Montana Hearts (7 page)

And listen to them brag about their latest scores and meanest ride? Again, Luke shook his head. “Maybe next time you swing into town.”

“They'll be disappointed The Legend turned them down.” A.J. hesitated, as if hoping he'd change his mind. Then stepped back. “Well, hey, good seein' ya.”

Luke nodded. “Yeah, you, too.”

A.J. had been his partner in crime as they'd picked the lock on Mrs. Owens's shed and raided the ice box to steal some of her homemade popsicles when they were ten.

At fifteen, they'd advanced to midnight tractor races down the stretch of dirt roadway leading to the graveyard. They'd charged spectators five dollars to watch, enough to fund an illegal fireworks display the residents of Fox Creek would never forget.

Then at eighteen, they'd entered the exciting, fast-­paced world of rodeo bull riding. A world where their fortunes could change in a mere eight seconds.

A world which Luke still lived for but no longer belonged in.

He thought about his promise to Sammy Jo and wondered if it was possible for him to ride again . . .

Possible that one day he'd walk unaided . . .

Possible he'd once again be the man he used to be.

“
L
OOK, IT
'
S
S
AMMY
Jo,” a jubilant ten-­year-­old called out.

“Sammy Jo, are you going to help us out today?” another girl asked, her expression hopeful.

“Yes,” she answered, smiling at each of them. “Just as soon as I talk to Jesse.”

“Here I am,” Jesse called as she came from the main house carrying several quarter-­inch-­wide strips of colorful ribbons. “Didn't expect to see you today. Aren't you heading off to the next rodeo?”

Sammy Jo shook her head. “I quit. I decided I'd rather be here and work with the girls.”

Jesse wrapped her in a hug. “I know that decision must not have been easy, but I'm sure happy to have you with us.”

“I just have one favor to ask,” Sammy Jo said, and clasped her hands together in front of her.

Jesse gave her a nod. “Ask me anything.”

“Can I borrow the rehab horse for a few days? The friend I told you about has agreed to give him a try.”

“Luke?” Jesse's smile widened. “Finally persuaded him, did ya? Yes, you can take Prince for the next two weeks, but then I need him back. We've got a new little boy whose leg is amputated at the knee coming to ride him.”

“Thanks, Jesse.”

Later that same afternoon, Sammy Jo greeted Delaney and her daughter, Meghan, as they came to the camp for a visit. “You like?” she asked, waving her hand toward the hitching post where eleven middle-­grade girls were braiding ribbons into the horses' manes and tails.

“Pretty,” Meghan said, pointing.

“Yes, the girls are making all the horses look pretty,” Sammy Jo told her.

“Thank you for inviting us,” Delaney said, holding her daughter's hand as she led her around. “Meghan loves seeing all the kids.”

“So do I,” Sammy Jo admitted. “It brings back the fun memories we used to have decorating our horses for shows.”

“Maybe Meghan will be in a horse show one day,” Delaney said, smiling. “She's already riding my grandma's miniature pony, Party Marty, on short rides to and from the garden. Of course I'm right with her the whole time.” Then Del gave her a wink, leaned toward her, and whispered, “So what's up? I could tell by your text that you had something important you wanted to talk about.”

Sammy Jo laughed. Of course Del had seen right through her invite and sensed an underlying purpose. Delaney Collins had always been intuitive that way.

“Okay,” she told her friend. “I made a deal with Luke and he's agreed to give the rehab horse a try.”

“I heard all about it yesterday,” Del said, and rolled her eyes. “At breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

Sammy Jo hesitated. “So . . . he's thinking about it. Okay, mental preparation is good. But the question is . . . what can I do to make the experience easier on him?”

Delaney sat Meghan on top of a large wooden barrel and let one of the older girls braid pink ribbons into her daughter's hair. Then Del said, “Luke doesn't like being told what to do. Maybe when you're giving instructions, word it so he thinks he's figuring it out on his own.”

“Good advice,” Sammy Jo agreed, and then let out a sigh. “You think he'd like me better if I wasn't so aggressive?”

“A woman has to be aggressive to get anywhere with Luke these days,” Del encouraged. “But it'll take time for his head to make the mental shift required to switch you from the role of friend to fiancée.”

“I
know
,” Sammy Jo crooned. “I've been trying to learn how to cook, bake, clean, mend clothes, can vegetables. What else do you think I could do to prepare to become domesticated?”

Delaney laughed until tears formed at the corners of her eyes. “Sammy Jo, no offense, but I don't think you're meant to be that kind of housewife. And Luke wouldn't want you that way either.”

Sammy Jo bit her lip. “Are you sure? I could have your grandma teach me to make her homemade marshmallows . . .”

“Her marshmallows are the best,” Del said, “and it might be a good idea to learn how to make them, but you know what my grandma would say?”

Sammy nodded. “
‘The way to a man's heart is to be yourself.'
But what if being myself isn't good enough?”

At first Delaney didn't answer and her face took on a haunted look. Then she confided in a soft voice, “I asked myself that question every day for several months after Steve and I divorced. Then I realized if he couldn't appreciate who I was, I was better off without him.”

Sammy Jo's throat grew uncomfortably tight as she thought of life without Luke. While he was away, her days had been filled with activity but none of it made sense . . . until his return. It was their shared enthusiasm that brought everyday conversations to life. Their challenges and dares that changed common tasks into an adventure. And their awareness of each other's emotional “triggers” that turned ordinary moments into something breathlessly profound.

Smiling, she realized she'd been wrong to let her mind disperse doubt. Because in her heart she just
knew
she and Luke were meant to be together. The same way she looked at these horse-­crazy, fun-­loving, enthusiastic young girls and knew she wanted children of her own someday.

Luke
had
to feel the way she did.

L
UKE LOOKED AT
the dark chestnut quarter horse Sammy Jo had brought over to his family's guest ranch in her horse trailer.

“He doesn't even know me, how is he supposed to trust me?” he demanded.

“Prince is very well trained,” Sammy Jo assured him. “He'll bow down for anyone. And he might not know you, but he knows and trusts me. I've been working with him for years.”

In the past, Luke had always been the first one to sign up for any new crazy adventure, always believing he could do most anything. But after a ­couple of his friends in the military were killed in what was supposed to be a routine helicopter training exercise and he later tore his ACL in the motorcycle accident, he'd been forced to come to grips with the fact that he
wasn't
invincible. None of them were. And if he wasn't careful he'd end up in a coffin like his buddies.

“You
did
talk to your father?” Luke asked, stalling for time.

She nodded. “Yes, I did.”

“And what did he say about expediting our permits?”

She gave him an agitated look. “I'll tell you
after
you keep your promise. Now give Prince the cue by saying, ‘Bow.' ”

Luke stiffened. “You already ran through the procedure once, you don't need to tell me again. I heard you the first time.”

Sammy Jo bit her lip, then stepped back and nodded. “Of course. If anyone can do this, it's you.”

Her sudden, submissive tone filled him with remorse. “Sorry, Sammy Jo. I didn't mean to bark at you. Jeez, I sound like my father more and more every day.”

“You're nothing like him,” she said loyally.

Luke held her gaze. “I'm afraid I am.”

His father often sent confusing messages. Some days it seemed as if he truly cared, and other days not so much. Luke didn't want to send any confusing messages to Sammy Jo. He wanted to be as up front, straightforward, and honest as he could.

“A deal is a deal,” he told her. “So here goes.” Then he turned toward the horse beside him and said, “Prince, bow.”

The horse pulled his left front leg in, then dropped his head and shoulders low to the ground so that the saddle was only a few feet off the ground. Luke placed his weight on his good leg, grabbed hold of the saddle horn with his left hand, and hesitated. Should he drop or hold on to his cane?

Sammy Jo lurched forward. “I can take—­”

“No.”

She stepped back, again biting her lip as if she realized she'd said too much, or regretted saying anything at all.

Here he was, making her feel bad again. “I meant,” he said, forcing a grin, “I've got it handled.”

“Of course you do,” she agreed, her eyes wide. She looked as if she were holding her breath and her knuckles were white as she clasped her hands in front of her. Probably praying this worked, although he still had to figure what she hoped to gain from it all.

“Go big or go home”
had always been his motto, so he dropped his cane on the ground and prepared to mount. Tightening his hold on the saddle horn, he used his upper body strength to brace himself. Then he lifted his leg over the horse and winced as a sharp pain shot through his knee, up his leg to his head, and burned behind his eyes, nearly blinding him. For a moment all he saw was stars.

Then the pain subsided and his vision cleared. He gave the command, “Up!” and the horse rose to his full height in one swift, smooth move.

Luke gasped, his stomach tight, as he realized . . . he couldn't use his injured leg to press against the horse's side to keep himself balanced. If he hadn't grabbed on to the horse's mane and readjusted his weight at the last minute, he might have fallen off.

“Are you okay?” Sammy Jo asked, her voice filled with concern, then she cupped her hand over her mouth. “Of course you are. You've got it handled.”

She didn't sound as confident as her words implied. Luke frowned. “You're not going to tease me and say I look ridiculous like when we were kids?”

“Of course not,” she said, as if appalled by the notion. “You can trust me.”

He doubted that and frowned again as Sammy Jo's behavior continued to confuse him. Then the horse took a step forward and he had other things to worry about. Like how to stay balanced when using only the pressure from one leg. He wobbled back and forth as the horse took another few steps, and three thoughts raced through his head.

First . . . he was
riding
. Second . . . his knee didn't bother him nearly as much as he thought it would. Third . . . he was
free
.

The view from the saddle sent his pulse skyrocketing. The sun appeared to shine brighter, the tree line looked greener. He glanced at Sammy Jo, even more beautiful than moments before with that incredulous look on her face, and he grinned. Then his gaze was drawn back to the wide golden fields stretched out before him, beckoning him . . .

“Luke,
don
't
!”

Sammy Jo's call came too late. He'd been too impulsive, too eager. Too excited by the prospect of flying over those fields that he'd forgotten the fact that one fall could damage his knee beyond repair.

The minute he'd clucked his tongue for the horse to move into a jog, he'd realized his mistake. He bounced back and forth and the mere inches he raised out of the saddle seemed like several feet. As if he were at a rodeo on the back of a bucking bull.

And the fall seemed just as far and hard. He let out a
“Yow!”
as another bout of pain shot through his knee when he tucked his body in and rolled. Dust clouded around him, shot up his nose and into his mouth. He leaned over and spit on the ground beside him to get the dry, earthen taste off his tongue and then sneezed.

“Luke!” Sammy Jo plopped down on her knees beside him and she placed her hands on either side of his face, cupping his cheeks. “Look at me. How's your head? How's your knee? Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere.” Lying flat on his back, he looked up at her, too stunned to think of much beyond the pain, except he kind of liked the idea of her fussing over him. Then he sat up and glanced around. “Where's my cane?”

“Over there,” she said, and pointed to the spot. “I'll run and get it.”

“No,” he said, tucking her hand in his arm. “Let me lean on you for support and I'll get it myself.”

Sammy Jo's mouth fell open as if to protest, then she put her arm around him to help balance his weight.

She was warm and soft; her hair smelled of roses. And for the first time since his neighbor had started to lavish him with attention, Luke allowed himself to enjoy it.

At least until he regained his senses.

 

Chapter Five

S
AMMY
J
O STOOD
by the jewelry stand in the corner of the Collinses' guest registration office admiring Bree's handmade leather and bead boot bling. Her friend had always loved fashion and had worked herself up to fashion retail assistant at a prominent store in New York before moving back to Fox Creek.

Her sister, Delaney, loved animals and photography, and had placed some of her nature prints on postcards, which were displayed in a spinning rack beside Bree's jewelry.

Their grandma's basket of homemade oatmeal and lavender soaps claimed a shelf in the corner, along with her canned homemade jams and pickles, and small bags of homemade marshmallows.

“Have you had many sales?” Sammy Jo asked, pointing to all their homemade items.

Bree sat at the desk and turned her head away from the computer screen to glance her way. “Yes, the guests love them. First they buy for themselves and then they buy more as souvenirs to take home to all their family and friends.”

“I wish I could make something to sell,” Sammy Jo said, walking over to take a seat beside her. “But I'm not very creative.”

“You're talented at other things,” Bree told her, and scowled at the computer screen. “I wish I had your techie computer skills. Do you think you could help me?”

“For a price,” Sammy Jo teased.

Bree nodded. “Name it.”

Sammy Jo smiled. “Your grandma's homemade marshmallow recipe? I figure if I want to become Luke's wife, I'll want to learn to make his favorite treat.”

Bree broke into a smile. “Luke's wife,” she repeated. “Yeah, how's that coming along?”

Sammy Jo took the computer mouse, glanced at the screen, and with a few clicks made some adjustments to the financial sheets her friend had been working on to get rid of some funky formatting. “Luke got on the rehab horse yesterday and . . . oh, Bree, you should have seen the way his whole face lit up. Then he looked at me . . . and it was almost as if . . . as if he could love me.”

“Are you sure that's not just what you
wanted
to see?”

“Why?” Sammy Jo's heart skipped a beat. “Did he say something about it?”

“Well . . . not about you exactly.” Bree bent down and scooped her new black-­and-­white puppy into her lap. “Luke came in the house, his face covered in dirt, and said, ‘I'll never get on another wobbly wheelchair horse again!' ”

Sammy Jo frowned. “Wheelchair horse?”

“His name for the rehabilitation horse,” Bree explained.

“He
has
to get on him again. In fact, I was hoping we could train Luke's horse, Phantom, to bow so he can get on.”

“That's a great idea!” Bree agreed. “Delaney can help out too, and we can take turns when Luke's working so he won't even know.”

“And when Luke's ready,” Sammy Jo continued, excitement bubbling up within her now that she had Bree's support, “we'll surprise him.”

Ryan's seven-­year-­old son, Cody, ran into the office, followed by two more of the black-­and-­white border collie puppies. The boy gave Bree a quick hug, then took the puppy she had and set it down with the others. “I'm going to take Boots out to play with Oreo and Lucky.”

The empty hole in Sammy Jo's heart widened as she watched the look of affection pass between Bree and her soon-­to-­be son. “You're the one who's lucky,” she whispered in Bree's ear. “Lucky to have Ryan and Cody and . . .”

“A whole pack of dogs to go along with all the horses and cattle?” Bree joked as Cody ran back out the door.

Sammy Jo nodded. “At least you won't ever have to worry about being alone.”

Bree smiled. “No, I definitely won't. And you're right. I
am
lucky—­to have a friend like you. Will you be my maid of honor at my wedding?”

“Of course!” Sammy Jo exclaimed, clapping her hands. “Unless I'm married to Luke before you marry next summer. Then I'd be your
matron
of honor.”

Bree laughed. “Then we'd
both
be lucky!”

L
UKE TOSSED ANOTHER
log on the evening campfire and a flurry of sparks flew into the air. “I'll tell you what,” he told Ryan and Josh Tanner. “Sammy Jo says the horse was trained, but I've ridden unbroken broncs who were smoother than her trick-­bowing beast.”

“She should have known better,” Ryan agreed, his tone anything but serious as he lent mock support. “Women only
think
they know everything.”

Josh grinned. “You got that right.”

“A man knows whether or not he's healed enough to ride,” Luke continued, using the tips of his cane to stir the coals. “A woman can't make those decisions for you.”

“Yeah,” Ryan said, his smile broadening as he adjusted his chair to lean out of the way of the smoke. “They certainly can't.”

Josh smirked. “You got that right.”

Luke frowned. They wouldn't think it was all so funny if
they
'd
been in his position. He sat back down beside the two jokers who had come to visit the humble abode he'd set up on the other side of the Collinses' property. “And you can't let them follow you around or tell you what to do.”

“I told Bree we need to make decisions together,” Ryan said, and chuckled. “Except for the wedding plans. I gave her full rein to go ahead and do what she wants with that.”

“Some decisions don't need a man's input,” Josh said with a nod.

“And some do.” Luke leaned forward and eyed his friends. “Sammy Jo said her father agreed to file the permits.”

“Great news,” Josh exclaimed.

“Yeah, it is,” Luke said, stretching out his bad leg so it wouldn't stiffen. “Guess who I saw in town the other day when I went to buy some lumber for the gazebo? A.J. Malloy. Haven't seen him in ages.”

“Heard he got himself a big glass case to put his trophies in,” Ryan said, and then gave Luke a sidelong glance. “Heard he also has his eye on Sammy Jo.”

“Good for him.” Luke's jaw tightened. “Does she know?”

Ryan shrugged. “You want me to ask Bree?”

“No! Why would I care? Women are nothing but trouble.”

“That's what I told Ryan,” Josh teased, “but instead of listening he dropped down on his knee and proposed.”

“Won't happen to me,” Luke told him. “I'd rather wrangle cattle than wrangle myself a wife.”

Ryan's amused expression fell from his face. “That reminds me. While I was leading the guests on the weekend cattle roundup, someone mentioned seeing a strange man outside their cabin . . . wearing a black ski mask over his face.”

Luke sat up straight. “Again?”

Ryan nodded. “Your father thinks it could be some local teens playing a prank.”

Luke hesitated. “Or someone else our ranch managers hired to wreck our business. A few weeks ago when Mrs. Owens was arrested and admitted she'd been an accomplice, she said she wasn't the only one.”

“We'll help keep an eye out,” Ryan said, nodding to his younger brother, Josh. “And so will Dean and Zach.”

Having all four of the Tanner brothers on their side would ease his family's nerves. They were the best wranglers in Fox Creek and their cattle ranch was only fifteen minutes away if a problem should arise.

“My family would appreciate it,” Luke said, his gut twisting from the thought of having to deal with more trouble. “The more eyes, the better.”

S
AMMY
J
O STOOD
on one side of the rehab horse while Luke stood on the other. “Please, Luke,” she coaxed, her patience wearing thin. “Give him one more try.”

“You said your father would file our permits by the end of the week, but instead he gave our family a call and said we forgot to sign the forms in one spot.”

“Did you?” she challenged.

“No. I went over each line and made sure everything was filled in. When my dad went in to sign he noticed one of the pages in our original submission had been replaced.”

They must have been mistaken. “What proof do you have?”

“No proof,” Luke told her. “I just know. So did my dad, and apparently some bitter words were exchanged.”

Sammy Jo sighed. “That's probably why my father kept silent last night during dinner. Tonight I'll try to talk to him again about issuing your permits, if
you
get on the horse.”

Luke shook his head and glanced across the field toward the Collinses' main cluster of buildings. “No time. The lumber arrived for the gazebo and I need to work.”

“What about later?” she pressed.

“Me and the guys are going to keep watch for prowlers.”

“Wouldn't it be better to chase away prowlers if you were on horseback?”

She had a point. She knew it, and by the way Luke set his jaw, she could tell
he
knew it too.

“One more try,” he said, his voice low.

Sammy Jo smiled and handed him the reins, then stepped back to allow Luke to take charge and do it on his own. Except she wasn't one to stand by and watch, and began to fidget in place.

As Luke commanded the horse to bow and Prince knelt down, she wanted to run forward and take his cane. When the horse rose onto all four feet, she wished she could have tightened the girth around the horse's underside to make sure Luke didn't fall off again. And when Luke winced, she would have given anything to kiss away every ounce of his pain.

“Hurts worse than last time,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Give it time to subside,” Sammy Jo advised.

Luke's face paled and he winced again. “You know I'd love to ride. But this . . . isn't working.”

A few teenage guests drew near and one of the boys pointed at him, snickered, and said something to the others. Something like, “Watch him fall off.”

“We don't need an audience,” Sammy Jo said, waving them on. How dare they mock her beloved Luke! If only they knew what a town hero he'd been in the past. The Legend, ­people called him. Mostly because he was the most impulsive, reckless, daring cowboy in town. Some of the older folk called him wild, but she thought he was . . . amazing. For many of those same reasons. A kindred spirit.

At least he
used
to be.

“That's okay,” Luke said, glancing toward the teens. “I'm done here.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but realized he'd already commanded the horse to bow. First Luke's good foot touched the ground. Then he slid his injured leg off the horse and yelped in pain.

“You're probably still sore from that fall you took the last time,” she assured him. “We'll try again next week after you heal.”

“Don't you understand?” Luke said, giving her a look of disbelief. “My leg isn't ever going to heal. Not without surgery.”

She met his gaze head-­on. “So get the surgery.”

“I'm working on it.” He glanced away and she got the feeling there was something else he wasn't telling her.

“Don't you have insurance?” She drew forward as if to take the reins from his hand, then took his hand in hers instead.

He glanced down at their entwined fingers, but didn't pull away. “My military coverage only covers a portion of the cost.”

She gasped. “That's why you accepted your grandmother's offer and are working so hard to make the ranch a success, isn't it? To get the money you need for your surgery.”

He hesitated. “Yeah, that's part of it.”

“And the other part?” She held her breath. Did he stay because of
her
?

“My family might not always get along, but we're family, and . . . they need me.”

“And?” she pressed. “What else?”

Luke shrugged. “I didn't have much else going for me in Florida.”

“No girlfriend?”

Luke grinned. “I had a few. One of them had the best lips for kissing, soft wide lips that—­”

“I do
not
want to hear about other women you've kissed,” she spat out harsher than she'd intended.

His mouth curved up into another grin. “Why not? You want to know about everything else.”

“You're not funny.”

“No, most women tell me I'm sweet.”

“Teasing me like this is not sweet,” she said, a lump rising in her throat. “Why would you even
want
to tease? I thought you were in pain.”

“I am, but teasing you is a good distraction.”

“Sweet words from a sweet-­talkin' cowboy,” she drawled, and with jealousy still eating at her, she turned away.

A hand on her shoulder turned her back. What did he want now?

“Sammy Jo.” For a long moment he just gazed down at her with those mesmerizing hazel eyes. Then the sexy Adam's apple in his throat bobbed up and down as he swallowed, and he said, “There were no other women.”

“You didn't kiss—­”

He shook his head and, reaching forward, placed his finger against her lips. “No, not for a long time.”

Her breath caught in her chest and she broke into a smile. “Now
that
,” she told him, “is the sweetest thing I've ever heard.”

L
UKE COULDN
'
T SLEEP.
He rolled over in his sleeping bag and stared up at the moonlit peak of his triangular tent.

When he'd first arrived back at the ranch he'd stayed in the main house with the rest of his family. For about a week. That's about all he could handle before their chatter, checking in, and constant invasion of his privacy got to him. Then he'd moved out and set up camp on the opposite side of the property with the help of the motorized gator that he'd learned to operate with one foot.

Except it wasn't his family that kept him awake this night. It was Sammy Jo.