His Montana Sweetheart (Big Sky Centennial Book 2)

by Ruth Logan Herne

  Mick put a finger to his lips and turned his gaze up. “The first thing to know about horses is this. They like quiet voices. Easy movements. We don’t want to spook them. Or scare them. Or hurt their ears. They’re big, but they’re sensitive.”

  “Like you, Mr. Mick!” Maggie took his cue and said the words softly, but her enthusiasm didn’t wane with the loss of volume. “I’ll talk soft and steady, just like you taught me.”

  “Good enough.”

  Hearing his father coach a small child on the ins and outs of horse training, Jack pitched back two dozen years to when he rode Mick’s shoulders into the barn. In those twenty-four years his father had offered a full education in horse mastery. Jack had learned at the feet and then the side of one of the best wranglers in the West, and seeing him now, with the five-year-old perched on his shoulders...?

  The image hit Jack twofold. Life would go on without his mother, just as she’d promised him before she passed away.

  But it would go on different, and watching his father stride toward the corral, snugging the little girl’s legs against his chest and chatting with Carrie as she carried two glasses of homemade sweet tea, made him realize things could be changing around the Double M, in more ways than one. And he wasn’t sure how to feel about any of that.

  “Mr. Jack?”

  The boy’s tug at his waist drew Jack’s attention. “Caught me out, kid. I was daydreaming, wasn’t I?”

  The boy’s serious nod said he was, but that it was okay.

  Jack grabbed a wheelbarrow, then the boy, tucked the startled child into the wheelbarrow and rode him across the barnyard to the stacks of firewood seasoning in the sun. When he dumped Brian out, the boy laughed up at him, a little looser than he’d been minutes before. They piled wood high into the barrow, big wood first, then kindling on top, and when they were ready to tote the load over to the fire pit, Brian looked up. “Can I help push?”

  “I’d be obliged,” admitted Jack, and he tamed the threatening smile as the boy positioned himself in front of Jack, hands on the twin poles. “Ready?”

  Brian fisted both poles, puckered his face in concentration and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Polite. Nice. Quiet. Unsure.

  The boy’s actions said there was a story inside him, but right now, with Jack’s help, he concentrated his efforts on moving wood across the long expanse of barnyard and driveway to the McGuire fire pit behind the house. And when they pulled up alongside the pit, satisfaction marked the boy’s expression. He set the wheelbarrow onto its legs, released the poles and scrubbed the palms of his hands against his thighs. “What next?”

  “We build.” Jack pointed to a small pile of dry grass clippings to the left of the house.

  “Grass, then kindling?”

  “You’ve started fires before.”

  “My dad and me used to do this. A long time ago.”

  Jack’s heart tightened. The boy’s joy faded in the shadow of a tough memory. Jack understood that emotion but kept things light. “Well, then, it’s good to have experience on our side, right? Grab me a pile of those clippings and we’ll get this fire going.”

  “’Kay.”

  Within minutes they had a lovely kindling fire burning, and Jack coached Brian on how to gently place the logs into the heat, not throw them.

  “It’s easier to toss ’em,” Brian noted. He eyed the fire with due respect. “It’s hot when you get too close.”

  “It is and I’ll do it if you’d rather,” Jack offered. He pointed toward the hay lots surrounding the house and the forested ridge beyond. “Fires in late summer can be dangerous. If it’s windy or too dry, we use the outdoor grill because one little spark can set off a blaze that takes down a forest.”

  Brian’s gulp said he knew that, but then he sucked in a breath, crept closer and gently rolled a split piece of wood onto the fire. “How was that?”

  “Perfect. Now you need two more.”

  The boy did the extra two pieces with care, watching as he rolled the split logs from the built-up stone wall into the campfire area below. “We let these burn for a little while,” Brian whispered as if repeating directions. “Then add more.”

  “Exactly.” Jack squatted low and swept the fire pit a glance. “You know a lot about the basics of fire building. How’d you get to be so smart, kid? Are you a Boy Scout?”

  “No, sir.” Brian stared at the fire, sighed, then drew his gaze back to Jack, but the look on his face, as if he’d just met a monster head-on, broke Jack’s heart. “My dad was a firefighter. He was in Hose Company 7 when they dropped into the Crimson Ridge fire two years ago.”

  Crimson Ridge. The forest fire in central Idaho that called in units for a five-hundred-mile radius. The fire that surrounded an ace team of firefighters, taking the lives of seven men within minutes. This boy had lost his father in the line of duty, a man who’d made his living protecting others.

  Reality broadsided Jack. He’d been wallowing around, a full-grown man, floundering for too long because he’d lost his baseball career, then his mom.

  This little guy had lost his father at an age when memories would fade with time. An age when a boy needs a dad, a living example, a big, strong guy with a gentle voice to build a kid’s confidence and ego.

  A light whistle sounded from the barn area, an old kids’ tune, and when Maggie picked up on the song and started wailing about workin’ on a railroad, Jack’s heart softened. His gut relaxed.

  “‘Prosper the work of our hands for us. Prosper the work of our hands,’” Jack said.

  If being here on this ranch with the McGuires helped this young family and maybe led to something else, something of a more permanent nature, then maybe that’s what God intended. His thoughts went back to the morning service and Ethan’s advice to live each day on purpose.

  He needed to do that more.

  Liv hadn’t shown up in church. Maybe she’d gone to one of the smaller churches in town. Or maybe she’d avoided him and services and slept in.

  A small red car wound its way toward the ranch from the north. A white van sporting the Bobcats baseball logo followed not far behind. Jack squatted and indicated his shoulders. “Hop on. We’ve got some old friends to greet.”

  “Really?” Brian’s face lit up at the thought of riding high on Jack’s shoulders. “I’m not too big?”

  Jack shot him a look that said “as if,” and Brian scrambled onto his broad shoulders without waiting for a second invite. And when Coach Randolph and Liv both smiled their way moments later, the thought of old friends and new acquaintances mingling together on an August evening seemed mighty fine.

  * * *

  “Those kids are adorable.” Liv cut a slab of triple-chocolate cake and laid it on Coach’s plate alongside a scoop of Granny’s rice pudding later that evening. “If your doctor takes issue with this, it’s not my fault, Coach.”

  “I’ll be especially good the rest of the week,” the big man told her in a James Earl Jones–type voice. “And as for you, Livvie Franklin, it does my heart good to see you back home here, for however long. We’ve fallen on some tough times hereabouts, not too many jobs available and some shenanigans going on, but it does this old heart good to see some of our young people return.”

  “Well, gainful employment is a tough go around here.” Liv whacked off another hunk of cake for Jack before giving herself a serving of the rice pudding Jack had gone into town to buy. Just for her. That thought warmed her. But she’d keep Jack at a safe distance no matter how much she loved Granny’s desserts. Better all around. “A girl can’t live with Mom and Dad forever. Still, the timing is oddly correct. Mom called today to say Grandma and Grandpa are moving here. I think I can be a help to them. Or at least a buffer.”

  “They need help?” The timbre of Coach’s voice shifted deeper.

&
nbsp; “Grandpa has Alzheimer’s. Grandma kept hoping it was something else, but I guess that’s wishful thinking now.”

  “Liv, I’m sorry.” Jack’s expression said he meant the words. “If there’s anything we can do to help, just let me know.”

  She slanted a wistful smile up to him as they moved toward the fire. Carrie, Mick and the kids had already feasted on dessert and moved straight into toasting marshmallows on long, thin sticks. “Thanks. I’m going to take it day by day. None of us has any experience, so—” she lifted her shoulders and made a face of acceptance “—we’ll see.”

  “I have always believed life happens for a reason, even if that logic is hard for us to find.” Coach pointed skyward. “Now, Him, the Good Lord, He’s got himself a mighty fine vantage point and He sees! Oh, yes, He sees. And did you folks know that Major League Baseball now hosts an Alzheimer’s Awareness Day in September?” Coach settled into a spot on one of the broad, wooden benches. “Folks wear purple to support funding and research.”

  “Well, I’ve been in a bubble, it seems, because I honestly knew little about Alzheimer’s until Mom mentioned it last week,” Livvie confessed. “On top of that, I hadn’t visited my grandparents in five years, and I’m pretty ashamed of myself right now.”

  Mick raised a blazing marshmallow, puffed air over it, then shifted his gaze to her. “Life gets busy. And we get caught up in the day-to-day. Sometimes we just forget to appreciate what’s around us until it’s gone, but that doesn’t make us bad people, Liv.”

  “But it surely can make us more aware,” Coach added. He set his cake plate down and leaned back on the bench. “When Gladys was alive, we had such plans, such dreams for retirement. Neither one of us had a notion of not being here to enjoy it. We thought of things to do over the winters, places to go once the baseball season wound down midfall.” He shrugged forward and clasped his hands together. “But I don’t let myself think of what we missed, uh-uh. I focus on what we had.” He emphasized the last word with a firm nod. “Nearly thirty years together. Now, that’s something! Two fine kids who go to church regular and raise their youngsters right. Three sweet grandsons and another baby on the way, a little girl this time. When I look at what we have versus what I’ve lost, I realize the Lord’s been mighty good to me. Why, this cake alone is worth a round of the ʽHallelujah Chorus’!”

  Carrie laughed out loud. “Well, thank you, Coach. And as much fun as this has been—” she aimed a pointed look at the two kids “—we have to go. I have work in the morning and Maggie and Brian need to finish up their last week of summer camp.”

  “Couldn’t we just do camp here?” Maggie added charm to the wheedling tone of voice by tilting her head back to catch Mick’s eye. “You have horses and cows and woods and water and maybe you’ve even got crayons. I think we should just make our summer camp here, Mr. Mick.”

  Mick smiled down at her, eased to his feet with her still in his arms, then stepped away from the fire to toss her over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold. “Nice try, kid. When Mom tells us what to do...?”

  Maggie huffed out an overdone sigh with a hand flourish to deepen the dramatic effect. “We do it.”

  “Bingo. How many stars do you see, Mags?”

  The little girl craned her neck as Mick eased her into a more upright position. “So many. So very many. Like a bajillion, at least.”

  Brian stood and yawned before stepping away from the fire. At the corner of the squared-off stone patio he turned back. “Hey, Jack. Thanks for letting me help.”

  He didn’t look at the fire, but Jack read the emotion behind the words. Such a little guy to carry so much woe. “You did good, bud. You did good.”

  The boy’s gaze locked with Jack’s and they both understood the deeper meaning behind the praise.

  “Liv, Coach, nice meeting you. You, too, Jack, and thanks for taking Brian under your wing.” Carrie settled an easy hand around the boy’s shoulders. “He gets tired of girl talk.”

  “Then bring him around more often.” Jack jerked his head toward the house behind them. “With cake like that, I wouldn’t mind having you guys stop by regular.”

  Carrie met his gaze. Seemed to read his meaning. And in the dancing light of fire-pit flames, he was pretty sure she blushed, but maybe the pink in her cheeks was from the heat of the fire. She glanced up, saw Mick’s smile and ducked her head slightly. And this time Jack was certain the blush had nothing to do with the ebbing campfire. Quietly, she and Mick moved toward her car with the two tired kids, cricket chatter murmuring through the human silence.

  “You did okay.” Coach broke the quiet as he set his plate aside and stood, nodding in the direction of Jack’s dad. “But I’ve got an early day tomorrow, too, then a week of play-offs coming up. If you’ve got time to do some batting and field practice with my boys, I’d appreciate it.”

  Coach had asked before, and each time he did, Jack had refused politely, avoiding baseball at all costs. Now he saw the childish aspects of his former actions and stood. “What time?”

  A spark of approval brightened Coach’s face. “Four-thirty. We’re using the fields in Ennis because the slope’s different and I wanna change things up a little.”

  “See you then.”

  “Miss Livvie? Good night.”

  “Night, Coach.”

  Jack turned her way as Coach strode toward his van. “Pretty nice, this.” He shifted his attention to the fire, then the sky. “A pretty girl, a campfire and a bajillion stars.”

  “Except, while I’m a woman of too much leisure at the moment, you’ve got to get up at dawn and ride herd. Or something like that.”

  Jack laughed because they’d just repastured the herd, but he would be up early, caring for animals, then shifting hay to winter quarters with a couple of hands once the dew dried. As summer wound down, each task done put a rancher one step ahead of Mother Nature’s eventual onslaught. “Plenty of work, for sure. And we didn’t get much planning done today, Liv. I’m sorry about that.”

  She stood, dusted off the seat of her pants and shook her head. “I’m not. I had a great time, it was nice to just sit and relax with great people. I can’t remember the last time I let myself sit and chat with no work involved.”

  Neither could Jack, and the reality surprised him. “It seems like we both need to get out more. Probably not much harm in doing some of that together.”

  Liv put her hand up, fingers spread. “Stop right there, cowboy. I put you in the off-limits category years ago. You might think you’re ready to be upgraded, but I’m not so sure, and I’ve got a hefty to-do list right now, including getting this town history accomplished. While it might seem like I’ve got plenty of time, not everyone’s as forthcoming about Jasper Gulch’s historical roots as Chet and Let Shaw seem to have been. I keep stumbling on gaps with very little said, and for a fairly recent history, you’d think my task would be easy.” She made a face as they walked to her car. “But it’s not, and that tweaks my interest. Why are there gaps? And who benefits from them?”

  “Not everybody’s inclined to write down history, Liv.” Jack shrugged when they arrived at her car door. “Couldn’t it be that simple?”

  “It could,” she admitted. “But the gaps are spaced in such a way that some of them are in the early days of the town and others are around the time of Lucy Shaw’s death. As if someone deliberately left things out or removed pages to change the look of the town’s history.”

  “Who would do that?” Jack asked, then went on to the more obvious question for a non-history buff. “Who’d care?”

  “See, that’s it, Jack. Most people don’t embrace history like I do, so when things go missing or spaces of time disappear, the average person wouldn’t know or care. But I got a call today from the mayor himself.”

  “Because?”

  Liv scrunched up her face in an
noyance. “It seems the council received a note.”

  “A note?” Jack frowned, not understanding. “About what?” The idea of passing notes seemed pretty adolescent to him.

  “‘If you want to know what happened to your time-capsule, you need to think about L.S.,’” Liv quoted.

  Jack pretended to clean out his ears. “Say what?”

  “Exactly. Now the council wants me to study any and all things that might give them clues about why the capsule might have been stolen. What was in it that brought someone’s attention. And then the mayor asked me point-blank to keep an eye on Lilibeth Shoemaker because she might be involved.”

  “Only if the capsule harbored makeup and shoes,” Jack supposed. “Why would they target a girl like Lilibeth? It— Ah. The initials.”

  “L.S.,” Liv confirmed. “But you’re right, there is no reason to think Lilibeth would have anything to do with digging up a time capsule.”

  “Getting dirty,” Jack deadpanned.

  The truth of his words lightened Liv’s expression. “That sums it up, right there. Lilibeth might be self-serving and obnoxious, but she’s young. Silly. And she doesn’t get her hands dirty for anything. I’m kind of amazed she’s working at the ice-cream parlor, but it does give her proximity to all of the Middletons’ customer base, and single, cute guys need food. In Lilibeth’s world, that’s a simple equation. Anyway, Jackson and Abigail Rose at the town hall want me to hunt for anything buried in the capsule that might have caught Lilibeth’s eye.”

  “A prospect for a rich husband?” Jack wondered, but the quest about Lilibeth made him further question the sensibilities involved. “No one in their right mind would suspect Lilibeth of being involved in anything more than borrowing her sisters’ clothes. Although with three girls in the house, that might be considered a capital offense.”

  Livvie’s grin rewarded him.

  “I’ll think about it, too,” he promised. Of course he’d think about it, because he didn’t like Liv’s look of worry. Her furrowed brow. He’d made a pledge to make her smile again. Hear her laugh more often. This was a chance to meet that goal. “And I don’t put much worth in anonymous notes, Liv. If someone knows something, he or she should have the gumption to just say it outright.”