Big Sky Romance Collection

by Denise Hunter

  “Oh, honey.”

  “It’s true.”

  Miss Lucy shook her head. Her eyes looked large and sad behind her Coke-bottle glasses. “It’s not true. And when you talk like that, it hurts my feelings. My dear Murray was a cowboy, and he was the most faithful man that ever walked God’s green earth.”

  Annie felt a stab of guilt. She wouldn’t argue with Miss Lucy, but that was one man. So Miss Lucy had found the anomaly. That didn’t mean anything.

  “You witnessed a string of deadbeats parading through your life when you were young, and yes, they were cowboys. I understand how it might make an impression. But it’s a false impression.”

  Annie locked the denial behind tight lips. She respected Miss Lucy, but the woman was wrong. Some stereotypes were stereotypes for a reason.

  “It’s not a matter of cowboys, dear. Your mother, God rest her soul, had awful poor judgment in men. If there was a loser in a fifty-mile radius, she’d have him wrapped around her little finger in five seconds flat.”

  “You can’t tell me most cowboys are faithful. Every last one of those men betrayed my mom.”

  Miss Lucy tilted her head, her face gentling. “Like you did John? Oh, I know it was only a kiss, honey, but it was a small betrayal nonetheless.”

  The woman’s words were like a kick in the solar plexus. Annie took a sip of her coffee, trying to soothe the sting. It didn’t work.

  “I hope you’ll forgive me. I didn’t mention it to make you feel bad, dear. I only want you to see that everybody makes mistakes. But each person has the right to stand on his own merits, not be herded into some category. You wouldn’t want someone to judge you by that one mistake, much less judge a whole segment of the population.”

  Maybe so, but as she’d said . . . it had only been a kiss. And Annie had realized what she’d done, had felt remorse. That wasn’t the same thing. Even her own father had never looked back.

  “I see the reluctance on your face. But, Annie, God loves everyone, even cowboys. And He works in their lives just like He works in yours and mine. Who are we to judge?”

  No one could accuse Miss Lucy of beating around the bush.

  Is that what I’ve been doing, Lord? Judging people? It was a nasty thought, one she wanted to shrug off as quickly as possible.

  The bell rang over the door, and a family entered, their little girl running to the display window and pointing at a prairie doll in a ruffled yellow calico.

  Annie stood, trying to shake off the feelings Miss Lucy had dredged up. She tried for a smile, uncertain whether she was grateful for the talk or not.

  “I’ll let you get to your customer.”

  “Wait here. It won’t take long.”

  “That’s okay, I have some work to do.” Inside and out, it would seem.

  Annie left the store in a daze. She felt like she’d just had her bell rung, and maybe she had. The rebuke, no matter how gently delivered, had stung.

  She got in her car and turned the key. She thought of Dylan and the way she’d perceived him before she’d known him. Yes, her impression of him had changed along the way. She didn’t think her feelings could’ve grown into love otherwise. She’d come to see him as a man who helped his friends. A man who listened, really listened when you talked. Sure, he liked to have fun. Sure, he was a cowboy. But he was unlike any cowboy she’d ever met.

  Her eyes fell on the worn copy of Pride and Prejudice poking from her purse. Was she like Elizabeth Bennet, judging Dylan the way Elizabeth had judged Mr. Darcy—presuming him to be haughty before she even knew him?

  Yes, she was. She was no better than Elizabeth Bennet. One would think she’d read the novel enough times to recognize when prejudice reared its ugly head. Apparently not. She’d judged not only Dylan, but every man in cowboy boots all her life, and had never once considered she might be wrong.

  How’s that for ironic, Lord? I’ve been both prideful and prejudiced. No wonder the novel struck a chord with her. How could Dylan even stand her, much less love her?

  Annie tore her eyes from the faded cover. I’ve been wholly unlovely, God. Forgive me. Help me to see people as they really are and not as I’ve believed them to be. Help me to see myself for who I really am, not for what I believed myself to be.

  Dear Hesitant in Helena,

  Secrets have a way of coming out into the open. Almost always, they’re better told than discovered.

  34

  Dylan pulled out of his driveway and turned toward Bozeman where Luke would board a plane to Texas. He’d miss his little brother. Luke had been a big help around the ranch. The kid could hold his own in the saddle.

  Luke stretched out in the passenger seat. “You’ve been quiet today.”

  His brother was one to talk. “A lot on my mind.” Dylan couldn’t think of anything except Annie lately. All day, moving cattle, all he thought about was Annie. Annie’s smile, Annie’s touch, Annie’s kiss. Annie, Annie, Annie.

  And their supposedly impossible relationship.

  She just didn’t love him, that’s what it was. If she felt the way he did, she wouldn’t let anything stand between them. And that was the thought that had put a hole in his gut all day.

  “Anything you want to talk about?”

  “You been watching too many Lifetime movies.”

  Luke shrugged. “Sometimes it helps.”

  Dylan knew Sierra hadn’t returned. He’d managed to draw that tidbit out of Abigail, who’d heard it from Shay. Annie was probably biting her nails to the quick and wearing holes in her knees. He whispered another prayer for her, for Sierra and the whole mess of their relationship.

  As they approached town, he kept his eyes peeled for an old blue Dodge. It was late on Friday, and with the glut of tourists, he couldn’t scan fast enough.

  “Keep your eyes open for a blue Dodge pickup, would you?”

  Luke looked out his window. “What for?”

  “Friend of mine, her sister’s missing. She took off with some guy.”

  “What friend?”

  He slowed as he went through town. The bank parking lot was empty. Not even John Oakley was working. No blue trucks down Church Street.

  “Annie—the woman who helps me with Braveheart.” Maybe he should call around. Someone might know something.

  “Annie Wilkerson? You mean Sierra’s missing?”

  “You met her?”

  Luke’s brows knotted. “She’s— What happened? Tell me now.”

  Dylan frowned at Luke’s urgency. “What’s going on?”

  “Just tell me what happened! Stop the truck.”

  Dylan gave Luke another look, then pulled into the parallel slot in front of the Mocha Moose.

  “Annie and her sister got into it last night, and Sierra took off with some guy in a blue truck.”

  “A boyfriend?”

  Dylan shook his head, eyeing Luke. Something was going on here. “Don’t really know. Annie tried calling her sister; no answer though. You know something, Luke? If you have information—”

  “No, but we have to find her! Did Annie call the sheriff?”

  “Sierra’s an adult, and she left of her own free will.”

  Luke looked out the window. “With a stranger!”

  “A stranger to Annie. What’s this all about, Luke? I thought I asked you to stay away from Sierra.” Last thing he needed was to give Annie another reason to be cross with him.

  Luke pressed his lips together. “I don’t want to get into it right now. We just need to find her!”

  “All right, all right, settle down.”

  “An old blue truck? You know about everyone in town, don’t you?”

  “Annie thinks it might be someone from MSU.”

  “That’s in Bozeman, right? We should look there.”

  “Luke, we don’t have time for this. You have a flight in two hours.”

  “I don’t care about my flight. I’m not leaving until we find Sierra.”

  Dylan looked at his brother’s set
jaw. His brother who, by all appearances, seemed smitten with the girl. But how was that possible? He’d been in town less than a month. They’d been apart much of the time. He supposed it was possible he’d been seeing Sierra.

  “What are you waiting for?”

  Dylan put the truck in reverse and pulled onto Main Street. “It’ll be a needle in a haystack. Bozeman isn’t exactly Moose Creek.”

  They could drive around the campus, around the housing area. Most of the students in residence were surely on campus by now. How else could he find that truck?

  A service station. His old buddy, the one he got parts from, ran one near the campus. Maybe the guy got it serviced there or filled up there regularly. If he went to MSU, it was likely.

  He pulled out his phone.

  “Who you calling?”

  Dylan held up a finger. “Is Matt in?” he asked when someone answered.

  “One minute.”

  “Calling a buddy of mine over there.“

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Matt, Dylan Taylor here.”

  “Dylan, good to hear from you. What’s up? Finally ran into a mechanical problem you couldn’t fix yourself?”

  “No, I need your help with something else. Friend of mine might be in trouble. She took off with a guy in an old blue Dodge, probably early ’90s. You work on anything like that? We think the owner is an MSU student.”

  “Let me check with my mechanics. Hold on a sec.”

  Dylan pulled onto I-90, heading toward Bozeman. “He’s checking.”

  Luke squirmed in his seat.

  The campus community wasn’t that big. If he was on campus, maybe they could check on Sierra and get Luke to the airport before his plane left.

  Several long minutes later, Matt came back on the line. “You might be in luck. Eddie remembers a truck like that. Guy comes in regular for oil changes. Can’t be sure it’s him though.”

  “Can I get an address?”

  “Only for you, buddy. You didn’t get it here though.”

  “You have my word.”

  It took awhile for Matt to look up the address. Once he found it, he rambled it off, along with directions. Luke took it down on the back of an old receipt.

  “Thanks, man. Owe you one.”

  He glanced at the clock. They weren’t far from Bozeman now.

  “Can’t you go faster?”

  “I’m already topping the speed limit. Relax. I’m sure she’s fine. You wanna tell me what’s going on between you two?”

  Luke looked out the window where the August brown buttes rolled by. “Not really.”

  “Suit yourself. But I’m getting you to your flight on time. I know you don’t have the money to waste.”

  The rest of the ride was tense and quiet. When he reached the campus exit, he took the ramp and followed Luke’s directions to a neighborhood not far from MSU. He pulled down the street, looking for the right address. The streetlights hadn’t come on yet, making the numbers difficult to read in the twilight.

  “There’s the truck!” Luke said, leaning forward.

  It was parked in front of a brown two-story. Dylan pulled up behind it. The house squatted on a corner lot close to the street. A few trees shaded the withered grass, and a set of crumbling porch steps led to the front door.

  Luke’s seat belt was already off, his door open.

  Dylan grabbed his arm. “Let me handle this.”

  Dylan proceeded up the short walk and onto the porch with Luke following. The front door was open, the sound of a TV commercial leaking out. A window air conditioner hummed from an upstairs window.

  A small sign beside the door read Claybourne Portrait Studio. Use side door.

  Dylan knocked on the screen door. He looked at Luke, whose feet danced beneath him. He was asking for trouble. “Settle down and step aside.” He wasn’t sure what had gotten into his easygoing brother.

  A young man appeared on the other side of the screen. He had a slim build, wore a T-shirt and jeans. His short hair was artfully tousled. “Yeah?”

  “Hey,” Dylan said. “We’re friends of Sierra’s. Need to talk to her, if you don’t mind.”

  The guy eyed them. “She know you’re coming?”

  It was the right place. Dylan smiled, did his best to look harmless, especially with Luke strung tight as a wire beside him. “No, but she won’t mind.”

  Without looking away, the man called over his shoulder. “Sierra . . . some friends here to see you.”

  A moment later Sierra came into view. She looked perfectly healthy, her auburn hair swept into a ponytail.

  She tilted her head, no doubt confused, when she spotted Dylan. She smiled anyway, opening the door. “Hey, Dylan, come on in.”

  Dylan moved into the living room.

  When Sierra saw Luke, she stopped short. Her eyes widened, her jaw went slack. “Luke.” She looked between them. “What are you doing here?”

  “Who’s this guy?” Luke nodded his head toward the guy as he stepped through the door. “Did he hurt you?”

  “What do you think, dude?” the man said.

  Luke was on him before Dylan could move, had him pinned to the wall in one second flat. “You better not have laid a hand on her, that’s what I think.”

  “Stop it, Luke,” Sierra said.

  Dylan reached for his brother.

  Ryder flew into the room. “Look, Mommy!” he said, waving a paper.

  Luke’s eyes swung toward the boy, the guy’s shirt still in his fists.

  Sierra’s eyes went wide as silver dollars. She looked at Luke, frozen in place. For reasons Dylan didn’t understand, the air thickened with tension.

  “You have a kid?” Luke said. He loosened his hold on the punk. He moved back, his shoulders drooping.

  Sierra’s mouth opened. Closed.

  Ryder clung to her leg, holding up a drawing. “Look, Mommy.”

  But she didn’t look. Couldn’t seem to look at anyone but Luke.

  “You have a kid with him?” Luke nodded toward the other man, his pain-filled eyes fastened on Sierra’s.

  The guy pushed Luke away belatedly and straightened his shirt. “He’s not mine, dude . . . he’s yours.”

  Dear Muddled,

  The messes we make with our lives are like knots of yarn. With enough time, enough patience, most of them can be untangled.

  35

  Dylan looked between his brother and Sierra as the guy’s words registered. It made no sense. How could Luke be Ryder’s father?

  But Luke had gone still as an August afternoon, and Sierra wasn’t denying the crazy words.

  “What’s going on?” Dylan asked.

  “Sierra?” Luke said. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

  Sierra’s mouth worked. Her arm found Ryder and wrapped protectively around his shoulder.

  The boy seemed to realize something more important than his picture was going on. He lowered the paper, looking at them.

  “Ryder . . . ?” Sierra’s voice quavered. “Can you go draw Mommy another picture?”

  Dylan looked at the boy closely. Looked at the dark curls at his nape. His wide-set green eyes.

  “Come on, buddy,” the other man said. “Let’s go color. I’ll let you have the markers this time.”

  “Yippee!” Ryder followed him into the next room.

  Sierra watched him go. A beat of silence stretched into a long pause. Her face had gone as white as the wall behind her.

  “I—I guess we need to talk,” Sierra said.

  “What’s going on, Sierra?” Luke asked.

  Dylan stepped toward the door. “I’ll just wait in the truck.”

  He left the house in a daze. Was it possible? He didn’t see how. Luke hadn’t visited him since he’d moved to Moose Creek, except the one time, and it had been several years ago. But he’d only been at his place a few days before leaving for the summer mission trip up in Missoula . . .

  He got in the truck and propped his elbow on the windowsill. Was it possib
le he’d met Sierra there? That they’d fallen in love that summer? But why hadn’t she told Luke about the pregnancy? And if Luke cared as much as he seemed to, why hadn’t he married her?

  The screen door creaked as Luke and Sierra left the house. Sierra folded onto a chair, but Luke remained standing.

  Dylan slouched in the seat, trying to make himself inconspicuous. He couldn’t help overhearing bits of their conversation.

  “Is it true?”

  A long pause ensued, and Dylan thought he’d missed the answer.

  “Yes,” she said finally, her voice wobbling on the word.

  Unbelievable. Luke had a son. Dylan was an uncle. He let that thought sink in, wash over him. He felt so much. Affection at the thought of Ryder. A sudden affinity with the little guy he’d taught to rope. No wonder it had come so naturally. It was in the kid’s blood.

  But he was also angry and frustrated. How could Sierra have kept this from Luke?

  Dylan glanced at the clock. The airline ticket was going to go unused. No way would Luke leave now, and Dylan couldn’t blame him.

  When he glanced toward the porch a few minutes later, Sierra’s arms were wrapped around her waist.

  She swiped away tears. “I don’t blame you for hating me,” she was saying. “I’d hate me too.”

  Luke rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t hate you, Sierra, not even close. I’m just frustrated. I have a son, and I lost the first four years of his life.”

  “I know. I’m so sorry.”

  Luke paced to the other side of the porch, tension in the straight line of his back, in the set of his jaw. He returned to her seconds later. “What now? I want to know Ryder. I want to be his father.”

  “You’re leaving . . .”

  He shook his head. “Not now. No way am I leaving him.” He reached for her. “Or you. I want you back, Sierra. You know it’s true. I never felt about any woman the way I feel about you. I’d marry you tomorrow, God as my witness.”

  Tears poured down her face. She held herself rigid. “I can’t, Luke.”

  “Why not? Don’t you remember how it was with us? I haven’t forgotten. Those memories keep me awake at night. Tell me I’m not the only one.”

  “I’m just—I’m so afraid. You make me—” She covered her mouth with her fingers.