Tripp - Mavericks of Montana Creek Book One

by Somer Hayes

  “You really aren’t a morning person, are you?” Tripp asked, his voice rough with sleep.

  “I just think it wouldn’t kill you to have a little coffee ready in the mornings.”

  He laughed at that. “You’re assuming I’m a gentleman.”

  I gave him a little kick and jogged out the door to my Jeep.

  When I flung the door open to the bunkhouse, I almost didn’t notice Bill sitting at the island sipping a cup of coffee.

  “Hannah? You got a minute?”

  “Uh, a quick one. I need to get started on breakfast.”

  “This won’t take long. Just had a question.”

  “For me? Okay,” I dropped my purse on the island and took the stool next to him.

  “As you know we’ve had a few temps on hand to help with the storm’s cleanup,” he began.

  Uh oh.

  “And yesterday I found a couple of them in the bunkhouse’s storage, which in itself isn’t odd, but something about the way they were acting was. So I questioned what they were doing, and they said you had asked them to organize and move a few things for you. That you needed the space.”

  My stomach sank. I had no idea what was going on, but I knew my father was somehow involved.

  “I don’t mean to be suspicious when none is needed, but we keep lots of valuable tools in that building, and I’d hate to see any of them damaged or lost.”

  “I understand completely. So your question for me is?”

  “Did you ask them to work in the storage unit for you?”

  I shook my head. “No, Bill. I’ve never been in it and have no need for more space than what I’ve already got here in the kitchen.”

  “Any idea why they might have said that?”

  Here was my chance. I could come clean and tell Bill who my father was, that I didn’t trust him, and I didn’t think he should either.

  But then I looked around me at the space I had come to love. I thought about the irritating cowboys who had weaseled their way into my heart. I thought of Tripp. The way he looked at me like I was the most special, important person on the planet.

  If I told them who my father was, they would look at me differently, maybe even with the suspicion I knew he deserved. They would equate me with him—a freeloader, a liar, a scam artist.

  Tripp had given me enough. I wouldn’t ask him to give me the benefit of the doubt too. I couldn’t risk it. I had just begun to feel happy, cared for, and safe for the first time in my entire life. I wasn’t about to let go of those things just because my father had re-appeared. I’d worked too hard to move on with my life and away from him.

  And so I shook my head at Bill. “No, I have no idea why they would say that.”

  His keen eyes searched mine for an agonizing moment before he nodded, apparently accepting my answer. “Stranger things have happened, I suppose. Sorry for the bother.”

  “Not at all,” I replied, but inwardly I felt shaken. “How are the repairs going, by the way?” I blurted out.

  “We’re moving right along, ma’am.”

  “I was just curious how much longer I’d need to be ordering extra food for the temps.”

  “Maybe another week, week and a half, depending on how fast we move.”

  “Okay, that’ll work,” I said, and hoped it was true. One more week. I could avoid him for that long, and hopefully, it wasn’t enough time for him to cause any major damage. He’d be gone again, and I would still be okay.

  I stood and went to my room to change into jeans and a top. I pulled my hair into a knot on the top of my head, then took a few calming breaths before going to the kitchen. Maybe I could get breakfast going in record time and get out of there before I had to run into my father. It seemed like a good plan until I realized that probably meant I wouldn’t get to see Tripp either.

  Damn that infuriating man. His presence alone was screwing with my schedule and happiness.

  I poured myself a mug of coffee and willed the caffeine to hit my veins quickly. I didn’t want to be overly optimistic about how well the bakery was doing, but I also didn’t want to lose any momentum. If I pushed extra hard, maybe I could make the rent on my own and not have to work both jobs anymore.

  The thought made me stop in my tracks. That was the goal, wasn’t it? The bakery was my dream. Cooking for a bunch of ornery cowboys was just a means to an end. I wasn’t going to pull double duty if I didn’t have to, right?

  Right, I told myself. I’d still find time to see Tripp, and I was sure he’d be happy for me to return to the bakery full-time.

  So why did the thought make me so sad?

  25

  Tripp

  One of the few contributions I’d made to growing the Maverick portfolio was using a portion of our land for conservation efforts. Beau and I headed the program, and as it grew, so did my passion for it.

  We housed many species of animals and were under contract with the Federal Government to leave several hundred acres of land untouched but for the animals that called it home. Chief among them were a steadily growing herd of bison. I’d always had a soft spot for the over-sized creatures and jumped at the chance to protect their numbers on Maverick land.

  As a rancher primarily, I appreciated the value of animals and how they contributed to the survival of mankind, but there was no denying the number of wild bison was declining, and because they tended to travel in small, isolated groups, we faced a lack of genetic diversity. If I offered nothing else in my life, I wanted to see the success and re-population of this deserving species.

  Because of that, I was spending the day on the ranch hosting a group interested in starting a similar program in Kansas.

  Beau and I joined the fellas at the bunkhouse for breakfast, and my excitement for the day was dampened a little when I realized Hannah had already left for work at the bakery. I noticed several of the guys were grumbling about not seeing the pretty cook that morning, and I wanted to flick each of them on their dumb skulls. Still, she’d laid out an impressive spread, and we all went to work with full bellies.

  At the barn, I mounted Pongo and Beau picked out a beautiful gray mare named Helen for the day. Then we headed to the main house to wait for our guests to arrive.

  The day was beautiful, the big blue sky full of fluffy white clouds, and the horses were clearly as thrilled to be out for a ride as we were. We let them set the pace, and soon we were flying across the countryside, splashing through creeks, and feeling the freedom only Montana could provide.

  We slowed when we got to the house. Dad was on the front porch drinking coffee.

  “Bison is lean and delicious,” he called.

  I shook my head and chuckled. “I can’t disagree, but you won’t get any more buffalo burgers if we let them all die out.”

  “Oh, tell Hannah to make us some burgers soon.”

  “You tell her, old man. I guarantee she’s more likely to take orders from you than she is from me.” I could see her switching out red meat for turkey or tofu if I tried to take over her meal plans.

  “No way. She’ll make me eat more of that salad crap.”

  “Then maybe you should quit complaining, so you don’t ruin it for the rest of us,” Beau interjected.

  “Hmpf,” he grumbled. “Who are these people again?”

  “A group of landowners from Kansas interested in starting a conservation program similar to what we’ve got here.”

  “I’ll tell you how to conserve something. Make it less delicious.”

  “Thanks for the support, Dad.”

  “Anytime, boys.” Then he gave us a little salute and disappeared into the house.

  “Sometimes you’ve got to wonder how we turned out so well,” Beau told me, and I had to laugh.

  “How, indeed.”

  We dismounted as a truck with a Kansas license plate pulled up, and three men got out.

  “Mr. Maverick? We’re so pleased to be here. Thanks for taking the time.”

  We exchanged handshakes and
introductions. “Anytime. This is a project we’ve grown to love, and we’re hopeful it will catch on elsewhere.”

  “From what I understand, yours is the first of its kind. I’m anxious to learn more to see what we can implement back home.”

  We loaded them into the MULE, and they followed us east toward my home, the untouched land, and about sixty head of bison. We tried to give them between fifteen and twenty acres per head, so they had plenty of room to graze.

  When we crested the hill which overlooked the valley they most often grazed in, my breath caught in my chest. I took in the huge blue sky, the purple mountains below it, the deep green of the grass, and the majestic animals roaming it.

  Times like these, I felt truly blessed to lead the life I did.

  I promised myself at that moment to focus on that. And even though I didn’t get to work on my ranch as much as I’d like to, or spend as much time outdoors, I did still get to have moments like this one, and it was more than most people got in their entire lifetime.

  Enough of my sulking and whining. I would bear the weight of Maverick Enterprises and be grateful for the opportunity. After all, it provided the means for this conservation effort. Turning my thoughts back to the present, I dismounted and motioned for the men to follow Beau and me.

  As we walked, we discussed the project from the beginning to where we were now. We discussed options for funding and necessities for the animals. Beau described his role as a veterinarian, and I talked about my role.

  They had many questions which led to new thoughts and ideas for our efforts. We spent the day making plans and agreeing to partner on specific efforts in the future. I’d never been more excited for or proud of something I had worked on as I was this conservation project.

  After they’d gone, I was still riding the high of their visit, encouraged by their enthusiasm. What if the program caught on, and we were able to make a difference in the field of conservation? I would die a happy man if that’s how people remembered me rather than just for having the name Maverick.

  I thought if there were anyone who would share my excitement with me, it would be Hannah. So I rode Pongo back to the barn, gave him a brush and an extra apple, then got in my truck and headed for downtown Great Falls.

  26

  Hannah

  I was humming a nameless tune in the kitchen of the bakery and kneading dough to make several loaves of bread when the back door opened, and Tripp ducked in.

  “Hey, you.” I smiled. “What are you doing here?”

  He bent me backward and planted a long kiss on my lips before answering. “Had a good day and wanted to see my girl.”

  My heart warmed. As long as I lived, I would never get tired of hearing him call me that.

  “What was so good about it?” I asked.

  “First and foremost, I got to kiss you. Second to that, Beau and I hosted a group from Kansas interested in conservation.”

  “You do conservation?”

  “We do. Environmental and species native to Montana. The bison are closest to my heart, though.”

  “I’d love to see them sometime.”

  “I’ll take you.”

  “Yay!”

  “What are you up to?” he asked and gestured to the balls of dough on the island.

  “I’m making gluten-free sourdough bread. Want to help?”

  “I don’t think you want that. I’m the equivalent of a black thumb when it comes to cooking.”

  “Is that because you’ve always had a cook on staff?” I asked, only halfway teasing.

  “Maybe,” he admitted with a cringe.

  “Well then, it’s time you learned. Wash your hands and roll up those sleeves.”

  “You’re not the boss of me, you know.”

  “Keep telling yourself that,” I replied with a wink.

  He swatted me on the butt as he passed me to go to the sink. Once he was all washed up, he joined me at the island.

  “Your timing is impeccable because most of the work is already done,” I told him. “But you can take that batch of dough and start kneading it.

  “Just squish it around and stuff?”

  I laughed. “Like this,” I demonstrated, and he copied me. His big, unpracticed hands made for some awkward kneading, but I loved him for trying.

  “We just have to be careful that we don’t overwork it. So that should be good.”

  “Now what?”

  “Split it into sections about this big.” I held up my own. “And then put them in these pans.”

  I smiled to myself as he painstakingly split the dough into even sections, pulling dough from some, adding to others. I waited patiently until he was finished.

  “Now what?”

  “Now we bake them.”

  “Then what?”

  “You seriously don’t have the patience for this,” I told him with a shake of my head. “Typically, I’d start on something else so that when these come out of the oven, the next batch can go in.”

  “What are we making next?” he asked.

  “Really? You want to bake more?”

  He wiped his hands on a towel and shrugged easily. “I like hanging out with you.”

  I reached up on my toes to plant a kiss on his chin. “I like hanging out with you, too.”

  “So I know where you learned to bake, but why did you decide to focus on the specialty stuff? The gluten-free and alternative ingredients?”

  “I have Celiac Disease,” I told him.

  “Oh no. Is it contagious?” He widened his eyes. “Do I need to get myself tested?”

  I could hear his teasing tone and flicked some almond flour at him. “You shut up.”

  “But seriously. Are you okay?”

  “I am now. It went undiagnosed and untreated for a very long time. Once I figured out what was going on, I changed my diet, and I’ve been doing much better. Something like one in a hundred people are affected, so simple math tells you that there are more like me in Great Falls.” I glanced over at him. “I really think I can fill a niche here.”

  “Seems to me like you already have.”

  I showed him how to roll out the cookie dough we were working on and handed him a cookie cutter in the shape of a bison.

  “Cute,” he told me but got to work.

  “It seems like food sensitivities are becoming more and more common. How is it that you lived with yours for so long without any care?”

  I picked out a cookie cutter in the shape of a little mountain range to compliment Tripp’s bison and thought about how much of my pathetic story I wanted to share with him. “I told you my mom died when I was just a baby, right?”

  “Right,” he agreed, eyes busy on his task.

  “That was from alcoholism.”

  “Jesus,” he said.

  “Which left my alcoholic father to raise me alone. He, uh, wasn’t exactly an involved parent.”

  “He neglected you,” Tripp summed up succinctly.

  “You could say that. He was just too busy drinking or being drunk to care when I complained about tummy aches.”

  His hands stilled. “He never took you to a doctor?”

  “We never had insurance. Or enough money to go unless it was really bad.” I remembered one winter I had the flu so severely I wasn’t able to get out of bed under my own strength. Thank God Beth had stopped by to check on me. I don’t know what would have happened if she hadn’t been there.

  From the corner of my eye, I could see Tripp open his mouth, then shut it, then open it again to ask, “Did he ever hurt you?”

  “He was never really violent. Just… apathetic.”

  “So the answer is yes.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “That hurt me.”

  “I’m sorry, Hannah,” he said, voice low.

  I leveled him with my eyes. “I don’t like to talk about my past because I don’t like people feeling sorry for me.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” he began.

  “I know. I know it’s
not. But it happens. The people who knew me growing up still look at me with pitying eyes. I’ve tried hard to separate myself from him and that life.”

  “For what it’s worth, I think you’re amazing.” He leaned over and pressed a kiss to my temple.

  “I’m glad. Sometimes I wonder what you’d think of me if you’d known me then. The daughter of the town drunk.”

  “Believe it or not I know a thing or two about being judged based on who your family is.”

  “I suppose that’s true,” I agreed. “But your family seems great and so close.”

  “It is, and I’m grateful for that. But when you’re a Maverick, that means a lot of people will be watching you. Some are cheering for you, and others can’t wait to watch you fail. Either way, it makes it hard to feel like you can create any sense of individual identity. It’s a lot to live up being the son of Rhett Maverick.”

  I thought about that for a few minutes. “I don’t know what would be worse, people having high expectations of you or none at all.”

  “I’d say neither are fun. But I’m slowly learning that if you focus on making your own way, soon people will begin to see you for who you are. Not who they think you should be.”

  “How’d you get to be so wise?” I asked, only half joking.

  “Hah. Hard lessons I supposed. That, and my advanced age,” he said with a crooked grin. He was maybe only five years older than me, so I had to laugh.

  Together, we put the cookies on baking sheets and traded them out for the golden loaves of bread.

  “These smell great,” he said.

  “They’re for dinner at the bunkhouse tonight,” I told him.

  He looked at me. “You know I don’t expect you to use your own time or resources for the meals at the ranch, right?”

  I waved him off. “I know that. But I don’t mind. Really.”

  “You’re all right, Hannah Price. You know that?”