all accounted for.
The only glaring difference was Wyatt himself, older, wiser and the chip missing from his shoulder.
He crossed the room, his boots thudding on the hardwood floor. No one stood behind the bar, which wasn’t unusual. Wyatt knew from experience that glassware, wine bottles, kegs of beer and garnishments had to be regularly restocked from the walk-in cooler and pantry.
Any minute, his father would emerge, a red apron tied around his waist, a pencil stuck behind his ear.
Wyatt braced himself in anticipation. He wanted this meeting, assumed his father did, too. Didn’t mean he thought it would go well. Not at first.
Tugging on the brim of his cowboy hat, he addressed the saloon’s sole female occupant, a world-weary woman in her late fifties perched on a stool.
“Afternoon, ma’am.”
She immediately snapped to attention, her gaze taking him in from head to toe. “What I wouldn’t give to be thirty years younger and thirty pounds lighter.”
Wyatt grinned. “I don’t suppose the owner’s anywhere around.”
“They don’t usually come in till later. Paige works the afternoon shift.”
“Paige St. John?” His heart rate, already accelerated, beat even faster.
The door to the back opened, and she materialized, as if by speaking her name he’d summoned her.
“Wyatt!” Her green eyes went wide with delight. In the next instant, they dimmed as if a switch had been flipped. “You’re here,” she said flatly.
He longed to rush behind the bar and sweep her into his arms like he’d oftendone in their youth. Her cool reception kept him at bay. “I got an invitation. To my parents’ anniversary party.” When she said nothing, he continued, “Hard to believe they’ve been married thirty-five years.” Was she thinking more about the twelve years it had been since they’d last seen each other? Since he’d last seen his father. His older brother Jay. This bar. This town.
The only person in all of Roundup, Montana, Wyatt kept in contact with was his mother and that, he hated to admit, consisted of a phone call every three or four months.
“Your dad arrived a few minutes ago.” Paige reached for a knife and began slicing limes into wedges. “He’s in his office.”
Wyatt set his coat on the bar. Much as he anticipated the reunion with his family, he’d missed Paige. And he owed her—his thanks for her unfailing loyalty and an apology for disappointing her. “How long you been working here?”
“A while.”
“Nearly ten years, isn’t it?” the woman beside him answered. She’d been watching Wyatt and Paige with avid interest. In fact, all the patrons were watching them.
“Paige.” Wyatt waited for her to acknowledge him. It took several seconds. “I’m sorry,” he said when she finally lifted her head. “I should have called or written.”
“Yes, you should have.” She went back to slicing limes.
Wyatt studied her. The sweet-faced teenager he’d known had matured into a lovely woman. Her straight brown hair was now accented with blond highlights and fell in appealing waves past her shoulders. Gone, too, was the reserved, guarded demeanor, having been replaced with confidence and poise.
Wyatt’s heart rate increased yet again, this time the result of an
Six weary patrons had taken refuge in the Open Range Saloon, attempting to escape the chilly February afternoon. Every one of them looked up when Wyatt Malone strode through the door.
Flickers of recognition lit the faces of three people. One leaned in and whispered something to his neighbor.
“You don’t say?” came the loud response.
Wyatt removed his heavy coat, dispersing a shower of half-melted snow, and took stock of his surroundings.
Not much had changed in the last twelve years since he’d been gone. The polished mahogany bar with its brass foot rail, paper cocktail napkins printed with the saloon’s logo serving as coasters and deer antlers mounted above the wall-length mirror were all accounted for.
The only glaring difference was Wyatt himself, older, wiser and the chip missing from his shoulder.
He crossed the room, his boots thudding on the hardwood floor. No one stood behind the bar, which wasn’t unusual. Wyatt knew from experience that glassware, wine bottles, kegs of beer and garnishments had to be regularly restocked from the walk-in cooler and pantry.
Any minute, his father would emerge, a red apron tied around his waist, a pencil stuck behind his ear.
Wyatt braced himself in anticipation. He wanted this meeting, assumed his father did, too. Didn’t mean he thought it would go well. Not at first.
Tugging on the brim of his cowboy hat, he addressed the saloon’s sole female occupant, a world-weary woman in her late fifties perched on a stool.
“Afternoon, ma’am.”
She immediately snapped to attention, her gaze taking him in from head to toe. “What I wouldn’t give to be thirty years younger and thirty pounds lighter.”
Wyatt grinned. “I don’t suppose the owner’s anywhere around.”
“They don’t usually come in till later. Paige works the afternoon shift.”
“Paige St. John?” His heart rate, already accelerated, beat even faster.
The door to the back opened, and she materialized, as if by speaking her name he’d summoned her.
“Wyatt!” Her green eyes went wide with delight. In the next instant, they dimmed as if a switch had been flipped. “You’re here,” she said flatly.
He longed to rush behind the bar and sweep her into his arms like he’d oftendone in their youth. Her cool reception kept him at bay. “I got an invitation. To my parents’ anniversary party.” When she said nothing, he continued, “Hard to believe they’ve been married thirty-five years.” Was she thinking more about the twelve years it had been since they’d last seen each other? Since he’d last seen his father. His older brother Jay. This bar. This town.
The only person in all of Roundup, Montana, Wyatt kept in contact with was his mother and that, he hated to admit, consisted of a phone call every three or four months.
“Your dad arrived a few minutes ago.” Paige reached for a knife and began slicing limes into wedges. “He’s in his office.”
Wyatt set his coat on the bar. Much as he anticipated the reunion with his family, he’d missed Paige. And he owed her—his thanks for her unfailing loyalty and an apology for disappointing her. “How long you been working here?”
“A while.”
“Nearly ten years, isn’t it?” the woman beside him answered. She’d been watching Wyatt and Paige with avid interest. In fact, all the patrons were watching them.
“Paige.” Wyatt waited for her to acknowledge him. It took several seconds. “I’m sorry,” he said when she finally lifted her head. “I should have called or written.”
“Yes, you should have.” She went back to slicing limes.
Wyatt studied her. The sweet-faced teenager he’d known had matured into a lovely woman. Her straight brown hair was now accented with blond highlights and fell in appealing waves past her shoulders. Gone, too, was the reserved, guarded demeanor, having been replaced with confidence and poise.
Wyatt’s heart rate increased yet again, this time the result of an
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