Montana Hearts: Her Weekend Wrangler

by Darlene Panzera

  Bree gasped. “How do you know about our finances?”

  Her mind raced with images of the phone bill, Mrs. Owens admitting Susan and Wade Randall had called her while she was away, and the fact they’d been friends.

  “The only way you would know that is if Susan and Wade told you.” Bree took a step back. “You thought if you wiped us out, we’d have to sell.”

  “Sue and Wade expected your father to sell the ranch to them after his accident,” Mrs. Owens said, advancing on her. “They’re the ones who ran the place and took care of it all.”

  Bree held her ground. “They even put the extra supplement in his horse’s stall, didn’t they?”

  Mrs. Owens leaned her face toward hers and smirked. “Of course they did! But we never expected you three kids to come home.”

  Bree noted the woman used the term “we.” “You and your husband were working with them? All of you together?”

  “Merle didn’t know a thing.” Mrs. Owens scowled. “All he knows how to do is use his hands, not his head.”

  “And the realtor?” Bree asked. “Did Susan and Wade hire him, too?”

  “No,” Mrs. Owens said, grabbing her arm. “I did. First I hired him to salt the Tanners’ fields to keep Ryan away from you. When that didn’t work, I hired him to put the supplement in your horses’ feed to throw you off, hoping you’d leave. Then I hired him to scare away your precious CEOs with the skunk, and when he got caught? That’s when I had to take matters into my own hands and told Merle to use the camera.”

  Bree yanked her arm away from Mrs. Owens grasp. “No wonder you have no money. You spent it all on the realtor.”

  “Would have been worth every penny if he’d succeeded.”

  “You’re wrong,” Bree argued, glancing around for a way to escape. Her gaze fell on her horse, except the buckskin gelding was several yards behind Mrs. Owens. So was the Gator.

  “The only thing I was wrong about was trusting my husband to do what I should have done myself,” Mrs. Owens said, lunging toward her. “No, it’s up to me to get rid of you and the rest of your family so every guest who wants to book a cabin in Fox Creek comes to us.”

  The woman was insane! Bree’s blood rushed into her ears as she turned tail and ran back toward Luke’s camp. There had to be something there she could use to defend herself.

  Mrs. Owens followed on her heels, pushed her from behind, and she fell to the ground. Scrambling up onto her knees, Bree grabbed the cup of coffee and threw it into Mrs. Owens’s face. The move only gained her a few seconds but allowed her to get back up on her feet.

  “If only Gail could see me now,” Mrs. Owens said, picking up the fire iron with one of Luke’s work gloves. “I assure you, she’d be proud of her mama for finally standing up for herself.”

  “You need medical help,” Bree said, using the same tone as she did when gentling horses. “Put the iron down and I’ll try to help you.”

  “I don’t want your help!” Mrs. Owens shrieked. The gray-­haired woman took the red-­hot end of the fire iron out of the fire and swung it at her. “I’m going to hurt you, like you’ve hurt my homestead.”

  Bree jumped back, and when Mrs. Owens came at her swinging the hot iron from left to right, she managed to dodge each intended blow. But how long could she keep this up? The madwoman seemed to be powered by superhuman energy.

  Clearly Mrs. Owens was so enraged she didn’t care about others, herself, or what she said. The woman wanted her to know what she had done and why. And that made her very, very dangerous.

  Gasping for air, Bree pressed her hand to her throat and her fingers latched on to the cord around her neck with the whistle Luke had given her. Of course! She put her mouth to the metal and blew as hard as she could. But the land out here was so vast it didn’t even echo. She hoped wherever her brother was, he’d been close enough to hear.

  Then, her heart hammering, she grabbed hold of the flag pole beside her and with a swift yank pulled it from the ground.

  Mrs. Owens advanced again, but this time Bree swung the pole around to protect herself and waved the flag in Mrs. Owens’s face.

  If only Ryan was here to help her. But he wasn’t. Because she hadn’t believed him when he told her the truth. Hadn’t trusted him.

  Bree’s eyes stung and she knew in that moment what her heart had known all along. She loved him. And Cody. Nothing mattered to her more than being with them and letting them know how much she cared.

  But first . . . she had to . . . get away from this woman!

  With a guttural growl matching her grandma’s, Bree tightened her grip on the wooden shaft in her hands, gathered her strength, and swung . . . knocking the crazed, vengeful Mrs. Owens off her witch-­like, black-­booted feet.

  RYAN’S TRUCK BUMPED up and down and jolted from side to side as he stepped on the accelerator and raced across the Collins property with Mr. Collins and Mr. Owens in the seat beside him.

  After they’d cut Merle free from the duct tape, they’d arrived at Bree’s house and learned from her mother, grandma, and sister that she wasn’t there. And while the family was relieved Mr. Collins was safe, their concern doubled when they learned Bree was not.

  Ryan tried to convince Jed and Merle to wait for the sheriff and let him go after Bree alone, but neither of the men would allow it. They’d jumped into his truck again before he could say another word.

  “There she is!” Jed said as the truck suffered another jolt.

  “With my wife!” Merle added.

  Ryan’s jaw locked down hard. The elder woman and Bree appeared to be circling each other with sticks. Except the end of Bree’s stick held a soft cloth and the end of the stick Mrs. Owens held . . . a red-­hot branding iron.

  He drove the truck straight up to Luke’s tent, and just as he stomped on the brake, he saw Luke and Sammy Jo in the Collinses’ Gator, driving toward camp from the opposite direction. They had their own poles, rods they must have been using to catch fish in the river.

  Ryan didn’t wait for the other men to get out of the truck, but leaped out of the driver’s seat and rushed toward the elder lady attacking his gal by the campfire.

  He reached out his arms to grab Mrs. Owens from behind, but she spun her weapon around at the last second, and Bree screamed, “Ryan, look out!”

  Jumping backward, he just barely missed being singed.

  “Olivia, put the iron down!” Merle called.

  “Stay out of this, Merle,” his wife ordered. “It’s up to me to take care of these ­people once and for all!”

  “You don’t know what you’re doing,” Jed shouted.

  “Oh, yes, I do!” Mrs. Owens said, swinging at Ryan again and then taking another jab at Bree.

  While Luke and Sammy Jo pulled a ­couple ropes out of the tent, Mr. Collins hopped on his good foot, and swung his crutches at the crazy old crow, trying to knock the iron from her hand. But Mrs. Owens used her tool to hook and swing the walking implements away from him. And thrown off balance, Jed fell into the grass at her feet.

  “Leave him alone!” Bree shouted, running in a semicircle around them, just out of the woman’s reach.

  Ryan ran around the campfire the other way, hoping to sandwich the woman between them, except she swung the fire iron at him once again, forcing him to retreat. Then, with a devious look at Bree, Mrs. Owens aimed the hot iron straight at Mr. Collins’s chest.

  “No!” Bree dove toward her dad.

  And Ryan, who had circled around again, dove toward Bree.

  The hot iron was inches away from his jaw when all of the sudden Mrs. Owens sneezed. Then she sneezed again. She stumbled backward, as if in shock, and her eyes watered.

  “Is someone wearing lavender?” she demanded.

  Behind her, Luke threw the first rope. Sammy Jo, the second. And together they lassoed Mrs. Owens like the angry bull s
he was.

  Ryan pulled Bree into his arms and a second later the sheriff arrived to handcuff Mrs. Owens and take her away. Her husband went with them.

  “We make a great team,” Sammy Jo said, smiling. “Don’t you think?”

  Luke acknowledged her with a nod, grinned, then asked, “Who is wearing lavender?”

  Mr. Collins coughed. Then he gave everyone a sheepish look and said, “I am. There wasn’t any other soap in the house.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  BREE WORKED IN the ranch office the following morning making important phone calls, sorting through emails, and checking various guests in and out. Although they were still in the red with their finances, at least their spreadsheets and ledgers were now in order. She glanced at the calendar and sighed. If only she could fill the gaping hole the lost contract left in their schedule.

  Who would have known the elusive corporate contract would have caused so much trouble? After the sheriff arrested Mrs. Owens the day before, Bree and her family had spent the rest of the afternoon and evening giving statements to the sheriff’s deputies and assuring the guests that everything was all right.

  Ryan stayed with her, never leaving her side through it all. She didn’t protest when he wrapped his arm around her, but she didn’t get a chance to tell him how sorry she was for not trusting him either. Because right when she was about to say something, Ryan got a call from Cody and had to leave. News traveled fast in the small town, and his son had heard from a friend that his grandma Owens had been arrested and he wanted to know why. Bree wished she could have gone with Ryan to talk to him, but her father had reminded her that her own family still needed help with the chores.

  As Boots bounded into the office, she glanced at the clock. Ryan had promised he’d bring Cody over to see her later today and, for her, the time couldn’t pass quick enough. She longed to wrap each of them in her arms and tell them how she really felt about them, but for now she’d have to settle for cuddling her puppy.

  Then the phone rang, and after she heard what the caller on the other end had to say, she ran straight for the kitchen.

  “Guess what?” she shouted, interrupting the rest of her family’s lunch.

  Luke gave her a wry grin. “We won the lottery?”

  “Close,” Bree said, smiling. “Rebecca’s uncle called from Denver. When he heard his niece and her friends lied about who they were to try to get a free vacation, he decided he’d like to make amends by booking our ranch for his daughter’s wedding.”

  “But . . .” Delaney glanced around the table. “Do we do weddings?”

  Bree laughed. “We do now. His daughter just got engaged and wants to get married before the end of summer but the other venues they looked at don’t have any available dates. They’ve asked to take the slot we’d set aside for the corporate retreat.”

  “I love weddings!” Ma exclaimed. “How many guests should we expect?”

  Bree hesitated. “He asked if we could accommodate a hundred.”

  “A hundred?” her father bellowed. “We’ve only got twenty-­four cabins. Even if we put four ­people in each we’d still come up a cabin or two short.”

  “That’s a good problem to have, isn’t it?” she asked, smiling again.

  Luke shrugged. “The plumbing is already in the other two cabins we have started. I can finish them before August.”

  Their father gave them each a dubious look. “I guess that means you’re staying?”

  “I’d already made up my mind to stay before I got the call,” Bree assured him. “We need to ‘persevere, continue on, and fight for our dream,’ right, Grandma?”

  “Never give up,” Meghan agreed, banging her spoon down on the table.

  Everyone turned to stare at her, then laughed.

  “That’s right, Sweet Pea,” Grandma said with approval, and winked at Delaney. “This one’s learning young.”

  All of the sudden the twins burst into the room and chorused in unison, “Can we stay, too?”

  “We don’t really want to quit,” Nora said in a gush. “We love the ranch and—­”

  “We’ve decided we don’t need Trendy Teen nails,” Nadine finished. “Instead, we can help you promote your boot bling and cowgirl jewelry!”

  The twins twirled around and held out their arms to show off the jeweled leather bands around their ankles and wrists.

  “Of course you can stay,” Bree told them. “We need you.”

  The twins looked at each other, slapped Meghan a mini high five, and squealed as they ran back out the door, “She said yes!”

  Bree’s father let out a low chuckle and he shook his head. “I know I don’t express myself as much as those two, but I want the three of you kids to know . . . I’m proud of you. And nothing would make me happier than to have us all make this six-­way ranch deal work.”

  “Me, too,” Ma agreed.

  Bree arched her brow. “No more talk of selling?”

  “No,” Ma promised.

  “No more cast either,” Bree’s father said, pulling his leg out from under the table. “Now I can work with the rest of you. As an equal partner.”

  Luke cleared his throat. “Any news on the Owenses?”

  “I heard she’s going away to a mental ward for a psych evaluation,” their father informed them. “And Mr. Owens is going along to support her. You better make some more room on our schedule, Bree, because he asked if we could take in some of the guests he had booked.”

  “And I got a call from the sheriff,” Bree added. “Mrs. Owens finally confessed that Susan and Wade Randall are hiding out in Arizona. The sheriff says they’ll pursue the lead, but I went ahead and hired Doug Kelly, a private investigator from the east coast with a terrific track record.”

  “That’s good,” Luke agreed. “Because there’s talk around town that Mrs. Owens wasn’t the only one the ranch managers had been working with. There could be others.”

  “Other ­people who want to stop us from operating our ranch?” Ma asked. “Like who?”

  “If I had to guess,” Bree’s father grumbled, “I’d say one of them might be our other neighbor—­Sammy Jo’s father. If anyone else is against us, it would be him.”

  Bree shook her head. “You’re just saying that because of your decades-­long feud. But I don’t think Sammy Jo’s father would ever do anything to hurt us.”

  “Don’t you be too sure,” her father warned.

  “What matters,” Grandma told them, “is that we are all finally on the same team.” Her face beamed as she looked around at all of them. “A family.”

  RYAN PARKED HIS truck behind his father’s in Aunt Mary’s driveway, and he, Cody, his brothers, and parents all climbed out of the two vehicles.

  “Are you sure you don’t know what this is about?” he asked his older brother.

  Dean shrugged. “All Aunt Mary said was that she wanted all of us here because she has something to tell us.”

  Ryan steeled himself against the possibility her health might be deteriorating faster than she’d let on. “Has she had news from the doctor?”

  Again his brother shrugged.

  Ryan drew in a deep breath. What could be so important that his aunt would request all of them to leave the multitude of work at their ranch to come over to hers? Did she need their help? She’d paid a few local teens to feed and care for the remaining horses, but she didn’t have the herds or crops she’d had in years past.

  The door opened and Aunt Mary, wearing a blue shawl over her frail shoulders, came out of her house, assisted by a nurse she’d hired from the community to check in on her.

  “Mary, what’s the matter,” his father asked with concern. “Bad day?”

  She waved her hand as if it were nothing. “We all have bad days once in a while. But I called you over here because I’m so excited I couldn’t wait. Come with
me.”

  The nurse took her arm and together they walked around the corner of the house. Ryan and his family followed. Then Aunt Mary stretched out her arm and pointed toward the field beside the barn, the one that had not been salted. “Look! What do you see?”

  Ryan turned his head and looked. The field was . . . green. Tiny green sprouts dotted the entire fenced-­in portion of her property. “Aunt Mary, are you growing . . . hay?”

  “No. You are.” She turned and smiled at them. “I’m not gone yet. I’m a fighter and I’m going to fight this cancer to the end. But one of these days, I won’t be here, and all of this will belong to you. I figure, why wait? I’m not able to use it myself and I thought you might as well take over and start using it now.”

  “But who did all this?” Ryan’s father asked. “Planting this much hay must have been a lot of work.”

  Aunt Mary smiled again. “I had help. Lots of help. From everyone in the community who owed me a favor.”

  “You could have called us to help,” Dean told her.

  But she shook her head. “You’ve had enough trouble taking care of the fields you have. I didn’t want you to go through another disappointment.”

  “One of our neighbors came forward and told the sheriff he spotted the real estate agent’s plane fly over that night our field was salted,” Zach told her. “He’d been wearing his night-­vision goggles to chase away raccoons from his grain shed and identified the plane’s numbers.”

  “Yeah,” Josh added. “That realtor won’t be working around here any time soon.”

  Ryan’s father gazed out over the field and then glanced at their aunt again. “Are you sure about this?”

  Aunt Mary nodded. “You lost the first half of the season, twice, but you’ll still have the second planting ahead of you.”

  They each took turns hugging and thanking her, then Ryan bent down and put an arm around his son. “Isn’t this great?”

  Cody shook his head. “Nothing’s great.”

  Ryan frowned. “Why not?”