Montana Hearts (10 page)

“No one had much of an appetite for anything else,” Grandma said, placing a small bowl of blueberries on the table in front of Meghan. “Except her, of course.”

“Onkle Uke, you want boo-­berries?” his niece asked.

He reached into her bowl and then popped one into his mouth, making her smile. “Thanks, Meggie.”

“Luke, please move back into the house,” his ma pleaded. “I don't like thinking about you all the way out there on the other end of the property . . . all alone. What if you're attacked?”

“Ma, I'm trained for attacks. After serving in Iraq, I'm sure I can handle a few Montana cattle rustlers.”

“You had full use of your leg in the military,” his father reminded him. “Your mother might be right.”

“I am
not
moving back in,” Luke said, his voice firm.

“We're not sleeping here anymore either,” Nora announced, coming through the doorway with her sister. “Every time we do—­”

“Something bad happens!” Nadine exclaimed. “Like this morning.”

“What happened this morning?” Luke asked, jerking his head toward them in alarm.

“We were walking from our cabin toward the house,” Nora said, her eyes wide. “And then we looked down and—­”

“Saw our new bottle cap boot bling was covered in ash!” Nadine wailed, pointing to their feet.

Nora nodded. “From now on we sleep in our own beds and we'll drive back and forth each day from home.”

“I was up at the crack of dawn going over the financial numbers on the computer,” Bree said, glancing around the table. “And if the ­people who booked the August wedding cancel on us, I don't think Collins Country Cabins can survive.”

Luke grabbed the keys to the family's red ranch truck off the counter. “Good news. Our building permit should be ready this morning. Who can take me into town to pick it up?”

Ma shot out of her chair. “Me. I need to go into town, too.”

“Loretta, are you sure you're up for it?” Luke's father asked.

“I
need
to go into town!” she repeated.

Thirty minutes later, Luke followed his mother into the bank. After signing in, a courteous bank employee led her into the vault where she rented a safe deposit box. However, a minute later his ma returned to the lobby.

“My key isn't working,” she explained, the same horrified expression from the day before on her face.

“I'll get the assistant bank manager,” the bank teller told her.

“I don't like that nosy woman,” Ma confided in a whisper. “Luke, will you come back there with me?”

At first Winona Lane made a stink about Luke accompanying them. But after his ma signed an additional form allowing him access, the woman had no choice but to allow him through.

The vault wasn't very big, then again, neither was their town. The room was roughly the size of a four-­by-­six closet with the main safe at the back and the walls on either side lined with safe deposit boxes.

“I don't understand,” Ma said fretfully. “Why wouldn't my key work?”

“Could be you've used it so much the cut has worn down,” Winona told her. “But don't worry. I have a master key to open it for you.”

When the box opened Winona peered inside, then frowned. “There's another box.”

Luke's ma took out the rectangular metal box and hugged it. “Yes, there is.”

“A box inside a box?” Winona exclaimed. “Why?”

“It's fireproof,” Ma said, and took another key from her purse to open it.

Winona peered over her shoulder, and when Luke's ma turned to look at her, the woman jumped back. “Just curious,” the woman apologized.

Luke didn't blame the woman. He was curious, too. Ma often talked about her “valuables,” but no one except his father seemed to know what they were.

“Mrs. Lane,” his ma said, giving the assistant manager a big fake smile. “Could you please escort my son to the lobby?”

Winona lifted her nose in the air as if insulted, then glanced at Luke and nodded. “Very well, Loretta. Let me know when you're done.”

His ma only took ten minutes to look at her “valuables” this time instead of thirty, and came out looking a whole lot more relaxed than when she went in.

“I want to apologize for flipping out when you tried to hold me back yesterday,” Ma said as they got back in the car. “I saw the flames and . . .” She drew in a deep breath and turned to look at him. “I remembered the fire that burned my house down when I was ten. It was during the summer near Billings, and it had been dry. The wildfire started near our house in the middle of the night and took everything . . . including my parents.”

Luke gasped. “That's how Grandpa and Grandma Newton died? You've never said much about them.”

“A firefighter pulled me out of the flames and I was airlifted to a hospital where I was treated for minor burns. Then I lived with an aunt in Fox Creek until I married your dad. Your father, he always promised to keep me safe.”

Luke now understood his father hadn't been belittling his ability to help with the fire. He'd given him the more important task of keeping his ma safe in his place.

“Sorry, Ma, I didn't know.” He wondered what else he didn't know about his parents. Glancing at his ma as she turned the key in the truck's ignition, he asked, “What's in the locked box at the bank?”

Ma smiled and stepped on the gas. “My inheritance.”

S
AMMY
J
O FROZE.
She had no idea Luke and his ma would be back so soon. She and Bree had taken Phantom into the arena to work with him and Luke walked up just as she issued the command for his horse to lower its upper body.

“What's this?” he demanded.

“Luke, I thought it was a good idea, too,” Bree said, stepping between them.

“Teaching my horse to bow?”

“Don't worry,” Sammy Jo assured him. “He's not getting it.”

Luke grimaced. “Phantom was made to gallop, not bow like some circus animal.”

“Like you?” Sammy Jo challenged. “That's how you feel, isn't it? That if you can't ride fast, you won't ride at all?”

“When are you going to take your rehab horse home?” Luke shot back. “He's just takin' up space hangin' around here.”

Luke stalked off, hobbling with his cane as he moved toward the gator, the one device that still gave him the most mobility.

“We're not giving up,” Bree said, gesturing for her to give the command again.

“Not in a million years,” Sammy Jo agreed.

Sammy Jo was still thinking about her session with Phantom that afternoon while fixing the fence broken along the Macpherson-­Collins property line. They didn't use ropes or any special devices to force the animal down into the correct position like others did. Bree insisted only on natural horsemanship techniques that focused more on developing a bond of trust between the animal and trainer. However, they
did
stoop to using a little bribery with carrots.

As Sammy Jo slipped on a pair of work gloves, she realized she wouldn't be doing any of this if she had still been riding rodeo. The time she now spent with her friends, the girls at the horse camp, and with Luke . . . had all reaffirmed that when she'd decided to stay home this summer, she'd made the right choice.

She also had time to fix fences. Her father kept his word, like always, and had the new wood posts and wiring delivered from the hardware store. He'd also promised to help her fix the fence after work, but Sammy Jo hadn't wanted to wait. She was perfectly capable of fixing it herself, and after her spat with Luke, she needed to do something to vent her frustration.

If only she and Bree had found more time to train Phantom before Luke discovered what they were doing. Then maybe he wouldn't have reacted with such disgust.

Taking a shovel she dug into the hard, dry ground and, after the fifth scoop, realized the job was going to take longer than she thought. She wiped her gloved hand across her brow, eyeing the stack of six-­foot posts that needed to be stuck two feet under, then spun around toward the distinct rumble of a tractor heading her way.

It was the Collinses' green John Deere and Luke sat in the driver's seat. Maybe he was coming to apologize? Luke pulled up beside her, shut off the engine, and climbed out, hopping down using his good leg.

“Bree told you what I was doing this afternoon, didn't she?” Sammy Jo accused.

Luke shook his head. “I could see what you were up to from the cabins. Thought you could use a post hole digger.”

“You want to help me?” Sammy Jo drawled. “Now
that's
a switch.”

“The new guests are busy checking in and I thought I'd get out of their way,” Luke said, ignoring her sarcasm. “Besides, it's our fence, too. It borders both properties.”

“Don't worry about it. I've ‘got it handled,' ” she said, using one of his own quotes against him.

Sammy Jo stuck the blade of the shovel into the ground and placed her foot on the shoulder, ready to continue digging, but Luke stopped her by grabbing the shaft. “Look. I'm sorry about . . . earlier. I shouldn't have got so mad you were working with Phantom.”

“I'm doing it for you,” she said, meeting his hazel-­eyed gaze.

“I know.” Luke cleared his throat and his fingers slid a few inches down the handle of the shovel to cover her own. “Your father kept his word. I got the building permits this morning.”

Sammy Jo nodded. Her fingers tingled beneath his warm hand, and she scarcely dared to breathe as she tried to figure what to make of it. “My father may be feuding with your parents, but he's a good man.”

“I don't think he has anything against my ma,” Luke said, and narrowed his gaze. “He was pretty sweet to her when she went into the planning department. I think my father's the main one he has a problem with.” Then Luke chuckled and added, “Besides
me
. He definitely has a problem with me.”

“Yes, he does,” Sammy Jo agreed, and relaxed as they shared a laugh. “He wouldn't like it if he knew you were out here helping.”

“It's
not
a date,” Luke said, his voice warm, his look soft.

“No . . . it's not.” Sammy Jo smiled as Luke continued to look at her, as if . . . as if . . .

His thumb rubbed over her fingers, then he dropped his hand from hers and moved back toward the tractor.

“Back up while I dig the holes, then we can put in the posts,” he called over his shoulder.

Sammy Jo did as he said, and had to admit using the tractor's attached auger to drill the needed depth was better than digging by hand. Of course, working with Luke beat working alone any day, too.

After he finished, they placed each post in the ground, repacked the dirt to hold them steady, and stretched the thick, white, vinyl-­covered wiring across the posts in three rows.

“When my father found out about the tracks across our field, he said he'd like me to stay in at night,” Sammy Jo said, watching for Luke's reaction.

The muscle along his jaw jumped, then pulled tight. “You won't be able to help me keep an eye on the cows?”

“Of course I will,” she said, thrilled that he really did want her there. “I'll just have to climb out through my bedroom window so my father doesn't see.”

Luke grinned. “You used to do that quite a lot, didn't you?”

Sammy Jo tossed the remaining wire on the ground and laughed. “Like the time we had a marshmallow war and we used those homemade plastic tube marshmallow shooters?”

“We had twenty kids running around the fields that night,” Luke said, giving her a mischievous look.

“First your guys in front launched the attack, then you yelled that silly code word that meant, ‘Get down!' ” Sammy Jo reminded him. “After they ducked, you had the guys behind them stand up and shoot a second wave over their heads. The opposite team was pelted until we surrendered.”

“Yeah,” Luke said, moving closer, “and you told me I'd never be a real military captain because I was too immature.”

“Because you shot sticky marshmallows into my hair,” Sammy Jo complained. “It took three showers to get it all out.”

Luke reached his hand and pulled one of her long, dark, curly locks forward, letting it run through his fingers. “Served you right for not being on my team.”

Sammy Jo stared up into his eyes, shocked by the tenderness she saw in his expression, and her heart slammed into her chest. “I—­I would have given anything to be on your team.”

Luke rested his hand on her shoulder and tugged her toward him ever so slightly. Then he lowered his head and Sammy Jo gasped, her heart jumping up and down inside her rib cage like a caged frog on the Fourth of July.

Was Luke Collins about to
kiss
her?

He didn't say anything for several long moments. He just stood there gazing at her as if studying every feature on her face. Then the corners of his mouth jerked upward into a half grin and he asked, “Would you like to come over to my camp?”

Sammy Jo nodded, not trusting her voice to speak, and Luke led her toward the tractor.

“Hop aboard, sweetheart,” he teased, taking her hand and helping her up.

“Where should I sit?” she asked, glancing around the cab and noticing the single seat.

Luke looped an arm around her waist and pulled her toward him. “Right here on my lap.”

His arm tightened around her as they drove and Sammy Jo's imagination went wild with possible scenarios of what she had to look forward to when they arrived.

Not one of them even came close.

“Someone slashed your tent,” she said, staring at the green canvas that had been torn to shreds. “And broke your flagpole.”

Actually, it looked like a tornado had leveled the place flat. The stuffing had been pulled from his pillow and sleeping bag. The rocks that had formed a ring around his campfire had been tossed in different directions. His clothes had been ground into the dirt. Even his cooking utensils had been smashed.