Montana Hearts: Her Weekend Wrangler

by Darlene Panzera

  Bree looked out the door just in time to see her neighbor Mr. Owens punch one of her newly hired ranch hands in the face.

  What was going on?

  Bree ran through the open stretch between the cabins and barn and waved her hands for the men to stop. But they paid no attention. The ranch hand lunged forward, attempted to return the punch, and missed. Mr. Owens took another shot and . . . sent the man flying.

  “Told you I could knock you down backward,” Mr. Owens crowed, his face beaming with delight. He looked around. “Who’s next? You?”

  Bree turned her head to see who he was talking to and caught sight of Ryan walking up the dirt path.

  “There’s no way I’d ever fight you,” Ryan told him.

  Ryan Tanner looked especially nice today with his brown hair ruffling in the cool spring breeze. Then there was the way he kept looking at her, as if he were studying her for the first time . . . and liked what he saw.

  He helped the ranch hand off the ground and Bree noticed the way the man held his wrist protectively close to his side.

  “Are you hurt?” Bree demanded.

  The ranch hand winced. “I think I broke my arm when I fell.”

  Bree turned on her neighbor. “How dare you come over here and start a fight with my employees! Now look at him. Do you see what you did?”

  “Hey, the guy didn’t believe I used to be a professional boxer,” Mr. Owens said, collecting a hat full of money off a nearby stump. “Bet me fifty bucks I couldn’t land him flat on his back.”

  “Are you that desperate for money?” she asked, unable to keep the anger out of her voice. “I heard you didn’t have the bookings you wanted for this upcoming season, but I didn’t think you’d stoop to this!”

  Her neighbor flinched, almost as if she had hit him.

  “Owens, you better leave,” Ryan added. “Now.”

  Mr. Owens gave Ryan a sharp glance, then pocketed his money and placed the hat on his head. “I’m going . . . straight to your father, Bree. He’ll want a word with you, after he hears how you talk to your elders.”

  “I’m sure it won’t be anything I haven’t heard before,” she assured him. Then she directed Nora and Nadine toward the other cabins, her injured employee to the main house for medical help, and gestured for Ryan to follow her to the staging area beside the stable.

  “We’re down a ranch hand, so it’s just the three of you,” Bree said, glancing between Ryan and the redheaded woman and short, plump man who waited for them.

  She pointed toward the raised plank loading decks. “Okay. This is where the guests will mount the horses for trail rides and the mini-­roundups. I’ll need you to lead the horses up to the deck and help the riders slide into the saddles.”

  Ryan frowned. “Why don’t you just use mounting blocks?”

  “Most of our guests have never ridden before and it’s hard for some of them to swing their leg up over the horse—­even from a mounting block. They think climbing down into the saddle from the raised deck is easier.”

  “Wait a minute,” Ryan said, holding up a hand. “You didn’t tell me I’d be leading a bunch of greenhorn guests on these mini-­roundups. I thought you’d require them to have at least some riding experience.”

  Bree shook her head. “Most are city slickers who just want to be a cowboy for the weekend. We help fulfill that fantasy.”

  “So they don’t even know how to tack up a horse?” Ryan eyed her with disbelief. “How do you expect me to saddle and lead a dozen riders on a mini-­roundup by myself in four hours?”

  “You won’t,” Bree assured him. “The other ranch hands will help you.”

  “Who?” Ryan asked, taking her elbow and pulling her out of earshot of the others. “Them?”

  Bree glanced at the redhead, who was clipping a lead rope to the wrong end of a halter, and the round man trying to unsuccessfully throw a lasso around the wooden practice steer directly next to him.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Ryan said, keeping his voice low. “No way. I’m going to need you to go on the mini-­roundups with me.”

  Bree pulled away from him. “That’s not part of the deal.”

  “Can’t stand to spend any more time with me than necessary?” His expression hardened and his tone turned bitter, as if she’d insulted him.

  “It’s . . . it’s not you,” she said, retaking his arm.

  “No?”

  She shook her head and confided in a whisper, “It’s the riding.”

  “Because of Serenity?”

  “Yes. I haven’t ridden since I lost her. Just being near the stable makes me . . .”

  “Nervous?” He nodded, as if he finally understood. “I thought you, of all ­people, knew that once you take a fall you need to get right back up in the saddle.”

  “This is a different kind of fall,” she told him, and thumped the left side of her chest with her fist. “It’s the kind that hurts in here, you know?”

  “Yeah,” he said, his tone regretful. “I’ve taken a few of those falls myself.”

  She gave his arm a squeeze. “Please, Ryan. Help us?”

  He blew out his breath, was silent a long moment, and then gave her a direct look. “I need at least one more person to ride with me. Someone to help guests stay in formation when I go one way and the cattle go the other.”

  “I can have Delaney ride with you,” Bree promised. “And Luke can help the guests tack up.”

  However, when she approached her brother later that evening, he flat out refused. “I’m the one in charge of obtaining new permits and running construction projects, remember?” he argued. “I need my cane to stand up and can’t lift a saddle with one hand.”

  She’d seen him do the most amazing feats in the past and had no doubt Luke could lift two saddles if he wanted to. He was just giving her a hard time—­like her father had done when he demanded to know why she had antagonized their next-­door neighbor.

  Convinced Delaney would put up the least resistance, she trudged into the stable where her sister divided up a bale of hay into flakes of hay for the horses’ evening feed.

  “Why can’t you do it?” Delaney protested, once Bree explained Ryan’s terms.

  “Because . . . I’m still trying to sort out the financial records.”

  “But I’m already taking care of all the horses,” Del said, her face weary. “You expect me to go on the weekend roundups, too? Who’s going to watch Meghan?”

  “I will,” Bree offered.

  “No offense, Bree, but what do you know about children? Have you had any experience with a two-­year-­old?”

  “No,” she admitted, “not really. Maybe Ma or Grandma can watch her?”

  “Ma’s busy catering to Dad, and Grandma is slower than she used to be and can’t keep up with Meghan’s energy. I don’t want her to get worn out.”

  “Del, you know why I don’t want to ride anymore,” Bree pleaded.

  Her sister tossed a flake into the stall of the horse next to her and said, “You know what they say—­if you take a fall, even if it’s an emotional one, the best way to heal is to get back up into the saddle ASAP.”

  “I know, I know,” she said, recalling the same words from Ryan earlier. “But I just need a little more time, okay?”

  “Promise you and I will go on a trail ride next week.”

  Bree hesitated. “Not sure about next week, but . . . soon.”

  Delaney gave her a pensive look and sighed. “If Meghan stays with you while I ride, I want you both where I can see you. Sit up on the hillside above the corral and wave if she needs me.”

  Bree smiled. “Does that mean you’ll do it?”

  “Only until you get yourself back up in the saddle,” Del replied, “which better be quick. Oh, and one more thing.” Del shoved a square green flake of hay into her arms.
“If I ride, you’re going to have to help me feed. Starting tonight.”

  Bree nodded, delivered the flakes to the next four horses in line to receive their dinner, and thought she was actually doing okay . . .

  Until she came face-­to-­face with the horse in Serenity’s stall.

  “MAKE ANY PROGRESS with Bree?” Josh asked, elbowing Ryan as he sat between him and Dean in the front seat of the ranch pickup.

  Ryan elbowed his brother back, making him yelp. “You should know better than to tease when you’re the one sitting in the middle. And no, the horses still need a lot of work.”

  “I wasn’t asking about progress with the horses,” Josh countered.

  Dean chuckled. “Ry, don’t listen to him. He’s just wishing he were in your shoes.”

  “Bree is a single, horse-­lovin’, true-­hearted cowgirl,” Josh added.

  Ryan gave him a sidelong look. “Or used to be.”

  “Still is,” Josh assured him. “Just give her time to readjust.”

  Ryan swatted the rim of Josh’s hat down over his face to the bridge of his nose. “Are you thinking of going after her?”

  Josh pushed his hat back up onto his head and laughed. “Not after how mad you got the last time I took her out.”

  Ryan thought about how frustrated he’d been after Josh had asked Bree to go to their high school prom and chuckled. “That was years ago. What’s past is past.”

  Dean brought the vehicle to a jarring stop. “Is it?”

  Ryan set his jaw. His brothers continued to grin as they piled out of the truck after him. But his mind wasn’t on Bree or any other woman right now. He intended to finish repairing the irrigation pipes and focus on the day of work in front of him.

  “Ryan.”

  The alarm in his brother’s voice made him turn. Dean stood in the field, Josh a few feet away.

  “Do you see this?” Dean asked, his voice low. He swept his arm around in a slow circle.

  Ryan gazed at the delicate blades of six-­inch-­high timothy grass hay they’d been growing for the three dozen cattle they’d added to the herd that spring, and noticed the plants were dying.

  He frowned and knelt down to examine the grass around him. The ground was wet and coated with a faint white substance. Frost? The mornings in May could still be quite chilly but usually melted by midday. No, this wasn’t frost.

  He ran his finger over a plant next to his boot and pulled off a slick, gritty residue. Raising it to his nose he glanced at his brothers, who watched him, their eyes wide.

  “No smell,” he informed them. Then he touched his finger to his lips. “Tastes like . . .” His mouth puckered and a fist full of dread punched him in the stomach. “Salt.”

  He spat on the ground and noticed both Dean and Josh had dropped to their knees to investigate as well.

  “No. Oh, God, please . . . no.” Dean met his gaze. “I better call Dad.”

  As Dean whipped out his cell phone, Josh looked at Ryan and asked, “Have you ever seen anything like this?”

  Ryan’s throat was so raw he could barely answer. “Not over an entire field.”

  “We won’t be able to replant for another whole season!” Josh exploded.

  “No.” Ryan’s chest tightened. “Probably not for several years.”

  “How did this happen?”

  Ryan glanced up at the sky. “Crop duster. Must have sprayed salt water over everything during the night.”

  Fifteen minutes later their father and brother Zach drove up in their father’s pickup and inspected the hay for themselves.

  Ryan had never seen his father look so grim. His face had turned ashen, his jaw pulling the lines of his face into a tight-­lipped scowl.

  “Think it was an accident?” Zach asked. “Maybe the road crew had planned to deice a ­couple of the higher roadways first thing this morning and missed their mark?”

  Their father shook his head. “No, this didn’t happen from some random flyby. The plane that did this had to have made several trips through. Someone did this on purpose.”

  “We should check the other fields,” Dean said, running toward his truck. “If someone wants to put us out of business they might target those fields, too.”

  Josh ran with him, but Ryan stayed behind. “Whoever did this, we’ll find him,” he assured his father. “Any idea who could hate us this much?”

  “A jealous person with no morals,” his father said, narrowing his eyes.

  “Or someone who wants to keep us busy,” Zach complained. “Now we’re going to have to work twice as hard this season to grow enough hay to feed the cattle or else put out a ton of money to buy from someone else.”

  “I can ask Aunt Mary if we could lease her field this year,” their father said, throwing the dying blade he’d pulled up back onto the ground. “Then we’ll have to purchase new seed.”

  More dread poured into Ryan’s gut as the enormity of the financial consequences this would have on them continued to register. “She promised Owens he could use her field this season, but he hasn’t planted yet. We could still ask her. Tell her we’re in a bind. I’m sure Aunt Mary would rather lease the land to us.”

  “Won’t that cause problems between you and your father-­in-­law?” his dad asked, quirking a brow.

  “Ex-­father-­in-­law,” Ryan corrected. “I’ll explain the situation, but if he throws a fit, believe me, there will be no love lost between us on this deal or any other.”

  “Aunt Mary hates going back on her word,” his father continued. “Especially now, when she’s feeling sick and wants the rest of her life to count for what’s right.”

  “Dad, we have no choice,” Ryan told him. “We need her field.”

  “Yeah, and Ryan can butter her up before you ask,” Josh added. “All he has to do is show her the progress he’s making with her filly.”

  “You’re right,” their father agreed. “Ryan, let me know when it’s a good time?”

  He nodded, anxiety welling in his chest. First, he’d have to “make progress” with Bree.

  AFTER BREE RECEIVED an inspiring pep talk from her brother, Luke, she arrived early for her second training session with the mare and filly armed with an arsenal of weapons to win the day’s upcoming battle for trust.

  The first tactic was to muster her courage and use the element of surprise. Instead of waiting for Ryan to show, she marched straight into the Triple T stable to the stall on the end. The horses were still munching their breakfast hay when she approached, and lifted their heads, perked their ears, and paused in their chewing as if to say, What are you doing here?

  For her second tactic, she reached to press the play button on the portable CD player she’d brought along. The building soon filled with the soothing strands of one of her favorite country-­western ballads, “Lovely to wake up by your side each morning.” She hoped the horses might take the hint.

  She glanced at the star on the filly’s forehead and her thoughts drifted to the night she’d come face-­to-­face with the horse in Serenity’s stall when Delaney had made her help feed.

  The red roan had looked at her with soulful eyes as if he didn’t want to be there any more than she did. Then later that night she spoke with her father and learned that the gelding had lost someone, too—­his owner.

  It wasn’t the horse’s fault he’d been brought to her family’s guest ranch and put in Serenity’s stall. No one really had control over where they were placed in the world. Just like this mare and filly that stood before her now. They’d all been hurt, needed to put the past behind, and move on.

  Which led her to tactic number three. She needed to understand her opponents and discover weaknesses in their nature to press her advantage. She dug in her bag and pulled out a bright orange carrot and a big, shiny red apple. The mare leaned her head forward and started licking her lip
s in anticipation. Oh, yes, definitely a weakness.

  A soft voice behind her asked, “Are you giving treats?”

  Oh, yes, she was. She turned to find Ryan’s son standing behind a hay bale a few feet away. “Hi, Cody,” she greeted. “Where’s Annabelle?”

  “She’s with her puppies.” The boy gave her a curious look. “How do you know her name?”

  Bree flashed a smile. “Can you keep a secret?”

  The boy nodded and cautiously stepped around the hay bale.

  “Her name’s on her collar,” Bree told him. “Last year when I came home to visit, my best friend, Sammy Jo, and I went hiking every day along the path bordering your family’s fields. And each day Annabelle came bounding out to greet us. After the first few times, I started bringing her treats.”

  Cody took a step closer. “Do you have a dog?”

  “My father has one. A German shepherd. It follows him around everywhere, but I don’t have one of my own.” She dug again into her bag of tricks and pulled out two ziplock baggies. “Here,” she said, placing them into Cody’s small hands. “One is for Annabelle. She really likes my grandma’s homemade dog biscuits. And the other is for you.”

  “Me?” Cody stared at the bag. “You brought me a treat?”

  Bree nodded. “I hope you like fruit leather?”

  He opened the baggie and bit off one end of the sweet, sticky sheet of dried strawberry. “Oh, yeah.” Cody quickly finished the rest and gave her a big smile. “Thanks. Annabelle’s going to love her treats, too. Would you like to see her puppies?”

  Bree thought of the next item on her brother’s list of advice. Enlist recruits.

  “Maybe later,” Bree said, smiling at her new friend. “How ’bout right now you help me with these horses? Do you want to feed the mare a treat?”

  As the boy nodded, her gaze fell from his familiar brown eyes to the slight dent on the tip of his chin. She had to admit Cody was cute. Just like his dad. No doubt he’d grow up to be a heartbreaker as well.

  “Move real slow,” she cautioned, though she doubted he was in any danger. While they’d been talking, Cody had already moved close enough to the stall to pet the horse, and the mare hadn’t reacted in a negative way.