A Match Made In Montana (The Brands of Montana #4)

by Joanna Sims

  Logan stepped closer to her, took the spot in front of the bag, and punched the bag hard.

  The rusty chain holding up the bag creaked when it swung back toward them. Logan caught the dusty bag to stop it from swinging.

  “Now you do it,” he told her.

  Josephine adopted the fighting stance, balled up her fist, and held up her arms, just like he had instructed. Then, with a straight arm and solid follow-through, she jabbed the dirty punching bag. To her ears, the bag made a satisfying “thud” sound when she hit it.

  “That really felt good.” She smiled at Logan with a natural, satisfied smile. “I’m doing that again.”

  Chapter Nine

  For the next hour, Josephine learned how to punch the bag properly. Logan taught her how to jab the bag, slow and steady, without hurting her hand. And then he showed her how to rapid punch using both hands. Once she had the hang of it, Logan stepped behind the bag and held it in place so she could hit the bag as many times as she wanted. He didn’t say a word and she was glad he didn’t. She wanted to focus on punching the bag, again and again and again.

  Every time she hit the bag, she imagined that she was hitting Brice. In her mind, with every strike, she was yelling at him.

  You stupid jerk! You pompous ass! I trusted you! I loved you! I wasted five years of my life on you! And you ruined everything!

  She hit the bag and hit the bag and hit the bag until her arms ached and her knuckles were red. When she was too tired to throw one more punch, she sat down on the ground and tried to catch her breath. She was completely spent physically, and she felt better mentally.

  Logan joined her. “Feel better?”

  Her head was lowered, her knees bent, her arms wrapped around her shins. She nodded “yes.”

  In silence, they sat on the dirt floor of the abandoned storage shed, while Josephine had a chance to recover. So much of her anger had been spent, but what was left, what remained, was a deep sense of loss. A deep sense of sadness. Brice had been a big part of her life—he had been more than her lover. He had been her confidant, her best friend. They had talked every day and he was the first one she called when something exciting happened to her. But now, all of that was gone. It felt like a death.

  She couldn’t stop what happened next. She couldn’t help what happened next. The tears started to pour out of her eyes, as if they were flowing directly from her heart onto the cheeks of her face. She pressed her forehead hard onto her knees and bear-hugged her legs so tightly that her arm muscles shook from the strain.

  Josephine felt Logan move closer, felt him put his arm around her shoulders for support. She didn’t pull away, but she couldn’t fully accept him, either. She stiffened beneath the weight of his arm and couldn’t lean on him. Brice was the one who was supposed to give her comfort and support. Brice was The One. But he was gone. She knew that now. A picture speaks a thousand words, the saying goes, and seeing Brice at his parents’ house with Caroline told her more than she wanted to know. He looked happy. Had he ever looked that happy in pictures with her?

  “No!” She answered the question in her head out loud with a shake of her bent head.

  She sniffed loudly, trying to get some air through her clogged nose. Unable to breathe through her nose at the moment, she took a breath in through her mouth and used her shirt to wipe the tears from her face. She pulled away from Logan, and he dropped his arm right away.

  Josephine stood up, and Logan followed. She turned her face away from him, embarrassed.

  “You must think I’m a real nut job,” she said.

  “No,” he said, quietly. “I think you’re grieving.”

  His response was intuitive and showed a sensitivity that surprised her. Arms crossed tightly in front of her body, Josephine glanced at him.

  Logan saw the question in her eyes. “I’ve been in your shoes.”

  “Who did you lose?” she asked.

  “My wife.”

  Josephine looked directly into his eyes—unshuttered eyes that let her glimpse the heart inside of the man.

  “Did she die?” It was an inelegant question, but she wanted to know. She hadn’t even known that he had been married.

  “No,” he said. “But it felt like she had.”

  “What happened?”

  Logan didn’t turn look away when he said, “I wasn’t enough for her. She wanted something else. Someone else.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, and she meant it. She was sorry for anyone who had felt the same kind of sharp pain she was feeling right now.

  “It was a long time ago and I’ve moved on.”

  “Well...at least there’s a little hope for me yet.”

  “There’s hope—just don’t let yourself get stuck.”

  She knew exactly what he meant. He was telling her not to wallow. Mourn and then move on, because Brice already had.

  Logan pushed the door open wider and let her walk through first. The bright sun hurt her eyes, but the heat, which she normally liked, only made her feel hotter and stickier. A shower was the only solution.

  On the walk back to the house, she asked, “Where’d you learn to box like that, anyway?”

  “When you’re the scrawniest, shortest little kid in the neighborhood, you either learn how to fight or you accept getting the crap beat out of you on a weekly basis. I figured I couldn’t force myself to grow, but I knew I could learn how to fight. So, I did.”

  She looked at his profile. It was a strong profile. Not aristocratic, like Brice’s profile—it was more rugged, more masculine.

  “Did the bullies leave you alone?”

  “Yeah, they figured out pretty quick not to mess with me anymore. I was little, but I had heart. That’s what my uncle called it anyway. All I knew was that I was tired of getting my block knocked off every week.”

  They both stopped a few feet away from the porch, away from the kitchen windows. “You’ll be okay, then, right?”

  “Oh, sure.” She tried to sound upbeat. “I feel better already. I’m not going to tell any of my fellow pacifists this, but punching does have its perks.”

  “You’re planning to go with us tonight, aren’t you?”

  Jordan, Ian, her brother, and Logan were all going into town for some dancing and drinking. She had intended to beg off, but now, after having seen Brice out having a great time with his new love interest, she knew that sitting home moping wasn’t the answer. She needed to go out and have some fun.

  “I’m going.” She stopped a few feet away from the porch, away from the kitchen windows. “How do I look?”

  “Like you’ve been crying.” Logan examined her face with a critical eye. He slipped off his sunglasses and gave them to her. “Here—wear these.”

  Josephine put the sunglasses on and then looked at him. “How about now?”

  “Beautiful.”

  She had already discovered that Logan was an honest man, sometimes to the point of being blunt. So she knew that he meant what he said. And, in that moment, perhaps even more so than any other moment, she needed a little ego boost. Being told by a good-looking cop that she was beautiful qualified as a definite ego boost in her book.

  “You’re a good friend, Logan.”

  “I try to be,” he said. “So, I’ll catch you later, then. I’ve got to get back to work. We’re moving the chapel in one day.”

  “All you’ve done is work on your vacation,” she noted. “When are you going to relax and have some fun?”

  Logan smiled at her, walked backward a couple of steps, and lifted both of his hands to gesture to the ranch and the mountains.

  “Are you kidding me?” He laughed. “This is my paradise.”

  * * *

  After Josephine took a long shower, she lay on her bed with a cold washcloth over her eyes. Her
eyes were puffy and they stung. And even after several cold washcloth sessions, her eyes still looked like she’d been crying. Her eyes were too sore to study, and she didn’t feel like staying cooped up inside anyway. She wouldn’t mind working on the wedding, but she didn’t feel like explaining her appearance to her mom, which would only lead to yet another discussion about Brice and her “feelings.” Instead, she decided to go for a ride.

  “Hey. Where’re all the horses?” Josephine looked around the empty stable.

  London Davenport, an intern from Montana State University, answered her rhetorical question. “Your brother told me to turn them all out in the north pasture. So, that’s what I did.”

  “Well, shoot.” Josephine frowned, hands on her hips.

  London shoveled a large pile of manure and hay into her cart before she closed the stall door. London loaded her pitchfork onto the cart and moved the cart to the next stall.

  “You could always take Easy,” the intern suggested.

  Josephine grimaced at the thought. Easy Does It was the offspring of her grandfather’s donkey Nomad and one of Bent Tree’s purebred quarter horses. It was an accidental coupling that produced a mule that completely embodied the phrase “stubborn as a mule.” Yet he was beloved by all of them and had become a Bent Tree mascot of sorts.

  The mule seemed to recognize that they were talking about him, that they were suggesting that he participate in some sort of undesirable physical exertion, and he turned around so his narrow butt was facing them. It was all the challenge that Josephine needed. She had a rather unfortunate history with this mule, and even though he had outsmarted her before, she was certain that today redemption was within her grasp.

  “He looks like he could use some fresh air,” she said to London.

  London looked at her like she was crazy, and she probably was. “That mule is so barn sour and stuffed full of hay that it’s gonna take the two of us to get him out of that stall, you know.”

  “Are you up for it?”

  London was a tall, Nordic-looking blonde who was one of the few women she’d ever met who was taller than she was. The intern had a ranch-wide reputation for being as strong, and as determined, as most of the men.

  London gave her a nod. “Just give me a shout when you’re ready.”

  Josephine groomed, saddled, and bridled the mule. And then, she couldn’t get the mule out of the stall.

  “Need help?” London came up behind her.

  “I was hoping that I could convince him to follow me, seeing as we’re old friends and all.” Josephine frowned at the mule that refused to cross the threshold of the stall into the aisle. “But no such luck.”

  The intern held up a feed bucket. “This is the only way to get Easy out of the stall nowadays.”

  With a lot of patience and coaxing and sweet feed, Easy Does It finally put one hoof over the threshold.

  “It’s going to be dark by the time I get him out of the stall!” Josephine complained.

  “He’s counting on the fact that you’re going to give up.” London laughed as she shook the feed bucket just out of the reach of the mule’s searching lips.

  “Not a chance,” Josephine vowed. “I’m going to win this round.”

  And she did. With London’s help, they managed to convince Easy to walk, at a painstakingly slow pace, out of the stall and out of the stable. Josephine easily mounted the short-statured mule and then she squeezed her legs around Easy’s hay-filled belly to signal that he should move forward. But he didn’t budge.

  “Darn it, Easy! Go!” She wiggled a little back and forth to encourage the mule to take one step forward.

  She sat on the mule’s back, in the same spot, not moving, for a good five minutes before London had mercy on her and came out of the stable carrying the trusty feed bucket. London got Easy moving, and then once he was moving forward, Josephine was able to keep the momentum going.

  “Thank you, London!” she called over her shoulder. “Come on, Easy! You can do it!”

  She decided to take the road that would eventually take her in the direction of the chapel. Once they made it through the gate, and Easy caught a glimpse of the field ahead, he started to jog. Easy’s trot was a choppy, bone-jarring gait that was impossible to ride comfortably. She couldn’t sit in the saddle for it, and she had to post at double pace—up, down, up, down, up, down, up!

  Easy wasn’t easy to get started, but as was fitting with his contrary personality, he was also hard to stop. His jog turned into a canter.

  “Whoa! Easy does it, Easy!” She tightened the reins to slow him down.

  Easy ignored her command and took off across the field. Josephine grabbed a chunk of his wiry mane, held on, and decided to let him run it out. This was how Easy Does It got his name after all—when her brother first tried to ride him, the entire family could hear him screaming, “Hey! Easy does it, mule! Easy does it!” at the mule when it bolted across the field.

  Across the field, Easy’s short legs churned until he was tired and then he halted out of the blue. Holding on to the mane stopped her from being catapulted over his head and onto the ground.

  “Really, Easy?” She exclaimed loudly. “Really?”

  It was a good thing that he had stopped. But getting him started again proved to be a chore. She had imagined herself galloping across the open fields of the ranch, the wind on her face and blowing through her hair. She had imagined a movie scene kind of moment. Instead, she got a Comedy Central kind of moment. She was stuck, in a field, astride an obese, spoiled mascot mule, hot and thirsty. She had forgotten to put on bug spray, so there were random bugs buzzing around her, harassing her, harassing Easy, and on top of everything, she seriously needed to pee after suffering the mule’s torturous trot.

  Josephine moved her hips back and forth. “Move, Easy! Come on! Move!”

  But she knew he wasn’t going to move. In fact, she knew that Easy could stand there for the rest of the day, not moving a muscle. He’d had his run and now he was done. He wasn’t about to go one more step in the direction that was taking him away from his stall.

  “Fine!” Josephine gave up and gave in. “Easy Does It, two. Josephine Brand, zero!”

  She turned the mule to the left and Easy headed back to the barn with an animated, brisk walk. The longer she sat in the saddle, the more pain she was starting to feel in her bladder. There was no way she was making it back to the barn without making a pit stop first.

  When she asked Easy to stop, and he did, she was pleasantly surprised. She tied his reins to a nearby tree and carefully stepped into the brush. She hadn’t finished relieving herself when she heard the horrible sound of hooves pounding on dirt.

  “Darn it, Easy! Don’t you dare!” She yanked up her pants halfway and hopped over the brush onto the road.

  The mule had managed to untie the reins and was running like a Kentucky Thoroughbred back to the barn. Josephine watched the mule’s hind end get smaller and smaller, until he completely disappeared.

  “This day sucks!” She threw up her hands. “This day seriously sucks!”

  She couldn’t believe that the mule had managed to leave her stranded twice in one lifetime. She quickly zipped up her pants and began the long schlep back to the ranch. Frustrated, annoyed, angry—more emotions sprang up unbidden. Tears, coming from a place of exasperation rather than sadness, ran down her cheeks while she marched forward.

  At the halfway mark, Josephine heard the sound of a vehicle coming up the road behind her. She wiped the residual tears from her face onto her T-shirt, and then turned around to see who it was.

  “Really?” She looked up at the sky.

  It was Logan. How many times did he need to see her at her worst in one day?

  “Need a ride?” Logan stopped the truck next to her.

  “Yes,” she said bi
tterly. “My mule left me stranded.”

  “What?” Logan laughed.

  She hopped in next to him and slammed the door shut. “That stupid mule, Easy! He managed to untie the reins and then he just took off!”

  Logan was still laughing as he shifted into Drive and pressed on the gas. “Why were you riding a mule in the first place?”

  “Because Tyler told the intern to turn out all of the horses in north pasture—it was the mule or nothing. I chose the mule.” Her social mask had slipped and she couldn’t manage pleasantness at the moment.

  “You’re not having the best day, are you?”

  “No.” Josephine smashed a mosquito that had dared to land on the truck’s dash. “I’m not.”

  “Well—at least you have tonight to look forward to. You’ll dance, you’ll drink a little...” Logan told her. “It’ll be like today never happened...”

  “I’m not going.” She stared out the window. Her ability to “rally” and “press on” had vanished along with her mule.

  “Oh, come on. You don’t want to sit at home and mope...”

  “Yes, I do.”

  He ignored her comment and continued. “I was counting on you to teach me how to do the two-step. I’m a pretty liberal guy, but I’m not going to ask Tyler to teach me.”

  She turned her head to look at him. “You really want to learn how to line dance? Why?”

  “I want the complete cowboy experience while I’m here.” Logan smiled at her. “So you’ve got to come out with us and show me how to dance like a real cowboy. Fair’s fair...” He added. “I taught you how to punch, so you should teach me how to dance. One good turn deserves another, don’t you think?”

  Logan pulled the truck into an empty space in front of the barn and shifted into Park. Through the windshield, Josephine could see Easy was in the paddock attached to his stall and he was munching on a pad of hay. She had sent a text to London to let her know not to send search and rescue out, that she was “okay” and that Easy was heading her way. London offered to come pick her up, but she hadn’t wanted the intern to see her crying. But Logan had already seen her cry—so she had taken the ride.