Montana Hearts: Her Weekend Wrangler Read online

  He gave her a wary look. “I can’t shovel while leaning on a cane.”

  “Sure you can.” Grandma gave him a wide smile. “We’ve all got work to do around here and there’s no time to waste. Bree, you can start by weeding the row set aside for my sugar snap peas. Delaney, you weed around the zucchini. Luke, you can dig those weeds out in the aisle right in front of you.”

  Luke dug the tip of the shovel in the ground. “I thought you wanted to talk business.”

  “I do. You know this ranch first got started with a shovel full of dirt. Your grandpa and I, we dug the foundation for the house ourselves when we were younger than you are now. I was just nineteen, your grandpa was twenty-­two.” Grandma smiled and patted her belly. “And your dad was on the way. He grew up here and, unlike the three of you, he never left. Never knew anything different. Although it’s hard for him to admit he needs you, I’m glad you all told him you’d stay.”

  Bree pulled out a clump of stubborn weeds and shot Luke a surprised glance. “You’re staying, too?”

  Luke shrugged. “Fishing in the Keys isn’t the same with a cane. At least here I can do something useful.”

  “Like pull weeds?” She grinned as she tore out another clump.

  “Someday you three will inherit this land, but after what happened last night, I want to make you a deal,” Grandma said, her cackling voice growing excited. “I want to give each one of you a portion of the guest ranch right now. If we all work together, we can split the profits into equal shares six ways. I’ll keep one sixth, and give one sixth to your father, a sixth to your ma, and one sixth to each one of you.”

  Luke paused with his shovel and looked up. “You’re serious. We’d be co-­owners with you, Ma, and Dad? What does Dad say about this?”

  “He’s the one who gave me the idea,” she told them. “We’ll be a team. Collins Country Cabins will be a real family-­run business.”

  “I have dreamed of owning my own business,” Bree said, “but what we need is a game plan. If no one objects, I can interview staff and take care of the hiring. I can also manage the books and help find ways to get us out of our present mess.”

  Delaney grinned. “You know me. I love animals. There’s nothing I’d like better than to take care of the horses.”

  Whew! Bree had been hoping her sister would say that. The less time she herself spent near the barn, the better.

  “I’d volunteer to be the head wrangler,” Luke admitted, “but I can’t . . . ride.”

  Bree glanced again at his leg, wondered about the extent of his injury, and her heart went out to him as the Adam’s apple in his throat bobbed up and down.

  “I am handy with a hammer.” Luke gave her another of what she knew to be his forced smiles. “I can make repairs and finish building the two extra cabins that were started.”

  Bree nodded, but wasn’t sure how much he could do if he couldn’t climb a ladder. “I could lend a few thousand from my own savings to cover the cost of materials . . . and hire extra laborers.”

  “Me, too,” Luke agreed. “I can also provide money for day-­to-­day operating expenses until we get some guest revenue coming in. If we run short, I can look into a bank loan.”

  Grandma emptied her bucket of weeds into a nearby wheelbarrow. “Your mother and I have agreed to tidy the guest cabins, and I can stock them with some of my homemade lavender soaps and mint candies.”

  “What about . . . Dad?” Bree asked. “He’s not one to sit around idle.”

  Grandma gave them a wink and a grand chuckle. “I told him the best thing he can do is stop barking at everyone and stay out of the way.”

  If anyone could handle her father it was Grandma. Bree smiled. “I’ll make up a Help Wanted sign tonight. And hopefully I can start interviewing employees and line up a weekend wrangler by the end of the week.”

  “You can’t put out an ad for a wrangler,” Grandma said, her white bushy brows drawing in with a frown. “We need someone with experience, someone we can trust.”

  “I can ask Sammy Jo,” Bree suggested.

  “No. She’ll be away at rodeos on weekends,” Luke reminded her.

  Too bad. She would have been perfect.

  “The first guests arrive Memorial Day weekend, which gives us less than two weeks,” Delaney reminded them. “Who else is available on short notice?”

  Grandma gave Bree a firm nod. “You need to ask one of the Tanner brothers.”

  “Oh, no. Anyone but them.” Bree dug her nails into the dirt and tore out another clump of weeds, perhaps with a little more force than necessary.

  “You’ve got to admit they’re good,” Grandma insisted. “Best wranglers this side of the state.”

  “Yeah,” Bree agreed. “Too good. They have everything. Money, popularity, women, and egos as large as their vast acreage. They think they are so hot.”

  “Of course they’re hot,” Grandma argued. “They work in the sun all day.”

  “I meant they know they’re good-­looking.”

  Grandma laughed with a cackle, her blue eyes twinkling. “I knew what you meant.”

  “I can’t ask them to help us,” Bree said, scooting over to a larger weed patch. “I doubt they’d say yes.”

  “ ‘You won’t know if you don’t ask,’ ” Grandma said, quoting one of her own famous lines. “The Tanners have helped us in the past when you weren’t around. Good-­hearted boys.”

  “If you say so.” Bree didn’t think her grandma knew what the Tanners said behind their backs when they didn’t think anyone was listening.

  Grandma pulled off her gloves. “Luke and Delaney, you keep working. Bree, you follow me into the house. There’s something I want to give you.”

  Relieved by the change of subject, Bree walked with her grandma through the back door of the house and into the kitchen.

  After they’d washed their hands, Grandma opened a drawer and withdrew a square tissue-­wrapped package tied with teal-­colored curling ribbon. “Happy Birthday, Bree.”

  “It’s not my birthday for another three weeks,” she said, taking the gift.

  Bree hadn’t realized how much she’d missed the warm, tantalizing smell of fresh-­baked bread or seeing her grandma’s vibrant red and yellow rooster decorations on the walls, or the blue patterned china stacked neatly behind the glass doors of the corner cabinet. The kitchen had always been a special place of sharing, whether it be food, chores, or cherished heart-­to-­heart conversation. The fact her grandma had chosen to give her the birthday present here made the gift even more special.

  She untied the ribbon, noting that Grandma had remembered teal was her favorite color. Then she opened the tissue paper and drew out a teal scarf. “Oh, Grandma, this matches my sunglasses and the trim on my new boots!”

  “I embroidered your initials in the corner,” Grandma said, pointing a crooked finger.

  Bree ran her hand over the soft, silky surface of the scarf and tied it around her neck. The fine, lightweight linen embellished with lace mesh and tassel finishing meant her frugal grandma, who never spent a penny extra if she could help it, had spent several extra pennies on her. “I love it, Grandma.”

  “And I love you.” Her grandma stood on her tiptoes and grasped hold of her chin with her thumb and forefinger. “I thought a little ‘bling’ might boost your confidence. It doesn’t hurt to look your best when you go over to the Tanners to ask for their help. Wear this scarf, remember that you’re ‘hot,’ too, and face those boys with pride.”

  Bree swallowed hard, knowing there would be no further argument with the sly, weather-­worn ranch woman. Apparently Grandma knew exactly how to handle her, too, and although her nerves wanted to buck the notion of approaching the Tanners, she nodded her head in assent.

  “Yes, Grandma.”

  RYAN HAD STUDIED natural horsemanship techniques and equine bo
dy language, but there was something about the way Bree moved among the horses that made her extra special.

  His thoughts drifted to that summer before their senior year when Bree had stood in the arena at the fairgrounds working with another competitor’s colt. She didn’t care that the foal wasn’t hers. As soon as she saw the owner was having trouble getting the colt to listen, she walked on over and began to help.

  “You need to relax,” she’d told the other young lady. “He can sense your tension. Smile. Hum a tune. Let the colt see you are someone he wants to be around.”

  Ryan had walking through the covered section of the grandstand stadium, hoping to catch a minute of shade before his next roping event. Instead, he’d taken a seat, interested in hearing what she had to say. Bree had been amazing. Her graceful movements around the colt were so effortless and cohesive it was like watching a marble roll around and around inside a funnel until it finally got close enough to the center hole and fell through. By the time Bree got close to the colt, the little guy was eating out of her hand and following her around like a puppy.

  Wanting to congratulate her on a job well done and ask her more about the techniques she used, he made his way down to the arena. Except he hadn’t been alone. Two girls from school had looped their arms through his and went down to the arena with him.

  Apparently Bree wasn’t as good with ­people as she was with the horses. When she saw him she didn’t smile. Or hum. And she certainly didn’t seem like she wanted him to be around when she pressed her lips together and glared at him. He couldn’t remember the exact cutting remark she’d given him, but he did know that was the day he’d decided to study natural horsemanship techniques and become a certified trainer.

  He’d trained dozens of young horses over the years. But he still couldn’t match Bree.

  She had a style all her own.

  After another failed attempt to draw close to the horses in his charge, Ryan pulled himself up out of the dust and slapped his hat against his thigh. The mare flattened her ears back and glared at him over her shoulder as he circled back around her and the filly. Then he retreated to safety behind the gate and wiped his brow.

  “Any progress?” his brother Dean asked, walking over from the cattle shed.

  “None. Unless you think a kick to the gut means she likes me.”

  “I call it ‘connecting,’ ” Dean teased, “which is very important in any relationship.”

  “What I need to do is connect with the filly, not her mother.”

  “Have you asked Bree if she can help out?”

  “I went over to her ranch, but—­” Ryan shook his head. “It wasn’t a good time.”

  “When will it be a good time?” Dean demanded. “You don’t have a whole lot of time left.”

  “I know.” Ryan shook the remaining dust off his hat and placed it back on his head. He’d had Aunt Mary’s horses for three days and hadn’t made any progress. In fact, he’d needed his mother to lead the pair back and forth between their stall and the corral because the mare still wouldn’t let him come near them.

  Dean shrugged. “Do you want me to ask her?”

  “I’m not sure Bree will agree to do it.”

  “What other option do you have?”

  Ryan glanced at the overprotective mare and the filly nestled by her side. “I’ll ask her after church next Sunday. Maybe the ser­vice will put her in a charitable mood.”

  Dean grinned. “Why not now?”

  “What do you mean ‘now’?”

  His brother put a hand on his shoulder, spun him around, and pointed. “Look.”

  Bree Collins parked a red pickup next to their house, got out, and pushed her teal sunglasses to the top of her head. After adjusting the matching scarf about her neck, she spotted them and walked over, her beautiful long legs drawing the majority of his attention.

  Ryan heard his brother’s low whistle and felt his hand slap his shoulder, but he didn’t look at him. He was too busy wondering what had brought Bree, of all ­people, to the Tanner ranch . . . and how he could connect with her.

  BREE HAD TALKED to multitudes of top-­notch professionals while working in New York, but none of those meetings made her as nervous as this one did now.

  She’d already met two of the Tanner brothers in town earlier that morning. Just as she’d suspected, when she’d asked them to fill the wrangler position they turned her down flat. If it hadn’t been for her grandma’s optimism the day before, she wouldn’t have even tried. Now she had to face the last two Tanners, and if she wasn’t mistaken, it seemed from their grins that they were already laughing at her.

  “Good morning, Bree. We sure are glad to see you.” Dean’s tone was overly warm and welcoming, and she wondered if he was being sarcastic.

  Ryan, his T-­shirt and jeans covered in splotches of ground-­in dirt, stood a few feet away and kept his gaze on her, but didn’t say a word.

  Not one to play games, she decided to get right to the point. “I’m looking for a weekend wrangler to lead mini-­roundups for our guests this summer. Are either of you interested?”

  “Not me,” Dean said, stepping back. He exchanged a quick glance with Ryan. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

  As Dean walked away, Bree’s stomach lurched, and she wished she could retreat back to her pickup, but Ryan had still not given her an answer.

  He narrowed his gaze. “What happened? Did the wrangler your ranch managers hire back out?”

  “Something like that.” Bree wondered how much she should tell him. “You know Susan and Wade are no longer with us?”

  Ryan nodded. “Small town. News travels fast.”

  “Now I’ll be the one managing the hiring.”

  “Does that mean you’ll be sticking around for a while?” He almost sounded hopeful.

  She hesitated. “For now.”

  “I don’t need any extra work,” he said, glancing at the horses in the paddock. “I’ve got enough demands on my time right here.”

  Bree felt the air drain from her lungs and she turned to go. She was right. The Tanners were a waste of her time.

  “But I’m willing to make you a deal.”

  She glanced over her shoulder and turned back. “What kind of deal?”

  “I’ll wrangle for you on weekends over the next thirty days, if you help me.”

  Bree turned toward him. “Help you? How?”

  “Train a filly for the Fox Creek halter show in mid-­June. I use a combination of natural horsemanship methods to train my horses. If you agree, I’ll have you help desensitize the filly to human touch, get her used to wearing a halter, learn not to spook at loud noises, waving objects, or crowds. Most important . . . I need to convince the filly she can trust me so she’s not always glued to her mom.”

  Bree frowned. “You and your brothers can’t do this on your own?”

  Ryan scowled and glanced away from her. “No.”

  She didn’t believe him, but let the matter drop because she had no intention of accepting his offer. “I haven’t worked with horses in a long time.”

  Ryan turned his gaze back toward her. “You used to be good.”

  She shook her head. “Not anymore.”

  “Do you want to see her?”

  No! She didn’t. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

  Ryan gestured toward the fenced corral beside them. “She’s right there, hiding behind the mare.”

  Bree glanced into the enclosure, but didn’t see the filly. She stepped closer to the gate and a chestnut mare raised her head, looked at her with curious ears pricked forward, and turned toward her. As she did, a bay filly came into view and Bree let out a sigh. Newborns were too cute, too hard to resist.

  And this one had a white star on her forehead . . . just like Serenity.

  Both mare and baby drew close enoug
h to nuzzle her hand. Bree smiled. “They like me.”

  “See?” Ryan called from behind.

  Opening the gate, she let herself into the corral, and rubbed her hands over the filly’s feathery mane. Silky soft, like her scarf. “How many days a week would you need me to work with them?”

  “Two or three. An even trade.” Ryan came through the gate and the mare pinned back her ears, lunged forward, and snapped at him. He jumped back.

  Bree broke into a smile. “The mare does not like you. Is that why you need me?”

  Ryan nodded and stepped back even farther. “Yes.”

  Bree glanced at the filly again, so much like her own mare, only younger. Her throat tightened and her eyes stung. “No, I . . . I can’t.”

  Ryan’s expression hardened. “Then there’s no way I’m working for you on weekends.”

  Bree thought of the guests scheduled to arrive at her ranch, the three CEOs with their large financial deposit, and her family. The mini-­roundup was the highlight of each week, the main reason ­people preferred staying at their guest ranch instead of the Owenses’ next door. She had to have a wrangler.

  Clenching her teeth, she circled the mare and filly, rubbing her hand along their sides as she went. Twice a week for one month was just eight days she’d have to bring herself to step into a barn and deal with her memories of Serenity. She leaned her head against the mare’s shoulder and closed her eyes. Could she do it?

  “Just one month,” Ryan coaxed, his voice drawing closer. “A temporary arrangement that will buy you time to find someone else for the rest of the season.”

  She drew in a shaky breath. “I don’t know.”

  “Bree,” he said, his voice taking on a playful quality, “I need you.”

  The mare’s shoulder muscle stiffened beneath her cheek, signaling his approach. Then Bree felt someone lift the scarf from the back of her neck and give her a gentle massage.

  Bree froze. How dare he! Did Ryan think he could get her to change her mind by flirting with her? This was exactly why she’d never team up with a man like him. He seemed to think he could charm his way into getting whatever he wanted.