Big Sky Romance Collection

by Denise Hunter

  Wade laughed. “Immune to the Taylor charm. Love it. Maybe she discovered a vaccine. Maybe she’ll inoculate all the other gals in town.”

  “You’re a real hoot.” Maybe he should ask her again. That Roy was getting nowhere with Braveheart, and neither was he.

  “You know, one more woman isn’t going to scratch that itch of yours. One of these days, you’re gonna have to deal with what’s really stuck in your craw.”

  “And what would that be?”

  Wade stuffed his hands in his pockets again. “You’re running just as scared as Braveheart, and you know it.”

  Dylan clamped his jaw. Mighty brave of his friend to broach that subject. Brave or stupid. “My itches are getting scratched just fine, thanks very much.” He reached for a change of topic. “Anyway, I thought you liked Annie.”

  “She’s a sweet gal. But she’s seeing John Oakley, isn’t she?”

  “That’s just because she hasn’t had a taste of me yet,” Dylan said. He could hardly forget that the one time he had touched her she’d responded as if he’d jabbed her with a branding iron.

  “If Oakley’s the type she goes for, you’re dead in the water. ’Sides, best I could tell, she wasn’t looking so receptive at the Chuckwagon.”

  “Yeah, well, I know how to handle a woman who plays hard to get.”

  “Trouble is, pal”—Wade tossed him a sideways grin—“don’t think she’s playing.”

  Dylan watched Wade walk away, for once at a loss for words. Because deep down he knew his friend was right.

  Dear Ready to Surrender,

  The old saying is true. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink.

  4

  Annie left her bedroom and made her way down the narrow hall. The tired wood floors creaked under her feet. The house might be old and small, but it was hers. When she reached the living room, the morning light flooded through their picture window, coloring the walls with sunshine.

  She wished she hadn’t checked her e-mail before church. She didn’t need another distraction today. Midge had sent her only one reader question to use for the first column, and Annie had no answers.

  She turned into the small kitchen where Ryder was slurping Cheerios at the table. He was still in his Batman pajamas, a striped towel-cape tied at his throat. His dark hair stood at attention on the left side.

  She ruffled it. “Morning, Bed Head. Where’s Mommy?”

  “I dunno.”

  Annie headed into the living room and saw her sister’s reclining form on the couch.

  “You’re going to be late,” she said, though it was obvious Sierra was skipping church.

  “Not going. I’m extra tired.”

  This made three weeks in a row. “Late night?”

  “Way too late. I met up with some of Wade Ryan’s old friends from his rodeo days—they’re passing through for that rodeo in Bozeman. You should’ve come—it was a single woman’s palooza last night. We had a blast.”

  She wondered how much all that fun had cost. “It was too late for Ryder to be out. Besides, you know how I feel about cowboys.”

  “Wouldn’t kill you to have fun once in a while, you know.”

  “And it wouldn’t kill you to come to church now and again.”

  “I know, I know.” Sierra pulled the quilt over her shoulders. “I’ll go next week.”

  Annie checked her watch. It was too late to get Ryder ready. She had to be out the door in three minutes. “Have you applied anywhere?”

  “Not yet, but I will.”

  Annie smothered a complaint. “Tomorrow?”

  Sierra sighed. “Yes, Annie.”

  “I need some help on my first ‘Dear Annie’ letter. Will you be home this afternoon?”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  Annie slid on her boots, said good-bye, and left, her heart heavy despite the beautiful sunrise cresting over the Absaroka Range. She didn’t understand Sierra’s sudden lack of interest in church. She knew it was symptomatic of a faltering spiritual walk, but what had caused it? She missed the days when Sierra had been full of godly passion, when she’d taken a stand with her high school friends, when she’d begged to go on mission trips.

  If anything, Sierra should be seeking God’s help now. She should be feeling anxious with no job in sight. But no, worry was Annie’s territory. Sierra would smother the negative emotions with fun, fun, and more fun.

  Annie got in her truck and turned the key, looking heavenward. “I’m trying, Gramps, but it’s harder than I ever figured. Way harder.”

  “I don’t see the problem.” Sierra handed Annie the paper and forked her last bite of salad. “Tell her to give the guy the boot.”

  Outside the patio door Ryder let out a squeal as he descended the slide.

  Annie stared at her sister. “It’s not that simple.”

  “Sure it is. He cheated on her.”

  “They have a child.”

  “Well, they’re not married yet. If she leaves him now, it’ll save her the trouble of divorcing him later.”

  “You know God hates divorce.”

  “He also gives permission in the case of adultery. And if she marries him, that’s what’ll happen.”

  Sierra had a point. Still . . .

  “Just because we have permission doesn’t mean we should.” They were getting off subject. Annie shook her head. “You have to consider that there’s a child involved. He’s sorry, and he still wants to marry her.”

  “So he says. Look, once a cheater, always a cheater. Isn’t that what Mom always said?”

  “Mom was married four times.”

  Sierra rolled her eyes. “Life isn’t like your Jane Austen novels, Annie. Times have changed. Women don’t have to put up with that stuff, nor should we. If she lets him off the hook this time, he’ll just do it again.”

  Sierra seemed so sure, but Annie still didn’t know. How could she advise a woman to break up with the father of her child when she wasn’t certain? What if she steered the reader wrong?

  “Why did Midge have to give me this one on my first try?”

  “I’m telling you, it’s clear-cut. Betrayed in Billings already knows what to do—she just needs you to tell her she’s right so she can find the courage to do it.”

  Annie frowned at the letter. “I didn’t get that at all.”

  “It’s in the subtext.”

  She read it again. “Or maybe she’s trying to find the courage to forgive him and only needs to hear me say it.”

  Sierra shook her head. “If you don’t believe me, ask Shay.”

  Maybe she should. “Or maybe I’ll just pray about it.”

  “When’s it due?”

  “This Wednesday. Midge wants to avoid a lapse.” She’d already written a note to the readers for her last horse column.

  “Well, you still have time to mull it over—not that I think you need to.”

  Annie took her dishes to the sink and rinsed her bowl. “Olivia asked about you at church.” Shay and Travis’s daughter adored Sierra.

  “She’s a sweetheart. She always asks me how I fix my hair and where I get my clothes.”

  “She looks up to you.” Unspoken message: pull it together or you’ll lead a little girl astray.

  “I’ll finish those,” Sierra said, ignoring her hint altogether. “You should go for a ride. The weather’s gorgeous.”

  “I think I might. Pepper’s probably forgotten who I am.”

  “You don’t forget the one who feeds you.”

  A few minutes later Annie headed out the front door and toward the barn. Pepper nickered softly as she approached the pen. The Arabian was mostly white, with tiny flecks of gray. When her grandfather had presented him for her fifteenth birthday, he’d said it looked as if God had shaken some pepper over him. The name had stuck.

  Annie finished saddling the horse and struck out toward her friend’s pasture. Shay and Travis McCoy had a huge spread, doubly so since they’d married and joined propert
ies the year before. Shay had told her she was welcome anytime, and since her own property was so small, Annie took her up on it regularly.

  She nudged Pepper to a canter and felt the wind take her shoulder-length hair. It tugged at her shirt and smacked her cool cheeks. She gave the horse his head, and he galloped across rolling green hills toward a ridge that dipped down to a bubbling creek.

  They rode as one, their bodies moving together effortlessly. It reminded Annie of the way Shay and Travis had danced in tandem the weekend before. Much as she loved her horse, she couldn’t help thinking it would be nice to share that kind of easy harmony with a man someday . . .

  John Oakley sprang to mind then, and the sinking feeling that accompanied the thought of him did nothing to buoy her spirits. Maybe she had been reading too many romance novels. Or maybe God wanted her to remain forever single, like Paul in the Bible. She hoped not. She was hardly old at twenty-four, but she felt much older.

  Lord, I hope there’s someone out there for me, she prayed as the sun dipped behind the clouds. Between keeping Sierra on the right track and my financial struggles, I feel like I’m carrying the world on my shoulders. And this new column isn’t helping. Show me what to tell this woman. I don’t want to steer her wrong.

  She rode and prayed until Pepper grew winded, then she headed back to the barn, dismounted, and unsaddled the horse. Pepper’s sides heaved, but she could tell he was happy by his high head and tail, by the way his ears turned forward.

  Annie patted his withers, then scratched along his neck and back. He accommodated by stretching, then grunted his pleasure.

  Normally, riding cleared her head, and she returned soothed and refreshed. This time she felt no better than before, despite her prayers.

  She remembered what Midge had said about needing to be decisive. But Annie had never been decisive when it came to relationships. She could see both sides of an issue. It was the reason she’d constantly been in the middle, first between Sierra and their mom, and then between Sierra and their grandpa after their mom had passed. Annie was the perfect buffer, but it wasn’t a role she enjoyed.

  Midge was right, however. She couldn’t be wishy-washy or readers wouldn’t want her advice. It had been easy with “Ask Avery.” There was a right way to train a horse and a wrong way, and Annie had the knowledge and experience to make that call.

  Maybe she should take Sierra’s advice and ask Shay for help. Her friend had managed to find love, after all. But Shay was busy with two kids and a prospering ranch, and Annie hated asking favors of friends.

  She was just going to have to figure it out herself. But how was she supposed to have the answers for everyone else’s love life when she had nothing but questions about her own?

  Dear Betrayed in Billings,

  It sounds as if your boyfriend is sorry and willing to make amends. If you love him, you should try to work it out.

  5

  Dylan shut off his truck and got out of the vehicle. Annie’s truck wasn’t in her drive, a bad sign. Her house, painted a cheery yellow, was small but well kept. Just behind the gravel drive an old barn, big enough for a horse or two, leaned slightly toward the Gallatin Range.

  He took the porch steps, wondering if he should’ve called first. He’d been hoping to catch her off guard. That hadn’t worked out so well last time, but he had to use surprise to his advantage if he was going to get help for Braveheart. And Annie could help the horse, he was certain of it. As certain as he was that Annie Wilkerson was, bar none, the most intriguing woman in all Park County.

  None of that, Taylor. You’ll scare the filly away. And he couldn’t afford that, no matter how attracted he was.

  He knocked on the hollow green door and shoved his hands in his pockets, looking down at his dusty clothes. Why hadn’t he taken time to shower? He’d been in an all-fired hurry to see Annie, that’s why.

  A heartbeat later the door opened and Sierra appeared, holding a bulky camera lens. Dylan felt the sting of disappointment.

  Her eyebrows rose. “Hey, Dylan.”

  He smiled, removing his hat. “Howdy, Sierra. How are you?”

  “Super,” she said, then called over her shoulder, “Ryder, don’t you touch my camera!” She faced Dylan again. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t suppose Annie’s home.”

  “She’s not, but she just called. She’s on her way, ten minutes or so. Ryder, you better not be near that camera!” She opened the door. “Come on in, I have to. . .” She gestured toward the other room.

  “That’s all right. I’m a mess. I’ll wait here.”

  Sierra disappeared, her auburn hair swinging over her shoulder as she trotted away. “Ryder . . . what did I say?”

  Dylan smiled as he walked to the edge of the porch. He set his hat on his head and looked around Annie’s property. A fenced-in corral lay to the left of the house, and a neighbor’s property butted up against hers on the other side.

  In the distance the Gallatin Range had turned dusky purple in the waning light. Having been born and raised in Texas’s prairie region, Dylan appreciated the mountains. They were like sentinels standing guard over the valley, always there, always constant.

  Behind him the screen door squeaked. Ryder appeared, his dark curls poking out every which way.

  “Hey, little man,” Dylan said.

  The screen door clacked behind Ryder, who tilted his head. “You’re a cowboy.”

  “That’s right, I am. Are you a cowboy?”

  Ryder snickered. “I’m only four, silly.”

  “That’s all right. I was roping cattle and wrestling calves to the ground when I was your age.”

  Ryder frowned thoughtfully, and Dylan caught a glimpse of Annie in that look. “I can’t do none of that.”

  Dylan shrugged. “All it takes is a piece of rope and a little practice. I could teach you.”

  The boy’s eyes lit up. “You could?”

  “Why, sure, it’s not that hard. Got a lariat in my truck if you want to learn.”

  “Okay!”

  Ryder followed him to his truck, asking questions the whole way. Dylan showed him how to tie a Honda knot.

  Ryder’s brows pushed together. “I can’t even tie my shoes.”

  Dylan ruffled his hair, chuckling. “Well, we’ll just skip that part then.”

  He led the kid to the nearby fence and showed him how to hold the rope and swing it. He gave it a toss, and it settled around the fence post.

  “Wow, I wanna try!”

  Dylan collected the rope. “It’s gonna take some practice, now. You gotta be real patient.” He placed the lariat in Ryder’s hand and helped him swing and throw the loop.

  The lariat dropped to the ground at the base of the post, sending up a puff of dirt.

  “That’s awful close,” Dylan said. “Keep it up and you’ll be a real cowboy in no time.” He set his hat on Ryder’s head. “Looks good on you.”

  The boy looked up at him and smiled with adoring eyes, and Dylan remembered the kid didn’t have a father.

  “Try again, now.”

  A few minutes later he heard a rumble and looked up the drive to see Annie’s truck approaching.

  Ryder’s loop fell at the base of the post as Annie shut the truck off. She got out and walked toward them. Her jaw was set, her back stiff.

  Ryder dropped the rope and threw himself into her legs. “Aunt Annie!”

  Her face softened as she embraced him. “Hey, Bed Head. How was your day?”

  She was striking, with that black silky hair swinging around her shoulders and that skin, pretty as porcelain. He bit his tongue before he went and said so.

  “Mr. Taylor is teaching me to be a real cowboy!”

  Her lips stretched in a smile that didn’t meet her eyes. “Is that so?”

  “If you keep practicing,” Dylan said, “you’ll be roping cattle in no time.”

  Ryder let go of Annie. “I don’t have a rope.”

  “Take this one. I have plenty.” Dyla
n picked up the lariat and wound it up.

  “You really shouldn’t,” Annie said.

  “No problem.” He handed the rope to Ryder, who jumped up and down.

  “Thanks, Mr. Taylor.”

  “Anytime.”

  “Ryder,” Sierra called from the doorway. “Time for your bath.”

  “Aww, I don’t wanna.”

  “Being a cowboy is dirty work, right?” Dylan said. “Every day ends with a nice, hot shower . . . er, bath.”

  “Come on, Ryder!” Sierra called.

  The boy made a face, but he handed back Dylan’s hat and scuttled off with his rope.

  Dylan turned a smile on Annie. “Cute kid.”

  She crossed her arms, none too inviting. “Thanks.”

  Maybe she didn’t like unannounced visitors. “Sorry to drop by. Wanted to thank you for passing on Roy’s number. He worked with Braveheart last week.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “ ’Fraid it didn’t go too well.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  He felt like he was talking to a tree stump. If he could just get her to sit down and loosen up. “Listen, you have a minute? Maybe we could take a load off.”

  Annie’s eyes darted to the house and she swallowed. “I—suppose we could sit on the porch.”

  When they reached the house, Annie disappeared inside, then returned with a plastic chair she set against the brick façade. She sat down and tucked her hands under her thighs. “What’s up?” Her eyes darted away from him toward the darkening mountain range.

  Dylan looked around her property. It was small by Montana standards, but the grass was neatly clipped, and the flower bed had already been given a spring spruce-up.

  “Nice place you got. How many horses you have?”

  “Just one. You need some advice about Braveheart?”

  He called on his dimple; it rarely failed him. “Eager to see the backside of me, Annie?”

  She banked a look off him as a pretty blush bloomed on her cheeks. “I’m busy, Dylan. If you have a question, spit it out. If not . . .” She looked ready to bolt.

  “I’ll cut right to the chase then. Braveheart’s worse than he was last we spoke. Roy wasn’t working out. I let him go.”