Page 1 of All in with the Maverick Montana

Chapter One

Amy Hawkins knew a thing or two about working dangerous jobs.

As a rodeo star, she’d been bucked off the back of horses, slammed into gates by the roughstock, and stared down by bucking bulls. But stocking shelves at Strom and Son Feed and Farm Supply—the store owned by her sister’s fiancé, Caleb, and his father, Nathan—was proving to be even more dangerous than getting between a cow and its newborn calf.

In the six weeks she’d been at the Tenacity, Montana store, she’d learned not to separate a grumpy ranch hand from his feed order. What she hadn’t apparently learned yet was how not to mix up said orders.

“What happened now?” Faith said as Amy ducked behind the cash counter, using her sister as a human shield to hide from the surly man marching through the store with Caleb.

His face was beet red, his eyebrows pinched in a tight knot in the middle of his forehead. Amy couldn’t tell if the color was from working out in the sun or if he was huffing and puffing over getting a truckful of feed back to his ranch before realizing it wasn’t what he ordered.

“I might have sent the wrong order home with the MacPhersons.”

“Not again.” Faith checked the computer above the cash drawer, the corner of her mouth twitching. “That’s twice in two months.”

“In my defense,” Amy said, staring over her shoulder, “the MacPhersons’ and the McPetersons’ orders always show up at the same time.”

Faith smirked, flicking her long, dark braid out of the way as she made an adjustment to the online order. “I’ll handle it. Can you finish ticketing the clearance items in aisle two for me?” She passed Amy a roll of yellow stickers, each of them indicating a twenty-five percent markdown.

“Sure you wanna let me handle that alone?”

“Really? You can rope a calf in seven seconds but you can’t put some stickers on some feed bags?”

“Of course I can. I just think it’s funny when you get all those stress wrinkles across your forehead.”

Faith smoothed her hand across her forehead, glowering at Amy. “You’re lucky I like you,” she said as Amy waltzed away. “Because you are definitely our worst employee!”

“I don’t know… Pretty sure Caleb’s angling to make me employee of the month.”

“Doubtful.”

Amy turned around and framed up a square with her fingers against the wall. “I think my face would look great right behind the register.”

“As if. We might put your face up there as the first person ever fired from Strom and Son.”

“Firstly, you’re not paying me. This is free labor. So remember that when you try to fire me. Secondly, you’d miss me too much.”

“Miss you hogging our guest room,” Faith muttered as Amy walked away grinning.

To be fair, Faith had done Amy a huge favor, inviting her down to Tenacity. She hadn’t quite known what to expect of the little hardscrabble town in Montana, but when Faith offered her the guest room, Amy had eagerly accepted. After a bad breakup, she’d been desperate to escape Bronco, leaving the crowded city and social media scene behind in exchange for some small-town refuge. From what Amy had seen so far, there wasn’t much going on in Tenacity, and that suited her just fine. Spending time with Faith and putting some work in at the store was about all the social activity she could handle right now. Besides, she’d learned recently that there were worse things than stocking shelves and ringing up orders for surly cowboys.

Heartbreak was certainly worse.

And rejection.

And finding out that the person you thought you loved had up and gotten married while you were apart.

That was definitely worse.

So, as far as Amy was concerned, stocking shelves was a dream come true.

There was something almost calming about stocking shelves. Maybe it was the repetitiveness of the motion. She appreciated the neatness and the order. She liked that everything had a place. Surprisingly, she also enjoyed the quiet, even if it meant taking the occasional order from Faith. If someone would have told her all that six weeks ago, she’d have laughed them right out of a rodeo arena. Now she was starting to crave the slower pace in Tenacity. The monotony. And especially the distance from her whirlwind life.

Amy stopped in front of a stack of feed bags, double-checking the brand before she started tabbing them with yellow stickers.

“Amy?” Faith called from somewhere in the store.

Strom and Son Feed and Farm Supply was a large, boxy building with shelves upon shelves of anything a rancher could ever need. There were bags of livestock feed for a variety of animals—cattle, sheep, goats, pigs. But also grain and fresh hay and corn. The building always smelled faintly sweet, a little like home if Amy was honest, which probably had something to do with how much time she’d spent mucking out horse stalls growing up. There were also feed buckets and salt licks and horse tack and an aisle with toys for enrichment.