Big Sky Romance Collection

by Denise Hunter

  “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “The horse needs your help.”

  “I already told you—”

  “You’re busy, I know. I’m getting desperate here, Annie. He won’t even let me near him anymore. His eyesight’s worse, and he’s wreaking havoc in my barn. He’s going to hurt himself or someone else.”

  Dylan planted his elbows on his knees and twisted the brim of his hat in his hands. He hated seeing Braveheart like that. It was as if the horse was going mad, only he wasn’t. When he looked up, he met Annie’s eyes.

  “Maybe Merle was right,” she said softly.

  “I’m not putting him down.” They’d been through so much together. Braveheart had gotten him through the worst days of his life. How could he turn his back on his horse in his hour of need?

  “I’m not,” he repeated.

  Annie looked away from Dylan. He had that dogged look Ryder sometimes got when Sierra said it was bedtime. Only the expression was ten times as formidable on Dylan’s face and probably wouldn’t precede a temper tantrum that left him thrashing on the porch.

  It had disturbed her to see Ryder in the cowboy hat, swinging a lariat. Last thing she needed was Dylan coming around influencing the child.

  “You’re the only one who can help him,” he said.

  “You don’t know that. These things take time. Roy’s not a miracle worker.”

  Dylan shook his head. “Braveheart knows you. You’ll be able to get through to him, I know it. You’re the best trainer in all Park County, maybe even the whole state.”

  She steeled herself against his flattery and forced herself to remember last summer. She’d been working with his stubborn mustang, and the animal had kicked at her. She jumped back just in time. Right into Dylan’s arms.

  “Whoa there,” he’d said, his low Texas drawl tickling her ear.

  His strong arms curled around her stomach. The heat of his chest burned into her back. The feel of him against her sent a shiver down her arms despite the summer heat and turned her legs to noodles. Her mouth went as dry as Spring Creek in July. Her breath seemed stuffed in her lungs.

  “Why, Annie Wilkerson . . . ,” he’d whispered, fluttering the sensitive hairs near her ear. “I had no idea you felt this way.”

  His words brought her around quick enough. She pulled herself from his arms and gave him a shove for good measure, noting that it didn’t make him budge one iota.

  “Keep your hands to yourself, Taylor.” She was amazed her voice hadn’t betrayed the chaos inside her.

  He’d tugged the brim of his hat down, his eyes twinkling. “Whatever you say, Miss Annie.”

  She looked at him now. The twinkle was long gone, replaced by hues of desperation.

  Too bad. Her heart pounded from the memory. She’d rather wrestle a rattlesnake than spend another day at his place—she’d probably stand a better chance of coming out unscathed.

  “You’re his last hope, Annie. Please, you gotta help him.”

  The man had a way of working people over that reminded Annie too much of her own father and all the other smooth-talking cowboys she’d had the misfortune of meeting. Even now he was buttering her up, tugging at her heartstrings, making her want to do something she had no business doing.

  “I’ll pay whatever you want.”

  He didn’t have the money to make an offer like that, but his desperation twisted her heart. And she hated seeing an animal suffer. Too bad she couldn’t bring the horse here, but Braveheart already had enough change going on. He needed a familiar environment, familiar smells, familiar people.

  “Come on, Annie. I’ll do anything.”

  He was getting to her with his sad eyes. She could feel her resignation crumbling away like the old stone schoolhouse on Mill Road.

  “Anything,” he repeated.

  The letter surfaced in her mind, the one she still had no answers for. The one that was due tomorrow even though she still didn’t know what to say.

  Maybe Dylan could help. No doubt the man knew his way around the maze of love.

  She blinked, shaking her head. What was she thinking? She was not talking about something as personal as love and relationships with Dylan Taylor. Not with the way he made her feel all . . . distracted and unsettled. She’d be a ninny.

  “And I swear,” he said as if reading her mind. “No funny business. ” He held up his hands. “Strictly professional.”

  She wavered. Maybe it could work. Helping the horse would take awhile. If they traded, he’d owe her a lot of help. Maybe even enough to get her through her probation period, long enough to get her legs under her, long enough to get that raise.

  “Annie? Will you do it?”

  “I’m thinking.” Annie stood and paced the length of the porch. Could she handle Dylan? He said he was busy. Maybe she’d hardly see him. She did want to help the horse.

  But they’d have to work on the column together. She imagined sitting in his cozy living room going over the nuances of love and shivered. All her red flags were waving high.

  But what else could she do? Sierra had no job in sight, and their savings had dwindled down to nothing. She couldn’t afford to lose the column.

  Before she could change her mind, she turned. “All right, on one condition.”

  Dylan straightened. “Name it.”

  She crossed her arms, a barrier between them, and lifted her chin. “I need help with a project. I’ll make a trade.”

  “What is it?”

  “An advice column,” she said, suddenly reluctant to mention the topic. “You help me, I’ll help you. Equal hours.”

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Not sure how I can help with your horse column, but I’ll do whatever you want.”

  Might as well just get it out on the table. “It’s not the horse column. It’s a . . . lovelorn column.”

  She watched the emotions flicker in his eyes. Understanding dawned like the sun, tinged with the colors of amusement and ego. “So you think I’m an expert in the love department.”

  She leveled a look at him. “Never mind. It was a bad idea.”

  His smile fell as he stood, his eyes sobering. “All right, all right,” he said in a tone he probably used with a nervous horse. “I’ll do it, whatever you want. Done deal.” He extended his hand.

  She paused a minute, her heart skittering across her chest like a marble over a hardwood floor. She told herself she had no choice. She told herself she could handle Dylan Taylor and his flirtatious ways just fine.

  Then his hand closed over hers, and she felt the same shiver run through her as last time, and no matter what she told herself, she knew she’d just signed up for all kinds of trouble.

  Dear Betrayed in Billings,

  It sounds as if your boyfriend is unworthy of the love and respect you’ve given him. A marriage won’t fix the problem and may, in fact, end up being the biggest mistake of your life.

  6

  From the barn Dylan watched Braveheart running wild in the field. His mahogany coat gleamed in the waning daylight, and his black mane flopped as he bucked.

  The horse had bolted like a wild mustang from the paddock when Annie opened the gate, and only now, a full thirty minutes later, was he beginning to settle. Dylan had winced as he watched the horse bump into the fence twice and trip several times on the uneven ground.

  Now his sides heaved. He tossed his head and snorted. At the fence, Annie’s head tilted.

  Dylan approached her. “What do you think?” He propped his foot on the fence beside her. The sweet smell of her shampoo wafted over on a breeze.

  “You were right, he’s a mess.”

  He tugged his hat lower. “But you can help him . . .”

  Braveheart caught the sound of his voice and turned toward them. “I think so. It’ll take time though.”

  “You got further tonight than Roy got all week.”

  “It was a risk to let him out again. Wasn’t sure I was doing the right thing.”
>
  Braveheart tossed his head, cocked his ears.

  She opened the gate. “Why don’t we go say hello.”

  “Sure that’s a good idea? He ’bout trampled me last time.”

  She started toward the horse, walking slowly. “He still has some sight in his right eye. Stay where he can see you and keep talking. He’ll be reassured by your voice and know where you are.”

  Annie stopped, letting Dylan approach alone.

  “Hey, buddy. How’s my big guy? Yeah . . . it’s okay.”

  Braveheart lifted his head and whinnied as Dylan neared.

  “Keep talking.”

  “How you doing, Braveheart?” Dylan held out his hand, and Braveheart nuzzled it. A moment later the horse nickered quietly, greeting him.

  “That’s my boy.” Dylan tossed Annie a smile over his shoulder, then patted Braveheart’s side and scratched his neck, murmuring softly. Hope surged through his veins. Maybe the horse would make it after all.

  Dylan smiled at Annie as she approached. “You’re a miracle worker. Last time I tried this, he wouldn’t stand for it.”

  “He still has a long way to go.” She let Braveheart sniff her hand.

  “What’s next?”

  “I’m afraid we’re losing daylight. Go ahead and lead him back to his stall. Stay on his right side and keep talking.”

  He started toward the barn, instructing Braveheart to walk, and the horse followed. The woman knew what she was doing.

  “He’ll have to rely on your verbal cues now,” Annie said, trailing behind them. “Treat him normally, or you’ll have a real mess on your hands.”

  Braveheart lost his footing on the threshold and grew agitated as he entered the barn with the other animals.

  “Use your cues.”

  Dylan did, and Braveheart snorted but followed a moment later, stopping when Dylan cued him.

  When he had the horse settled in a stall with fresh hay and water, he gave Braveheart a final pat and followed Annie into the darkening yard.

  “He hasn’t let me near him since I let him out last week. I was starting to think—” He turned his eyes on her. Gratitude welled up inside him. “You’re flat amazing, Annie.”

  She lowered her eyes, then looked out over the pasture. “It’s not rocket science.”

  “Don’t discount your skill.” He set his hat back on his head.

  “Let him out again tomorrow, but remember, stay on his right, and make sure there are no other horses in the field. Lead him around the fence line again so he knows his boundaries. And keep using verbal cues.”

  “All right.”

  “I’ll stop by next week and check on him.”

  “We’d better get cracking on your column. Stay for supper?”

  Her lips went lax, drooping at the corners. Had she forgotten about his end of the deal?

  “Just sandwiches, but you must be hungry.”

  “No thanks. This shouldn’t take long. Let’s just sit on the porch—it’s a nice evening.”

  He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He had to admit, he’d felt a little guilty since he’d agreed to this deal. He wasn’t sure how much help he was going to be. After all, he’d only been in love once, and that hadn’t ended so well.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket as Annie stopped by her truck to collect her things.

  It was Wade’s cell. He grinned. Probably Maddy calling with boy troubles again. She’d called for advice three times in the last two days.

  “’Scuse me.” He continued walking as he answered. “Uncle Dylan, at your service.”

  “It’s Wade. I need a favor.” His voice was tense, and Cody bawled in the background.

  Dylan stopped at the foot of the porch steps. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Maddy. Calf stepped on her hand—think it might be broken.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Abby’s in Bozeman, and Cody’s screaming bloody murder—”

  “Say no more. Be right over.” In between Cody’s cries, he could hear Maddy sniveling in the background.

  “I’m headed toward the clinic now. You home?”

  “Yeah, bring him over.”

  Dylan closed his phone. He hoped Maddy hadn’t broken her hand.

  “What’s wrong?” Annie asked, approaching.

  He repeated the information as he took the porch steps. “Come inside. I should get some things up off the floor.”

  Annie stepped toward her truck. “I should go.”

  “No, have a seat. I’ll be right out.” Dylan went inside, hoping she’d hang around, but too concerned about Maddy to give it much thought. He snatched a pocketknife off the end table and a glass bowl from the coffee table. Last time they’d brought Cody over, he’d put everything he could grasp into his mouth.

  What else? He set the fireplace tools in the closet and was shoving the ottoman in front of the staircase when he heard Wade’s truck barreling down the drive.

  He rushed out and met Wade as he shoved the truck into park. Cody was still wailing from the backseat. Dylan opened the back door and looked at Maddy in the passenger seat. She held her hand suspended in midair.

  “Sorry,” Wade said over his shoulder. “He’s tired and not one bit happy about being put in that thing.”

  Dylan unlatched the seat belt and worked the car seat loose. “How ya doing, tough girl?” he asked Maddy.

  Her lip wobbled. “Fine.”

  He grabbed the car seat and lifted the wailing eleven-monthold baby. “Hang in there, Maddy.”

  “Don’t forget the bag,” Wade said.

  Dylan shouldered the diaper bag and shut the door.

  “Thanks, buddy,” Wade said through the open window. “Don’t know how long it’ll be. . .”

  “I can keep him overnight if that’ll help.”

  “I’ll let you know.” Wade nodded once, turned the truck around, and headed down the drive.

  The outdoor light on his barn had kicked on, making a puddle of light in the dirt. Annie sat on the porch in the shadows. He took the steps and set the car seat down, then flipped on the porch light and freed the wailing Code-meister. Tears clung to his dark lashes, and his bottom lip quivered with righteous indignation.

  “Come here, little guy.”

  Annie made to stand. “We can do this another time.”

  “Sit tight. Please. He’ll settle down real quick.” He pulled Cody to his shoulder. The baby’s back was hot, and his forehead felt damp against Dylan’s neck. He bounced Cody, pacing the length of the porch. The little guy smelled baby fresh and was already in his pj’s. “Shh, Uncle Dylan’s here.”

  Within a minute Cody’s cries petered out to wobbly sniffles. “Thatta boy.” He rubbed the baby’s back as he passed Annie and took a seat on the swing, setting it into motion.

  A moment later Cody dropped his head to Dylan’s chest and gave a long, shuddery sigh.

  Annie watched the baby nuzzle into Dylan’s neck. His thick arm supported Cody’s weight, and he rubbed the baby’s back. The motion of the swing made Cody’s eyelids flutter until they remained closed.

  The picture in front of her seemed contrary to everything she knew about Dylan Taylor. But she couldn’t deny there was something inordinately appealing about a man with a baby. She decided she preferred her preconceived notions to the ones forming now.

  “He asleep?” Dylan whispered.

  She nodded, smiling despite herself at the way Cody’s chubby cheeks were smooshed against Dylan’s shirt. “He’s a doll.”

  “He’s a keeper. I sure hope Maddy’s okay.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be fine. You’ve probably broken a bone or two yourself.”

  He tilted a smile. “Or seven.” He settled back into the swing, shifting Cody. “Why don’t we get started on your letters?”

  “Just one this time.” She filled him in on the column and her instructions from Midge, then she handed him the letter.

  She watched him discreetly as he read. He took up most of
the swing with those broad shoulders. His brim hid his eyes but exposed his well-trimmed sideburns and five o’clock shadow. His lips, unsmiling for once, were nicely shaped and bowed on top.

  Okay, so she saw the appeal. She could appreciate God’s handiwork without wanting him for herself. So long as he kept that cowboy hat on to remind her what he was, she’d be just fine and dandy.

  He looked up and passed her the letter, setting his hand on Cody’s back. “Seems pretty clear to me,” he said quietly.

  “She should give him another chance?”

  “You kidding me?” His lips tilted up as he shook his head. “Sugar, you’re way off. She’s gotta dump the dude, the sooner the better.”

  Not him too. “Seriously? Look, I know he blew it, but he shows clear indication of remorse, and there is a child involved, after all. Isn’t it worth a second chance?”

  “They’re not even married yet. What’s she gonna do when he cheats on her then?”

  “Who says he will? She said he’s willing to make it up to her. Maybe a little counseling would get them back on track.”

  He gave a wry laugh. “Counseling.”

  “It can work.”

  “Sure it can.”

  His grin was getting on her nerves. “Maybe he’s learned his lesson, did you ever think about that?”

  “He’s a cheater.”

  “Oh, come on, like you’ve never cheated.”

  The smile fell and the fun fizzled from his face, his eyes going as flat as day-old soda.

  She wished she hadn’t said it, but it was too late to call it back. Still, you couldn’t tell her a skirt-chaser like Dylan was true blue.

  “You wanted my opinion and you got it,” he said quietly. “Sorry if it doesn’t jibe with yours.”

  Her stomach twisted at his calmness. Maybe she shouldn’t have said it, but if the truth hurt, was it her fault?

  Her phone rang and vibrated in her pocket. Cody didn’t so much as stir.

  She checked the screen. John. She didn’t want to take the call, but she was desperate to extricate herself from the awkward moment.

  “Do you mind?” she asked.

  He dipped his head and gestured toward the phone.