Montana Hearts: Her Weekend Wrangler (3 page)

Unable to watch her father and brother remove Serenity from the stable, or even listen to the noise of the tractor as they buried her, Bree had run to Sammy Jo’s house. Then, a week
later, when offered early admittance into the college she’d had her eye on, she left Fox Creek behind and except for brief visits over the years had never looked back.

Time should have eased the pain. However, reentering the horse barn brought old memories surging to the forefront of her mind, hitting her with the emotional intensity of the tragedy all over again. As if it were yesterday.
As if she’d never left.

She stopped in front of Serenity’s stall. However, the nameplate had been changed to “Equinox.” And the horse who stuck his head out to greet her was one she’d never seen before.

Although she knew it was illogical, she couldn’t help but think the other animal didn’t belong there. No other horse should be eating from Serenity’s feed bucket, or scratching its head
on the interior wooden post, or sleeping in this special place.

Sudden tears closed her throat, threatening to choke her. Everywhere she looked she saw images of her bay mare. Flashes of Serenity resisting the hose in the wash room. Serenity nudging her toward the locker with the horse cookies. Serenity giving her an attentive look with her ears raised and whinnying with delight every time
she drew near.

Growing up on the ranch, she knew losing animals was a natural way of life, but Serenity had been different from all the others. Serenity had been the one who had been there for Bree when her father barked at her. When her mother, brother, and sister didn’t understand her. And when popular, two-­time junior rodeo champion Ryan Tanner said she wasn’t worth his time . . . and
didn’t ask her to prom but let his younger brother take her instead.

Yep, no matter what life threw at her she could go into the barn, hug her horse, and breathe in the sweet, calming scent of horse and hay. Then Serenity would gently touch her nose to her hand and look at her with those compassionate big brown eyes. And her stress would slip away. She’d realize those petty little things in
life didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she and her mare were together.

And Serenity loved her.

She took the mare’s halter off the peg on the wall—­still there . . . even now—­and more tears blurred Bree’s vision, making the flood of memories even more real. Her stomach ached with tension and her lungs felt like they were filled with lead, making it difficult to breathe. Oh, how
she missed her! The barn wasn’t the same without her. They’d been a team, and Serenity’s absence made Bree feel like she didn’t belong anymore either. Maybe it wasn’t the new horse in the stall that was the stranger here, but
her
.

Footsteps shuffled from behind, and she wiped her tears away with her hands the best she could, but feared her face was still a slobbery mess. And there were no
tissues in sight. She did the next best thing and pulled the brim of her new hat lower on her forehead.

Ugh.
She didn’t want anyone to see her like this.

“Bree?”

Especially no one like . . . Ryan. He came around to stand before her.

“Yes?” Even though the word was one syllable, her voice shook. He appeared to hesitate, probably startled by her appearance. What was he doing here
anyway?

“It’s hard coming home?” he asked.

She nodded, not quite looking at him.

“I came by to—­” Ryan broke off to blow out a deep breath. She looked up then, wondering if he’d mention their encounter the day before, but he glanced away. “Is your brother around?”

Bree exhaled her own breath. He came to see Luke. Not her. She didn’t know why that surprised her or why it even mattered
after all these years except her mind was already stuck in the past and the words
“Bree Collins isn’t worth my time”
that he’d uttered before prom still irked her.

“He’s in the tack room.” She jerked her thumb toward the open door at the end of the aisle.

She’d expected Ryan to run, but instead he removed the bandana from around his neck and handed it to her. “Here, use this, it’s clean.”

The last thing she wanted was his help.
Again.
But she took the bandana to wipe her eyes, and as she did, she caught the long familiar scent.
His
scent. The sweet smell of hay and horses and something else mixed in, too. Something nice.

Emotions spent, a quiet calm stole over her, and as she watched Ryan shake hands with Luke, she realized two things.

First, Ryan Tanner’s opinions didn’t
rule the world. And second, no matter what happened this week . . . she’d be okay.

R
YAN DROVE HIS
pickup back to his ranch, his mind on Bree. He’d hoped to ask her to help train the filly, but when he arrived she’d been one heck of a vulnerable, heart-­tugging, emotional mess. At first he’d had no idea why she was crying. Then he saw the halter with her horse’s name in her hands.

His own
horse had passed away a few years ago—­Champ, the one he won all his trophies with at the junior amateur rodeos. The loss had turned him into a hotheaded brute for weeks. To cool down and manage his temper, he’d ride one of the other horses out to the field and rope bulls. The exertion of showing them who was boss left him with the impression he had some semblance of control again, at least over
something
.

His mother had lamented over the poor bulls, but later that year he’d trained a pinto with a sleek black body, four white stocking feet, and a band of white across its blue eyes. He and the Blue-­Eyed Bandit had been best buds ever since.

But he’d never forget Champ . . . or how the horse had set him up with his ex-­wife.

Senior year of high school, Ryan’s friends had pestered
him to pick a date for prom. He could have chosen any one of the number of girls who flocked around him on a regular basis. But he didn’t want a giggly, half-­brained girl hanging on his arm telling him he was cute.

“You could ask Bree,” a buddy suggested.

Bree didn’t fawn all over him like some of the other girls. The stylish cowgirl had made it clear she was itching to get out of town
as fast as she could and didn’t want to latch on to anything that might hold her back.

Certain she’d say no if he asked, Ryan had given his friend a scornful look. “Bree Collins isn’t worth my time.”

“She’s bound to go with someone,” his friend argued.

Later that day, Ryan passed Bree in the hallway and decided his friend might be right. Surely, he could talk Bree into having one night
of fun, no strings attached. But how would he ask?

For his best chance of having Bree say yes, he knew he’d have to make it memorable, which in her case meant it would have to involve a horse. Bree loved horses. And fashion. She was always braiding her horses’ hair with ribbons, beads, and using washable body paint to draw flowers or hearts on their sides.

Sometimes she even used the paint
to write their names, as if any of the locals wouldn’t already know. In Fox Creek everyone pretty much knew each other’s horses on sight. Champ had been especially well known, not only for his triple “T” signaling the Tanner brand, but for his unique brown and white coloring and white blaze down his nose—­which gave Ryan an idea.

He took bright pink paint and wrote the word “PROM?” on each
side of Champ and led him to the edge of Bree’s property. He could see her in the paddock working with a ­couple of young fillies. His energy level soared and he felt almost giddy as he geared up for her reaction. Bree
had
to say yes. Now that he’d decided to ask her to be his prom date, no one else would do.

“Okay, Champ,” he’d whispered. “Go get her.”

He pointed the horse in the right
direction and gave him a soft slap on the rump. Champ picked up a trot and headed straight for the paddock. Any moment Bree would lift her head and see Champ, read the P-­R-­O-­M with the giant question mark at the end, and look up the hill at him. Would she smile? Wave? Leave the fillies to come toward him? Or should he walk down to her?

Ryan never had a chance to find out. Halfway down the
hill, Champ stopped and shook his head. It looked like a ­couple of bees swarmed around him. Then the horse let out a loud whinny and bolted in the opposite direction—­toward Bree’s neighbors, the Owenses.

Ryan chased down the horse and found him in the Owenses’ backyard, rubbing his nose on his foreleg. Champ must have been stung, but not as bad as
he
was when Gail Owens looked up at him
with tears of joy in her eyes and exclaimed, “Yes!”

He’d frowned. “Yes, what?”

She threw her arms in the air. “Yes, I’ll go to prom with you!”

Of course she’d read the lettering on the horse’s side and assumed the question was for her. Why else would he be there? In the end, he didn’t have the heart to tell her it was a mistake.

Then, as if one sting wasn’t enough, Bree went to
prom with his brother Josh. He didn’t blame Josh or hold it against him, but over the next few weeks whenever his brother talked about how wonderful Bree was, Ryan took himself out to the field to work with the feistiest horses and roped himself a few bulls.

He’d often wondered what would have happened if his horse hadn’t veered off course. Would his life have turned out different? Probably
not. After prom Bree went off to college and every time she came home to visit, she gave him the cold shoulder. As if he had done something to offend her.

And when she looked at him . . . well, it was the same look he got from the man-­hating mare.

M
A CIRCLED THE
kitchen table where Bree, Luke, and Delaney were finishing off a plate of their grandma’s huckleberry pancakes. “How are we
going to pay all these hospital bills?” she asked, waving a stack of estimated patient expenses in the air above their heads. “Our health insurance is only covering a quarter of the amount due.”

Bree fought Luke for the last pancake with her fork and lost. Then she placed a hand on her mother’s arm and pulled her to a standstill. “When’s the last time you updated your policy?”

“I don’t
know. Your father handles that kind of paperwork, not me. But you know him—­he only pays for the cheapest available. He didn’t think he’d ever need insurance. He always claims he’s strong as an ox and refuses to pay out any more of his hard-­earned money.”

“Calm down, Loretta,” their grandma chided. “You’re beginning to squeak.”

“I do not squeak,” Ma argued.

Meghan, who sat in the
wooden high chair they’d all used as kids, giggled and pinched the air with her small hands. “Squeak. Squeak.”

Bree looked on in amusement as Luke laughed and Delaney told Meghan to hush.

“ ‘Where there’s a will there’s a way,’ ”
Delaney quoted, lifting her chin. “Isn’t that what you always say, Grandma?”

“It is, Sweet Pea. And you’d best all remember that.” Their wizened grandma gave
them a wink, and flipped Delaney and her daughter another pancake from the fry pan.

“I could take a look at the ranch’s books for you, Ma,” Bree offered.

Her mother hesitated before handing her the stack of hospital statements. “Our business is a little different than keeping track of an inventory of clothes.”

“I did a whole lot more than manage clothes in New York,” Bree corrected.
“I helped balance the books, hired staff, tracked shipments, ordered supplies. I have the qualifications to become head director, but took the retail assistant job until a better opportunity came my way.”

“Well, here it is,” Luke teased. “You better make the most of it.”

“I will.” Bree frowned and gave him a “don’t you dare tell Ma I’ve been fired” look.

“We’ve hired a nice married
­couple, Susan and Wade Randall, to be our ranch managers since you were here last,” Ma reminded her. “Remember I told you about them on the phone? They keep the ranch records in the enclosed porch out front that we’ve turned into an office. If you have any questions, you can ask them.”

Bree pushed back her chair and stood. Maybe if she helped her parents with their finances, she and her father
would part on good terms this time. It was worth a shot.

She took a step from the table and her mother captured her in a tight squeeze.

“I’m so glad you’re home,” Ma said, then she did a half turn to include Luke, Delaney, and Meghan. “And so is your dad, no matter what he says.”

“Home,” Meghan repeated, then her cheeks dimpled and she let out another adorable giggle.

E
AGER TO
HAVE
something to do other than sit at her father’s bedside in the hospital or stare out the window at the barn all day, Bree entered the ranch office intent on gathering up the financial books.

“Sorry, but I need to record a whole list of receipts,” Wade told her.

“What receipts?” Bree asked, scanning the multitude of papers and file folders littered across the wide wooden desk between
them.

“The summer season is about to start,” he said, nodding toward his wife, who stood by the door clutching a handful of folded maps. “Sue bought supplies for the guest cabins. I also had to replenish the feed for the horses, refurbish some equipment, and buy a ­couple of new saddles.”

Bree frowned, not certain the ranch managers understood their family dilemma. “How much is our budget?
Did you check around for the best buys? I’d really like to see the business plan.”

Wade hesitated. “Let me clean up a few things, and then I can give you a rundown on the finances next week.”

“I won’t be here next week. I promised my mother I’d look at the books
today
.”

“Well, your
father
specifically instructed me not to show anyone the record books but
him
.”

Bree clenched her
fists. “My father just came out of a coma.”

“He was knocked unconscious and broke his leg, but he’s on the mend. The hospital is releasing him this morning, right? Later, when he gets home, he can look at the finances himself if he wants to.”

Unbelievable! Didn’t this guy know who she was? She was a
Collins
, part of the family that supplied his paychecks! “Are you refusing me the right
to look at my own family’s records?”