Montana Hearts: Her Weekend Wrangler Page 3

  Aaah, shoot. Ryan clenched his jaw to keep his emotions at bay, but his brothers voiced their anguish with a series of moans and groans. Their father’s sister had lived with them for several years after her husband died, and helped raise them. Even after all this time, Aunt Mary was like a second mother.

  “She still has some time yet,” their father continued. “And before she gets too sick to stand she wants to enter one last show.”

  Ryan swallowed hard. “The halter class.”

  His father nodded. “She wants to take her filly, Morning Glory, the last young’un sired by that stud she loved, and win the blue ribbon.”

  “There’s no guarantee she’ll win,” Ryan warned.

  “Win or lose,” his father said, nodding toward the pasture, “I think Aunt Mary just wants to know her legacy will continue on through that filly.”

  Ryan gave the mare and filly another look. Feeding off her mother’s anxiety, the three-­month-­old let out a shrill whinny, and continued to cling to her side. How could he separate them? Was a woman’s touch really the key to overcoming the horses’ fears?

  With an inward groan, Ryan steeled himself for the upcoming battle. If he didn’t train this filly, his aunt Mary’s request would haunt him the rest of his days.

  BREE STROLLED DOWN the wide path on her family’s property and reacquainted herself with each of the old familiar buildings that made up Collins Country Cabins. The first ten guest cabins had been put together using real logs, but the other fourteen were wood framed with cedar shingles. Construction on two new ones had been started, but remained unfinished.

  The cowshed housed two dozen Black Angus steer when they weren’t grazing in the cow pen or being used for the weekend mini-­roundups. The staging area outside the hay barn and the open arena used for horseback riding lessons had seen better days, but was still as sturdy as when she used to ride.

  She’d been summoning her courage to enter the horse barn when a shrill yip! yip! stopped her in her tracks. She recognized that voice. Spinning around, she glanced across the neighboring field and saw her best friend, Sammy Jo Macpherson, racing toward her on a palomino quarter horse at a near gallop. Her friend’s hat flew off her dark, curly head as she came to an abrupt stop and Bree bent down to pick it up.

  “Nice beadwork on the band,” she said, twirling the natural-­colored straw hat around in her hands. “Very fashionable.”

  Sammy Jo slid from the saddle and wrapped her in a quick hug. “I knew you’d like it. Remember how you used to make your own boot bling jewelry?”

  Bree laughed. “I found some scattered beads in my old dresser this morning.”

  “I always thought you should open your own business.”

  “Might be a good idea,” Bree agreed. Especially since she no longer had a job.

  Sammy Jo flashed a wide smile, her teeth perfect from years of braces. “Consider the hat an early birthday present.”

  “This is for me?” Bree settled the stylish hat on her own head. “Thanks. I love it.”

  “Figured I’d give you something to remember where you came from.”

  “Ouch.” Guilt assaulted Bree’s conscience and she winced. “I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch. Work has been crazy the last few months.”

  “It’s okay. I’m on the local rodeo planning committee and I’ve been teaching at a horse camp, helping the high school kids get ready for the upcoming season,” Sammy Jo said, and pointed to her shiny, silver belt buckle. “You don’t have to tell me about busy.”

  Bree smiled. “Are you and Tango planning to go out on the pro circuit this year?”

  Sammy Jo nodded, her eyes shining as she gave her horse a pat on the neck. “Tango loves barrel racing.”

  Bree watched the palomino nuzzle Sammy Jo’s hand, and her chest grew tight as she remembered the bond she’d had with her own horse. “He likes you.”

  “Yes, he does, a whole lot more than your brother, or so it seems. I came over earlier, and when I asked Luke about his leg injury he gave me the brush-­off.”

  Bree looked down the aisle of the barn in front of them. Her brother sat on an overturned bucket by the tack room, his cane propped against his knee as he rubbed leather polish on an old bridle.

  Bree sighed. “He’s going through a rough patch right now. Like the rest of us.”

  “Sorry about your dad, but I’m so glad to see you,” Sammy Jo said, her face brightening. “How long are you all staying?”

  “Delaney and her daughter plan to stay permanently, I’m here for a week, and Luke’s just here for the weekend.”

  “I’m only around for a few days myself before I’m off to the camp again, but when I heard the three of you were all coming home, I had to come back, too, so we could catch up.” Sammy Jo gave her an eager look. “Want to go on a trail ride?”

  “No, I still haven’t ridden. Not since—­” Bree hated to disappoint her. “Not since—­” She could barely bring herself to say it, even after all this time.

  After Serenity passed away while in labor that long ago night in early June, Bree hadn’t been able to go back into the barn. Even though she knew the bay quarter horse was in a good place and the good Lord must be watching over her, the pain of separation was still much too hard.

  Sammy Jo’s expression softened as she caught on. “Maybe some other time?”

  Bree nodded. “I was going to pay a visit to Serenity’s stall.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “No. I need to do this alone.”

  “I’ll catch up with you later, then,” her friend promised. “Send me a text when you’re done.”

  AFTER SAMMY JO took off toward the house to find Delaney, Bree forced her feet down the long corridor looming before her.

  The horse barn at her family’s guest ranch held sixteen stalls, each one made of wide wooden planks with a see-­through upper steel grill. Hearing her approach, every horse leaned its head over the sliding half door. She glanced at the assortment before her with their different colors and markings. Luke’s horse was still there, and Delaney’s, her mother’s, her father’s, and even her grandmother’s miniature pony, Party Marty. But the one horse that was not there was Serenity.

  Her own.

  Nine years earlier, while she was at her high school senior prom, Serenity had gone into premature labor. Her father, assisted by Luke and Delaney, tried to save her, and her father, like always, thought he had the situation under control. She later learned the reason he didn’t call her was because he didn’t want to ruin her big night. Didn’t want her to worry.

  Then Serenity’s condition grew worse, and her father still didn’t call. Instead, he tried to call her date, Josh Tanner, to let him know what was going on. And when Josh didn’t answer, her father’s natural second choice was to call Ryan, who he knew was also at the dance.

  Her father’s instructions had been simple: stall Bree any way you can.

  She had to admit, Ryan did a good job, almost fulfilled his mission, but eventually she caught on, and when she returned home . . . it was to witness a bloody burial.

  Serenity’s death was hard not only because she hadn’t been there to say goodbye, but because she believed deep in her heart that if her father had called . . . and Ryan hadn’t stopped her . . . and she had been there that night . . . she would have made different choices than her father.

  Choices that would have saved her precious mare. And her unborn filly.

  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 hors
e 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.

  RYAN 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 Owe
ns 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.

  MA 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.