Tripp - Mavericks of Montana Creek Book One

by Somer Hayes

  Maybe it was time to get serious about hiring a CEO. Clearly, I wasn’t cut out for the position and had no desire to fill it anyway. I looked around my home, out the windows at the Rocky Mountains and vast pastures, and the cattle contently grazing. This was the only place I wanted to be.

  Resolved, I headed to the shower and decided I’d call HR to begin the search first thing in the morning.

  I’d tried. I’d given it my best effort. But ultimately, I’d failed.

  33

  Hannah

  Tripp didn’t come to dinner that night. Or breakfast the next morning. Or either meal for the remainder of that week.

  What am I going to do with you now?

  His parting words bounced around my head with an unrelenting echo. I’d asked the same of him, and his cheeky answer had been “whatever you want.” It was clear that what he wanted was nothing to do with me.

  I moved through my days in a dense fog, my soul heavy with regret. He’d been right. I could have prevented everything. The hurt, the theft, the heartache. Instead, I’d selfishly tried to protect myself, and because of it, ended up losing the thing I cared about most in the world. Tripp.

  I began to plan my exit strategy. He had too much compassion and integrity to fire me or kick me out of the bunkhouse, but it was clear I was no longer welcome. The bakery was still doing well. I’d have to take a gamble and put a deposit on a place to live.

  I still prepared each meal to the best of my ability, but my heart just wasn’t in it. The cowboys were sweet as always, but they must have noticed Tripp’s absence and somehow equated it with me.

  That Saturday, I asked Beth to open the bakery for me so I could go look at a tiny one-bedroom apartment I’d found with immediate availability.

  Beth and her mom had been extra attentive lately after I’d filled them in on the drama with my father at the ranch. They’d watched first hand throughout the years as I’d dealt with his alcoholism, multiple arrests, and unsafe living conditions. I knew they were worried about me being out on my own, but I couldn’t ask any more of the people around me. They’d all given enough. My problems were my own, and it was beyond time I took full responsibility and found a way to live life on my terms.

  I pulled into the address listed, and there was a shriveled old lady with a cane waiting for me in the driveway.

  “Hannah Price?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m here about the apartment.”

  “Come on then.” She turned and hobbled to the detached garage where a set of stairs clung to the side of the building and led to a door. She began climbing the stairs, and I reached out for her elbow.

  “Can I help you up?” I asked.

  She waved me off. “I’ve been climbing these steps for sixty years, and I don’t need help now.”

  “Okay then.” Grumpy little thing.

  We reached the door, and she unlocked it and motioned for me to go in. It was a dark, small space but seemed to be clean. There was a tiny kitchen in one corner, and my heart sank at all the cooking I realized I wouldn’t be doing there. A small living area led to a bedroom and cramped bathroom. The entire space was dated and depressing but within my budget.

  I thought of the beautiful rooms at the bunkhouse and wanted to cry. I didn’t want to leave it. Or the job. Or Tripp.

  But I’d made that decision when I chose to withhold the truth from Tripp.

  I looked around and back to the old woman patiently waiting at the door. “Can I move in tomorrow?”

  “I’ll expect your security deposit and first month’s rent when you bring your things.”

  I thanked her and went back to my Jeep. Before I pulled out, I took one last survey of the tiny garage apartment and unkept yard around the old house. How depressing.

  But this was just the first step toward a new life, I reminded myself. I could build it up and make it look however I chose, even if that meant Tripp wouldn’t be in it. I could deal with the loss of everything else, but the absence of him in my life left a giant, gaping hole in my middle.

  Maybe I should try to fill it up with donuts, I thought and finally pulled out of the driveway to head to the bakery. I was sure Beth would be anxious to hear how the showing went, so I tried to think of positive ways to describe my new home.

  I was trying out words like ‘quaint’ and ‘cozy’ when the sound of sirens caught my attention. I checked my rearview mirror and saw a fire truck rapidly approaching. I pulled over to the shoulder to let them pass.

  Odd.

  Once they were out of view, I pulled back onto the road only have to pull over again to let another wailing truck fly by. Something big must be happening, and I wondered where they were headed.

  I continued my trek to work, and as I did, I spotted a black plume of smoke billowing above the skyline of downtown. My pulse sped up, and I began to pray. Please don’t let anyone be hurt. Please let them get it under control.

  Please don’t let it be my bakery.

  The next five minutes were the longest of my life. Emergency vehicles and spectators dotted the streets and sidewalks, and I got as close to work as I could before finding a parking space and jogging toward my bakery.

  Each step I took became more difficult as my world’s axis began to shift. The smoke was on my block. It was coming from my side of the street. When I caught sight of the flames and recognized the windows it was lapping its way out of, my entire body became sluggish as though I was fighting through quicksand to get closer.

  I pushed my way through two gawkers and cried out. My bakery was engulfed in flames.

  I choked on a sob and squeezed my eyes shut against the offending vision in front of me. My mind knew it was damaged beyond repair, but my heart rebelled. Everything I’d saved for. All my hard work. Even the few bits of furniture I’d managed to buy for myself. It was all ruined. Gone. Destroyed in the fire lapping hungrily at the building I’d come to love.

  I was ashamed that my second thought was the people who had been inside when the fire started. I broke into a run and started screaming. “Beth? Beth?”

  “Hannah!” I heard a strangled voice reply.

  I spun, and Beth was sitting in the back of an ambulance, an oxygen mask held over her nose and mouth. I sprinted toward her.

  “Beth, oh my God. Are you all right?”

  “I’m so sorry, Hannah. I have no idea what happened.” Tears were streaming down her face forming little rivulets around the plastic mask she wore.

  “Never mind that. Are you hurt? Is the baby okay?”

  She nodded. “I’m fine and so is she. This is all just a precaution.”

  “Was anyone else in the building?”

  “Just a couple of customers but everyone got out fine. No one is hurt.”

  I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and pulled her to me. We clung to each other and cried.

  “I’m so sorry,” she kept repeating.

  “You have to stop that. You didn’t do anything. This isn’t your fault.”

  “I tried to stop it. I tried.”

  I pulled back so I could look her in the eye. “Tell me you didn’t. Tell me you ran outside as soon as you realized there was a fire.”

  “I heard the back door open and assumed it was you. But when you didn’t come up front, I went to the kitchen to see what you were doing, but you weren’t there. There was a fire in the oven, and the flames were coming out of it. I didn’t know what to do. I’m so sorry,” she cried.

  My mind raced. Had I left something in the ovens last night? Had I asked her to turn them on for me this morning? No. The answer was no. I was caught up on the inventory. The ovens shouldn’t have been on at all. How was this possible?

  My eyes flew around the crowd and caught several sympathetic glances cast in my direction. The firefighters were still spraying water on the building full blast. Police officers were on scene and forcing people to back away from the danger.

  How? How?

  A truck I recognized pulled into the mix
, and I watched Tripp and Rhett climb out of the cab. Of course, they would come. They owned the building as well as most of the others surrounding it. I watched as Tripp scanned the crowd. He caught my eye and held it for a moment before it jogged away. One of the firemen motioned them over, and he and Rhett went to speak with him. Huddled together, I watched Tripp’s entire body language change. He’d gone from concerned to angry to disgusted. He folded his arms across his chest and shook his head over and over as though in disbelief.

  I wanted so badly to go to them and try to understand what had happened. Did they know what the cause of the fire was yet? How bad was it inside? Was the building or anything in it salvageable?

  Several agonizing minutes later, Tripp broke away from the trio and came over to Beth and me. My heart was in my throat.

  His arms were still folded across his chest. His jaw was clenched. His eyes had a tightness around the edges. But he spoke first. “You’re not hurt?”

  We both shook our heads.

  “The Fire Chief’s initial thoughts are that a rag was left in an oven and caught fire, then spread throughout the kitchen and the rest of the building.”

  “How bad is it?” I choked out.

  “It’s a complete loss,” he said, emotionless. He allowed me a few minutes to absorb that news and cry on Beth’s shoulder, then asked if he could speak to me alone.

  I sniffled and stood, then followed him to the sidewalk where we could have a little privacy.

  “Help me understand how this happened,” he said in a low voice.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. Beth opened for me so I could go look at an apartment.” The words were out before I realized I was going to say them, but he gave no outward reaction.

  “Any chance either of you accidentally left a rag in the oven?”

  I shook my head again. “No. I’ve replayed last night over and over in my mind. I’m sure they were empty and off.”

  He looked to his boots. “I’m sorry to hear you say that.”

  That caught me completely off guard. “Why?”

  He looked me in the eye. “Because I wanted to believe it was an accident, but the Fire Chief seems to think it was intentional.”

  I shook my head back and forth. “It’s not possible.”

  “Look, I want to believe you. Even after everything that’s happened, I still want to believe you. But surely you can understand why I’m having difficulty.”

  I reared back as though I’d been slapped across the face. “Protecting my privacy is one thing, Tripp. Arson is quite another. And if you’re actually asking me if I set fire to my own business, a profitable business at that, then you are not the man I thought you were.”

  “We’ve been in situations like this before. Maybe the insurance is worth more than the business or its contents.”

  I let out a sardonic laugh. “Feel free to check my policy, but you may recall that I didn’t have a whole lot to my name that needed to be insured.”

  He just continued to stare at me with tired looking eyes.

  “Oh my God,” I responded. “You actually think I did it.”

  “Never said that,” he replied, but his voice was low, sad.

  “You don’t have to,” I spat. “I’m sorry for everything that’s happened between us. I truly am. But I won’t continue to stick around and be accused of something as heinous as this. I’ll be out of the bunkhouse by tomorrow.”

  Then I spun on my heel and left him standing there. To my credit, I made it back to Beth before I broke down into sobs.

  She tried her best to soothe me, but it was no use. I was inconsolable. I thought I’d lost everything once already, but that was just money. This week I had learned the true meaning of loss. My business, my home, and the love of my life.

  Cruel realization dawned. I was in love with Tripp. I loved him. And I would never have him.

  This… this was what loss felt like.

  I stayed with Beth until Ben came to pick her up. Then I found a bench across from my precious bakery, and I sat on it and watched the firefighters until the sun had set and the last ember had gone out.

  The blackened pile of rubble felt like the perfect representation of my soul. Empty, hollowed out, and lifeless.

  For the first time in a long time, I didn’t know what to do next. I didn’t have a job to go to in the morning or a home to go to at the end of the day. I had myself, my Jeep, and whatever money was in the bank.

  I sat there considering my life and decided if ever there was a time to start over, it was now.

  My mind made up, I stood and went back to my Jeep. I drove to the bunkhouse, not worried about what everyone had done for dinner that night. I showered the ashes and smell of smoke off my body, and then I went to bed and fell into a dreamless sleep.

  The next morning, I got up, packed my belongings into the two suitcases that had been tucked away in the closet and pulled the quilt from my bed.

  Then I went to the kitchen, but instead of starting breakfast, I pulled a notepad and pen from one of the drawers. I wrote a note thanking everyone for their kindness to me and that I wished each of them well in the future. I didn’t call Tripp out specifically, but I hoped somehow the note would find its way to him, and he would read my thanks and well-wishes and tuck them into his heart.

  Because even after everything that had happened and his clear mistrust of me, I still loved that man more than my own life.

  Before I could give in to the threatening tears, I picked up my suitcases and went to my Jeep. Then I drove away from the bunkhouse, past the main house, and off of Maverick property for the very last time.

  34

  Tripp

  My conscience got the better of me the next morning, and I forced myself to go to the bunkhouse to check on Hannah. Because no matter what else had happened between us, she deserved to know that at least one person in this world cared that she was okay after the traumatic events of yesterday.

  When I pulled up to the bunkhouse and her Jeep wasn’t there, my stomach sank. I had only half believed her threat to be gone by morning. After all, where would she go?

  I let myself in the back door and found a note in what I recognized as Hannah’s handwriting. I could hear her voice in the gracious words, and my throat felt like it was going to close in on itself.

  She’d really gone.

  I crumpled her note in my hand. What had I expected? I’d pretty much accused her of being a liar and taking advantage of me on what had already had to have been the worst day of her life.

  I’d spent the past week struggling with feeling a deep resentment and bitterness toward my father and mixed emotions when it came to Hannah. I couldn’t reconcile why she hadn’t just told me about her father. Shame be damned. It was just too simple in my mind, and I couldn’t get myself past it.

  And then the fire had happened. The Fire Chief had said he’d seen similar scenarios before when people were in a tight spot and needed some quick insurance money. He’d said the intention had probably never been to burn the entire building, but just enough to cause damage to update the place and have some leftover.

  I’d pushed Hannah away from me. I ignored her and made her feel unwelcome at what she’d come to consider her home and her job. She’d had no other real options. But could she possibly have done something so heinous as insurance fraud to get out of her situation?

  I wanted to believe she couldn’t have possibly, but the more I learned about Robert Price, the more it had begun to sound like exactly something he would have done. Like father like daughter?

  Was I truly so blind?

  Or did I just want to be because I was still in love with Hannah?

  The realization had come the morning after our celebratory dinner. She’d gotten up and grumped at me the entire time for the room being too cold, for the fact that I didn’t have to get up yet because I hadn’t made her any coffee. It was so cute, and yet she did it all anyway because she needed to get to work.

  I la
id there thinking about what a hard worker she was, how funny, how cute, how sweet and thoughtful. I thought about how my dad and brother seemed charmed by her and how easily she had fit into my life on the ranch. The realization had been slow to come, but once I admitted it to myself, I knew it was true.

  I loved Hannah.

  But I wasn’t sure I trusted her.

  And now she was gone. I could try her cell phone, but what good would it do? I doubted she wanted anything to do with me after what I’d said to her.

  I couldn’t even blame her.

  Miserable, I left the bunkhouse and headed back to my own home. I was going to do something I’d never done before.

  Take the day off and drink until I was numb.

  35

  Hannah

  Ding.

  “Order up,” the fry cook called and tossed two plates of gravy-covered something onto the ledge under the warming lamps.

  I wiped my hands down the front of my greasy apron and went to retrieve the plates for my table.

  Two college-age boys had come stumbling into the diner and ordered two ‘hangover cures.’ The best I could tell, it was a mixture of breakfast foods tossed into a bowl and covered in gravy.

  I delivered their meals, and the red-headed, freckled one attempted to waggle his eyebrows at me. “Wanna sit with ushh?”

  “I need to finish my shift, but thanks,” I said and turned.

  The other one said, “Wait,” and reached out for me, catching one of the tails of my apron and releasing the bow. It fell to the ground before I could catch it and something about the action made me feel exposed and naked in the middle of the diner full of people.

  “Oops, shorry,” he slurred and dug into his gravy.

  I snatched my apron off the floor and went to the ladies’ restroom. I found an empty stall and sat down, face in hands, and bent over. I’d been spending more and more time like this, willing myself to breathe, to calm down, not to cry.

  The day I’d left Great Falls, I’d made it as far as Helena. Exhausted, emotionally wrecked, I’d stopped for a cup of coffee and some breakfast. The waitress had clearly seen something in me that screamed ‘disaster’ and had been kind to me. She’d asked questions of me without them feeling like she was prying, and before I knew it, she was offering me a job.