Montana Hearts: Her Weekend Wrangler

by Darlene Panzera

  If only someone, other than the Owenses, could offer them the use of a spare cabin. Sammy Jo was a good friend and had an old hunting cabin on her property next door, but ever since Bree could remember, Sammy Jo’s father had been in a hateful feud with her parents. No, Mr. Macpherson would never allow the Collinses to use their cabin no matter how much his defiant daughter begged him.

  “I guess we could stay at the Owens’ guest ranch,” Chelsea told Katelyn and Rebecca.

  “No! Wait—­” Bree looked at Ryan. “Do you think they could finish out their stay in the cabin on the edge of your property?”

  The Tanners kept a furnished cabin ready for whenever one of them needed time away from the rest of the family. Bree’s grandma had told her it had been built for Ryan’s parents after they married, but when his grandparents passed away, the growing Tanner family left the cabin behind and took up residence in the main house.

  Ryan looked at Josh, who shook his head. “We don’t rent out to guests.”

  “We might be able to make an exception,” Ryan told him.

  “My family will pay you,” Bree offered, her stomach churning more from anxiety than the penetrating skunk smell. “I don’t know how, but we’ll pay you.”

  Rebecca’s face broke into a smile that stretched from ear to ear. “Josh, sweetie, we’d be willing to pay you—­for the chance to stay at a real working cattle ranch and be able to see you and your brothers in action.”

  Chelsea nodded, and Katelyn said, “Real cowboys!”

  Ryan jabbed his brother in the ribs. “We could use a little extra money right now to help cover the expense of the hay.”

  “But what about our clothes?” Rebecca asked, glancing down at the yellow polka dot dress she’d donned for her date. “All of our stuff is now drenched in that stench!”

  “You can go shopping again,” Bree promised. “We’ll pay. And . . . you love shopping.”

  Each of their faces brightened and they sounded like the twins when they responded, “Yes, we do!”

  WHILE JOSH LEFT to take Rebecca to the rodeo, Ryan called his father and other two brothers to gain permission for the CEOs to rent their cabin. Bree hopped back and forth from one foot to the other, as if tiptoeing on eggshells, as she waited for him to give her a definitive answer.

  “Well?” she asked when he put away his phone.

  “There are some conditions,” he warned her.

  Bree nodded. “Okay. What are they?”

  “First, the women have to stay away from the cattle. And by stay away, I mean back fifty yards behind a fence. We can’t have anyone getting hurt.”

  “That’s understandable,” she consented.

  “Second,” Ryan continued, “don’t expect my family to entertain them. During the day you bring them over here to your place for the daily activities.”

  Bree nodded. “Of course.”

  “And third, you must go out with me on a real date.”

  “Is that a personal stipulation?” she teased.

  “No,” Ryan said, and gave her a rueful grin. “Believe me, my whole family is behind this.”

  Bree laughed. “Tell them yes to all three. But I’d like to choose where we go.”

  He shook his head. “Not part of the deal.”

  “What is?” she asked, pursing her lips in mock annoyance.

  “Kissing,” he told her. “Lots and lots of kissing.”

  RYAN FOLLOWED BREE, Luke, and Delaney into the Collinses’ living room and wondered if Bree would sit in the love seat beside him, or on the larger couch with her brother and sister. She chose to remain neutral by sitting in a chair between them.

  “It will only take me a minute to hook up the camera cord to the TV,” Delaney said, fiddling with the wiring. “Then we should have a clear view of what got recorded.”

  Judging from the time Chelsea, Katelyn, and Rebecca said they left the cabin and returned, it was possible there had been an hour window between six and seven o’clock that might have captured whoever was responsible for putting the skunk in the women’s cabin.

  The sound came on first, the distant neigh of a horse from the stable. Then a picture came into view, an image of the front porch of Cabin 12 and a strip of land along the right-­hand side.

  “Can you fast-­forward?” Ryan asked, leaning forward in his seat.

  Delaney pushed a button on the remote and the time clock on the image raced like the numbers on a gas pump, but the image stayed the same. Then something moved.

  Bree scooted forward to the edge of her seat. “Wait! Go back!”

  Delaney rewound a few seconds, then pushed play. Nothing. Then a second later, a black wire box swung across the corner of the video.

  “There,” Luke said, pointing. “Did you see that? It looked like a cage to me.”

  “What we need is something concrete to link us to the person who did it,” Ryan told him. “So far all we keep coming up with is speculation.”

  “Something concrete—­like that?” Bree asked, smiling.

  Ryan couldn’t believe his eyes. Directly in front of them, Shane McGrath popped into view carrying a western spotted skunk in a trapper’s cage. The skunk’s leg twitched once, but other than that, the animal appeared to be asleep. Glancing around, the realtor stepped onto the cabin’s porch, opened the door, which had been left unlocked, and went inside.

  “He’s the realtor who wants us to sell our property,” Delaney exclaimed.

  Luke scowled. “We could get him for criminal trespassing.”

  “And malicious mischief,” Bree affirmed. “Look, there he is. He’s coming out of the cabin—­and the cage is empty.”

  Ryan rose from his seat and took a step closer, watching the cage swing back and forth as the realtor hurried away. “And that’s when the dart fell out between the bars. Why he had it in there, I don’t know.”

  “Maybe he thought he could give the skunk a second dose if it woke up too early,” Delaney mused.

  “If he’s the one who salted your fields and put the skunk in our guest cabin, then Shane McGrath is after both of us,” Bree said, also standing. “I’d bet he put the supplement in the stable, too.”

  “But why?” Delaney asked. “For money? A hefty commission when we agree to sell?”

  “What if the Owenses paid him?” Bree asked. “We still don’t have any evidence against Owens. How can we make the realtor talk?”

  “Blackmail him?” Luke suggested.

  “That will only get us in trouble,” Bree warned him.

  Ryan took out his cell phone. “She’s right. As much as I’d like to go after the guy myself, we have to let the sheriff deal with him. And if Shane McGrath is working with Owens, he’ll ’fess up to clear his own name.”

  THE SHERIFF TOOK the video to the district court and a few days later Ryan and Bree received word that Shane McGrath had been arrested. They still waited to hear what the guy had to say, but in the meantime, Saturday arrived and Aunt Mary waited for them at the Fox Creek Halter Show.

  “How’s Boots?” Cody asked as they loaded the mare and filly into the trailer.

  Ryan watched Bree’s face light up as she glanced at his son. “He’s getting big. I’ll bring him over to visit the next time I come over.”

  “My puppies are getting big, too,” Cody said, following at her heels. “Dad let me keep two. I named them Oreo and Lucky. We found homes for the rest of them.”

  “Three went to Aunt Mary’s neighbors,” Ryan added. “She said she would have kept one herself if . . . her health wasn’t failing.”

  Ryan’s father had left earlier to pick up his aunt and drive her to the fairgrounds. She met them by the arena gate with their competitor number.

  “My, oh, my, don’t you look sharp,” Aunt Mary crooned when she saw Cody wearing the clean boots, jeans, jacket, and cowboy h
at he usually reserved for church on Sunday. “You look just like your father.”

  “Very handsome,” Bree agreed, smiling at Cody and then at him.

  He knew how important this event was to both Cody and his aunt, but Ryan couldn’t help but wish it was already over. He had a date with Bree later that night, and every smile, every glance, she threw his way only ramped up his anticipation.

  However, a short while later, as Ryan watched the other horses and their handlers perform, his brow began to sweat and he wished the show was over for a different reason. He’d been informed his aunt wouldn’t be the one holding the mare’s reins at the edge of the arena while Bree went through the course with the filly.

  He would.

  Aunt Mary felt weak and needed to sit in the stands with his father. And although the mare had allowed Ryan to draw close enough to practice groundwork over the last few days, Bree had always been by his side. He’d never been alone with the mare since the day she bit him.

  “You’ll do fine,” Bree said, smiling. “I’ll only be in front of the judges for a few minutes.”

  “A few minutes is all it takes for—­”

  “Angel to sink her teeth in your arm?” Bree asked.

  Ryan had thought of that but shook his head. “For her to act out and make the filly nervous.”

  “I think you’re the one who’s nervous,” Bree teased. “Smile. Hum a tune. Convince Angel that you’re someone she wants to be around.”

  “Yeah,” he said, and grinned. “I’ve heard that before.”

  “And if all else fails, you can use some of that Tanner charm,” Bree assured him. Then she squatted down to look Cody in the eye. “Remember, I’m counting on you to pay attention to Morning Glory’s every move, no matter how small, so if she makes a mistake, we’ll know what to work on for next time.”

  “Don’t worry, Bree,” Cody said, giving her a big thumbs-­up as he climbed into a seat beside Aunt Mary in the stands above them. “I know we’ll win.”

  It was clear Bree’s confidence had rubbed off on his son. Ryan wished he had some. The mare’s eyes widened as their number was called and Bree and the filly walked farther away.

  He drew a slow, steady stream of air into his lungs to steady his breathing. If he remained calm, so would the horse. He hoped.

  “Don’t you dare block my view,” his aunt scolded. “Curl your toes in the tips of your boots and bite down on your tongue. That’s what I always do when my stomach’s having fits.”

  “I’m fine,” Ryan said, but he did as she said nonetheless.

  Bree stood to Morning Glory’s left and waited her turn by the orange cone nearest Ryan’s end of the oval arena. They’d spent all morning brushing and grooming the filly until there wasn’t one stray hair or speck of dirt on her bay coat. A large part of the score was all about appearance. Another portion focused on performance.

  Bree, lead rope in hand, walked beside the filly in a straight line toward the judge. Morning Glory did a little prance to the right, but it just tightened her body and made her look better. Especially since the horses in the show were judged on their soundness, muscling, and balance.

  Next Bree “set up” the filly to be assessed at a standstill. Ryan held his breath, wondering if Morning Glory would stand perfectly square on all four feet. She did, and he let out a sigh of relief, but then he glanced at the mare beside him and realized he hadn’t kept his breathing steady. As a result, Angel tossed her head. Let out a low snort. Shifted her feet.

  Ryan feared the mare would pin back her ears and bare her teeth, but then he stroked his hand through the horse’s mane and murmured, “Look at our gals out there, Angel. Aren’t they doing great? A few minutes more and it will all be over.”

  “They’re beautiful,” Aunt Mary said in a loud whisper from the seats above.

  Even more beautiful was the fact the mare relaxed. So did Ryan. He uncurled his toes and stood, captivated, watching as the judge circled the pair in the middle of the arena with his clipboard and made a few notes.

  Bree turned Morning Glory around and they both trotted side by side away from the judge so the filly could be evaluated on her movement, then the performance was over and they came back through the gate. Morning Glory let out a happy little whinny when she rejoined her mother, and Cody jumped down from his seat in the stands to wrap Bree in a quick hug.

  “You were awesome,” his son told her.

  Bree gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  Cody’s face beamed. “Hey, Aunt Mary, if we win the trophy, who gets to keep it, you or me?”

  “Why, you, of course,” Aunt Mary replied.

  Bree agreed, and when she turned toward Ryan, she nodded toward the mare and smiled. “You did great.”

  Ryan grinned. “So did you. I never doubted you for a minute.”

  “Neither did I,” Aunt Mary told her. “Thank you for all your help, Bree. You’ve made such a difference . . . for all of us.”

  A faint blush colored Bree’s cheeks. “But I really didn’t—­”

  “Hush,” his aunt scolded. “And say, ‘Yes.’ ”

  Bree hesitated and frowned. “Yes?”

  “Good girl,” Aunt Mary said with a nod. “You just agreed to give my filly a good home at your ranch as soon as she’s weaned.”

  Bree gasped. “You’re giving me Morning Glory?”

  “I won’t take her back,” Aunt Mary warned. “You said yes and she’s now yours.”

  Ryan grinned. “If I were you I wouldn’t argue with her.”

  Bree clapped her hands together and laughed. Then she threw her arms around Aunt Mary and wrapped her in a tight hug. “I have a new horse!”

  “Aunt Mary,” Ryan said, catching the older woman’s eye. “Bree and I have to get back. We have a date tonight.”

  “About time,” his aunt exclaimed. “Now I can rest in peace.”

  Ryan quirked his brow at Aunt Mary’s choice of words, then watched her brush her hand over the mare and filly, and turn toward Bree one more time.

  “Take good care of them,” his aunt told her.

  Bree shot a glance toward the horses. “Don’t worry, I will.”

  Aunt Mary smiled again, and this time she winked. “I meant Ryan and Cody.”

  Bree looked at him, with another blush on her face, and he would have liked more than anything to have prolonged that moment, but his cell phone rang, and when he looked at the caller ID he saw that it was the sheriff.

  “Shane McGrath confessed to everything,” the sheriff said in a gush. “The salt, the supplement, and the skunk. And he wasn’t working alone either. You know I’m not supposed to discuss the case, but as a friend, I thought I should warn you.”

  Ryan froze. “Did the realtor give you a name?”

  “Susan and Wade Randall.”

  “The Collinses’ runaway ranch managers?” Ryan asked, surprised. He’d been sure the sheriff had been about to name the Owenses and dreaded the fact he might now owe them an apology.

  “Yep, Sue and Wade still haven’t been found either. It’s best you keep that in mind.”

  “I will,” Ryan said, and clenched his teeth as he hung up the phone.

  He wouldn’t let anyone bring harm to Bree . . . or her family.

  BREE HAD LOOKED forward to seeing Ryan dress up again, like he had for the dance, but instead he showed up for their date wearing old boots, jeans, and a brown sweatshirt that was three shades darker than his eyes and hair. And he looked just as handsome.

  He’d asked her to dress casual, too, so she put back the skirt and blouse she’d intended to wear and chose the cornflower blue jacket she wore on trail rides, jeans, and, okay, she had to wear her new blue suede boots with her newly crafted sapphire boot bling chain around the ankle.

  “A hike, huh?” B
ree asked, eyeing the backpack on the seat of his truck.

  Ryan nodded. “And a sunset picnic atop the F.”

  The giant letter F on the hillside above town was made of whitewashed rocks the high school kids had gathered in generations past to stand for Fox Creek. Originally there had been a C to accompany the F, but the upkeep of two letters had been too much for the town and the C had eventually faded back into the landscape.

  When they arrived at the trailhead, Ryan slipped the straps of the backpack over his shoulders and took her hand. “You know the FC once had a different meaning associated to it besides Fox Creek?”

  Bree shook her head. “Where did you hear that?”

  “My mother told me while I packed the food for our trip.”

  “Okay,” Bree said, playing along. “You’ve got me interested. What else did the letters FC stand for?”

  Ryan turned his head to look at her and said, “Friendship and Community.”

  Bree thought that was a good choice as they climbed eight hundred and fifty feet in elevation to the two-­hundred-­and-­fifty-­foot-­long letter. The trail was easy, enjoyed by countless families with dogs and children, and took about an hour to ascend.

  “Hi, Bree,” an old acquaintance who worked in the general store greeted her as they crossed paths. “Call me and let’s meet for lunch sometime soon.”

  Mr. Dixon, who owned Hidden Treasure Saddlery, came toward them on his way down. “Good to see you, Tanner. Tell your father I have his new saddle strap ready for pickup.”

  Mrs. Lane from the bank led her two granddaughters up the trail in front of them, and because the kids walked at a slower pace, she told Bree and Ryan to go around them and their Labrador.

  “Boots would enjoy this hike,” Bree said, glancing at some of the other dogs on the trail ahead. “I haven’t hiked up to the F in years. I forgot what a social gathering place it could be. Not what I expected from you, Tanner.”

  Ryan grinned. “What did you expect?”

  “Someplace . . . more private?”