by Dawes, Casey
The Montana Ranch
Series
Casey Dawes
Amber Daulton
Lauren Marie
Dawn Luedecke
Julie Kavanagh
The Montana Ranch Series
A Books to Go Now Publication
Copyright © Dawes, Daulton, Marie, Luedecke, Kavanagh 2014
Books to Go Now
Also published on Smashwords
For information on the cover illustration and design, contact [email protected]
First eBook Edition –October 2014
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.
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Bridget Lawson glared at bank’s lobby clock. The minute hand hadn’t moved in at least, well, a minute. She’d been waiting ten of them already. Her roiling stomach clenched a little more
A few bank employees busy at scattered desks, and two tellers chatting with each other dotted the cavernous space. Offices lined one wall like a rich person’s privacy fence.
A placard on one door announced, “Loan Officer.” A round woman with curly gray hair sat at a desk nearby. Through the sliver of window next to the office door, Bridget glimpsed a brightly dressed, bottle blonde gesturing at the person hidden behind the office’s wooden door.
Probably know her. Bridget had lived in this town most of her whole life, except for eight years on the rodeo circuit.
The door opened and the blonde flounced out. Her name pricked at the back of Bridget’s mind.
“Don’t forget. Sunday after church. It’s the least you can do,” the woman called back to whoever was in the office. . Without acknowledging Bridget, she waved to the tellers and left.
Now maybe I can get this meeting over with.
Bridget stood and looked toward the office. A man, presumably the loan officer, stood in the door staring after the blonde. She recognized him and stiffened. Tom Browdy had crushed her heart in high school, sending her on her madcap adventure of bad men and worse times.
She glanced at the bank’s outside doors. The vein in her neck throbbed. The woman who’d left in such a hurry was her old nemesis, Lucy Savoy.
By the time she turned back, the loan officer’s door was closed. She stood and walked toward it. The woman at the desk stopped her with a chill question. “Can I help you?”
Bridget glanced at the name tag on the desk. Abigail Bennett. Bennett. She knew a Bennett. Ah, Melody Bennett. Same class in high school. A quiet, shy girl. “Are you related to Melody?”
The woman beamed. “Her aunt.”
Bridget smiled. “I knew her in high school. I’m Bridget Lawson.”
“What can I do for you, Bridget?” The ice had melted from the woman’s voice.
“I’ve been waiting to see your loan officer. I saw that his last visitor just left, and I was wondering if I could see him now.” Bridget let her voice linger on the word “visitor,” for an extra second.
“Oh, that was Lucy Browdy. Not really a visitor, if you know what I mean.” Abigail picked up the phone. “A customer to see you, Mr. Browdy.”
The loan officer’s door opened.
Tom Browdy. Her stomach gave one more twist.
When he caught sight of Bridget, Tom’s eyes widened. “Bridget Lawson?”
She stilled her emotions and slipped on the poise of a rodeo queen. ”Hello, Tom. The teller said I needed to talk to a loan officer. I guess that’s you.”
“Um. Sure. Come in.”
She took a seat in one of the chairs facing his desk and placed her folder of papers on the surface.
“Good to see you again, Bridget. I heard you were back in town. What’s it been? Eight years?”
“Almost.” Exactly seven years, eleven months, and three days since she’d fled Willow Creek, the day after she graduated high school.
“You look great. How are your parents?”
“They’re good. Still working the ranch.” Sometimes small town rituals set her teeth on edge. When could she ask for what she needed and get out of there?
“You staying with them?” He shuffled some papers on his desk.
“No. I have my own place. I’m applying for a loan to build an arena.” She gestured to the outer office. “They said I had to see you.”
He stopped shuffling and looked at her. His chocolate-brown eyes reminded her of the kisses they’d shared in high school.
He probably didn’t remember their kisses with the same intensity she did. He’d been too focused on Floozy Lucy.
“Oh. I see. I hoped this might be a social call.”
“I don’t have time for social calls.” And you’d be the last person I’d see. “I’m building a school—barrel racing. I need money to put up an arena. I filled out all the necessary forms. You’ll find them in there.” She pointed to the folder on his desk.
“I heard you did well in the rodeo.”
Good enough to buy a place with her winnings. The house was outdated with a leaky roof, but the barn was solid, as were the corral fences. She’d hired Jessica Brannon, a friend from school, to work on the cattle fencing so she could run a few head. All she was missing was a covered arena. Once she had that, could entice the ex-Californians with their pretend ranches to send their daughters to her school, even in the winter.
Tom opened the folder and scanned the papers, his long fingers mesmerizing her as they had when he’d been quarterback. The way his shirt lay, she could tell he’d stayed in shape, without the flabby belly that too many of the towns ex-jocks flaunted.
Wraiths of feelings she’d thought she’d buried slipped out of their graves.
No. She was over Tom Browdy, no matter how much his thick brown hair tempted her fingers.
She reasserted her will over her memories. Her visit was business. Strictly business. “Well?”
He looked up and his gaze pierced her defenses. . He put the folder down. “Look, Bridget, I owe you an apology for what happened.”
“No need to apologize, Tom. I’m over it.” She gestured in the direction of the Lucy’s exit. “From what I’ve heard, sounds like you are, too.”
“That was a mistake.”
“What? The marriage?”
He closed the folder. “The prom. The marriage. Everything. I know I can’t ever make it up to you, but I’d like to try.”
“You’re right, Tom. You can’t ever make it up to me, but you can help me get the loan I need.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said.
“Good.” She stood.
“Can I at least take you to dinner so we can catch up on the last eight years?”
“I’m here for a loan, not dinner.”
He cleared his throat. “I know. It’s going to take me a while to run the numbers, but you’re a prospective client. It’d be perfectly fine to take a client out to dinner.”
“Not in Willow Creek, it isn’t. Not with our history.”
The tips of his earlobes reddened.
Good.
He stood and came around the desk.
Too close.
She backed up and the back of her knees hit the chair. She almost stumbled, but years of riding helped her keep her balance.
He put his hand on her arm.
Not appropriate banker behavior.
How should she react? And what happened to all the air in the office?
“I was an idiot,” he said. “My only excuse was I was a dumbass eighteen-year-old with a big head. I made a mistake. I’m sorry.”
She shook off his hand, edged around the chair, and made it to the door. “Don’t be silly. It was only a prom.” Only my senior prom. She swallowed. “When do you think you’ll have the numbers done?”
He had the same expression he’d worn in high school after he’d thrown an incomplete pass. “Should take me a few days. I could bring them out to your place.”
“No need. I’m in town at least once a week. See you, Tom.”
If she was going to stay in Willow Creek, she was going to have to a better job of burying the past.
****
The June sun warmed Bridget as she put her chestnut quarter horse, Recovery, through his paces in the dusty corral. The last horse she’d used on the circuit, Recovery was strong and agile, able to skim the edge of the barrels and deliver a strong finish as she brought him on home.
A sleek SUV pulled up next to the corral and a ten-year-old girl leapt out of the passenger side as soon as the car came to a stop.
“Amanda!” her mother yelled and stepped out of the car.
Bridget chuckled and loped Recovery to the corral gate. Amanda’s eagerness was an asset as a student, but she imagined it made her a challenge to a mother. Bridget slipped off the horse and let his reins drop to the ground.
“Hi, Amanda!” She grinned at the pigtailed firestorm as the girl climbed the corral rails.
“I’m going to do much better this week, Aunt Bri,” Amanda announced. “I’ve been practicing like you told me. Someday I’m going to be just like you!”
Heaven forbid.
Bridget glanced at Jenny Lindon, her closest friend since high school and mouthed “Sorry.”
Jenny shrugged. “All girls go through the horse stage. Most of us come out of it, thankfully. Of course, there are people like you.” She smiled and patted the top of her daughter’s head. “I’m hoping she’d going to be one of the grow-out-of-it kind.”
“No, Mommy! I’m going to be just like Aunt Bridget. You wait and see!”
“Got it, kiddo. Now go get Spook ready for your lesson.”
The girl raced to the barn.
“How’s it going?” Jenny leaned against the rail.
“I went to the bank for a loan—for the arena I want.”
“Do you really need it, Bri? Most of us learned to ride in the open. Things haven’t changed that much have they?”
“I’m competing with the Lazy J. They have money to burn. Yeah, the locals will come here out of loyalty, but the new folks—rich people with ranchettes, daughters, and original Charlie Russells—they want the best for their offspring. And the best includes a covered arena.”
“Do you think you’ll get it?”
Bridget kicked the dirt with the toe of her worn cowboy boot. “The loan officer is Tom Browdy.”
“That Tom Browdy? The same one who threw you over for Floozy Lucy?”
“Yep.”
“And divorced her. That’s ancient history, Bri. Haven’t you gotten over your high school crush by now?”
“Oh, I’m over it.”
She’d woken up hung-over in enough strangers’ beds to be done with Tom Browdy.
Then why does it still hurt to see him?
Amanda exited the barn and led Spook to the block. Using the wooden box to give her a boost, she threw herself up onto the white quarter horse and started making warm-up loops around the corral.
“Better get to work,” Bridget said.
“I’ve got to run some errands in town. Need anything?”
“Nope. Got to go in myself to find out how the loan’s doing. See you in a bit.” Bridget gave her friend a wave and turned toward her honorary niece.
“Let him do the work, Amanda. No need to saw his mouth like that. You’ll ruin him.”
“He’s not listening to me, Aunt Bri.” The little girl’s lower lip trembled.
This was the problem with girls. Their go-to tactic was tears.
Was that how Lucy had snagged Tom for the prom?
“Trot him here.”
Amanda trotted the horse toward Bridget and reined him in. The horse took a few steps to the side before coming to a complete stop in front of her.
Bridget walked around the animal and checked his saddle and bridle. “Here’s the problem. Hop off.” She pointed to a crusty spot of mud on the bridle right above the bit. “Did you clean the leather like I taught you?”
Amanda dipped her head and dragged her right foot back and forth in the dirt. “No. The lesson made me late for a party, and I wanted to go.”
Bridget crouched down and put her arm around Amanda. “I know you want to be a good barrel racer. You’re working really hard at it.”
Amanda’s tears were almost overflowing. She nodded her head.
“Then your horse comes first. Spook is the one who will make or break your ride. If you don’t do your best of him, then he won’t do his best for you. Does that make sense?”
The tears spilled over Amanda’s lower eyelashes, but she nodded again.
“Good girl. Go inside and clean his bridle. Then we’ll start the lesson.”
An hour later Amanda and her horse were skillfully rounding the barrels and coming home to the starting line with new proficiency.
After Amanda finished her lesson, thankfully with no more tears, Bridget was alone again. She debated whether to clean stalls, do some minor repairs in the house, or escape everything by riding into the hills to see how Jessica was doing with the fencing. It was prime time for wildflowers.
A plume of dust on the driveway drew her attention.
She shaded her eyes to determine the vehicle. As it came closer, she made out an unfamiliar fairly new-looking black pickup. The truck stopped, and the driver got out.
Her stomach clenched as Tom walked toward her. “I would have made it into town this afternoon, Tom.”
“I needed an excuse to get out of the office.” Gone was the business casual attire. Instead he’d dressed as she’d remembered—blue jeans, snap plaid shirt, worn boots, and a cowboy hat slung low. He held a brown envelope in his hand.
Her gaze automatically moved to his lips. After all the men she’d kissed, she should have forgotten how that particular pair felt pressed against hers.
She hadn’t.
He crossed the gap between them. “I have some bad news, Bri.”
“You can call me Bridget. I reserve ‘Bri’ for friends.”
His lips grew thin. “I see.”
If he felt the need to come see her personally, the news must be bad. “The bank turned down my loan.”
“Yes.”
“Why? My credit’s good. It’s a small loan. You’ve
known me all of my life.”
He shook his head. “You’ve got a new business. Banks aren’t making many loans these days, and when we do make them, they go to people with a track record.”
She took a step closer to him, drew up every one of her sixty-three inches and glared at him. “Just how the hell am I supposed to get a track record if I can’t get a loan?”
“It’s difficult, I know, but that’s how it works these days.”
“What if I went to one of the big banks?”
“It’s the numbers. They just don’t add up right. Big bank or small, you’re not going to get the loan.”
“I guess we’re done then. Have a nice ride back to town.”
She turned away from him and stalked to the corral. She climbed over rails and grabbed Recovery’s reins.
Definitely a day to ride in the hills.
“Wait a minute.” Tom followed her.
She flung herself up on the horse. “We don’t have anything else to say.”
He put his hand on Recovery’s bridle. “I have an alternative.”
His words paused her anger. “I’m waiting.”
“Can we go somewhere a little more comfortable to discuss this?”
“I’m fine where I am.”
“Bridget.” He placed his hand on her thigh, and her muscle contracted.
“Don’t.” The word was a whisper.
He pulled his hand away, let go of the bridle, and took a step back. “Sorry.” He held up the envelope. “There’s another place you can apply for a loan. Information’s in here. I’ll help you fill out their application if you need it.” Sorrow etched lines in his face. “I owe you that much.”
The riveting pain of her first lost love pierced her heart. No matter how many shots of whiskey she’d taken, how many men she’d bedded, the agony was as sharp as it had been when he’d told her he was taking Lucy to their prom.
Stupid. It had only been a dance.
