Montana Hearts: Her Weekend Wrangler

by Darlene Panzera

  “Cody has school in the morning.”

  “I would have thought you’d like the chance to spend more time over at the Collins’ place,” Mrs. Owens said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

  Ryan cleared his throat and glanced down the hall where his son had disappeared. “Where’s Cody’s cousins?”

  “Their mother picked them up early because she had a date tonight,” Mrs. Owens informed him. “You aren’t thinking of dating that Collins girl, are you, Ryan?”

  Yes. He had been thinking about it. A lot. But that was none of her business.

  “Be sure you give the horses only a small dose of that new supplement you have stacked in your barn,” Ryan cautioned, changing the subject, “or they’ll be too high-­strung.”

  “First I find you snooping around my barn, and now you’re giving me advice?” Merle demanded. “How ’bout I give you some advice? If you want to avoid more trouble, quit helping the Collinses and help us. After all—­we’re family.” His mouth curved into a mocking grin. “And ‘loyalty to family comes first.’ Isn’t that what you told me earlier?”

  Ryan remained silent. The sooner he got Cody out of here, the better.

  “Answer me, Tanner,” Merle persisted, drawing closer, and puffing out his broad chest. “Doesn’t the fact we’re your in-­laws mean anything to you?”

  Owens took another step toward him, and Ryan feared the guy might actually throw a punch. What would Cody think if he came out and saw his dad fighting with his grandpa?

  All of the sudden, Mrs. Owens sneezed three times in a row, and Ryan watched her turn to glare at him. “Are you wearing lavender?”

  Ryan glanced down at his clothes. He and Bree had worked with the horses again earlier that morning. “Bree thought it would help calm the horses.”

  Mrs. Owens sneezed again. “I should have known Bree had something to do with this!”

  “With what?” Ryan asked, not following her line of thought.

  “The lavender.” Mrs. Owens sneezed once more and this time her eyes started to water. “I’m allergic to lavender!”

  “Would you like a tissue?” Ryan asked, picking up the box of Kleenex off the end table beside him.

  “No—­just leave. Merle, please make him leave!”

  Mr. Owens jerked his thumb toward the door. “Tanner, get out of this house before my wife breaks out into hives.”

  “Gladly,” Ryan said, relieved as Cody strolled into the room with his backpack slung over his shoulder. At that moment there was nothing he could have wanted more.

  Except . . . and he grinned at the notion . . . maybe a date with Bree.

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Bree stared at the text on her cell phone and her heart slammed into her chest. She ran toward Luke, who stood gazing at the horses in the corral with Meghan up on his shoulders. “Sammy Jo’s been hurt!” she shouted. “Where’s Delaney?”

  “Gone,” Luke said, his face full of concern as he turned toward her. “What did Sammy Jo’s text say?”

  “Help! Thrown off Tango by Big Rock. Bleeding. Come quick!”

  “I’ll call 911,” Luke said, taking his phone from his pocket. “You tack up one of the horses and go after her.”

  “But—­” If Sammy Jo texted her, didn’t that mean she could text 911 herself?

  “Bree, this is an emergency! You know I’d go if I could.” His eyes widened. “Who knows how bad she’s been hurt?”

  He was right, of course. “I’ll call you with her exact location as soon as I find her.”

  Bree sent a quick text in reply. Be there soon.

  Then she ran into the horse barn, imagining the worst. What if her friend had hit her head on the rock and ended up with a concussion like her father? Or what if she became crippled like Luke?

  Grabbing Equinox’s bridle off the hook in front of what used to be Serenity’s stall, she slid open the half door, and approached the gelding. “Easy, boy. We can get through this. Sammy Jo needs us to get through this.”

  The red roan let out a whinny when Bree slid the bridle over his nose and secured the side buckle. Then a light entered the brown eyes she had once thought so lifeless and dull. It seemed Equinox was delighted by the prospect of being taken out and ridden.

  “There’s no time to give you a proper brushing,” Bree said, swiping her hand over the horse’s back. She continued to talk as she threw on the saddle to let him get used to her voice. Then she led Equinox outside and counted off, “One . . . two . . . three.”

  With a springing leap, she was on the horse’s back. Then, taking up the reins, she squeezed her legs against Equinox’s sides and clucked her tongue to move him forward, first into an easy lope, then into a full-­on gallop.

  Each time the horse’s hooves pounded their rhythmic beat beneath her, Bree counted the seconds, knowing time was of the essence. What if Sammy Jo passed out? What if she . . . died? Bree wondered if the emergency crew had left and, if they had, how much of a lead she had on them. Could she administer emergency care until they arrived?

  She and Equinox raced along the river past Luke’s camp, across the open field, and around a steep rise to the outcropping of rocks where the river forked. Slowing the red roan to a walk, she rounded the large boulder they aptly called Big Rock, and nearly fell out of the saddle when she saw Sammy Jo’s condition.

  There on the opposite bank of the river, Sammy Jo and Delaney sat on a blanket, each wearing sunglasses and sipping lemonade from clear plastic cups as they dangled their bare feet in the sparkling blue water.

  “What’s this?” Bree demanded, sliding off her horse, her legs numb and threatening to buckle. “You said you were bleeding.”

  “I was,” Sammy Jo said, holding out her finger. “I had a hangnail and it hurt real bad when Delaney tore it off. Makes me wonder if Nora and Nadine were right. Maybe we should all get trendy nails from Trendy Teen magazine so this won’t ever happen again.”

  Both Sammy Jo and Delaney laughed, but Bree was far too fired up to think their fake emergency call was funny.

  “Luke’s calling 911,” Bree shouted, her breathing still heavy. “They should be here any minute.”

  “Luke didn’t make the call,” Delaney assured her. “In fact, this was his idea.”

  “What?” Bree gasped, and recalled her brother’s words from the day before. “You need to get back up in the saddle.” She growled her fury through clenched teeth, then looked back in the direction she’d come and shouted at the top of her lungs, “Luke!”

  “I know it was an awful trick and you must think we’re the meanest ­people on the planet, but it was the only way we could think of to get you to ride,” Sammy Jo said, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her curly head. “You would have done the same for me if our positions were reversed.”

  Bree started to protest but Sammy Jo stood up and pointed a finger at her. “You would, too, Brianna Collins, don’t you dare deny it. Now it’s time for you to ‘cowgirl-­up.’ Take the reins, get back into the saddle . . . and get on with your life!”

  “Be the confident, free-­spirited cowgirl you were meant to be,” Delaney agreed.

  Bree frowned, her heart aching. “Del, you were in on this, too?”

  “You’ve always been happiest when in the saddle.”

  “So how was it?” Sammy Jo asked, giving her an eager look. “What was it like to ride again after all this time? Didn’t you love it?”

  “I was too worried about you to even think,” Bree said, her heart still hammering in her ears. “And you’re right. You are mean. Meaner than I could have ever imagined.”

  Holding the reins, she hopped back up onto Equinox’s back and swung her leg over to the other side.

  “Wait!” Sammy Jo called, waving her arms for her to stop. “You just got here. Where are you going?”

  Bree turned the gelding arou
nd and gave her sister and friend a final chastising look over her shoulder.

  “I’m going home.”

  “Love ya like a sister!” Sammy Jo called after her, and all of the sudden Bree knew what LYLAS meant. Except, at the moment, she didn’t feel the same way.

  EQUINOX RESPONDED TO her leg cues and turned when he was supposed to, slowed when he was supposed to, and even snorted in supportive disgust whenever she went into a rant. All in all, the red roan appeared to be a good horse: well trained, eager to please, and compassionate to boot.

  Unlike her sister and best friend. And brother. How dare they pull a stunt like this! What gave them the right to think they knew what was best for her?

  She and Equinox raced back over the fields, and before long the tension seeped out of her body. She had to admit her father had been right about one thing. The horse was fast. As they raced back along the river toward Luke’s camp, the wind blew back her hair and beat upon her face, making her eyes tear.

  Luke had also been right. She did love to ride. She’d forgotten how freeing it was to soar over the fields like she was a mighty bird . . . like she had wings . . . like she could lift off and nothing in the whole world could stop her. Not worry, disappointment, self-­doubt, or pain.

  Memories of Serenity flew into her head, but instead of locking her into a prison of sadness, she felt a weight lift off her shoulders, a release. Equinox picked up even more speed as they crossed the open field as if he, too, had been set free from a cage; as if he, too, were learning to run again.

  Sammy Jo’s words floated through her mind. “It’s time for you to cowgirl-­up.” She leaned down over Equinox’s neck to give him an encouraging pat and she knew her friend was right. Her “sister” had been right. Both of them. She’d been a sniveling coward. And she never would have tolerated Sammy Jo or Delaney acting the way she had. They weren’t mean. They were honest. Over the years the three of them had made a pact to always tell each other the truth. And she couldn’t fault them now for showing her a little tough love and doing what they thought was right.

  Her thoughts drifted back to that night long ago when her father had also done what he thought was right by putting Serenity down. What if she had been there? She might have tried a few different methods to save her horse and the young foal stuck inside, but there was no guarantee the outcome would have been any different.

  If she were truly going to “cowgirl-­up,” she needed to forgive her father. And Ryan.

  The soft tread of additional hoof beats turned her head toward the connecting trail where Ryan Tanner joined her.

  “You must have ESP,” Bree accused as she slowed to ride beside him. “Because I was just thinking of you.”

  “Must be my lucky day,” he said, then gave her a hesitant look. “Or not. Depends on what you were thinking.”

  “I was thinking about the night you helped my father by trying to keep me at prom.”

  “I was trying to help you,” Ryan shot back. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

  “Neither did my father, did he?”

  “We knew how much you loved that horse.”

  “The same way you knew how much I love riding? Is that why you’re here?” she asked. “It wasn’t ESP, was it? You knew I would ride this way because you were in on the whole scheme with Sammy Jo, Luke, and Delaney.”

  Ryan studied her and smiled. “I expected you to be angrier.”

  “I was,” she assured him.

  “And now?”

  She looked at him and smiled. “Not so much.”

  “We’re all on your side, Bree, just trying to do what we think is best. We might not always be right, but we’re trying. Because we care about you.”

  “Even you?” she teased, trying to keep the mood light.

  “Even me,” he admitted, and heat rose into her cheeks as he looked at her. “I also care for my son. Which is why I have to talk to you about Cody.”

  She frowned. “Cody?”

  “He’s becoming attached to you.”

  “Oh?” Bree glanced away, and adjusted her seat in the saddle.

  “I guess he made that clear when he gave you the Mother’s Day card for your birthday,” Ryan continued, “and I’m worried he might get his feelings hurt if you . . . go away again.”

  “When I asked him to help me train the horses I was just trying to be nice,” Bree said defensively. “I didn’t mean to make him—­”

  “Fall in love with you?” Ryan prompted.

  Bree sucked in her breath and remained silent.

  “Cody has never latched on to any female since his mother left the way he has with you. I’ve never seen him light up the way he does when you’re around, not with his teachers or either one of his grandmothers. Only you.”

  “I’m sorry, but you’re right,” Bree admitted. “I can’t promise I’ll never leave town again. I do not have ESP and I can’t predict the future.”

  “I just want you to understand that if you get too close, and then leave . . . there are ­people who care about you who will be hurt.”

  “What do you want me to do, stay away?” She searched his face, the old inadequate feelings from high school flooding back at the thought he might not want her around.

  “No,” he said, and held her gaze. “Just stay.”

  “Stay . . .” Bree pursed her lips. “For Cody.”

  “And for me,” Ryan added, a grin touching his lips.

  She smiled back at him. “I thought I wasn’t worth your time.”

  “Why would you ever think that?”

  She shook her head. “Our senior year of high school, I overheard you tell someone you wouldn’t ask me to prom because you didn’t think I was worth your time.”

  “I didn’t think you’d say yes.” He gave her a rueful grin. “But then I changed my mind.”

  “You did?”

  During the rest of their ride to the guest ranch Ryan told how if it weren’t for a bee stinging his painted horse he would have asked her to the dance, not Gail.

  “If I had asked you to prom,” Ryan said, riding close and leaning his head toward her, “what would you have said?”

  Ryan’s brown eyes were so soft as he looked at her, his expression so tender, her heart skipped a beat and her knees melted into her boots. “Yes,” she said, her voice soft. “I would have said . . . yes.”

  Ryan grinned. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  She nodded. “Tomorrow.”

  Then he tipped the brim of his hat toward her in farewell and, with a mischievous twitch of his lips, rode off toward his own ranch, the Triple T. Bree smiled as she dismounted in front of the stable. Smiled as she unbuckled Equinox’s saddle strap. Smiled as she took off the reins.

  Ryan Tanner liked her. He really liked her. And she really liked him, too.

  “Not fair!” a high-­pitched female voice complained.

  Bree snapped out of her Ryan reverie and looked at the three CEOs walking toward her. “What’s not fair?”

  Chelsea put her hands on her hips. “We came to this ranch expecting to meet lots of cute cowboys, but you took the only one worth looking at away for the afternoon.”

  Bree glanced toward the cowboy disappearing over the hillside. “You mean Ryan?”

  Katelyn rolled her eyes. “Of course we mean Ryan. Who else?”

  “There’s my brother, Luke,” Bree said, trying to ease their disappointment.

  “He doesn’t want anything to do with us,” said Rebecca.

  “The owner of the guest ranch next door said he had plenty of good-­looking cowboys,” Chelsea said, glancing across the neighboring fields. “Maybe we should check out his place.”

  “No!” Bree gasped. “You can’t.”

  “Why not?” Katelyn demanded.

  “Because . . .” Bree scanned their fac
es and grasped the first idea that came to mind. “Because then you would miss the dance.”

  “What dance?” the three asked in unison.

  She couldn’t afford to lose the corporate contract by making the women unhappy. “The dance we’re having Saturday night in the barn. Everyone we know will be there.”

  “Cute cowboys?” Rebecca asked hopefully.

  “Lots of them,” Bree promised, and the three CEOs’ faces lit up with delight.

  “We can wear the new cowgirl dresses we bought when we went shopping,” Chelsea said with excitement.

  “And the jewelry Bree made for us,” Katelyn added.

  Rebecca let out a loud whoop as she took the hat on her head and tossed it into the air. “Imagine us—­dancing with a gorgeous bunch of real western cowboys!”

  Bree smiled. She, too, had high hopes for the dance. Except she imagined what it might be like to finally dance with Ryan.

  Chapter Eight

  RYAN SAT DOWN at the table for a steak and egg breakfast with Cody, his brothers, Mom, and Dad. Most mornings they didn’t have time for breakfast together, but this morning Dad said he had important news to share.

  “Aunt Mary’s field was salted last night,” Dad said, his face grim.

  Ryan froze with a forkful of steak halfway to his mouth. “The field she agreed to lease to us?”

  His father nodded. “Yes. And since that field was the only one salted, you can bet whoever did it is the same person who salted ours.”

  Ryan dropped the fork on his plate with a clatter, his mind on his last visit to the Owenses’. “The last time I visited that barn I told you about,” Ryan said, glancing at Cody and choosing his words carefully, “the bags of rock salt were missing. He had a new supply of horse supplements sitting there instead.”

  “I checked with the local supply company and no one has bought any rock salt since early winter,” Zach told him. “But the road crew who deices our roads said about a month ago they had several bags of rock salt stolen off the backs of their trucks.”