Page 1 of Rocky Mountain Home

Prologue

February, somewhere in rural Alberta

Jesse Coleman was lost.

He cursed as he spread the old-fashioned road map in front of him on the dash, the dim light from the overhead lamp not helping as he peered at the thin lines representing secondary roads. He’d grown up driving the back roads of rural Alberta, but mostly in the central parts. He was far enough out of familiar territory that with the snow falling like a thick curtain, he could barely find his own ass.

GPS was no help, and he gave up. No way he was making it any farther tonight. He needed a place to get off the road and out of the snow.

He was shoving the map back in the glove box when, miracle of miracles, headlights appeared behind him, coming over the rise. At least it meant he wasn’t completely screwed. The truck slowed as it passed him, people with unfamiliar faces offering a friendly wave as they sent a swirl of fresh fallen snow flying skyward.

Jesse threw his truck into gear and hauled ass, horse trailer and all, following the red taillights like a beacon.

Fifteen minutes later the snow slowed enough to let the lights of a motel sign shine the first hope on his miserable evening. It wasn’t going to be pretty, but it was better than sleeping in his truck.

A small shelter with a fenced paddock stood behind the main office, so he got his horse settled, then slipped into the room he’d been given at the end of the motel row.

A single glance was enough to confirm what he’d already suspected. “Jeez. End of the fucking world, and I’ve found it.”

Puke-green bedspread. A black velvet painting screwed to the wall over the bed—classy. The wood paneling on the lower half of the walls was so bashed up it looked as if someone had taken a hammer to it. One shelf hung on the wall with a two-foot-long bar under it, a few metal coat hangers tangled in a mess. The carpet—threadbare and stained.

He didn’t dare look in the bathroom.

Still, one night was all he needed.

“I’ve slept in worse,” he told Morgan.

His dog didn’t seem to believe him as the animal worked his way around the entire room before picking a spot by the door to curl up. As if to say he was ready to leave anytime Jesse came to his senses and said the word.

Jesse patted Morgan on the head, rubbing the golden retriever behind the ears affectionately. “I hear you, but I need a drink. No, I need a couple of drinks,” he told the dog. “Stay, and be good. Tomorrow we’ll figure out how to get to our new home.”

Morgan thumped his tail once then put his head down and closed his eyes.

End of the world, all right, but even in the boonies there was bound to be liquor.

The rooms stretched in a long arm west of the motel office. On the other side was a small café and bar. Jesse paced past the closed sign in the café door, headed for where music was spilling from behind the neon-lit saloon sign.

The words he’d said to his dog haunted him as he pushed through the door. Home. They didn’t have one right now, and this bar just made it all the clearer they weren’t in familiar territory.

The place was not much more than three stools at a high counter, a couple of tables with hard wooden chairs and a dartboard on the wall. A large-screen TV hung over the bar, a hockey game in progress, but Jesse’s attention shot straight to the redhead at the counter, glasses lined up in front of her as if she was settling in for a long, intense bout of drinking.

Sounded like a fucking great idea.

The wind caught the bar door, slamming it shut behind him, and all eyes turned in Jesse’s direction. Two old-timers nursing drinks in the corner. The bartender behind the counter.

Her…

The woman’s gaze brushed him, lingering on the bruise beside his eye before slipping down his body then back up, her lips twisting into a smile. He offered one in return.

Buxom redheads were his favourite.

Her hair was braided back, the long length of it pulled forward to rest over her plaid-covered breast. Tight faded jeans, working leather belt. Light brown leather half-boots that looked worn and comfy.

She must have felt his gaze lingering because she glanced up to offer him a glimpse into grey-green eyes, a smattering of freckles over her nose and cheeks. Then she ignored him, motioning at the bartender as he brought forward yet another glass.

Jesse was intrigued. He made his way next to her. “Looks like a party in the making. Want a little company?”

“Knock yourself out,” she offered.