Montana Mavericks, Books 1-4

by Diana Palmer

  He walked out of the house, scowling and shaking his head. Why in hell did he keep going back for more of Maris’s illogical, inconsistent, irrational behavior? What made her so appealing he couldn’t keep his hands off her? She was pretty, sure, but so were a million other women.

  Enough was enough. The next time he got that itch around Maris, he would ignore it if it killed him. And that was a promise.

  Luke put Keith to riding the horses in the secondary pasture, those that had already gone through the training process. Recalling how Blackie had spooked Mother the night Maris had been riding the mare, Luke cautioned Keith to keep a sharp eye out for anything that might alarm his mount. “Ride each one for about an hour,” Luke instructed. “Make sure they’re responding to your commands.”

  Luke’s own plan for the day was another go at Bozo, the big red stallion. Riding Rocky, he roped the stallion and led the balky animal into the corral. Once he was freed within the enclosure Bozo’s eyes contained a feral gleam, and anytime Luke tried to approach him, Bozo would swivel around and kick at him with his hind feet. After a good hour of trying to coax the stallion into calming down, Luke admitted defeat. There was only one way to break Bozo, and that was to ride the buck out of him. After this morning Luke was in the proper frame of mind to take on a bucking bronc. Determinedly he set about doing so.

  First he called Keith from the pasture. “I need your help with this brute.” Luke roped Bozo from two directions, tying the ends of the taut ropes to opposite sections of corral fencing, virtually immobilizing the large animal. With murder in his eye, Bozo squealed, tossed his head, swished his tail and kicked out his hooves, but that was all he could do.

  Taking up a saddle, watchful of those flying hooves, Luke threw it over the stallion’s back.

  Keith’s eyes were as big as saucers. “What’re you doing, Luke?”

  “I’m gonna ride the ornery out of this stallion,” Luke replied grimly. Bozo was prancing and doing his best to get rid of the burden on his back, but Luke managed to connect and tighten the cinch belt. It took some time, but he finally forced the bit into Bozo’s mouth. “Here’s where you come in, Keith. Once I’m in the saddle and give you the word, cut those ropes loose.”

  “Cut ’em, as in using a knife?”

  “Right.”

  Keith grinned with sudden excitement. This was going to be some show. “I’ll wait for your word.”

  Luke smoothed the leather gloves on his hands, then moved quickly, leaping onto the saddle without using the stirrup. Bozo went crazy. Luke twisted the reins around his left hand. “Cut ’im loose!” he yelled to Keith.

  Unfettered and enraged, the stallion threw himself around and around in a tight circle. Luke hung on. Bozo arched his back and went straight up in the air, coming down hard on all four feet, jarring Luke so hard his teeth hurt. Bozo fishtailed, bucked, squealed and reared, but Luke held on.

  “Holy smoke,” Keith mumbled in awe.

  Alerted and alarmed by the noise coming from the corral, Maris came running up. “What’s going on?”

  “Luke’s riding the ornery out of Bozo,” Keith explained. “I’ve never seen anything like it, Maris.”

  Maris was staring at Luke and Bozo. She’d seen similar displays before, at various rodeos. Only rodeo broncs were usually goaded into anger and Bozo was crazed with genuine fury. “My God,” she whispered. One mistake and Luke would be mashed potatoes. “You damned fool,” she mumbled. Her heart was in her throat, beating hard and fast.

  Keith was practically turning inside out with excitement. “Look at Luke go,” he cried.

  Maris was looking and the sight within the corral made her knees weak from fear. Bozo threw himself into the fence; Luke drew up his leg just in time to avoid it being crushed by a post. The stallion went airborne again, a mighty leap that put space in between Luke’s seat and the saddle. Coming down was another jarring blow. Gritting his teeth, he pulled the reins tighter, sawing the bit against Bozo’s tender mouth.

  The battle between horse and man went on and on. Maris found herself holding her breath one minute and gasping for oxygen the next.

  “Bozo’s getting winded,” Keith exclaimed.

  “So is Luke,” Maris retorted. “This really ticks me off.”

  Keith sent her a look. “How come?”

  “I’m not paying Luke enough money to get himself killed,” she snapped.

  “Heck, he isn’t gonna get killed, Maris,” Keith said with every confidence. “He’s the best rider there ever was. Yeehah!” Keith yelled as Luke survived another bout of fishtailing from Bozo. “Ride ’im, Luke! Show ’im how it’s done!”

  Then, suddenly, it was over. His massive chest heaving from exhaustion, Bozo stopped dead in his tracks. Luke took a long breath, then leaned forward and stroked the stallion’s neck. “Atta boy, Bozo. Good boy.” He nudged the horse with his knees. “Take a few steps, boy.” The stallion obeyed. Luke walked him around the corral, then called “Whoa” and pulled gently on the reins. Bozo stopped.

  Luke looked over to grin at Keith and saw Maris. She wasn’t smiling. “Uh…were you watching?” Without answering, she whirled and walked off. Luke’s gaze met Keith’s. “She didn’t like it, huh?”

  “She said she wasn’t paying you enough money to get yourself killed,” Keith confided.

  Luke turned his head to watch Maris stomping off across the compound. Something within him sighed. “She was already mad at me, so I guess one more reason doesn’t matter.”

  Keith looked curious. “How come she’s mad at you?”

  “Uh…it was something that happened this morning.” But while Luke was walking Bozo around the corral, he knew that wasn’t the whole truth. Maris was either hot for his body or hot under the collar because of him. How could a mere man figure out that one?

  Maris was determined to find that bill of lading, or whatever document Ray had been given when the horses were delivered. There had to be something, she knew, but where had Ray put it? Surely he wouldn’t have thrown it away, not when he’d never thrown anything out in his entire life.

  It was late that afternoon when she finally found a sheaf of papers at the very bottom of a cardboard box without any sort of label. Other than those important documents, the box contained an assortment of magazines and pamphlets related to the breeding and raising of quarter horses. Quickly Maris thumbed through the papers and nodded with satisfaction. The name of the trucking firm was there, as well as bills of sale for the ninety-three horses, all signed by a Katherine Willoughby with a rural Wyoming address.

  “Great,” Maris declared aloud. Now she could contact Ms. Willoughby and find out if there were any existing records of ancestry on the horses she’d sold Ray.

  Bending over the corral spigot, Luke splashed water on his face and naked chest. He straightened and gave his head a shake to get the wet hair out of his eyes. Keith had shed his shirt, too, and when Luke moved aside, he wet himself down the same way Luke had.

  “It’s gonna rain, Luke.” Keith looked up at the sky. “Not too many clouds yet, but the humidity is really climbing.”

  “Feels like it,” Luke agreed. The summer heat had become oppressive this afternoon. He’d sweated more today than anytime since starting this job. So had Keith. Luke grinned at the boy. “Water’s dripping off the end of your nose, kid.”

  “Yours, too,” Keith retorted. “Hey, Luke, I’ve never seen anything like that ride you took on Bozo today. Do you think I’ll ever be as good as you are with horses?”

  Maris’s cutting words on that subject were suddenly in Luke’s mind: I don’t want Keith giving up everything else for rodeo, Luke. I don’t want him to be like you.

  Luke walked over to pick up the feed sacks and blankets he used on the horses, which had been dropped on the ground in a heap. He began draping them over the corral fence. “Well, that depends,” he said calmly. “First, I suppose, you have to decide if that’s what you want to do with your life. Got any plans?”
r />   “Plans? Like what kind of work I want to do after high school, you mean?”

  “Yeah, plans like that. Only don’t rule out college without some really serious thought. I did, and the older I get the sorrier I am that I stopped my education with a high school diploma.”

  Keith smirked openly. “How in heck would I ever go to college? That takes money, Luke.”

  Luke swung another blanket over the corral fence. “It sure does, but I’ve heard there are scholarships available to good students. Have you ever looked into it?”

  “I’ve heard some talk about scholarships and loans, but my grades were never that good.”

  “You’re a bright kid. Shouldn’t be too tough to change that pattern,” Luke commented. He stopped with his hands on his hips. “I’m not preaching, Keith. I’m not even advising. I just don’t like the idea of you or any other kid in high school selling himself short. You can do or be anything you want. If breaking horses for a living suits you, then fine. Be the best damned handler you can be. But if in the back of your mind are some dreams that you’re afraid wouldn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of coming true because you don’t have the bucks, then don’t settle for common labor. Go after that education, like I wish I’d done.”

  Rubbing the back of his neck, Luke gave a wry little laugh. “Guess I am preaching. Sorry. I’m the last guy who should be dishing out sermons.” He walked across the corral to where he’d hung his shirt on a post.

  Keith followed, his youthful forehead furrowed by a frown. “Luke, do you have a dad?”

  “My dad’s dead, Keith. My mother’s living, though. Down in Texas.”

  “I’m just the opposite. My mom ran off when I was just a little kid, and I think she’s dead, but my dad is…alive.”

  Luke guessed what was coming and decided to play dumb about Keith’s background. “Is that so? Then this is just a summer job you have here with Maris, I guess.”

  “Uh…not exactly. Didn’t she tell you about me?”

  “Maris doesn’t tell me much of anything about anyone, Keith.”

  “Oh. I thought you two were getting along pretty good. Guess not. I forgot you said she was mad at you.”

  Luke hung his shirt around his neck. “She’ll get over it.” He paused and looked toward the house. “Or maybe she won’t,” he said softly, more to himself than to Keith. “Anyway, what would she be telling me about you, if she were so inclined?” Keith’s troubled expression hit Luke hard. The boy was hurting. “What is it, Keith?” he asked gently.

  “My…my dad’s in jail,” the boy blurted out. “That’s where I went yesterday, to see him. He…he wants me to live with him again when he gets out in a few months. Luke, can people change? I mean, can they do terrible things and then change and be different? He said he’s changed. He said he stopped drinking and that he’d never hit me again. He made a bunch of promises and he…he cried. I never saw him cry before.” Keith stared down at the ground. “I didn’t know what to tell him.”

  Luke’s suddenly livid brain lined up a whole slew of curses. Whether or not it was his place to give advice to Keith, he was going to do it on this subject. “Tell him to prove his promises, Keith. Tell him you’re staying here until he does. Give him a year. If he doesn’t drink for a year after he gets out of jail, then you might think about living with him again. That’s what I’d do, and I wouldn’t feel guilty about it, either.”

  Keith stood there staring into Luke’s hard blue eyes for the longest time. Then the boy nodded. “Thanks, Luke. I think that’s what I needed to hear.”

  “Feel free to come to me anytime you need to talk, Keith. I don’t have the smarts to answer every question you might think up, but I’ll try to be honest with my answers, okay?”

  Keith smiled shyly. “Okay.”

  “Let’s get back to work. I want you to take Snowflake for a ride around the pasture.”

  “Snowflake it is!” Keith exclaimed, heading for the saddle he would use on the white mare. Lifting the saddle, he stopped for a parting shot. “Whatever else I might do to earn a living, Luke, I’d still like to be a good enough rider someday to stay on a bronc the way you did with Bozo today.”

  Luke laughed. “Sure, kid, anything you say. Now, go catch Snowflake and give her a good workout.”

  Supper was a quiet affair that night. Maris had decided to locate Katherine Willoughby without Luke’s help, maybe just to prove that she didn’t need him making every decision concerning the ranch, so she ate with very few comments. Keith seemed engrossed in his own thoughts, mulling over Luke’s advice, which seemed sounder the more he thought about it. And Luke was silent because he wasn’t feeling particularly friendly toward Maris and didn’t give a damn if she knew it. She was the only woman he’d ever known who could turn him inside out with a word, a look, a gesture, and he wasn’t overly pleased about it.

  About three-quarters of the way through the meal Maris caught on to Luke’s sour mood. Her chin lifted as she sent him a defiant look. He sent one right back to her, even more defiant than hers had been. They glared at each other until Maris began feeling foolish and broke the staredown by looking at Keith. “More potatoes, Keith?”

  “No, thanks. I’m getting stuffed.”

  “More potatoes, Luke?” she asked sweetly.

  “No, thanks.” Luke got up and took his plate to the sink. “Good night.” He walked out.

  Maris felt awful. She had pushed him too far this morning and he wasn’t going to let her forget it. Uneasily she picked at the food on her plate until Keith was through eating. He, too, took his plate to the sink and said good-night, and all within the space of five minutes she found herself alone at the table, alone in the kitchen.

  She was still sitting there fifteen minutes later, pondering and ruing her many mistakes with Luke, when she heard his pickup start up and drive away. She jumped to her feet and ran to a front window, to see the truck disappearing in a cloud of dust, heading for the highway. Her stomach suddenly tied itself into a painful knot. Where was he going? And to do what?

  Those questions and a few others were still with her when she went to bed at ten o’clock and Luke hadn’t yet returned. What’s more, she had called information for Katherine Willoughby’s telephone number and learned that there was no phone, either listed or unlisted, in that name at the Wyoming address written on those bills of sale. “Is there a phone at that address in someone else’s name?” she had questioned the operator.

  “I’m sorry, but I do not have that information, ma’am.”

  “Is there anyone in your company who does?”

  “You might try calling the business office in the morning, ma’am.”

  “Thank you, I will.” Utterly depressed, Maris put down the phone. That Wyoming address was hundreds of miles away, but if there was no way to reach Katherine Willoughby by telephone, how else could she talk to her but to make that long drive?

  Fourteen

  After leaving the No Bull, Luke merely drove around for a while, taking roads he hadn’t been on before to see where they might lead. His curiosity about the unexplored country of the area was weak, however, and it soon petered out to indifference. When that low hit him, he drove on into Whitehorn and parked his truck on the street in front of the Sundowner Saloon. The exterior of the building was old brick, unplaned weathered boards and darkly tinted windows. The place appeared to Luke’s eyes to be a neighborhood bar, which seemed appropriate for his state of mind, as he wasn’t looking for excitement, loud music or crowds. Opening the heavy wood door, he stepped inside and looked around.

  Three men sat at the bar, two together, one at the far end by himself. A table was occupied by a group of three, one man and two women. Along the wall opposite of the bar was a row of booths, and the one way back in the corner was occupied by a man and a woman. Country music, notably muted, came from the jukebox and a big-screen TV over the bar was tuned—with the sound all but turned off—to a baseball game that no one seemed to be watching. T
he place was quiet, dimly lit, and everyone appeared to be minding their own business. Luke went on in and slid onto a bar stool, putting space between himself and the other men at the bar.

  A short, chubby, male barkeep slapped down a paper napkin in front of Luke. “What’ll it be, friend?”

  “A glass of beer.”

  The drink was placed on the napkin. Luke laid down one of the twenties in his wallet and the barkeep rang up the sale and delivered Luke’s change, placing it next to the napkin.

  “Raining out there yet?” the man asked.

  “Not yet.” Picking up his glass of beer, Luke took a swallow, then deliberately turned his head to avoid eye contact with the barkeep. He wasn’t here for conversation and wanted the man to know it. The bartender moved down the bar to the lone patron at the far end.

  Staring into his glass of beer, Luke broodingly watched the tiny bubbles rising to the top of the amber liquid. Nothing felt right. His life was out of sync. Loose ends were developing by leaps and bounds and he didn’t like the feeling. He thought of Keith and the advice he’d given the boy, which he probably shouldn’t have done. On the other hand, he’d only told Keith how he felt, and that shouldn’t be a crime. At least he had tried to encourage the teenager toward further education, which should please Maris if she ever heard about it.

  He sipped his beer and scowled over Maris’s image in his mind. She was not the type of woman he was normally drawn to. Maris was one of those strong-willed women who would have outfitted her own wagon in the old days and made the trek west, fighting off bachelors and would-be Lotharios every step of the way. Still, she took life much too seriously one minute and then became all woman in his arms the next. Her mood swings were impossible to understand for a simple country boy like himself, which raised some mighty disturbing questions. Why did he care? Why did he care that she made love with him willingly, eagerly, then turned on him as though he had held her down and ripped off her clothes by force? Why couldn’t he simply enjoy her friendly moods and ignore the others? After all, it wasn’t as though he were attempting to forge some sort of permanent bond between them.