HUCK: The Montana Brothers Read online

  The Montana Brothers

  HUCK

  Alison Ryan

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2016 by Alison Ryan

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Created with Vellum

  For the Perry Brothers

  Strength will find you sooner

  Than you ever thought it would

  — The Maine “Waiting For My Sun to Shine”

  1

  “Whiskey is sunlight held together by water,” the bartender said as he slid me a glass of Maker’s across the weathered bar.

  “Is it now?” I asked, as I took it all down in one gulp. The burn of it sliding down my throat was a welcome reprieve. It made me feel something other than the pain that brewed in my heart and in the marrow of my bones.

  I’d shown up in this tiny-ass town and in this tiny-ass bar about 20 minutes ago after driving for almost 2 days; away from Kentucky and all that was in my past.

  I wasn’t interested in ever going back, either. So I’d driven until the money ran out, which ended up being when I hit Whitmer, Montana.

  Google Maps didn’t even have it on its app if that tells you anything.

  I’d checked into a Traveler’s Inn right off the freeway exit. After getting my car unloaded, I noticed the bar across the street. The Side Pocket is what the rusted sign said. I didn’t much care about what it was called, but I had to admit it was a clever name.

  But I wasn’t here to play pool. I was here to get blazing drunk. I wanted to wake up tomorrow with no memory of anything before this very night. I wondered if the bartender had anything with that kind of potency and magic on his drink list.

  If only.

  “Just so you know,” the bartender said, leaning in. “If you’re here for ‘Shitfaced Mondays’, we had to cancel them. On account of all the fights over pretty little things like you. So go easy on that Maker’s, darlin’. It’s full price after that one. But the first one’s always on me.” He grinned.

  “Well, thanks,” I said. “I’ll have another.”

  “What the pretty girl wants, the pretty girl gets,” the bartender said, as he walked to the other end of the bar and pulled out another glass. He was an older man, handsome. He kind of reminded me of Sam Elliott in the movie Road House.

  As a matter of fact, this whole bar kind of reminded me of that movie.

  Large, burly, dangerous-looking men surrounded the bar and the tables sprinkled around the room. Women in short skirts and tight shirts paraded around, shaking their asses in exaggerated fashion, hoping to catch the eye of a man who would show them a good time later on.

  Sexual tension hung in the air. I could reach out and touch it.

  The thought of going home with one of these men and getting fucked wasn’t the most unappealing thing I’d ever considered. I wasn’t usually a girl who did the one-night stand thing. But part of this journey was me getting rid of everything about my old life.

  So if that meant going home with one of these rugged strangers tonight and letting him do whatever he wanted to my body? So be it.

  I could feel eyes on me as I gulped down my second Maker’s. I hadn’t drunk like this in a very long time, so I knew it wouldn’t take long for me to be loaded. I wanted to lose complete control of myself and just allow my destiny to take over.

  I was tired of having to think.

  Suddenly, I felt the presence of a man next to me. Before turning to look at him, his essence hit my nostrils. He smelled like the woods- like fresh grass and hard work.

  When I finally laid my eyes on him, I almost gasped.

  He was fucking gorgeous.

  Not just the typical tall, dark and handsome, though he was all of those things. He had dark brown hair and a square jaw that was covered in stubble. His eyes were brooding and looked a little angry in the dim lighting that was all around the bar. He wore just a simple black t-shirt, a tattoo peeking out from the left sleeve. His arms were ropey and thick. He was all muscle and I imagined leaning into him would make me feel safe and protected. This man was walking granite; a wall of sex.

  I wanted him to talk to me. I needed to know if his voice was how I imagined it would be. Deep. Like it came from the bottom of a well.

  “Another drink for the pretty girl!” the bartender said, placing a glass in front of me. “Want to start a tab?”

  I looked at him, suddenly out of the trance the handsome stranger had put me in. “Tab? Yeah. Sure. Let me find my credit card.”

  I slid my purse around from my shoulder to my lap to dig through and find my American Express.

  “I see you met Huck,” the bartender replied. I looked at him, confused.

  “Who?” I asked. The bartender laughed.

  “The guy next to you,” he said. “He’s Huck. And he’s a whiskey man too.”

  Huck.

  The handsome stranger’s eyes were on me now. I found myself completely lost in them for a moment. I’d never seen someone so effortlessly perfect. But he didn’t seem as enamored with me. He was expressionless. Bored, even…to my chagrin.

  Great. Like I needed a blow to my ever shrinking ego right now.

  “Well,” I said, looking back at my bartender buddy. “Buy Huck a round, too. On me. He looks like he could use a little sunlight with his water.”

  The bartender laughed, “Ain’t that the fucking truth.”

  Huck was looking at me again, his expression more curious now.

  “You’re buying me a drink?” he asked.

  Oh fuck, his voice. It was just as sexy as I imagined it would be.

  “Maybe,” I said. “Why not, right? You look like you could use one.”

  “Why is that?” he asked, his voice betraying nothing. I couldn’t read this guy at all.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I just assumed. We’re both sitting at a bar.”

  “I’ll be standing in a moment. After that, walking,” he replied.

  I had hoped to make him smile, but he punctuated his brush off by turning away from me. It felt like he was recoiling.

  I guessed I wasn’t his type.

  Fuck it, I thought. Hot guys are such assholes anyway.

  “By the way,” the bartender said to me as he approached with Huck’s glass of bourbon, “I’m Rick. And this rude asshole is my nephew. Forgive me for being related to someone who has no idea how to talk to women.”

  I glanced over at Huck again. He was glaring at his uncle as he took the glass from his hand.

  But he didn’t reply. And what was I supposed to say to that?

  “And your name?” Rick asked, placing one elbow on the bar.

  “Belle,” I replied, downing my third glass in one swoop. Both men stared at me, clearly in awe.

  What can I say? I’m a Kentucky girl. And we know how to hold our bourbon.

  But I was definitely feeling it’s effects. My head was getting lighter now. Everything around me swirled. I liked this feeling.

  “Did
you hear that, Huck?” Rick asked, his eyes still on me. “This pretty girl’s name is Belle. And she just bought you a round. How about you thank her?”

  Huck took down his own glass and I watched his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed. God, he was sexy. I seriously hated myself for wanting him so much.

  “Thank you, Belle,” Huck said. His voice was flat.

  “You’re welcome,” I replied.

  “But,” he continued. “I can’t let you do that. Rick, put it on the house’s tab. And whatever else Belle wants tonight.” Huck stood up. I stared up at him, still in awe. He was probably at least 6’4.

  I felt small and submissive next to him. I’d always rolled my eyes at the term “weak in the knees,” but that’s how Huck made me feel.

  Or maybe that was the liquor.

  “Don’t drink too much,” he said. “There are men in here that would take advantage of you. Stay close to Rick.”

  I blinked. “I’m fine. I know how to handle myself.”

  Huck looked me up and down. I’m a curvy little thing but I’m only about 5’2 on my best day.

  “Sure you do. This is Whitmer, Belle. It’s a rough town and you’re in a rough part of it. And these,” he tilted his head out toward the crowd. “Are some roughnecks. Where are you staying?”

  I looked down at my Tory Burch flats. “The Traveler’s Inn across the street.”

  Huck shook his head. “What the hell are you doing there?”

  I put my hand on my hip. I was a little annoyed at the judgement in his tone. “Sorry, fancy pants. It was cheap and it was off the freeway. I only just showed up here maybe 30 minutes ago. I don’t know where I am, all I know is I want to drink until I forget my own name and how I got here.” I turned back to the bar and to Rick who was still standing there listening to us. “So, with that said, bring me another Maker’s. And another one after that.”

  Huck shook his head. “No. She’s cut off after this next one.” He turned to walk away.

  “And who the hell do you think you are?” I called after him.

  He was at the door now, but he looked over one of his deliciously broad shoulders to say:

  “I think I own this bar, last time I checked. And I’m not letting a little girl like you get sloppy drunk and get herself hurt on my watch. Rick, keep an eye on this one.”

  And with that, he was gone.

  Well, Huck didn’t need to cut me off. After the fourth straight up bourbon in a row, I was done for. All of the booze hit me at once and suddenly everything around me was spinning. I felt like I was at the Kentucky State Fair on the Tilt-O-Whirl. I didn’t know which way I was going and suddenly I wished I’d stopped at three shots. Or no shots.

  “Belle,” I heard Rick’s voice. It sounded like he was speaking to me from across the room, even though I could see him right in front of me. “You need to get home.”

  I shook my head. “Home is far away. Home is not for me anymore.”

  “Where is home, Belle?” he asked. “Did you come to Whitmer alone?”

  Suddenly I was panicked. Rick was asking so many questions and in my current state of intoxication I wasn’t able to determine whether he was trying to help me or trying to gather intel for his own nefarious purposes. I couldn’t remember why I’d even come to this damn bar. It had to be one of the diviest dives I’d ever been to.

  And keep in mind that I’m from the South. So that’s saying something.

  “I need to get to my bed,” I said, standing up and immediately falling to the floor. I could hear people chuckling around me.

  I’d caught myself and was now covered in the stickiness of the bar’s floor. The scent of old beer, shoes, and feet, with a chaser of stale vomit, hit me all at once. Suddenly I was very warm.

  And then it got worse. I added my own aroma to the fetid floor. I puked everywhere.

  Fuck. My. Life.

  “Ugh!” a waitress said, as she literally stepped over my pathetic form still lying on the floor. “Rick, we got a puker! Get her ass outta here! I don’t get paid enough to clean up that kind of mess! Bitches can’t handle their liquor these days!”

  I couldn’t even move. I was so mortified.

  Suddenly, someone was picking me up.

  Great. Rick was literally going to toss my ass into the street. Where was my purse? Or the motel card key?

  I folded into myself. I’d never been so embarrassed in my entire life. I hoped whoever was carrying me would just throw me into a drainage ditch. Leave me there to just die from humiliation and from the pain that sat heavy in my heart from what had happened to me in Kentucky.

  Once I’d gathered my senses, I could smell the woods again. And the grass. My heart almost stopped.

  Huck was the one carrying me.

  I was my worst self, and now, when I didn’t want anyone to touch me, of course he would be touching me.

  “Just take me to my car,” I mumbled. “I’ll sleep there tonight.”

  “The hell you will,” he said. “What’s your room number?”

  It was the last thing I heard him say before I passed out.

  2

  Drinking was how I tried to forget.

  But hangovers? That’s all about remembering. And regret.

  When I woke up the next morning, I found myself in my hotel room, still wearing the same clothes from the night before. My feet were bare and I was under the covers. At first I was confused about where I was and how I’d gotten there.

  But it didn’t take long for it all to come flooding back.

  I pulled my pillow over my head. I’d come here hoping to feel better about things, but instead I felt worse. I’d made a complete ass of myself in front of an incredibly handsome man, and was now sleeping in my own vomit-scented clothes.

  And I felt like shit on top of it all. I needed hydration and carbs. Stat.

  I sat up, groaning as I felt the heaviness in my head. Ugh. This day was going to suck.

  I was immediately grateful for a blue, plastic bucket that sat on the floor next to the bed. Interesting perk I hadn’t noticed when I checked in. Maybe the maids at the hotel got tired of cleaning up messes made by patrons of The Side Pocket.

  I looked at my surroundings. I was in your basic run-of-the-mill highway rest stop motel room. Not that I’d stayed in many of them throughout my life. As a matter of fact, this road trip had been my first time spending the night in any sort of accommodation that was rated less than 5 stars.

  But that was a whole other story. I couldn’t think about that right now.

  I couldn’t help but wonder how I’d gotten here. My last memory was of being carried out of the bar.

  Huck.

  The taste of bourbon couldn’t wipe away the memory of his handsome face staring down at me. I could still feel the strength in his arms as he’d lifted me off the floor. As if I’d weighed nothing. I hadn’t wanted to leave his arms, ever.

  Somehow he’d figured out my room number. My guess was he’d gone through my purse to find it. My mind spun. What was in my purse that I wouldn’t want him to see?

  My Glock.

  I was frantic now. Where was my Birkin purse? The one my mother had given me last Christmas. The one made of alligator skin that had cost more than what the average American makes in a year.

  Yeah, I’d brought that purse into a dive bar. And also put my Glock 43 in it.

  I let out a sigh of relief. The purse was on the chair across from my bed. My shoes were lined up neatly beneath the chair. My wallet and hotel card key were next to my purse.

  And the gun was inside of it too. Untouched.

  But he’d had to have seen it.

  No matter. I had all my stuff. My Louis Vuitton duffel was on the floor next to the chair, zipped up with the clothes I’d thrown in it haphazardly the night I’d run away.

  “Okay,” I said to myself. “You’re safe now. But you need a shower.”

  The water pressure in that tiny bathroom was surprisingly strong. It felt good on my
aching shoulders and arms. I let the water hit my face for a long time, just letting it baptize me. I needed a cleansing.

  More than one, really.

  As I stepped out of the shower, I caught a view of myself in the mirror above the sink. I turned to see if they were still there.

  The bruises.

  They weren’t as dark anymore, they were yellowing now. In a couple of days, they’d be gone, but the damage to my soul would remain forever.

  I wanted to cry, but I shook my head. No. The man that had done that to me was not worth a single fucking tear. He was long gone. He’d never hurt me again.

  Ever.

  Thirty minutes later I was in some fresh clothes, my hair was wet but clean, and I was ready to explore this place called Whitmer and decide if it was where I wanted to stay or if I needed to find another freeway exit at which to restart my life.

  It was a beautiful day, and now that the sun was out, I could see just how gorgeous Montana really was. I’d never breathed in air so crisp. Despite my hangover, I was mostly feeling good. I just needed some food in my growling belly.

  Across the street The Side Pocket’s parking lot was empty except for one old Ford pickup.

  But next to it? Heaven. Nirvana. Valhalla. Paradise.

  A Waffle Hut. And I could practically smell the bacon from where I was standing. The parking lot was somewhat full, so my guess was that the Waffle Hut was one of the more popular places in town. But I didn’t care. I would have stood in line all day for a chance at a waffle drenched in maple syrup, bacon, and scrambled eggs. With endless amounts of coffee.

  Despite the humiliation of last night, I was so much happier already. Food was the best medicine. My ultimate cure-all.

  My happiness faded as soon as I walked through the diner’s glass doors.

  For one thing, when you walked into this place, the door made this crazy dinging noise to alert everyone within 100 yards that you had arrived. So as soon as I walked in? All eyes on me.