Montana Darling (Big Sky Mavericks Book 3) Read Online Free

showed real talent. One, an image of a grizzled old cowboy lighting a smoke, drew him into the story so completely, he could almost taste the acrid smoke on his tongue. His hand had reached for his camera. A reflex. A knee-jerk reaction.
    A few weeks later, he’d been invited to join the round-up. The process had felt good—muscle memory coming back after too long away from exercise. Now, he couldn’t wait to edit the photos he’d taken. This afternoon. He preferred to work at the library when he knew his friend Louise Jenkins would be on duty.
    Louise welcomed him even if his clothes were a bit grubby or he needed a shave. She didn’t pass judgment—unlike some of the other patrons.
    He shook off the memory and stepped onto the mat. Breathing deeply, he looked toward the mountains in the distance and tried to center his focus inward from there. Each deep breath pulled in fresh air and energy. His chest expanded as his lungs filled to capacity. He exhaled fully, touched his hands flat to the mat and kicked his feet out to plank. He’d done the sun salute so many times each step was ingrained in his unconscious. Each motion took him deeper until he reached the place where external sounds—the birds squawking, the river babbling, car doors slamming—became white noise.
    He’d just arched his back in upward dog when a voice said, “How much longer will this take?”
    A woman’s voice. An impatient, unhappy voice.
    Ryker opened his eyes and looked straight into one of the prettiest sets of eyes he’d ever seen. Big Sky Montana blue. Wide, delicious ovals with a hint of exotic in her smoky brows and dark lashes. The expression in these beautiful eyes was all business.
    She was not from the Welcome Wagon—or the county sheriff’s department, either. Her skin-tight black workout pants, vivid turquoise and black top and sloppy hoodie with the name of some gym imprinted on both sleeves—told him she wasn’t there on a professional call of any sort.
    “Let me finish my sun salutes. I’m almost done.” He wasn’t. He’d just started, but the determined set of her jaw told him she wasn’t going away until she said her piece. “Unless you’d care to join me. I’m not a certified yoga instructor, but I’ve led classes on three continents. Not to brag, but when you’ve traveled as much as I have, you can always find interested souls eager to try something new.”
    Her expression turned skeptical. She couldn’t figure him out, he realized. Ryker liked that.
    “No, thank you. I’ll wait.”
    He knew that tone. She wasn’t a good waiter.
    He stepped his right foot forward in a lunge, his right arm extended in warrior pose.
    She tensed visibly, her hands curling into fists.
    His heart melted a little. She would stand her ground and fight, he realized—despite the fact she was half his size. He liked feisty. Hell, he adored feisty. Feisty was fun, unpredictable, exciting, sexy.
    Sexy.
    He felt his male anatomy stir to life.
    Oh, shit.
    He quickly switched sides to face the opposite direction. It was morning. He was a man. A man who hadn’t been with a woman in a very long time.
    He gazed at the river, trying to remember how cold the water had been yesterday when he jumped in to bathe. Icy. Frigid. Ball shriveling.
    He glanced down.
    Better.
    “Are you okay?”
    Damn. The beautiful eyes saw too much.
    He gave up on yoga and walked to his makeshift kitchen area. “Fine. I need coffee. You?”
    “Coffee,” she repeated, as if the word had been spoken in Swahili.
    He grabbed the boutique roast he’d picked up in Bozeman. “French roast. I can grind a few extra beans if you’d like to try it.”
    Her jaw dropped, drawing attention to her equally beautiful lips. The bottom lip was full and lush. The way she brutalized that poor bottom lip with her teeth should have been against the law.
    “You grind your own beans?” She enunciated each word with a slight pause between.
    “Yes, I do,” he answered just as