Montana Hearts (14 page)

“How do you know?”

“Because he won't even think about it.”

“What do you mean?”

He placed the saddle over the horse's back and tightened the girth. “I'm not going to have him bow.”

“Then how are you going to get on?”

He met her gaze and grinned. “I'll mount up in the staging area.”

“Use the raised decks? But you said they were for—­”

“Greenhorns and gimps, I know,” Luke said, leading Phantom out the barn door.

Sammy Jo retrieved her own horse, who she'd ridden over and placed in one of their outside paddocks, then rejoined him.

“What changed your mind?” she asked, watching him hobble up the platform and slide onto Phantom's back from above.

He gave her a direct look. “You.”

“Me?” Her sweet face looked more flustered than ever.

“You are the one who convinced me to ride,” he explained. “And you were right. Once I get my leg over the saddle and give it time for the muscle to relax, the pain isn't so bad.”

She hesitated. “About those kisses . . .”

“Yes?” he prompted, his gaze drifting toward her mouth.

She rode Tango up beside him. “Well . . . after you saved me—­”

“I had to save you,” Luke said, his pulse racing from her close proximity. “What would your father have said, if I didn't? We don't need to give him another excuse to be mad at the Collinses or he might not approve our final inspection.”

“Oh, is
that
why you rescued me?” she teased, her smile infectious. “What about the kiss? Was that to appease my father, too? Because I don't think he'd be happy about that.”

“Counteracts saving you, doesn't it?”

“Yes, it does,” she agreed.

Luke held her gaze. “But it doesn't really matter what he thinks, only what you think, right?”

“I suppose.”

“So what do
you
think?” he pressed.

Sammy Jo's face lit up with a big smile. “Between you riding in like the infamous Legend of Fox Creek and then kissing me . . . well, I'm thinking you're trying to win my heart.”

Luke grinned. “Oh, you do, do you?”

She was pretending to be as self-­assured and flirtatious as always, but he saw the uncertainty in her eyes as her expression turned earnest and she asked, “
Are
you trying to win my heart?”

In answer, Luke leaned toward her and cupped her chin with his hand. “Whatever it takes, sweetheart.”

Her eyes widened. “Does that mean—­”

He brushed his mouth over hers, then affirmed, “I'll do whatever it takes.”

 

Chapter Eleven

H
E CALLED ME
“sweetheart”!
Sammy Jo had been so scared at first because Luke didn't indicate anything had changed between them. But after that brief kiss in the staging area, they rode out across the fields and stopped under a tree with low-­hanging limbs near the riverbed. The green leaves formed a natural umbrella canopy, and under the false pretense of needing a moment of shade, Luke leaned toward her and kissed her again.

There was no doubt in her mind now. Luke
wanted
to kiss her. Again and again . . . which meant . . . he must be falling for her!

“Careful there, cowboy,” she teased. “Don't lean so far forward that you fall off your horse.”

“If I do, I'll just have to stay out here all night,” Luke said, his tone playful. “And you could stay with me.”

“Except we're not supposed to date,” she reminded him.

“For how long?”

She smiled. “My father didn't specify, but I think he meant forever.”

Luke drew toward her again. “But he didn't specify.”

“No, he didn't,” she said, her voice breathless as Luke gave her another light kiss.

“He didn't say anything against
this
?” Luke coaxed.

She shook her head.

“Then we won't date,” he said, his voice husky. “We'll just kiss.”

Sammy Jo laughed. “I never imagined in a million years you'd ever talk to me this way.”

He placed a light kiss on the end of her nose. “What way?”

She smiled. “Like the sweet-­talkin' cowboy I've always dreamed about.”

“Does your dream cowboy have long hair and a limp?”

“He does now,” she said, and then added, “but both of those things can change. Your hair can be cut and your limp fixed with the surgery.”

“What's wrong with the hair?”

She tucked the locks falling over his forehead back under his hat. “I have trouble seeing your eyes and can't tell if you're looking at me.”

“Trust me.” He let out a soft chuckle. “I'm always looking at you. Even if I pretend I'm not.”

Sammy Jo closed her eyes as Luke's mouth drew toward hers again. He was warm and soft and her head swam dizzily as he deepened the kiss. His arm tightened around her, drawing her even closer, until she feared
she
might be the one to fall out of the saddle. Especially when her horse shifted beneath her.

She broke away from Luke and caught her balance. “Whoa, Tango. Easy, boy.”

The horse tensed and pricked his ears forward. A moment later, Luke's horse did the same, and a loud engine roared to life somewhere in the neighboring field.

“Is that coming from the Owenses'?” she asked. “I thought they're supposed to be away for the rest of the summer.”

Luke frowned. “They are.”

He rode out from beneath the tree and she followed. The sound grew louder the closer they rode toward the property line.

“Sounds like a tractor,” she told him.

Luke shook his head and pointed. “Bulldozer.”

“What?” She gasped as she focused in on the bright orange machine pushing against the wall of the Owens barn. A moment later there was a resounding high-­pitched crash as the entire building collapsed. Several figures who stood on the sidelines clapped. She squinted, trying to get a better look at them. “Who are those ­people?”

“I don't know the man with the yellow hard hat,” Luke said as they rode forward. Then he cast her a look of warning. “But the ­couple with him is Winona Lane . . . and your father.”

“My father? What would he be doing over there?”

Sure enough, when the group turned, she saw it was him. And her father saw her too . . . with Luke. She knew the moment he recognized them from the way his dark brows drew together and his cheerful expression dropped into a deep scowl.

Luke tipped his hat in greeting toward the town posse, introduced himself, and inquired, “What's going on here?”

The man in the hard hat identified himself as Marc Hughes and said, “Tearing the whole place down to make room for a new housing development, Fox Creek Estates.”

“What about the Owenses?” Luke demanded, the shock of the announcement evident in his voice.

“They sold me the property last week,” Mr. Hughes informed them.

Luke narrowed his gaze. “Looking for any more land for your project?”

The guy grinned. “Not at the moment, no. But after I get done with this piece, I'll make you an offer for your ranch if you're interested in selling.”

“We're not interested,” Luke said, his tone bitter. “We'll never sell Collins Country Cabins.”

“Never say ‘never,' ” Sammy Jo's father interjected.

“Dad!” she exclaimed. “What's your part in all this?”

“Mr. Hughes wanted to consult with me about zoning before filing building permits,” her father said. “And he wanted to talk to Winona about a loan from the bank.”

The woman smiled and Sammy Jo asked, “Shouldn't that be done
at the bank
?”

“Yes, of course,” Winona assured her. “Mr. Hughes has to submit a formal proposal for approval. These are just preliminary talks.”

A truck drove up the driveway and parked beside them. The same truck Sammy Jo had seen in the Collinses' field the night she was threatened. Harley Bennett stepped out.

“Nice bruise on your right cheek,” Luke drawled.

Sammy Jo glanced at Luke and saw him glaring at Harley, his jaw drawn tight. Harley glared back at him, and when Sammy Jo glanced at the placement of the bruise on Harley's face, she realized he'd been the man Luke had tackled to the ground and punched. He'd been the one who had held the gun to her chest.

“I see you got your truck back,” she said, her voice pinched with the anger welling up within her.

“Yeah,” Harley said, glancing around at the rest of them. “The sheriff found it along the side of the road and returned it to me just this morning.”

“Lucky you,” she said, pursing her lips. “No doubt she's ready for some more action.”

Harley slapped his hand on the hood of the pickup. “She sure is. Hey, Uncle Marc, what do you think of my three-­quarter-­ton gal?”

Mr. Hughes gave a nod of approval and Sammy Jo glanced from him back to Harley.
“Uncle?”

L
ATER THAT NIGHT,
Sammy Jo slammed the pan of pork chops down on the picnic table behind their house. “Don't you see?” she exclaimed. “Harley Bennett is working for his uncle and trying to sabotage Collins Country Cabins so they'll either be forced to sell or lose their land to the bank.”

“The only thing I saw,” her father said, stabbing a piece of the savory meat with his fork and shoving it onto his plate, “was you with that . . . that
Collins
boy.”

“Luke,” Sammy Jo corrected. “His name is
Luke
.”

“You promised me you wouldn't date him if I gave the Collinses the permits,” he said, seizing a baked potato off one of the other plates she'd brought outside on the tray.

“We haven't been on a single date,” she said, her cheeks growing warm. “We were exercising the horses.”

“Before you left the Owens property this afternoon, I heard him call you ‘sweetheart' three times.”

Sammy Jo smiled. “He did, didn't he?”

“That's
not
funny,” her father said, glaring at her. “You gave me your word.”

“Like you gave your word to Mom when you stood at the altar the day you married and vowed to love her
till death do us part
?”

“Don't bring your mother into this.”

“Why not? Do you think I like seeing you with that Winona woman any more than you like seeing me with Luke?”

“I didn't think you had a problem with her.”

Sammy Jo raised her chin. “And I didn't think you had a problem with Luke, just his father.”

“I
don
't
have a problem with Luke.
Unless . . .”
he said, scrunching up his face and issuing her a warning look, “I hear him call you ‘sweetheart' one more time.”

L
UKE DODGED FOUR
heavyset middle-­aged guests meandering down the path, circled the group of giggling girls from Travel Light Adventures, and wove around a ­couple wayward toddlers. Bursting through the front door of his family's house, he almost tripped his ma with his cane.

“What the blazes is wrong with you?” his father demanded.

“Dad, one of the rustlers is Harley Bennett. I'm sure of it.”

His father nodded. “I suspected as much.”

“But do you have proof?” Bree asked. “You know the sheriff won't do anything without concrete evidence.”

“He had a bruise in the same spot I punched the one holding Sammy Jo,” he replied. “His truck was at the scene even if he claims he wasn't.”

“Not enough,” Delaney said, shaking her head. “But I installed the security cameras up on the roofs of the house, the horse barn, and hay barn, and the top stands in the arena.”

“What about the cabins?” Luke asked.

“There's one facing the whole row closest to the house and the camera from the horse barn shows the cabins on the other side. After dinner I can take you into the office and show you the views on the computer screen.”

“Ryan helped her install them,” Bree said, smiling as she said her fiancé's name. “They made sure the new cameras are hidden in places the rustlers can't see them.”

“I hope so,” Ma fretted. “We don't want them to set any more fires.”

“Or steal any more cattle,” Luke's dad added. “We can't advertise weekend roundups if we don't have any cows.”

“These rustlers need to be caught,” Bree agreed. “I had a call today from Mr. Hamilton, the father of the bride paying for the big August wedding. It seems someone tipped him off and told him we've been having some trouble. I spent over two hours assuring him that no one in his wedding party would be in danger.”

Ma sunk into a chair at the dining room table and used her hand to fan herself. “Oh, my. If we lose that contract—­”

Bree groaned. “Yeah, I know. This whole mess makes me wonder if I should postpone my own engagement party until
after
our guest's August wedding is complete.”

“Don't you dare!” Grandma warned her. “We could all use some happy celebrations around here. You can't let those rustlers ruin your plans.”

“You're right, Grandma,” Bree said, raising her chin. “I just wish we knew what they want.”

“We do,” Luke informed them. “A Mr. Marc Hughes bought the Owens ranch next door and had a bulldozer knock their house, barns, and everything else flat.”

“It's true,” his father said, backing him up. “I went over as soon as I heard the noise and talked with the fella myself.”

“He's also Harley Bennett's uncle,” Luke added, “and plans to build a housing development.
Next door.
Where there's no river, no grove of trees, nothing compared to what we have here. I'd bet anything he wants Harley and his friends to drive us out so he can buy our land cheap and build even more houses.”

“But the Owenses have been our neighbors for years!” Ma exclaimed. “I know Mrs. Owens mental health is in question, but I never thought they'd ever sell.”

“They might need money to cover her medical expenses,” Delaney said, wiping her young daughter's hands at the sink.

Meghan ran toward Luke and tugged on his pant leg. “Onkle Uke, you want to play hide 'n' go seek?”

Luke remembered it was his turn that night to keep watch, and the fact he now knew at least one of the men he was seeking to expose filled him with new resolve.

“Yes, Meggie,” he said. “I
do
.” Then he glanced over at his sister. “Don't you worry, Bree. Next time the rustlers return, we'll be ready for them.”

S
AMMY
J
O PUL
LED
off her sheets hoping the lively tune “Dancing with My Cowboy,” which she'd set as her cell phone alarm, wouldn't wake her father.

She glanced at the time—­1:45 a.m. She only had fifteen minutes before she needed to meet Luke for the second watch at the Collinses'. Even though everyone had split into teams and rotated shifts, four hours of sleep every other night was taking its toll and giving each of them dark circles beneath their eyes.

Turning on a small, dim light on her dresser, she dabbed a touch of cream-­colored foundation beneath her lower lids to brighten her complexion. Not that Luke was likely to see it in the dark. But who knew? What if they went into the house for breakfast in the morning? She'd still want to look her best.

Luke might not see her too well until dawn, but he'd be able to smell her. Smiling, she sprayed a few short squirts of apple blossom scented perfume on her wrists and collarbone.

Her handsome cowboy might also want to kiss her. In fact, she was counting on it. Grabbing the tube of strawberry lip gloss, she opened the cap and proceeded to apply it to her mouth so that her lips would be silky soft.

Next she searched her closet for clothes. Ditching the pajamas, she pulled on a pair of dark jeans and a black T-­shirt with the intention of blending into the dark night. And even though she hoped Luke would wrap his arms around her to keep her warm, Montana nights could be cool, so she also took a thin, lightweight black jacket off the hook and draped it over her arm.

Slipping into her boots, she went over to her bedroom window, raised the screen, and was about to climb out when she heard her father call her name.

Oh, no.
She hesitated, wondering if she should reply or just hurry out over the windowsill and escape while she still could without having to answer a bunch of questions.