Montana Hearts: Her Weekend Wrangler (13 page)

Her cell phone buzzed
and she pushed the tab for messages to read Sammy Jo’s text.
Coming home soon. LYLAS.

What did
LYLAS
stand for? Knowing Sammy Jo, the letters could stand for anything.

The capital letters reminded her of the ones drawn in crayon on Cody’s card. She had been on the verge of inviting Ryan and Cody to her twenty-­seventh birthday party, but changed her mind at the last minute. Good decision.
Not only because of the way her party had ended, but after getting a Mother’s Day card from Ryan’s son, she didn’t want to give Ryan the wrong idea . . . didn’t want him to think she could take Gail’s place in their lives. She wasn’t ready to be in love again, let alone be a mother.

She thought of Delaney and Meghan and how strong their bond was to one another. Then she thought of Serenity,
and her new puppy. Her father had been right about one thing—­animals were too easy to become attached to. Their emotions were real. When they trusted you, you could trust them. And when they loved . . .

Bree’s heart wrenched. Someday she hoped she would love again . . . and be loved in return. Unquestionably. Unconditionally. With undying trust and devotion.

That day wasn’t today.

She walked on and tried to text Sammy Jo back to ask what the letters meant, but the screen suddenly said,
No ser­vice
. She glanced around, taking in the vast fields and rolling hills around her and remembered this was a dead cell zone.
You’re not in New York anymore
, she told herself with a sigh. Pocketing the useless device, she spotted Luke’s olive drab, triangular, military surplus tent a short
distance away.

What if there was an emergency at the ranch and she couldn’t get ahold of him?

“All you’d have to do is blow this whistle,” Luke said, handing her one from his duffel bag when she brought up the subject a few minutes later.

She sat beside him on the blanket beside his small campfire.

“What will I tell Grandma?” Bree insisted. “When you packed up and left, she thought
you were catching the next bus out of Fox Creek.”

“Tell her I love her, but that doesn’t mean we have to live together.” Luke stuck a few more sticks into the flames. “I want to make Collins Country Cabins work as much as you do, but Dad doesn’t ever let us make our own decisions.”

Bree nodded. “I know. Which is why I don’t understand how he could trust Wade and Sue Randall to be ranch
managers in the first place. Seems he’s willing to let others make decisions but not his own children.”

“He keeps pushing and pushing . . . issuing orders, doing whatever he thinks is right,” Luke continued. “That’s why I left home after graduation like you did. I figured if I was going to take orders I might as well join the army. At least there I’d had a chance of earning some well-­earned
respect.”

“
Did
you?” Bree asked.

Luke nodded. “For a while. Now I’m back home with a bum leg, proving to Dad he was right all along. I’m nothing but a disappointment in his eyes. A big, fat failure.”

“Dad’s wrong!” Bree argued. “We’re not kids anymore and we’re capable of making our own choices. Choices our father might not agree with, but we are
not
failures.”

“You never got your
big break in New York, did you?” Luke asked.

“No, but I’ve got my whole life in front of me,” Bree said, lifting her chin.

“And how about Delaney?” Luke asked. “Did she tell you why she and Steve divorced?”

“Not yet. But she will when she’s ready. And no matter what happened,” Bree said defensively, “you can’t call Delaney a failure. She’s the mother of a wonderful, beautiful daughter.”

“Meghan is a winner,” Luke agreed with a grin. Then his face sobered. “But without this ranch, Delaney has no way to support her. She
did
say Steve isn’t paying child support.”

“There is both good and bad in every situation,” Bree told him. “It just depends on how you look at it. You trusted your motorcycle not to fail you, I trusted my two-­timing boss, Delaney trusted Steve, Ma and Grandma
trusted Dad to hire the right ­people, and Dad trusted those awful ranch managers. But all that misplaced trust has now brought our family back together.”

“And that’s a good thing?” Luke asked with a wry grin.

“We can make this all work out for the best. We can’t change our past, but that doesn’t mean we can’t change what happens in the future.”

“Now you sound like Grandma,” Luke teased,
and handed her a roasting stick. “But before you go preaching to me, why don’t you take your own advice?”

Bree frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Your horse died, and it was terrible,” he said, giving her a direct look, “but you can’t let that stop you from riding again. Not when it’s a part of who you are. You love riding, Bree, you always have. Dad was wrong to give you the horse without
asking you first, but he was right about one thing—­you need to get back up in the saddle.”

Bree shook her head. “No. I have other interests now. Other dreams.”

“If I were you,” Luke said, tapping his left leg with his cane, “I’d jump back up on that horse and ride as far and as long as I could. I’d travel the circuit and enter every rodeo like Sammy Jo. I’d be head wrangler and it would
be
me
leading the guests on the weekend roundups instead of
Ryan
.”

Bree gasped. “Are you jealous of Ryan?”

Luke scowled. “I’m jealous of anyone who can do anything that I can’t
.
So do me a favor and ride for the both of us, will you?”

“I—­” Bree met his gaze and knew if she wanted to change his attitude she’d have to change hers first. “I’ll try,” she promised.

R
YAN PARKED HIS
truck in the Owenses’ driveway, and not seeing anyone around, he slid open the barn door and slipped inside, hoping to get another good look at those bags of salt.

He walked into the dimly lit building and spotted several large bags of horse supplements instead. He’d taken only two steps toward the new bags when the overhead lights came on and Merle Owens asked, “What are you doing in here?”

Ryan spun around. Merle stood behind him, blocking the entrance. And from the expression on Merle’s face, it was clear he was in a foul mood.

“I thought I lost my pocket knife in here the other day when I picked up the tiller attachment for the tractor,” Ryan said, his calm tone masking his unease.

“There’s nothing of yours in here,” Merle said, his voice firm. He motioned Ryan toward
the door. “Cody’s in the house.”

Ryan had taken Cody to the Owenses’ for the afternoon. He hadn’t wanted his son to go, but Cody’s cousins were in town—­Gail’s sister’s kids, who were close in age to Cody. And his son hadn’t seen them in a long time.

“Someone salted our east field the other night,” Ryan said, keeping his tone casual as he followed Merle toward the house. “They used a crop
duster.”

“Your aunt told me,” Merle grumbled. “Right before she said she was leasing her land to you instead of me. Now instead of harvesting my own crop I’ll have to
buy
hay for my horses. Do you know how much that’s going to cost me?”

Ryan drew in a deep breath. “What if we sell you hay at a discount?”

“What if you give me the hay I need for
free
,” Merle countered.

There was
no way his family could afford to give anyone hay for free. They had to cover operating expenses. “I’d hoped you would understand—­loyalty to family comes first.”

“Yes, it does,” Merle spat. “So why are you working against us by wrangling for the guest ranch next door?”

Ryan paused to let him open the front door of the main residence. “Bree and I are exchanging ser­vices.”

Merle snickered.
“I’ll bet.”

Ryan didn’t like Merle’s suggestive tone, but knew by the way the man was clenching his fists that he was baiting him on purpose to draw him into a fistfight. Someday Ryan figured he might have to actually accept the guy’s challenge, but today he picked up his pace and found Cody and Mrs. Owens on the living room sofa watching an old James Bond movie on TV.

Cody jumped up as
soon as he saw him. “Time to go?”

Ryan nodded. “Why don’t you go get your backpack?”

His son ran toward the back bedroom, the one that once belonged to his mother, and Mrs. Owens frowned. “You could have let him spend the night,” she said, her voice tense.

“Cody has school in the morning.”

“I would have thought you’d like the chance to spend more time over at the Collins’ place,”
Mrs. Owens said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Ryan cleared his throat and glanced down the hall where his son had disappeared. “Where’s Cody’s cousins?”

“Their mother picked them up early because she had a date tonight,” Mrs. Owens informed him. “You aren’t thinking of dating that Collins girl, are you, Ryan?”

Yes. He
had
been thinking about it. A lot. But that was none of her business.

“Be sure you give the horses only a small dose of that new supplement you have stacked in your barn,” Ryan cautioned, changing the subject, “or they’ll be too high-­strung.”

“First I find you snooping around my barn, and now you’re giving me advice?” Merle demanded. “How ’bout I give
you
some advice? If you want to avoid more trouble, quit helping the Collinses and help us. After all—­we’re
family.” His mouth curved into a mocking grin. “And
‘loyalty to family comes first.’
Isn’t that what you told me earlier?”

Ryan remained silent. The sooner he got Cody out of here, the better.

“Answer me, Tanner,” Merle persisted, drawing closer, and puffing out his broad chest. “Doesn’t the fact we’re your in-­laws mean anything to you?”

Owens took another step toward him, and Ryan
feared the guy might actually throw a punch. What would Cody think if he came out and saw his dad fighting with his grandpa?

All of the sudden, Mrs. Owens sneezed three times in a row, and Ryan watched her turn to glare at him. “Are you wearing
lavender
?”

Ryan glanced down at his clothes. He and Bree had worked with the horses again earlier that morning. “Bree thought it would help calm
the horses.”

Mrs. Owens sneezed again. “I should have known Bree had something to do with this!”

“With what?” Ryan asked, not following her line of thought.

“The
lavender
.” Mrs. Owens sneezed once more and this time her eyes started to water. “I’m allergic to lavender!”

“Would you like a tissue?” Ryan asked, picking up the box of Kleenex off the end table beside him.

“No—­just
leave. Merle, please make him leave!”

Mr. Owens jerked his thumb toward the door. “Tanner, get out of this house before my wife breaks out into hives.”

“Gladly,” Ryan said, relieved as Cody strolled into the room with his backpack slung over his shoulder. At that moment there was nothing he could have wanted more.

Except . . . and he grinned at the notion . . . maybe a date with Bree.

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING,
Bree stared at the text on her cell phone and her heart slammed into her chest. She ran toward Luke, who stood gazing at the horses in the corral with Meghan up on his shoulders. “Sammy Jo’s been hurt!” she shouted. “Where’s Delaney?”

“Gone,” Luke said, his face full of concern as he turned toward her. “What did Sammy Jo’s text say?”

“Help! Thrown off Tango by
Big Rock. Bleeding. Come quick!”

“I’ll call 911,” Luke said, taking his phone from his pocket. “You tack up one of the horses and go after her.”

“But—­” If Sammy Jo texted her, didn’t that mean she could text 911 herself?

“Bree, this is an
emergency
! You know I’d go if I could.” His eyes widened. “Who knows how bad she’s been hurt?”

He was right, of course. “I’ll call you with
her exact location as soon as I find her.”

Bree sent a quick text in reply.
Be there soon.

Then she ran into the horse barn, imagining the worst. What if her friend had hit her head on the rock and ended up with a concussion like her father? Or what if she became crippled like Luke?

Grabbing Equinox’s bridle off the hook in front of what used to be Serenity’s stall, she slid open the
half door, and approached the gelding. “Easy, boy. We can get through this. Sammy Jo
needs
us to get through this.”

The red roan let out a whinny when Bree slid the bridle over his nose and secured the side buckle. Then a light entered the brown eyes she had once thought so lifeless and dull. It seemed Equinox was delighted by the prospect of being taken out and ridden.

“There’s no time
to give you a proper brushing,” Bree said, swiping her hand over the horse’s back. She continued to talk as she threw on the saddle to let him get used to her voice. Then she led Equinox outside and counted off, “One . . . two . . .
three
.”

With a springing leap, she was on the horse’s back. Then, taking up the reins, she squeezed her legs against Equinox’s sides and clucked her tongue to
move him forward, first into an easy lope, then into a full-­on gallop.

Each time the horse’s hooves pounded their rhythmic beat beneath her, Bree counted the seconds, knowing time was of the essence. What if Sammy Jo passed out? What if she . . . died? Bree wondered if the emergency crew had left and, if they had, how much of a lead she had on them. Could she administer emergency care until
they arrived?

She and Equinox raced along the river past Luke’s camp, across the open field, and around a steep rise to the outcropping of rocks where the river forked. Slowing the red roan to a walk, she rounded the large boulder they aptly called Big Rock, and nearly fell out of the saddle when she saw Sammy Jo’s condition.

There on the opposite bank of the river, Sammy Jo and Delaney
sat on a blanket, each wearing sunglasses and sipping lemonade from clear plastic cups as they dangled their bare feet in the sparkling blue water.

“What’s this?” Bree demanded, sliding off her horse, her legs numb and threatening to buckle. “You said you were bleeding.”