Montana Hearts: Her Weekend Wrangler Read online

  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.

  EAGER 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?”

  “For now, yes,” he said, as if trying to placate a child. “You may be family, but my wife and I are the ones who run this ranch, the ones who deal with the ins and outs of every problem that arises while you’re not here. We’re certainly capable of managing the finances, too. I can assure you everything is in order and accounted for.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply they weren’t. I’m just trying to help my family.” She spied the corner of an old leather-­bound ledger beneath the stack of papers nearest her end of the desk. Snatching it up with her fingers, she pulled it out. “Is this the record book?”

  “One of them. Your father likes to keep a hard copy in the office, but the rest of the files are on the computer.”

  Bree flipped open the cover and glanced at the first page. “This is the upcoming schedule?” She scanned the entries. “What’s this? It says Cabin 12 is booked for the first three weeks free of charge.”

  Wade eyed the book, his fingers curling at his side. “Three CEOs from Iridescent Beauty Cosmetics are scouting for a place to hold corporate retreats.”

  “Three whole weeks with full amenities is a long time. Couldn’t we have just given them a discount on our weekly rate?”

  “If they select this ranch for their retreat, they’ll pay a large advance and the cabins will be booked for several weeks straight.”

  “Did you get that in writing?”

  Wade snapped the cover shut and, latching his hand on the opposite end of the book, tried to take it from her. “Not yet.”

  Bree held tight to the book, refusing to let it go. “What do you mean, ‘not yet’?”

  “He means we’ve got it handled,” Susan said, giving her husband a nervous look.

  Wade pulled hard, and almost managed to win the tug-­of-­war, but Bree clawed her nails deep into the leather and, spinning away from him, twisted the book from his grip.

  “And I’ve got this handled,” she told them. “Where are those receipts you mentioned?”

  Wade glared at her, but Susan gave her an apologetic smile and said, “I’ll give them to you first thing in the morning.”

  BREE STAYED UP late that night poring over the numbers with her calculator. Somehow, even without the missing receipts, the income and expense columns weren’t adding up. She’d already rechecked her work three times and was about to do it again when she heard a loud bang!

  She glanced at the clock. Almost midnight.

  Bang!

  There it was again. Glancing out the window she didn’t see anything. Not even the light of the moon. All was black except the faint outline of the barn and a few of the nearby guest cabins.

  Sometimes the horses kicked against their stalls when a predator drew near, but this noise sounded like the blast of a shotgun, or a stick of her grandma’s homemade dynamite. Sometimes Grandma used one to disintegrate a stubborn underground root in her garden. But not usually in the middle of the night.

  A truck engine roared to life and she heard another bang! bang! bang!

  Bree left her room and almost collided with Delaney coming from hers. “Oops. Sorry. Didn’t see you there.”

  “What’s all that noise?” Delaney asked. “Whoever is trying to leave is going to wake up Meghan.”

  Bree frowned. “Leave?”

  At the moment neither Luke nor her father could drive, which left Grandma, their mother, or . . . the ranch managers. Bree thought of the missing money but kept her suspicions to herself as she and Delaney hurried toward the front door. Luke, using his cane for support, hobbled up beside them.

  “Sounds like a clogged exhaust,” he muttered. “The truck’s backfiring like a machine gun.”

  Delaney turned on the light and they went out onto the front porch. A series of shrill neighs came from the interior of the barn. Great. Now even the horses were up.

  “Bree? Luke? Del? Is that you?” their ma called.

  “Yeah, Ma,” Bree answered. “We’re out here. But it’s not us making that racket.”

  Ma stepped up behind them. “Then who—­”

  Bright headlights pierced the darkness. A truck raced past, coating Bree wi
th a fine layer of dust she couldn’t see but could certainly taste as it flew into her mouth.

  Coughing, she pointed to the truck’s red taillights zooming down the dirt driveway. “The ranch managers.”

  “Where would they be going at this time of night?” Ma demanded.

  “I looked at the ranch’s financials, and according to the numbers, there’s a lot of money missing,” Bree said, alarm shooting up her spine. “They knew I would find out—­that’s why they didn’t want me to see the books. And now they’ve run away before they can be caught.”

  “That’s crazy,” Ma exclaimed. “Susan and Wade have been with us for eight months. We’ve treated them like family. They have no reason to steal. They’ll be back, wait and see. Maybe one of them had an emergency or maybe they had to pick up supplies.”

  “Supplies? At this hour?” Luke asked.

  Grandma, wearing her favorite Clint Eastwood printed pajamas, pushed open the screen door and hurried toward them. “I just checked their room.”

  “And?” Bree asked.

  “They’ve taken everything.”

  Chapter Three

  UNABLE TO SLEEP, Bree scoured the computer and the rest of the desk papers the ranch managers left behind to piece together conclusive proof for the authorities. Luke helped. Delaney escaped back upstairs to watch over Meghan. Which left Ma and Grandma the misfortune of breaking the news to their father, who had come home and been put on bed rest. From the heated shouts echoing from his room, it didn’t sound like he was resting very well.

  Hours passed, and a quiet anxiety fell over the house. The only noise was the repetitious tick tock of the large wooden grandfather clock echoing down the hall and an occasional moan or whisper. But before the first light of dawn seeped through the windows, Bree found what she was looking for and called the sheriff.

  “You must be mistaken,” her father scolded as Ma pushed his wheelchair out onto the front porch. “You don’t know Susan and Wade Randall like I do, and I can tell you right now that there must be a reasonable explanation for all this.”

  Bree met his squinty-­eyed look head-­on. “Susan and Wade have been embezzling money from you for months. Thousands upon thousands of dollars. They’ve drained both your checking and savings accounts dry.”

  Her father set his jaw. “Impossible. I never gave them access to our savings.”

  “While you were in the hospital they must have found your account number and forged your name,” Bree told him.

  When the sheriff went over the financial files himself, he agreed with Bree. “I’ll issue a warrant for their arrest.”

  The sheriff’s arrival had also brought over their neighbors Merle and Olivia Owens, whose property lined the right side of the guest ranch, and Sammy Jo, whose family owned the land on the left.

  “I knew something was going on as soon as I saw the patrol car pull into your driveway,” Merle said, scratching his black goatee. “We had to come make sure you were all okay.”

  “I did, too,” said Sammy Jo, and looked around. “Where’s Luke?”

  Bree yawned. “Sleeping. Which is what I plan to do for the next six hours.”

  “Yoo-­hoo, Sheriff,” Grandma yelled, lifting the hem of her skirt and waddling toward them from the paddock in a panic. “I can’t find Party Marty. The ranch managers might have stolen him, too.”

  “Don’t worry, Grandma,” Delaney called as she and Meghan led the miniature pony into the front yard. “I found him eating the grass behind the first set of guest cabins.”

  The pony nuzzled Grandma’s hand as if to tell her he had no worries in the world. Bree wished her family could say the same.

  “While money is a concern,” Bree told them, “the good news is that the ranch is booked solid. The first guests arrive in two weeks, three of them high-­profile CEOs from Iridescent Beauty Cosmetics who are scouting for a place to hold a corporate retreat. If they select ours, they’ll give us a large cash advance.”

  “That’s a relief,” her father grumbled.

  She ran her tongue over her bottom lip and continued, “The bad news is that no one’s hired any employees. We still need a kitchen crew, ranch hands, and a head wrangler to lead roundups on weekends.”

  “The ranch managers must have planned to take off before the summer season,” Sammy Jo said, her eyes wide. “When Bree dug into the finances, it just made them leave sooner.”

  Merle gave them a sympathetic look. “I hired a crew for our dude ranch months ago. You might find yourselves with slim pickings.”

  Bree’s father winced and let out a low grunt. “I feel another headache coming on.”

  “If you aren’t ready in time, I can help you out by taking some of your guests to my ranch,” Merle offered.

  “That’s nice and neighborly of you,” Ma said, “but with our kids home, we’ll manage, won’t we, Jed?”

  Their father arched a brow toward Ma, gave her a look like she was out of her mind, and let out another grunt.

  “Meghan and I will stay and help,” Delaney promised.

  Their father glanced Del’s way and nodded. Bree watched his gaze turn toward her. “Don’t you have to return to New York?”

  She raised her chin. “That’s up to you.”

  Her father didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then the corners of his mouth shot upward and he laughed for what seemed like the first time in years. “Well, then, I guess you’ll be stayin’.”

  “C’MON, GRAMMY, YOU can do it!” Cody shouted as he climbed atop the corral fence in the Tanners’ yard.

  Ryan gave his son a quick glance, grinned, then turned his attention back to his mother. The mare had taken to her just fine. The problem was the filly. “Try to pet her. Run your hands over her neck and back.”

  “I’m trying,” his mom said, sounding out of breath. “But every time I get near her she runs around the other side of the mare.”

  “Dad, should I get her some carrots?” Cody asked.

  Ryan shook his head. “No. The filly’s teeth aren’t strong enough for carrots. Better get some grass.”

  Cody jumped down off the fence and ran into the barn. When he came back he started through the gate, but Ryan called him back. “The mare doesn’t trust boys like you and me. We have to let your grandma do this on her own.”

  “Thanks, Cody.” She retrieved the grass and waved it in front of the filly. “Come and get it. Nice sweet green grass here just for you.”

  The filly ventured a few steps forward and took a nibble. Ryan’s mom dropped a handful on the ground and the filly continued to eat.

  “Slowly,” Ryan instructed.

  His mom reached her hand over the soft, wispy brown mane, and slid it down along the filly’s back. “I think she’s okay with me now,” his mom said, smiling. “Why don’t you toss me a brush?”

  Cody took one out of the tack bucket and threw it behind her. The filly jerked her head up, but then, seeing no threat, bent down for another mouthful of grass. The mare leaned her head down, too, and nibbled beside her, but when Ryan’s mom tried to run the brush over the filly’s coat, the young one tried to scoot away again.

  “Well, at least you’re showing her different things,” Ryan encouraged. “Why don’t you let her sniff the halter?”

  “Watch out she doesn’t run away with it,” Cody warned.

  Ryan’s mom picked up the miniature blue nylon halter and lead rope. “I’m more afraid she’ll run away with me.”

  “You’re doing fine, Mom,” Ryan encouraged. “Let her smell the band, then ease it up over her nose.”

  She did as she was told, but she wasn’t experienced with younger horses. The filly tossed her head this way and that and pranced around. In turn, the mare, who had been calm all this time, got antsy because her baby was antsy.

  “I like my horses already trained,” Ryan’
s mom growled. “Who has the patience for this?”

  She tried to slip the halter over the filly’s head a second time, but the filly reared up on her hind legs, did a little hop, and when the front legs came down, one of the hooves glanced off Ryan’s mother’s leg.

  “Ow!” she cried.

  Ryan lurched forward with alarm. “Mom, are you okay?”

  His mother winced and rubbed her pant leg. “I’m going to have a nasty bruise.”

  Ryan sighed. “Why don’t we call it a day?”

  “I call it done,” his mom muttered. “I bought a new dress for my fortieth high school reunion this week and now my leg is going to look awful.”

  “No one will notice,” he soothed.

  “The hemline is above the knee,” she insisted. “Of course they’ll notice.”

  “Tell them you were out roping some bulls.”

  “Ryan,” his mother said, her voice stern. “I may not have seen some of my old classmates in years, but they’ll still recognize a line of bull when they hear one.”

  “I don’t think Grammy’s having fun,” Cody said, and opened the gate for her to come out of the corral.

  Ryan tousled the top of his son’s short brown hair. “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “You can’t just have any woman help you,” she said, handing him the halter. “What you need is a woman with some experience with fillies, someone who knows what she’s doing.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “You’re right. But who?”

  His mom thought for a moment and then snapped her fingers. “I hear Bree Collins is back in town.”

  Ryan clenched his teeth. Couldn’t anyone think of someone other than Bree?

  LATER THAT AFTERNOON, after Bree awoke from a sound sleep, Delaney informed both her and Luke that Grandma had summoned them to a business meeting in her “office.” Which was, of course, the vegetable garden.

  When they arrived, Grandma was stooped in a half-­crouch weeding the trenched rows where she’d soon plant her indoor tomato starts. With such a short garden season due to lingering frost, growing vegetables in Montana wasn’t easy, but each year their grandma was determined to do it. Upon seeing them, she straightened, distributed work gloves, and placed a shovel in Luke’s free hand.