Montana Hearts: Her Weekend Wrangler

by Darlene Panzera

  This time her expression faltered. “Are you sure he wasn’t trying to protect Cody? Stop him from seeing you with the three wannabe cowgirls?”

  Ryan shook his head. “No! It wasn’t like that. Cody is the one who brought Chelsea, Katelyn, and Rebecca into the stable to see the filly.”

  Bree jerked her thumb back toward the interior of the house. “You hear that? The phone is ringing. Again. At first I thought we were in trouble because we had ten cancellations from different families who had read the paper and decided this wasn’t the type of environment they wanted their loved ones exposed to.” She raised her chin. “Then I started getting calls from women. Dozens of them. Single women who all want to come to our ranch, hoping to get their own hands on our charming, kick-­up-­your-­heels handsome weekend wrangler, Ryan Tanner.”

  For a moment he was rendered speechless. Then he cleared his throat and said, “Bree, the only one I care about—­”

  “Please, don’t . . . say it,” she said, cutting him off. Her voice wavered and a tear slipped down her cheek.

  “I can fix this,” Ryan promised.

  She gave him a sad look and shook her head. “You can’t.”

  “Trust me.”

  She didn’t answer, but he could see the skepticism on her face.

  “Believe me, I never wanted you to get hurt,” Ryan said, drawing close. “I’m sorry about the photo, sorry about the phone calls, sorry I didn’t ask you out sooner, or tell you that I—­”

  He bent his head and kissed her, hoping she’d understand, hoping they’d find a way to get past all of this.

  She placed her hands on his chest and pushed him away. Another tear fell down her cheek, and for a moment all she did was continue to shake her head.

  Then she looked him straight in the eye and said, “Tanner, please—­just . . . don’t.”

  BREE HUNG UP the phone—­yet again—­and realized she faced the same dilemma as she did when she first arrived. An overabundance of booked guests and no one to take care of them.

  The rumble of a truck brought her to the office door and her heart took a leap when she saw the Triple T emblem marked on the side. Had Ryan returned?

  No. The truck wasn’t his but belonged to his younger brother Josh. What would Josh be doing here? He didn’t get out of the truck, but the passengers he’d driven did.

  The three CEOs of Iridescent Beauty cosmetics.

  Bree sucked in her breath. How dare they come back here! Did they really think she’d welcome them with open arms? Contract or no contract, she was done with them.

  But even with all the recent phone calls, she still had the whole month of August open.

  She opened the door and let them in. And smiled. “I hope you are here to sign the contract and leave a deposit to book the corporate retreat?”

  “That’s why we’re here,” Chelsea said, her expression apologetic. “There is no corporate contract.”

  “We’re not even CEOs,” admitted Katelyn.

  Rebecca nodded. “We came out for a free vacation, but when Mr. Owens threatened us, we realized how awful we’ve been.”

  Chelsea handed Bree a check. “We’re heading to the airport, but before we go, we wanted to pay you for our three-­week stay—­with interest for all the misery we’ve caused.”

  “There’s . . . no contract?” Bree stared at the check in her hand. The money they offered didn’t come close to covering what her family would have made if they’d booked the corporate retreat.

  She swallowed hard. She should have known. These women didn’t look, act, or talk like any corporate executives she’d ever met. But her grandma often cited, “There’s an exception to every rule,” and so she’d tossed out her initial gut instinct and believed they could be the answer to her family’s problems.

  “We’re so sorry,” Rebecca added as they headed back out the door. “For everything.”

  Bree was sorry, too. It seemed like Mr. Owens and the realtor had won after all.

  Her parents agreed.

  “Well, isn’t this another pleasant can of worms,” her father grumbled.

  “We’ll never pay off all the hospital bills, never get back on our feet, especially when the new guests find out Ryan’s not here and leave,” her mother said, her voice rising higher and higher as she spoke.

  Meghan, who sat at the breakfast table with them, opened and closed her hand. “Squeak!”

  Except this time it wasn’t as funny. Bree thought her mother had a valid reason to carry on the way she did. The temporary bookings were exactly that—­temporary. Maybe her mother was right when she said, “We could still sell.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Grandma told them. “Sometimes crops flourish, sometimes fail, but year after year we continue to plant seeds. Because from seeds spring hope of a better day. Until then we need to persevere, continue on, fight!”

  Bree admired her grandma’s never-­ending stream of garden wisdom, but didn’t know if she had any “fight” left in her. After all, what was the point?

  The only thing they’d preserved by holding on to the ranch was their “fight” against each other. Her parents still had no faith in her managerial abilities, and her siblings implied that when it came to Ryan, she’d misplaced her trust.

  Later that night, Delaney finally opened up about her divorce while sitting around the campfire, and told her, Sammy Jo, and Luke that Steve had left because he couldn’t handle being tied down to a wife and kid. He’d said he needed to be free.

  “Seems like that’s what most men want these days,” Sammy Jo said, shoving her marshmallow stick into the flames.

  “Not all of them,” Luke countered, and Bree watched her brother’s gaze slide toward Sammy Jo in a way she’d never expected to see.

  Maybe not all was lost.

  “Did you get the loan from the bank?” Bree asked, trying her best to remain hopeful.

  But Luke shook his head. “We were denied because the ranch manager’s embezzlement screwed up our finances and credit score.”

  “Another letdown,” Bree said, then looked up when the twins came over to join them.

  “Do you know what I think is a letdown?” Nora cried. “Working every day, morning, noon, and night to save money for these—­”

  “Trendy Teen magazine acrylic nails,” Nadine cut in, “and then have them all break off—­ ”

  “Overnight!” the twins finished together, each holding up both their hands.

  “I’m ready to quit!” Nora shouted.

  “Me, too!” Nadine agreed, and together they stomped off and the darkness swallowed them whole.

  Bree sighed. Although it was late, she took out her cell phone and dialed her ex in New York at his home number. “Hi, Skip.”

  His voice came through the other end of the line. “Bree, is that you?”

  “Yeah.” She hesitated, glanced at the others, then asked, “Is that head director position still available?”

  RYAN SPRANG OUT of bed, sure he’d heard Cody scream. He bolted toward the door, feeling his way until his eyes adjusted to the dark, and made it to Cody’s bedroom. Opening the door, he peered in, and there was his son, sitting up in bed.

  Ryan went over and sat down beside him. “Nightmare?”

  Cody nodded. “Grandpa Owens tried to hit you again, but I wouldn’t let him.”

  “I won’t let him either,” Ryan assured him.

  “Why did he do that?”

  “He was angry.”

  “Like I was when I hit Mitch Wyllie at school?”

  Ryan nodded. “You remember what I said about fighting?”

  “ ‘Never throw the first punch,’ ” Cody quoted.

  “It would be best not to hit anyone at all,” Ryan corrected. “Fighting just leads to trouble.”

  “I don’t want any mor
e trouble!” Cody sniffed and wiped his eyes with the edge of his bedcovers. “I want Bree! Can you call her, Dad? Ask her to come over?”

  Ryan shook his head. “It’s the middle of the night.”

  “She won’t care,” Cody insisted. “She said she’ll always be here for me.”

  No, she won’t. A ­couple hours earlier, just before midnight, he’d received a text message from Sammy Jo with the news. But should he wait to reveal this information to his son . . . or tell him now? Ryan sighed. Unlike the mare and filly, there would be no time for gradual separation.

  “Cody,” he said softly, “I think Bree is leaving Fox Creek and going back to New York.”

  “No!” Cody shouted.

  “Shhh!” Ryan glanced at the door, hoping he hadn’t already woken everyone else up. “Please keep your voice down.”

  “Bree won’t go,” Cody said in a shrill whisper. “She promised she’d stay. Make her stay, Dad.”

  The back of his throat tightened. “How?”

  “You have to do something!”

  Ryan gripped the edge of the bed, his heart aching not only for his son but for himself. This was exactly what he’d been afraid would happen. He knew Bree would never be satisfied living in Fox Creek. There wasn’t enough in their small town to hold her here. Her ranch wasn’t enough. Family wasn’t enough. And certainly he . . . wasn’t enough. Although for a few moments, he’d hoped with all his heart and all his soul that she’d think he was.

  “Please, Dad, please!” Cody whimpered, his tears flowing uncontrollably now. “I want Bree! I just want Bree! Please bring her back to me?”

  Placing an arm around his young son’s shoulders, Ryan felt his own eyes sting. He didn’t want Bree to leave either. He wanted her here even more than Cody did.

  “I’ll go talk to her tomorrow,” he promised. “I’ll go to her ranch and try to talk to her . . . one last time.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  UNABLE TO SLEEP, Bree arose early and took a few of the new guests on a trail ride. The forecast had predicted a beautiful week of blue sky and sun, but instead an endless stretch of gray clouds loomed overhead, a few darker ones hanging lower than the others.

  She’d borrowed Delaney’s horse, a buckskin gelding with an even temperament as smooth as his gait, and as she rode, she thought of Angel and Morning Glory, and how the pair had wormed their way into her heart. Much like another pair she’d grown attached to at the Triple T ranch.

  How would she ever live without them?

  “Bree!” her mother called when she arrived back at the stable. “Have you seen your father?”

  She shook her head. Nope, she hadn’t seen him since their family spat the day before.

  “He’s not by any of the cabins,” Delaney announced, running toward them.

  “And Grandma and I have checked the entire house,” Ma said, her voice rising. “Del, what about the stable? The hay barn? The garden shed?”

  “I can’t find him anywhere,” Delaney exclaimed, her face as panicked as Ma’s.

  Bree looked around in every direction. “He couldn’t have gone far with crutches and a cast on his leg.”

  “I called the sheriff,” Grandma shouted out the kitchen window. “Today is his day off, and although it’s too early to file a missing person’s report, he said he’d be glad to come over and help in the search.”

  “Bree, have you seen Luke?” Delaney asked.

  She hesitated. “Don’t tell me he’s missing, too.”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Del said. “I mean, I hope not. He’s probably still at his camp by the river, but someone should go get him and tell him what’s going on.”

  Bree turned the buckskin around. “I’ll go. Maybe Dad’s with him.”

  “Dad can’t walk that far,” Del reminded her.

  Bree nodded. “But he’s stubborn enough to try.”

  Keeping a firm hand on the reins, she gave the horse a quick squeeze with her knees. Then she increased their pace from an easy jog to a lope to a full gallop as they passed the cabins and flew out into the field.

  Once again she almost wished her brother hadn’t discovered he could drive the small ranch Gator back and forth, and that she’d been able to convince him to move back into the house with the rest of the family. But Luke liked having his own place. Always had. Even as children he’d spent more time in his makeshift tree fort than in his own bedroom.

  She spotted the tip of a tall, wooden post sticking up in the air, from which hung a red, white, and blue United States flag waving in the wind. Then a few seconds later, she crested a small rise and Luke’s triangular, olive drab, military surplus tent came into view, but no sign of him or her father.

  “Luke?” She dismounted and tied the horse’s reins to a fence post along the property border. “Luke, where are you?”

  A campfire still blazed in the rock ring so he couldn’t be far. She bent down, lifted the flap to his tent, and looked inside. His sleeping bag was empty.

  She glanced back at the fire. The tip of a long, metal fire iron glowed bright orange as it rested against the hot coals. The other end stuck out of the fire and leaned against a small stack of wood. Beside it sat his work gloves and an untouched cup of coffee. “Luke?”

  Her gaze swept the landscape and she supposed he could be behind one of the small hills where she couldn’t see him, or down by the river, or behind the nearby outcropping of rocks. Pulling out her cell phone, she punched in a ­couple numbers, then remembered his camp was in the dead zone, with no cell phone ser­vice.

  How would she reach him? She glanced around again and frowned. And where was the Gator?

  All of the sudden she heard a rumbling motor and knew he was on his way. Sure enough, a green Gator came into view along the fenced property line that separated their land from the Owenses’. What had Luke been doing over there?

  As the Gator drew closer, she realized it wasn’t Luke in the open seat, but Mrs. Owens driving her own Gator. Bree didn’t like her much, but it was obvious from the taut look on her face that the woman was on an urgent mission.

  Had the Owenses found her father?

  RYAN WAS ON his way to see Bree and make good on his promise to Cody when his cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, then hesitated. Should he answer? What would Bree’s father want with him? Especially after the way the guy had spoken to him the last time they were together. Ryan decided to find out.

  “Where are you?” Jed Collins demanded.

  Ryan’s jaw tightened. “About a minute from your house. Why?”

  “I’m at the Owenses’,” Jed told him, his voice filled with alarm. “Come quick!”

  Ryan stepped on the gas, pulled into the Owenses’ driveway, and swerved to a stop. “Come quick!” from a man like him meant something was terribly wrong.

  Not seeing anything out of the ordinary outside, he tore out of the truck and ran through the open door at the front of the house. “Mr. Collins?”

  “Here!”

  Ryan turned down the hallway toward the living room and found Bree’s dad standing by the fireplace, leaning on his crutches. Beside him, Mr. Owens sat duct taped to a chair.

  The gray tape circled Merle’s arms, chest, legs, and feet, wrapping him up as tight as a mummy with the exception of his uncovered head. It only took a second to surmise that Bree’s father wasn’t the one responsible. In his present condition, Jed wasn’t strong enough to overpower a physically fit boxer like Merle.

  “Who did this?” Ryan asked, glancing between them.

  “My wife.” Merle slurred the words and his face looked groggy.

  Ryan frowned. “What’s the matter with you? Are you drunk?”

  “No.” Bree’s father shook his head and pointed toward the plastic pill container and half-­empty glass on the table beside them. “He’s been drugged. I th
ink his wife slipped some of her own medication into his orange juice.”

  “Why are you here?” Ryan demanded.

  Bree’s father let out a derisive grunt and tossed a nod toward Merle. “I was gonna yell at him for destroying my family with that newspaper photo. All three of my kids are now thinking to leave! But then I found him tied up and asleep with his head hangin’. Then I called you.”

  Ryan gave another sharp look around. “Where’s Mrs. Owens?”

  “She’s crazy,” Merle said, again slurring his words. “It’s all in the journal.”

  “What journal?” Bree’s dad shot back.

  Ryan’s gaze shifted toward the leather bound volume sitting on the windowsill. “Gail’s journal.”

  He picked it up, flipped through the pages, and realized Olivia had continued to write entries after Gail’s handwriting had ended.

  “She hired the realtor,” Merle continued. “She did this—­” he said, glancing down at himself. “And now she’s going after Bree.”

  The book fell from Ryan’s hands as he jolted forward. “Bree? Why?”

  Jed shook Merle’s shoulder. “Speak!”

  Merle’s eyes widened and he gasped. “Because . . . she’s the one . . . who’s now in charge of the ranch.”

  BREE WATCHED MRS. Owens climb out of the Gator, squeeze through the split rail fence lining the property, and march toward her.

  “Ryan won’t let us see Cody anymore!” Mrs. Owens shouted.

  So this was not about her missing father after all. Bree took in the frantic expression on her neighbor’s face. “Did he say why?”

  “Because my ox of a husband punched Ryan right in front of the boy. I never told Merle to do that. It was never part the plan.”

  “Plan?” Bree narrowed her eyes as the woman drew closer. “What plan?”

  “The plan to get what we deserve,” Mrs. Owens spat, her tone bitter. “We work just as hard as you do, advertise just as much, and do we get our ranch booked every weekend? No, we do not. The backlash from that photo should have been enough to drive you into bankruptcy. Your expenses outweigh your income so much you can’t possibly stay in business without a large client to bail you out. But now Merle has gone and ruined everything!”