Beneath Montana Skies

by Mia Ross

  Stopping by the back door, Morgan looked back and smiled. “Thanks, Jess. I don’t know how I’d manage all this without you.”

  “Like Wonder Woman, of course.” Her delighted expression made it clear that she appreciated the praise, and she blew Morgan a kiss before picking up one of her overstuffed laundry bags and heading down into the basement.

  On the back porch, Morgan heard the sound of a truck’s engine starting and glanced over to see Ty driving toward the road. Encountering him again had been more of a shock than she’d like to admit, but she forced her mind away from that prickly topic as she climbed into her 4x4 and went in the other direction. The front stock barn was her destination, and once she got there, a solid hour of unloading supplies and mucking stalls gave her a chance to settle her nerves and forget she’d seen the wayward rodeo star.

  Almost.

  Good-looking as ever, he still had the same quick smile that had gotten her attention when he was the new kid in class. A simple trick of the alphabet seated him behind her, and she’d endured chair kicking, braid pulling and outright aggravation for two weeks until she’d finally had enough and slugged him on the playground.

  The incident had landed her in the principal’s office, but it had earned her Ty’s respect. From then on, she and their neighbor’s youngest son had been thick as thieves. Sweethearts from high school to the rodeo circuit, they’d seemed on the road to a lifetime of good-natured arguments and the kind of love she’d always longed for.

  And then, something happened. She still wasn’t sure what had driven him to run away, and after many sleepless nights, she’d accepted the fact that she might never know. Well, mostly.

  That thought had just floated through her mind when she heard the sound of spitting gravel outside, followed by the slamming of a vehicle’s door. Glancing out, she saw the object of her musings stalking toward her, looking fit to be tied.

  “Something you wanna tell me, MJ?”

  She hadn’t heard the shorthand version of her full name in so long, it caught her by surprise. Recovering a bit, she narrowed her eyes and glared back at him. “I thought goodbye pretty much covered it.”

  “They’re mine, aren’t they?”

  Morgan’s heart stopped.

  Realizing that the pitchfork she held was shaking in her hands, she carefully set it aside to give herself time to think. After drawing in a deep breath to settle her runaway blood pressure, she turned to him and summoned her best blank expression. “What are yours?”

  “Allie and Hannah,” he clarified, in a tone that told her in no uncertain terms that he knew she was stalling. “They’re my daughters, aren’t they?”

  How could he possibly have figured that out? she wondered in a panic. They looked just like her, so she’d never confessed their father’s identity to anyone. Not even her family.

  “No, Ty, they’re my daughters.” Tapping her chest for emphasis, she went on. “They’re Whittakers, end of story.”

  Folding his arms, he scowled down at her but didn’t say anything more. Then, in a matter of a few seconds, his demeanor shifted, and he grimaced as if she’d sucker punched him.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked in a quiet voice laced with regret. “I know we weren’t in touch after I left, but you knew enough people who could’ve told you where I was.”

  “I didn’t think you’d be interested,” she shot back, clinging to her anger like a shield. “And while we’re on it, you walked out on me with no explanation, no forwarding address. Once you pulled that stunt, I didn’t think you were exactly father material.”

  He absorbed that in silence, a woeful look settling into an expression she’d never noticed on him in all the years they’d known each other. They’d been through hard stuff together, but he’d always been the lighthearted one, shrugging off things that would have caused a lesser man to stumble. Until the day he took off, she’d always believed that he could handle anything life threw at him without even breaking stride.

  Gazing out the door toward the house, he came back to her with the firm jaw she recalled so well. “I would’ve found a way to make it work for us, you know that. You never even gave me a chance.”

  She had to acknowledge that he was right, and the twinge of guilt she felt grew more insistent even as she tried to reason it away. “I made the best choice I could at the time.”

  “I know you did.” Compassion softened his features, and she braced herself for the question she’d known he’d ask her at some point. “I don’t understand how Hannah’s so bright and Allie has autism. How does that kinda thing happen?”

  “It’s not anything I did while I was pregnant,” Morgan informed him sternly, her back going up instantly. She’d told herself that over and over. But the nagging fear that she’d somehow caused her daughter’s condition still haunted her, although she insisted otherwise. “As soon as I found out I was pregnant, I quit riding and came home. I was on bed rest for the last four months, doing absolutely nothing except making sure my babies had the best chance of being born healthy.”

  “Of course you did,” he said gently, regret flooding his eyes. “I didn’t mean to suggest you did anything wrong. I’m just wondering how one twin is totally normal and the other is left fighting such a huge challenge.”

  Morgan noticed that he didn’t refer to Allie by her disability. It was something they’d all learned to do, because autism was a condition, not an identity. It was a subtle distinction to make, but an important one for the family. That he’d done it instinctively made her feel more inclined to cut him some slack. At least where the girls were concerned, she amended.

  “Normal for Allie is different, that’s all. Her abilities are different, too, but she makes the most of them. She’s at the top of all her special classes, and like Dad told you, she has a great touch with animals. Socializing is tough for her, but she has a couple of classmates who she really likes hanging out with. Hannah and her friends are great with all of them, so they have a nice circle of girls together.”

  “How have you managed all this?” he asked, motioning around them at their surroundings, “and raising two kids by yourself?”

  Admiration softened his eyes, giving her jangling nerves a much-needed boost. “Plenty of help, and a large helping of faith. I accept that God sent Allie to us for a reason, and I just keep doing my best.”

  The spark she’d noticed dimmed considerably, and he frowned. “You always had more faith than I did.”

  “It’s a good thing, because I’ve needed every ounce of it.”

  He took that in with a pensive look. “Does it make things easier?”

  “It makes them possible,” she replied, opening up to him in a way she never could have imagined earlier. But part of him was reaching out to her, begging for understanding. Of what, she couldn’t say, but it was tough to resist that plea from someone she’d loved for most of her life.

  And then, she heard herself say, “Ty, I know there’s something you’re not telling me. What happened to bring you home this way?”

  Frowning, he motioned her to a nearby bale of wood shavings. As he sat beside her, for the first time she noticed that his once-fluid movements had a labored look to them. Resting his hands on the knees of his expertly ripped designer jeans, he took a few moments to collect himself before starting. “Last year at an event in Oregon, I got tossed coming outta the chute. The bull was still fresh and had a good head of steam, and he decided throwing me wasn’t enough. Long story short, he kicked me around that arena like a rag doll, and before the clowns could draw him away, he broke my back.”

  And his pride, she added silently. Anyone who’d known him before the accident could see that. “Oh, Ty, that’s awful. He could’ve killed you.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he admitted, swallowing hard before going on. “Anyway, I was in the hospital and rehab a long time, and even with my insurance,
it got pretty expensive.” Nodding out to the truck, he added, “I’ve had to sell everything except that and Clyde. As of tomorrow, the truck belongs to a guy who lives over in Pine Valley. So it’s just me and Clyde and the five acres I bought from my parents when they sold their place a few years ago.”

  “What are you gonna do?”

  “Not sure,” he admitted soberly. “Preferably something that won’t cripple me.”

  Tyler Wilkins had never been renowned for his brains, and physical work was clearly out of the picture for him now. That didn’t leave many options for him around a small town like Mustang Ridge. “Such as?”

  “Not sure,” he repeated, adding a wry grin. “Guess I should’ve paid more attention in math class.”

  “And science, social studies, English.” She added a few more of his less successful academic subjects through the years, ticking them off on her fingers.

  “Yeah, well, you were always the smart one.”

  “I never should’ve let you copy off me. You would’ve learned more that way.”

  “No, I’d still be in high school, trying to figure out why the guy who invented algebra thought that mixing letters and numbers was a good idea.”

  She laughed at that, and when he joined her, it struck her as odd to be sitting here in the barn, sharing a humorous moment with the man she’d once vowed to never speak to again. She hadn’t forgiven him, but she also couldn’t bring herself to keep kicking him when he was so far down he might not claw his way back to what he used to be for a long time. If ever.

  “So,” he ventured in a hesitant voice, “does this mean you don’t hate me anymore?”

  She didn’t answer him right away, as if she had to think it over. They were still there on that bale, mutely staring at each other, when her younger brother Ryan appeared in the open doorway at the other end of the barn.

  “What’s goin’ on in here?” he demanded, clearly alarmed by what he saw. Hurrying over to stand in front of them, he planted his hands on his hips as he faced Ty in a protective stance. “Whatever you’re doing here, it looks to me like you’re done. It’d be good for you to leave before I forget we used to be friends.”

  “I’m not here to make trouble,” Ty explained, his reasonable tone another surprise from the formerly hotheaded cowboy she recalled. “Morgan and I have something to talk about.”

  “Not anymore, you don’t. You wanna talk to her, use a phone.” Ryan took another step forward and growled, “Now, get out.”

  Ty didn’t protest further, but he did tip his hat to her on his way out. The faint smile he gave her was a pale imitation of the one she’d treasured in the past, and despite the jolt he’d given her, she couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. He’d tumbled a long way down from the peak of his spectacular life, and it seemed that he was in for a long, hard recovery.

  Then, in a flash of insight, she understood why her brother had rushed to her defense when he—like everyone else—knew she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. “How much did you hear?”

  “More than I think you’d like.” Grimacing, he added, “Then again, I figured it out for myself about ten minutes after you came home to tell Dad you were pregnant.”

  That was news to her, and her heart plummeted to the floor. “How? I was eight weeks along, and Ty was long gone. Anyone could’ve been the father.”

  “Come on, sis,” he chided, shaking his head. “You might’ve fooled everyone else, but I know you. It was Ty. It was always Ty.”

  Yes, it was, she conceded as he strolled off and left her alone in the barn. But for the past seven years, she’d been focused solely on raising her girls and doing everything in her power to keep their legacy ranch in the black. Then the threat of development had pushed her to start the conservancy, which gobbled up most of her precious spare time. By necessity, she’d put aside her past failings and turned all of her effort toward making the future the best it could possibly be for her daughters.

  Because, quite honestly, the only other option was to give up. And no matter how long the odds were, a Whittaker never, ever quit.

  That thought had just rolled through her head when her cell phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number, so she answered with, “Whittaker Ranch, this is Morgan.”

  “Hey there, cowgirl.” A sigh escaped her before she could stop it, and Ty chuckled. “Not who you were expecting, huh?”

  “How did you get this number?”

  “Found it on the ranch’s website. Nice job with that, by the way.”

  “Jessie’s in charge of that stuff, so I’ll pass on the compliment. What do you want?”

  “We weren’t exactly done talking when Sheriff Ryan showed up and ran me off,” Ty pointed out, his tone as casual as if they’d been discussing the next livestock auction on the schedule.

  “I was.”

  Her terse response seemed to catch him off guard, because there was a quiet hum on the line while he absorbed that one. “Well, I wasn’t. I just found out I have two daughters, and I’ve got some more questions.”

  “Such as?”

  “I’d really rather hash this out in person.”

  She’d really rather never see him again, but apparently that wasn’t going to happen. They’d have to hammer out some kind of compromise eventually, so she relented. “Fine. When and where?”

  “I’ve got stuff going on the next couple days, so I was thinking my place Friday night, after you get the girls tucked in. I’ll be around, so come over whenever it works for you.”

  “It doesn’t work for me anytime,” she spat before realizing that he’d already hung up. Thumbing her phone off, she glared at it and slid it into the back pocket of her jeans.

  An evening alone with Tyler Wilkins, she mused while she slit open another bale of shavings and began shoveling the contents into a wheelbarrow. There were plenty of women who’d kill to be in her boots right now.

  Too bad she wasn’t one of them.

  * * *

  To Ty’s knowledge, there wasn’t a word for how bad the cabin smelled.

  His concerns about rodents had turned out to be right, but he hadn’t counted on there being so many corpses scattered around. Opening all the windows had helped a little, but he was going to need some heavy-duty cleaner and a good measure of patience to rid the house of the smell entirely. Fortunately for him, there weren’t any storms in the forecast for the next week, so he should be able to air it out in a few days.

  For the past couple of days, he’d been relegated to being outside, cleaning up years’ worth of fallen limbs and rotting leaves. Behind him, he heard a mellow nicker and said, “Not now, Clyde. I know you’re antsy, but I’ve got a ton of stuff to do today. We’ll take a ride tomorrow.”

  “How ’bout now?”

  Startled by the sound of another voice, Ty whipped around to find Morgan and Sadie trotting up the grassy aisle that separated his property from the Whittaker place. Setting aside his rake, he strolled over to greet them. “And here I thought he was talking to me. Weren’t we meeting up on Friday?”

  “I don’t get out as much as I’d like these days, so I was going to ride out and watch the sunset anyway. If you want to come along, we can talk on the way.”

  Translation—I don’t want to give you home field advantage. She was the only woman he’d ever known who strategized that way, and it was comforting to know she hadn’t lost that sharp quality over the years.

  It was also more than a little intimidating, he mused as he quickly tacked up and hauled himself into the saddle. She’d always been smarter than him, and chances were the gap hadn’t closed up enough to make much difference. He’d do well to remember that.

  The horses were old friends, and the two of them traded looks occasionally while they trotted companionably side by side, as if they’d last seen each other earlier that week instead of seven years a
go. Morgan seemed content to ride in silence, and Ty followed her lead, taking the opportunity to reacquaint himself with his surroundings.

  Wild prairie and barely tamed pastureland stretched out like a quilt of grass and flowers for miles around them. Ringed by thick stands of pines, the broad valley was cut through by the winding currents of the Calico River. Modest in width but dependable even in the driest years, the deep-running mountain stream supplied the local ranches with a reliable source of water for their livestock.

  Beyond that rose the majestic Bridger Mountains, which ran along the northern boundaries of Mustang Ridge and several other small towns nearby. Home to everything from mountain lions to grizzlies to bighorn sheep, those ragged peaks were the image that always came into Ty’s head when he thought of home.

  As he and Morgan gained altitude, they got an ever-broader perspective of the valley below. When a small herd of horses came into view, he asked, “Where did they come from?”

  “Everywhere. A few years ago, the state took an interest in our mustangs and managing the population. I didn’t like their solution, so I stepped in and petitioned to adopt the herd.” Gazing over at the milling animals, her face softened with affection for the creatures she’d managed to save. Pointing, she explained, “Over there is public land available to anyone for open grazing, and the strip with access to the river belongs to a local family. They gave me permission to use it, so I relocated the ponies and started a mustang rescue. I break and train some of them for people who want to use them as pleasure horses, but the others stay here, where they belong.”

  Her very practical approach to the problem didn’t surprise him in the least, but he was impressed all the same. “That’s awesome. Not many folks would go to that much trouble for some wild ponies.”

  “They’re the symbol of everything the Mustang Ridge Conservancy stands for,” she told him firmly, her jaw set in determination. “If the animals who’ve always lived here lose their birthright, chances are we won’t be far behind.”