Montana Hearts (9 page)

Her father walked into the room and hesitated. “The table is set for three.”

“Yes, we're having company tonight,” Sammy Jo informed him. “I hope you don't mind I invited a guest.”

“Depends on who—­”

The back door opened and Luke Collins walked in as if he'd been there a million times without need of a welcome. Assisted by his cane, he strode forward, gave her father a nod, then came right up and delivered a kiss to her cheek.

Sammy Jo stared at him in shock, her gaze taking in the light dancing behind his eyes, his amused grin . . . and the fact he'd dressed up in his Sunday best. His blue plaid Western-­style shirt was clean and crisp, his denim jeans so dark she wondered if he'd remembered to cut the tag off from the store, and his black boots were so polished they looked like they'd never stepped foot on anything but pavement.

She glanced down at her own attire and wished she'd thought to wear something different. Then she closed her gaping mouth and remembered
she
had a part to play, too.

“Thank you for the flowers,” she said, nodding toward the bouquet on the table and silently willing Luke to take the hint.

He leaned forward, glanced at the tag, and let out a small chuckle. “I'm glad you liked them, ‘
sweetheart
.' ”

Sammy Jo's cheeks flamed and, glancing at her father, she wondered if her cheeks were as red as his.

“You have no business in this house,” her father choked out, his eyes on Luke.

“Of course, I do,” Luke said, his voice full of confidence. “Sammy Jo invited me. And look what she's made. My favorite—­shepherd's pie.”

Her father's gaze darted to the dish on the table. “She made that for
me
.”

“Well, now I'm sure there's enough to go around,” Luke said, taking a seat. “Right, Sammy Jo?”

She glanced from him back to her father. “Uh . . .
right
.”

“You see, that's what I love about your daughter,” Luke said, tucking a white napkin in around his neck. “She's always doing whatever she can to please others.” He looked at her father and frowned. “Mr. Macpherson, don't you agree?”

Sammy Jo saw her father's jaw working and imagined he was grinding his teeth back and forth as he decided what to do.

“Sammy Jo is all I have and I will not stand by and see her get hurt,” her father warned.

“Neither will I,” Luke promised, and taking her hand, he pulled her down onto his lap and gave her another kiss on the cheek. “She's something mighty special.”

Sammy Jo had never been on Luke's lap. She'd never heard him sweet-­talk this way. And she hadn't seen him take charge of a situation like this in a very long time. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest, stealing her breath and leaving her light-­headed.

“Daddy,” she said, sliding off Luke's lap to a chair of her own. “Aren't you going to sit down?”

Her father hesitated and for a moment she thought he would flee the room. Or else haul Luke out of the chair and throw him out of the house. Then Sammy Jo saw him glance again at the shepherd's pie and to her surprise . . . he
did
sit down. As if there was no way Luke was going to eat her cooking without him.

“Now, Andy, about our permits,” Luke said, talking to her father as if they'd been longtime pals. “When do you think—­”

Her father cut him off midsentence. “You'll have them first thing in the morning.”

L
UKE WHISTLED TO
himself over the hum of the gator as he drove back over the property line to Collins Country Cabins. He couldn't get the look on Sammy Jo's face out of his head. He didn't know who had been more surprised when he pulled her down onto his lap—­her . . . or her father.

But the romantic ruse had worked. If her father kept his word, and Luke believed he would, by this time tomorrow he'd have the building permit in his hands and finally be able to resume construction on the two unfinished cabins.

His thoughts drifted back to the way Sammy Jo's hair had smelled like roses when her soft curves plunked down on top of him. Then he recalled the words on the card she'd written to herself and shook his head with a laugh.

“To my beloved sweetheart.”
?
What self-­respecting cowboy used words like that anymore? It sounded like something his grandpa would have said to his grandma back before he died when Luke was ten. And what was up with “
from the one who adores you with all his heart
”?

After the tasty but awkward meal had been finished, Luke had given Andrew Macpherson's hand a firm shake and said, “Nice doing business with you.”

Andy had let out a low grunt, similar to those his own father issued now and again to show dissatisfaction. Then Luke had taken his leave, with Sammy Jo following him out the door.

“You did it,” she said, her eyes shining. “You really acted like you loved me and you played the part so well!”

He'd decided to have a little fun and set out to tease her using the term she'd written on the card. “Sweetheart—­”

“
Beloved
sweetheart,” Sammy Jo had corrected, breaking into a smile.

He'd smiled in return. “ ‘
The one who adores you
' was happy to oblige.”

“With all your heart
,
” she'd corrected again. “You're supposed to say ‘
with all my heart
.' ”

Luke had never heard anything so ridiculous in all his life, but he'd just overcome a large hurdle to his family's success, so he decided spouting a ­couple lovesick words to appease Sammy Jo couldn't hurt.

“With all my heart,” he repeated, but couldn't stop himself from grinning as he said it.

Then they both had laughed and for a moment everything seemed like old times because Sammy Jo had once again convinced him to do something there's no way he'd ordinarily do.

Except this time, he'd enjoyed it.

“
R
YAN, DO YOU
think you can give me a hand with something?” Luke asked a short while later before dusk.

They stood by the outdoor pasture housing a few of the horses. Luke's horse, Phantom, was in there . . . along with Prince, the rehab horse Sammy Jo had left behind . . . in case he changed his mind and decided to give riding another go.

“Sure, what is it?” Ryan asked, setting the tack for his own horse aside.

“Could you spot me for a few minutes?” Luke nodded toward the rehab horse and Ryan followed his gaze.

“Want me to bring him out for you?”

“No,” Luke said, unlatching the gate. “I've got it handled. Just need someone to pick me up off the ground in case I get bucked off again.”

“Yeah.” Ryan grinned. “I heard about the last time you mounted up. Seems to me that horse should be in a rodeo instead of lolling around out here.”

Luke ignored the friendly jibe. “Just be there, okay?”

“Sure thing,” Ryan agreed.

Luke wished what he was about to do was a sure thing as he took the horse out of the pen and tacked up. When he was ready, he commanded the rehab horse to bow and braced himself against the pain he knew would come when he placed his injured leg over the lowered saddle. If only he could ride . . . The few moments of victory he'd experienced when he'd mounted up twice before had been taunting him ever since.

“Hold on with your good leg,” Ryan instructed, “and use the cane to press against the opposite side to maintain your balance.”

“Gotcha.” Luke nodded as the horse rose up beneath him.

“How does it feel?”

Luke winced and took a ­couple of deep breaths. “Not so bad now that I'm on him. I think it's that initial bending of the knee to get on that really gets me.”

“That's what I've heard from other guys with knee injuries,” Ryan said, leaning against the fence to watch.

Luke rode a few loops around the outside of the fenced pasture, then said, “Okay, that's enough.”

“But you've only been on ten minutes,” Ryan said, glancing at his watch.

Luke nodded, his muscles taut. “That's enough.”

L
UK
E WAS INSIDE
the main house around eleven p.m. sneaking a few more of his grandma's homemade marshmallows before he left to go back to his camp for the night when he first heard the ruckus.

Cows bawled in the distance, and closer to the house, the horses neighed and kicked against the inside of their stalls so hard it sounded like a series of gunshots.

His father joined him by the door. “What's going on?”

A rumble sounded behind them as both Bree and Delaney flew down the stairs, their faces filled with alarm.

“I saw it from the upstairs window,” Bree shouted.

“Saw what?” their father demanded.

“Intruders?” Luke asked.

Bree shook her head, her eyes wide.
“Fire!”

 

Chapter Seven

T
HE
GOLDEN FLAMES
lit up the darkness as the extra bales of hay stacked against the outside wall of the hay barn continued to burn. Luke thought of all the work they'd put into fixing up their family's guest ranch and all their hopes for the future riding on its success. They couldn't lose it all now.

Ma called the fire department but they couldn't wait for the hose trucks to arrive or it would be too late. They had to put out the blazing bales before the whole barn burned and they lost a serious amount of money tied up in hay. There was also the chance the fire could eat up the ground and place the horses and guest cabins in danger.

Delaney left Meghan, who had awoken with all the noise, in the care of their grandma and ran toward the stables to lead the horses toward a safer pasture.

“Don't forget Sammy Jo's rehab horse,” Luke called to her. “He's in the end stall.”

She glanced over her shoulder and nodded, her face filled with both determination and terror. No doubt after she'd saved all the horses she'd also try to save every other animal within a half-­mile radius. Then they'd have an assortment of injured raccoons, rabbits, possums, and squirrels to care for.

Meanwhile, the flames were climbing higher.

Their father hopped on his John Deere tractor and tried to pull some of the burning bales away from the barn before the fire spread to the walls and roof. Bree ran for a hose, and Luke made his way toward another, although not as fast due to his injured leg. Dragging the long hose from the house over to the hay barn proved even more difficult and by the time he got there the flames had jumped in height.

Backing the tractor away and parking at a safe distance, his father jumped off and ran toward him. “I'll take over here,” his father said, grabbing the hose from Luke's hands. “Go back to the house and stay with your ma.”

Go back? Luke scowled, and indignation soured his stomach. “I can help,” he argued. “You need me.”

“I
need
you to stay with your ma,” his father insisted.

A roar of spitting gravel sounded behind them and they both turned to see Ryan's truck come up the driveway. Once parked, all four doors of the extended cab flew open and Ryan and his three brothers—­Dean, Josh, and Zach—­jumped out.

“We've got plenty of help,” Luke's father said with a nod.

“But I—­”

“Luke,” his father said, his voice stern. “There's nothing you can do.”

There was plenty he could do. Just because he was injured and needed a cane to walk didn't mean he was useless. How
dare
his father treat him like an invalid when the welfare of their ranch was at stake.

Luke glanced back at the house. Ma and Grandma stood outside, huddled with the wide-­eyed Walford twins, little Meghan, and Ryan's son, Cody, who had spent the night to be close to Bree. Is that all his old man thought he was good for? To watch over the women and children?

Luke had no intention of following his father's orders. He might have trouble with a hose and a shovel, but he could at least
fill
water buckets . . . even if he couldn't carry them. He took a step toward a nearby spigot, then stopped and turned around when he heard his mother scream.

Ma?

His gut slammed into his chest as he watched her knees buckle. A second later she doubled over, as if in pain, and Grandma put an arm around her. But his mother shook it off and screamed again, holding her face in her hands.

At first Luke thought she'd been burned by a wayward, high-­flying burning ember. But as he took in her condition, it appeared her distress was purely emotional. He decided he better check on his ma first, just to be sure, then he would go back and help the others.

“Nooo!”
his mother wailed as he drew closer. Her body trembled and her face took on an expression of pure fright.
“No fire! No fire! No fire!”

“Ma, it's all right,” Luke assured her. “It's only a few hay bales.”

“Jed?”
she screeched.

Luke laid a hand on her shoulder. “Dad's okay.”

“No, he's not,” Ma protested, her eyes wide. “Have you seen what fire can do?”

She lurched forward as if to run after him and Luke dropped his cane to grab her around the middle. “You can't go out there.”

“I can't let him die!” Ma shouted, and let out a series of shrieks as she kicked at his legs and pulled at his arm with her fingers in an attempt to free herself.

Luke held tight, trying to balance their weight with his good leg and make sure neither one of them got hurt. Not an easy task. His mother was stronger than she looked. Maybe his father had anticipated her reaction? Is
that
why he had sent him to stay with her?

“Loretta, calm down,” Grandma soothed. “Jed's in no danger. See? Those Tanner boys already have the fire under control. And as for the hay, well, there's no sense cryin' over what you can't change.”

But his mother didn't calm down. Her face paled and her eyes took on a wild, haunted look as she continued to fight, scream, and . . .
wail
.

Luke's father must have heard her because a few minutes later he hurried over and took her into his arms. “It's okay, Loretta. I've gotcha. You're safe now.”

Ma continued to tremble, but she nodded she understood, and let him lead her into the house.

Luke blew out a long breath and took the opportunity to join Bree and the Tanners by the smoldering embers, determined to do whatever needed to be done next.

“Not only are we out a full week of money from losing this week's guests,” Bree said with a gut-­wrenching catch in her voice, “but we've now lost a quarter truckload of hay.”

Delaney ran toward them, her face crumpled into an expression even more troubled than Bree's. “That's not all we've lost.”

S
AMMY
J
O LIFTED
her headphones off her ears. She'd been lying in bed, listening to her country tunes, hoping the music would help put her to sleep. Then she thought she heard something. A truck? Was it her father coming back from his date with that banker woman? Lately, Winona Lane seemed to have her dad wrapped around her little pinky finger, a fact she'd conveniently left out when she talked to her mom on the phone earlier that day.

Through the window Sammy Jo could hear Tango cry and she stuck out her head to listen. Both Tango and her mother's old mare, who kept him company, were pacing around their paddock and neighing to the Collinses' horses in the next field.

She frowned. Delaney usually kept the horses in at night. The horses cried out again. Something wasn't right. Grabbing a flashlight, Sammy Jo made her way to the door, stepped outside, and smelled . . .
smoke
.

Whipping out her cell phone she quickly sent Bree, Luke, and Delaney each a text. She waited a few moments, but no one replied. Not a good sign. She thought about tossing a halter on Tango and riding him bareback over there to see what was going on, but Tango didn't like smoke and she didn't want to traumatize him. She'd go on foot.

Using her flashlight to light up the well-­worn path, she ran as fast as she could, thankful she'd had the sense to pull on her boots before leaving the house. However, she
was
still in her blue camisole top and matching smiley face pajama short bottoms. Not that it mattered. Not if there was a true emergency.

The foul-­smelling charcoal odor grew stronger the closer she got to the property line and she wrinkled her nose. The place reeked. And where there was smoke, Luke's grandma would say, there was usually fire.

Seconds later her light fell upon a pair of wide thick treads and she stopped up short. They were
fresh . . .
and hadn't been made from any of her or her father's vehicles. She followed them through the broken wire fence that had been cut by the Collinses' intruders the week before, her stomach tight.

Had the intruders come back? Started a blaze? She sucked in her breath and ran faster. What if someone got hurt? Luke? His limp didn't allow him to run very fast. What if he tried to play the hero and got too close . . . and . . . and . . .
Oh, God.

When she came around the cabins she could see the blackened wall of the hay barn, the smoke spiraling up from the charred ground, and the hoses. Her gaze darted toward the four Tanners, then spotted Bree and Delaney beside them. But where was Luke? The others appeared distraught. She continued forward, and experienced a few more seconds of agonized panic before Luke stepped out from behind the other men blocking her view. She swallowed hard.

He was all right.

Luke's gaze locked with hers, and the hard lines of his face softened as she went to stand at his side. “I smelled smoke,” she explained, then glanced around at the others.

Bree nodded. “Yes, we lost several bales of hay but it seems the fire was a decoy. While we were busy putting out the flames, the arsonists made off with six head of cattle from the back field.”

Oh, no.
Cattle cost money, a large amount the Collinses probably didn't have, not since their ranch managers siphoned the majority of it into their own accounts.

“They left through my property again,” Sammy Jo informed them. “I saw the tracks. Must have been a truck pulling a cattle trailer.”

“Do you think we should cancel the incoming guest reservations?” Delaney asked.

“For how long?” Luke shook his head. “We don't know if or when they might come again. It could be next week, next month, or next year.”

“Luke's right,” Bree agreed. “And in the meantime, if we don't have any guests we don't have any business. We could go bankrupt if we wait around. But we can get the sheriff and his men to patrol the area.”

“So will we,” Ryan said, and nodded toward his brothers. “We'll round up the cows from the field each night and put them in the corral. That way they're in one spot.”

“Bring in the horses each night, too,” his older brother Dean suggested, “and lock the barn up tight.”

“We'll divide up into pairs and take turns watching over the corral in shifts,” Luke agreed. “At least for the next week.”

“I'll help, too,” Sammy Jo volunteered.

“Then you'll be with me,” Luke said, giving her a look that demanded no argument. Then he pointed a finger at his sister. “Bree, you and Ryan take another shift. Dean, Josh, Zach, two of you can be together and one of you can keep watch with Delaney.”

“That will be me,” Zach said, giving Del a wink.

Delaney rolled her eyes but didn't protest. She and Zach were both the youngest, and having been in the same grade at school together, they were friends.

Sammy Jo hadn't expected Luke to pair up with her. Now that they'd convinced her father to issue Luke's family the permit, the two of them weren't
supposed
to spend time alone together. Part of the deal was that she and Luke wouldn't date. She cast him a sideways glance and in a soft voice asked, “Why me?”

Luke leaned over and whispered in her ear, “You wear cute pajamas.”

Then he grinned, tipped his hat toward her, and walked toward his family's house, glancing over his shoulder at her as he went.

A
FTERWARD
S
AM
MY
J
O
returned home and her father met her at the door. “Where have you been?”

“Someone set the Collinses' hay bales on fire. Bree said her ma was really upset.”

“Loretta wasn't hurt, was she?” her father asked, his tone turning anxious.

“No, she wasn't near the flames.”

Her father let out a sigh of relief. “That's good.”

“Dad, we have a problem. The intruders cut our fence and drove through our property on their way out to get to the main road. I had headphones on at the time, but did you hear them?”

Her father's eyes widened. “No, I just got home five minutes ago. I had a date with Mrs. Lane.”

“You were out pretty late, don't you think?” she asked, raising a brow. Then continued. “I think we should repair the fence. And maybe put up a few more wood posts to make it harder to drive through.”

Her father nodded, and narrowed his gaze. “I agree. No one should be trespassing through our fields. First thing tomorrow I'll place an order at the hardware store. And a call to the sheriff.”

“How about a call to Mom?” Sammy Jo suggested. “I talked to her this morning and she said it would be nice to hear from you now and then.”

Her father let out a soft grunt. “I'll let her know you're okay, but I don't think you should be going outside anymore after dark.”

Sammy Jo opened her mouth to protest, but he put up his hand and continued. “It's not safe. Who knows what these ­people will do next?”

L
UKE LAY ON
his back looking up at the stars through the open tent flap near his head and listened to the chirping of bugs, frogs, and other whatnot. And thought of Sammy Jo . . . and the fact his performance at dinner hadn't been a
total
act. Of course, none of it mattered now. They'd promised her father that if he took the deal, they wouldn't date.

Yep, Sammy Jo would pester him no more . . .

Which is why he chose her as his watchdog partner. When it came right down to it, he found the thought of a day without Sammy Jo coming over to “help” didn't sit well in his gut. He'd grown used to seeing her sparkling green eyes and wide teasing smile as she tried to persuade him to do one thing or another. And he wasn't ready to give it up.

After only a few hours' sleep, Luke rose at sunup and drove the gator across the fields toward the main house to see who could drive him to Bozeman to pick up the promised building permit. He found most of his family in the kitchen, sitting around the table, nibbling on a few pieces of toast.