Montana Hearts (21 page)

“She
is
,” Luke agreed, wishing for once that she
wasn't
.

“Hold on, Andy,” Luke's dad told him. “We're gonna get you out of here.”

Sammy Jo's father nodded, then reached up his hand and latched on to Luke's forearm, his grip hard as steel. “Please,” Andy said, and looked up at him, his eyes pleading. “Don't let him hurt my daughter.”

“I won't,” Luke promised.

As if her father even had to ask. The thought of Harley driving off with
his
woman stirred up all kind of crazy inside him.

 

Chapter Sixteen

S
AMMY
J
O WAITED
until she heard the truck door open and shut, and the booted footsteps of the driver fade away, before she pulled off the tarp she'd hidden under in the rear truck bed.

When Harley ran toward the vehicle at the square dance hall, she'd been determined not to let him get away. And he'd been in such a hurry to escape, he hadn't seen her climb over the tailgate.

She scanned the street, dark and nearly empty due to the fact most of the town businesses had closed for the night. Even the lights in the sheriff's station had been turned off, which was unfortunate, since it sat right next to the very bank the rustler had entered.

How did he get in? Winona?

Sammy Jo climbed out of the truck and crept closer to the large front window. Keeping herself hidden, she peered around the edge, and there, inside and held at gunpoint, was Loretta Collins. Sucking in her breath, she pulled out her cell phone and called 911. Then after she reported the incident, she tried calling her father, knowing he'd be worried sick when he discovered her missing, but he didn't answer.

Her third call went to Luke and he picked up on the first ring. “Sammy Jo?”

“It's me. I hid in the back of Harley's truck and followed him to the bank.”

“You're all right?” He sounded desperate, relieved, and heartsick all at the same time.

“Yes, I'm fine,” she whispered, keeping her voice low. “But, Luke—­
they have your
ma!
”

She didn't elaborate on the danger his mother was in. Hopefully the sheriff would arrive in time to rescue Mrs. Collins before she came to any real harm.

Sammy Jo held her position by the window and watched Winona pull Mrs. Collins into the bank vault in the back. Harley followed, but stood in the vault entrance, his gun aimed at something behind the tellers' counter.

What if Winona and Harley took whatever they wanted out of the bank and got away? Was she supposed to just sit here like a stray dog and watch?

No doubt Winona had shut off all the bank's security cameras to make sure there would be no evidence except Mrs. Collins's testimony. Sammy Jo glanced at the video camera button on her cell phone, and her legs bounced up and down, ready to move.

Except her ears still rang from the way Luke had ended their call—­warning her to stay put. She wavered back and forth a few more moments considering her options. Then when Harley turned his head, she darted through the unlocked door of the bank and dove behind a manager's desk in the corner.

The door had closed behind her quickly without making much noise. But one person had seen her. The young woman sitting on the floor behind the tellers' counter. From their current positions they had an open angled view of one another.

Another witness.

Rope bound the woman's hands and her mouth had been gagged with a white cloth. The teller's brows lifted, emphasizing the helplessness reflected in her eyes, and Sammy Jo put a finger to her lips, her heart pounding, hoping the woman would keep quiet and not give her away. If she did, Sammy Jo feared she might find herself in the very same position. Then she wouldn't be able to help anybody.

Harley stepped from the vault entry and Winona rushed out carrying a foot-­long rectangular box that looked to be made of steel. Mrs. Collins followed, wringing her hands as Winona set it on the tellers' counter.

“Open it,” Winona ordered, her eyes on Luke's ma.

Mrs. Collins shook her head. “No. There's nothing inside of interest to you.”

Harley waved the gun he pointed as if to remind her it was there and Sammy Jo silently willed Luke's ma to listen to them.

“Loretta, rumor has it your wealthy parents died in a fire when you were younger and you were their sole heir. So I got to wondering what could be so important that you would have to check the contents of this fireproof, double-­combination locked box every two weeks? Two little birds told me they left you some ‘valuables'? The family jewels perhaps?”

Mrs. Collins shook her head. “Like I said, what's inside is only valuable to me.”

“We'll see about that,” Winona taunted. “Now that we've managed to extract the numbers for the combination locks out of you, where's the key?”

Harley shoved the gun under Mrs. Collins's chin. “We don't need you to tell us, ma'am. We can shoot you here and now and crack the box open some other time.”

Mrs. Collins broke down in tears and reached for her jacket pocket, but Winona stopped her by grabbing her wrist. “Hands in the air, Loretta.”

Sammy Jo's heart went out to Mrs. Collins as she raised her arms. The poor woman looked absolutely terrified. And she had a right to be. There was nothing as hair-­raising as having someone pull a gun on you.

She watched Winona reach into Mrs. Collins's jacket pocket, scrunch up her face in disgust, then withdraw a handful of white sticky goo.

“What's this?” Winona demanded. “Are you deliberately toying with me?”

Sammy Jo noticed Mrs. Collins seemed as surprised as everyone else.

“My—­my granddaughter put some marshmallows into my pocket to save for later,” Luke's ma told them. “And . . . they must have melted in the heat.”

Harley glanced out the front windows toward his truck. “Winona, forget it. We need to take what we can and get out of here.”

Winona shook her head, and gave him a sharp look. “Just another minute,” she said, inserting the key into Mrs. Collins's steel box. “I
have
to see what's inside!”

Harley gave her a wary glance, but didn't say another word.

A loud
snap!
drew everyone's attention and even Sammy Jo leaned forward to see what Mrs. Collins had locked away for so long.

Winona opened the lid, withdrew a fabric drawstring bag and, pulling it open, dumped the contents onto the counter. “Photos?” she exclaimed. “There's nothing here but a bunch of
photos
? And . . . a broken chicken bone?”

“A
wishbone
,” Mrs. Collins corrected, lunging forward to take the two pieces from the assistant manager's hands.

Winona let her keep them. “But Susan and Wade Randall said you had valuables.
Real
valuables!”

“The photos of my family are irreplaceable,” Mrs. Collins said, her voice rising into an anguished squeak. “And—­and Jed gave me the wishbone when he proposed. He'd told me to make a wish. I told him I loved him and wished to be with him forever.”

“How sweet,”
Winona drawled.

Touched by the tale, Sammy Jo's heart ached for Luke, and when she checked the screen on her cell phone, she saw he'd sent her a message. Luke—­the man who hated texting—­had sent her a text! She read,
Stay safe. Be there soon.

She smiled, then with a start she realized the light from her phone had reflected against the wall and revealed her position.

“You want to come out of there?” Harley asked, his gun now aimed in her direction.

There was no point in resisting. She had no weapon. Except the record button on her cell phone, her tongue, and what Luke liked to call her “
special powers of persuasion
.”

Determined to get a complete confession out of Harley and Winona to help the Collinses and to clear her father's name, she shoved her fear down to the soles of her boots . . . and stood up.

R
ELIEVED TO SEE
four squad cars lined up on either side of the bank when his father pulled the truck to a stop along Main Street, Luke hopped out of the passenger's side and held the door open for Sammy Jo's father. Andy refused to go to the hospital, insisting the bullet had only grazed his shoulder and that he needed to help get his daughter back.

Especially since the 911 dispatch informed them the sheriff and his deputies had been sent on a wild-­goose chase all afternoon investigating a rash of phony 911 calls. Looked like the officers had finally made it to the right place.

Luke headed toward the sheriff, who stood outside the bank beside the front window. “What's going on? Where's Sammy Jo? My ma?”

One of the deputies moved to prevent Luke from coming any closer, but the sheriff, who knew Luke's past exploits well, motioned for the officer to let him through. “They're inside,” the sheriff informed him. “But we can't get a clear shot. Sammy Jo's standing in the way.”

Luke's jaw tightened as he peered through the window and assessed the situation for himself. He didn't see his mother at all, only Winona Lane and Harley Bennett, who had one hand wrapped around Sammy Jo's shoulder, and his other holding the gun he pointed at her.

Somehow she'd been caught. Again. Most likely while trying to “help.” Because that's what she did. Except this time the authorities wouldn't let him in to save her. He'd need to find a way to revamp his internal game plan.

From behind, Luke heard Andy Macpherson argue with the same deputy who had let him through. “But my daughter's in there!”

“With my wife!” Jed Collins's voice added.

Glancing over his shoulder, Luke saw the Tanners pull up to the curb behind them. The four rustlers they'd tied up were still in the back of their truck, ready for delivery to the sheriff's station next door.

But the additional vehicle had drawn the attention of a few late-­night onlookers coming out of the café across the street. They needed to do something quick before more ­people arrived and Harley took Sammy Jo hostage as a means to escape.

Luke let out a low, frustrated growl similar to his father's. Maybe he should have brought another stick of his grandma's dynamite along with him to create another diversion, but he'd used the only one he had back at the dance hall. Now he'd have to rely on his tactical skills . . . like he had in the past.

Leaning in beside the sheriff, he peered through the window again and reported, “Harley's let go of her and stepped aside. If I can get Sammy Jo to drop, can you get your guys inside to take control?”

The sheriff nodded after listening to the rest of Luke's plan and radioed his men standing on the other side of the building to prepare for Luke's signal.

“On the count of three,” Luke whispered, and held up his hand, signaling with one finger, two fingers, three.

Luke glanced through the window again and yelled at the top of his lungs, “Sammy Jo,
snake
!”

He didn't know if she'd remember the code word. At the time, she hadn't even been on his team. He held his breath, waiting for her reaction, and hoped he hadn't inadvertently placed her in greater danger. His heart drummed an extra beat against his chest, but then he watched her drop to the floor.

Both Harley and Winona stared at her, startled for a moment, then as the sheriff and his men burst through the door, they redirected their weapons. Rapid gunfire rang out as the officers tried to shoot the guns from Harley's and Winona's hands. Winona dropped hers, while Harley held on and aimed at one of the officers coming toward him.

Luke wasn't going to wait another moment. Crouching low, he pushed through the door behind the officers, grabbed hold of Sammy Jo's feet, and dragged her out backward. Then, scooping her into his arms, he pulled her around the side of the building, and collapsed on the ground with the woman he loved in his lap.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice breathless and his heart pounding like a machine gun.

She nodded, then frowned. “Luke, where's your cane?”

He shook his head and shrugged. “No idea. All that matters is that I've got you.”

Holding her tight against his chest, he brushed his hands over her hair again and again, until his erratic breathing slowed.

Several sirens filled the air as other emergency vehicles arrived at the scene. Then just seconds later there was a flurry of shouts and ­people running around them as several groups of ­people exited the front of the building. A few of the deputies led Harley and Winona away in handcuffs, and the sheriff emerged with another woman and Ma. His mother ran into his father's arms, and then after she gave him a hug, she gave Andy Macpherson a hug, too.

“We've got your ma!” Luke's father called over to him. “They locked her and the teller up in the bank vault.”

Andy took a step toward Luke, his eyes on his daughter, but two paramedics grabbed his arms and pulled him back to look at his wound.

Luke pulled
his
attention back to Sammy Jo, and lifted her chin so he could look at her face. Her dark brows were uplifted, her beautiful eyes filled with tears, and her lower lip trembled.

“You're not ever going to do something like that again, are you?” he whispered.

Her head gave a violent shake. “No. But, Luke, it was Winona in charge this whole time, not my father. I've got proof,” she said, holding up her cell phone. “Winona hired the rustlers. She made a deal with the builder who bought the Owenses' property. She's orchestrated everything. And she's been working with Susan and Wade Randall, your embezzling ranch managers!”

“Shhh,” Luke whispered, shutting her up with a kiss. “There'll be plenty of time for talk later.”

“But they—­”

“Later,” he repeated, and this time when he kissed her lips she didn't argue.

S
AMMY
J
O BROUG
HT
the tray holding the homemade chicken noodle vegetable soup and thick, crusty, Italian bread slathered with butter into her father's room and set it on the end table beside his bed.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, checking the bandage covering his left shoulder.

“The pain's lessened,” he said, his mood much improved since their ordeal at the bank two days before. “I think I'll be back to work at the planning department in no time.”