Montana Hearts (16 page)

“She's allergic to mushrooms, too?”

Her father nodded. “Worse than me. If her skin comes into contact with them, she breaks out in a rash and can't breathe. Believe me when I tell you Loretta would
never
put mushrooms in any dish. Even for a friend.”

“I doubt Winona is her friend,” Sammy Jo said, raising her chin. “Especially if Winona is working with the rustlers to tear Collins Country Cabins apart.”

 

Chapter Thirteen

A
FTER S
LEEPING IN
to recuperate from the excitement the night before, Luke and his family gathered around the kitchen table for breakfast, even though it was nearing noon.

“The PI we hired has tracked Susan and Wade Randall from state to state and says they're headed back to Montana,” Bree reported. “The money they embezzled from us must be running out because they tried to rob a bank in Wyoming, but they got scared off before they could go through with it.”

“Why would they head back to Montana?” Luke's father asked. “What do they have here that's worth the risk of getting caught?”

“Help?” Luke suggested. “When Mrs. Owens confessed to working with Susan and Wade last month, she threatened there might be others. How much money did the rustlers take when they slipped into the house last night?”

Bree frowned. “Not much. When I went in the office to recalculate what was in the cash box, I realized there was only thirty-­five dollars missing.”

“Those thieves stole twelve dollars from my cookie jar,” Grandma complained. “Now how am I going to play bingo this week?”

“Twelve dollars isn't that much,” Delaney assured her, and quoted back one of the elder woman's own sayings, “and ‘
you can't lose what you don't have
,' right, Grandma?”

“Right, sweet pea,” Grandma grumbled. “But I didn't plan to lose. I was hoping to win a bundle of money this week and use it to save our ranch.”

Luke turned toward his mother. “How much money was in your purse?”

“None.”

“Then what was the point?” Luke's father barked, shaking his fist. “Why would the rustlers risk being caught for a measly forty-­seven dollars? Why didn't they steal the computers or TVs or the new horse tack Delaney just bought?”

“Or the cows or horses?” Delaney added.

Luke set his jaw. They didn't come over just to throw a few punches his way either. “They've been playing us this whole time,” he said, pushing away his unfinished plate of eggs and toast. “First they set a fire to distract us while they steal our cows, but they only take six. Why not more? Then they surprise us by coming from the opposite direction and steal a few more. Next they send Harley to distract me and pull all of you outside so they can sneak into our house to steal forty-­seven dollars? There's got to be something bigger they're after. Something worth a whole lot more.”

“Like what? Ma's ‘valuables'?” Bree joked.

Ma sucked in her breath. “Oh, no!”

Luke grinned. “Don't worry, Ma, your valuables are locked up tight in your safe deposit box at the bank. They can't touch them.”

“They could if they had the key.” A look of horror crossed her face. “I usually keep the key in my purse.”

Bree gasped. “That's why they stole your purse?”

Ma nodded. “Except I took the key out after my last episode with the bank's assistant manager, Mrs. Lane, and put it in the zipped pocket of my jacket for safekeeping so I'd have the key on me at all times.”

“Why? What happened with Mrs. Lane?” Delaney asked, looking confused.

“I don't trust that nosy woman,” Ma explained. “She has the master key to open the security boxes, but she doesn't have the key that opens my private lockbox
inside
the security box and I think that drives her nuts. She'd love more than anything to know what kind of valuables I have.”

Luke glanced at a new text message from Sammy Jo on his cell phone. “Winona Lane could be working with the rustlers. Andy Macpherson told Sammy Jo that Winona's been short on money since her husband passed away last year.”

“Our ranch managers also heard you say you had ‘valuables' tucked into your safe deposit box,” Luke's father reminded Ma. “And who knows how many ­people they might have told.”

“What if they are all working together? Against us?” Ma asked, the color draining from her face.

Luke's father grunted. “Wouldn't surprise me. They may want your ‘valuables' thinking it will cause us financial loss, but we all know what they really want.
Our ranch.
”

“No,” Luke said, shaking his head. “They want the money they'll get by
selling
our ranch to that land developer next door. Del, did you review the surveillance tape?”

“Yeah, but all it caught was Harley hitting you from behind.”

“We'll start with him,” Luke decided. “If the sheriff brings Harley Bennett in on charges of assault, maybe we can find out who he's working with.”

S
AMMY
J
O HELPED
each of the nine-­year-­old girls from the horse camp decorate their row of stalls at the Fox Creek Fairgrounds. The annual town fair would bring in hundreds of ­people this week, including three prominent judges who would award ribbons to the group with the best presentation.

Their main competition appeared to be the girls from the 4-­H club across the aisle, but her girls' posters educating the public on horse safety was more colorful than theirs.

“I think we have a fair shot,” Sammy Jo said to the expectant group of faces surrounding her.

“Will you sleep here with us?” one of the girls asked.

“No, I'm needed somewhere else, but Jesse will,” Sammy Jo said, smiling at the camp owner.

“Lucky me.” Jesse groaned. “I brought a sleeping bag, but it'll be nothing like my bed at home.”

“Which is why you and the girls need to stay,” Sammy Jo teased. “The stalls at the fairgrounds aren't anything like our horses' beds at home either. Strange noises, strange smells.”

Jesse nodded. “I told the girls we'll have to give them lots of attention throughout the night so they aren't too panicked during their performance in the arena tomorrow.”

“I wish you all lots of luck,” Sammy Jo said, giving Jesse and the girls a big smile.

“You, too,” Jesse replied, and motioned behind her. “Here comes your sweet-­talkin' cowboy.”

Sammy Jo turned toward the tall, good-­looking man coming down the aisle. “Luke! What are you doing here?”

“I talked to Ryan and his brothers,” he said, his tone filled with excitement. “They said all cattle shipments are on hold till after the fair because of the amount of traffic coming in.”

Sammy Jo caught her breath. “You think your cows could still be here in Fox Creek?”

“Maybe,” Luke said, and tipped his hat in greeting toward Jesse and the throng of girls still decorating the stalls with rolls of blue and white streamers. “I checked the holding pens at the auction house while the sheriff brought Harley in for questioning.”

“And?” she prompted.

“They were empty. But then,” he continued, his eyes taking on a sudden gleam, “I met with A.J. and my old rodeo pals at the café and they said they've heard rumors some of our stolen cattle might be hidden in with some of the others here at the fairgrounds.”

Sammy Jo glanced all around her. “Here?”

“What do they look like?” Jesse asked, raising her brows.

“Black Angus,” Luke told her. “A dozen of them branded with a ‘C' on their rear flank.”

“What kind of ‘C'?” one of Sammy Jo's girls asked. “A big ‘C' or a little ‘c'?”

Luke glanced at the child and grinned. “Don't they both look pretty much the same?”

“No,” said another. “She means is it like this?” The girl curled her hand to form the letter. “Or smaller?”

“The size of your hand,” Luke clarified.

“Sometimes,” said a different girl, “if you fill it in, a ‘C' can look like an ‘O.' ”

Sammy Jo's gaze darted toward Luke. “We saw some cows here with an ‘O' this morning. I assumed they were what was left of the Owens stock after they sold their property.”

Luke took her hand and pulled her away from the others. “Show me.”

Sammy Jo led him toward the cattle barn, but as they searched through the herd, none of them were marked with a brand in the shape of an “O.”

Except one. Sammy Jo gasped. “Look!”

They drew toward the roped-­off area with the beef cow and Sammy Jo touched the white freeze brand marking with her finger. “That little girl was right,” she said, showing Luke her white thumb. “The rustlers filled the open side of the ‘C' in with chalk!”

“I'll call the sheriff,” Luke said, pulling out his phone. “The rustlers must have moved the others to a different location and we only have a few days to find them.”

“We will,” Sammy Jo said, reaching up to kiss him. “In the meantime, we'll load this one into a trailer and bring him home.”

L
UKE AWOKE TO
an explosion and for a second he thought he was still in the army. He rolled out of bed, and lay low to the ground. His pulse raced and his breath came in short gasps. Then he realized he was on the hardwood floor of his own Fox Creek bedroom. Raising himself up to glance out his window into the sunlit field, he saw the ensuing puff of smoke rising from a circle of blackened earth and wondered if the rustlers had come back.

The night before they'd had a small victory. After he and Sammy Jo returned with the cow, everyone had been reenergized and had wanted to help keep watch. The rustlers came, but with the help of the Tanner brothers, and Sammy Jo, the Collinses had managed to scare the intruders off before they could steal anything. Even better, they were able to do it without rousing suspicion from their guests.

A few of the teen girls from Travel Light Adventures had come outside onto the front porch of their cabin and Ryan had yelled, “Stay in, we're chasing a bear.”

None of the guests had ventured outside after that.

Luke hurried as best he could down the stairs, although his bum knee and use of his cane made the trek more difficult. A quick glance at the clock told him he'd slept in again. It was 9:45 in the morning, not the time of day he'd expect the rustlers to launch an attack. Especially with so many guests wandering around. Another explosion pierced the air as Luke made his way outside, and this time he could feel the vibrations in the ground beneath his feet.

Delaney ran out the door behind him. “Meghan? Where is she? I went to the bathroom and when I came out she was gone.”

“She's right there,” Luke said, pointing behind her. He scooped his little niece up with one arm and placed her on his shoulders.

“Is that who I think it is?” Del asked, pointing to the figure by the blast site and coming to an abrupt stop.

“Grandma!”
Luke yelled. “What are you doing?”

Her white hair was tucked beneath the gray hard hat that his grandfather had worn during his days working as a miner in the nearby caves. The chin strap framed her soft round cheeks, and the light from the round headlamp shot straight toward his chest. She waved and gave them a big smile. “I'm testing a few sticks of my homemade dynamite.”

Luke exchanged an exasperated glance with his sister, then turned back to the old woman and complained, “C'mon, really, Grandma?”

“It's too dangerous!” Delaney said, her eyes wide with alarm.

“Nonsense,” Grandma argued. “Marshmallows aren't the only things I make well. Your granddaddy and I have been making our own homemade dynamite for near half a century. Comes in handy when I need to blow a stubborn root out of the garden.”

“What if Meghan had wandered out here?” Delaney asked.

Grandma furrowed her wiry brows. “I can see plain as day she's right with you.”

“You're going to scare the guests,” Bree said, running out to join them. “We can't have them pack up and leave again.”

“Better we lose a few guests than any more of our cows and hard-­earned bingo money,” Grandma told them. “We need to protect ourselves against those rustlers, and next time they come back throw a few of these sticks under their truck.”

“She's serious!” Delaney exclaimed.

Luke grinned. “Grandma, I'm not sure that's legal.”

“Nothing like old-­fashioned firepower,” Grandma said, waving one of the unlit sticks in her hand. “Luke, you used to
beg
me to give you some of these when you were younger.”

His sisters glared at him and he ruefully admitted, “It's true.”

“Handsome as he is, it doesn't look like the sheriff is doing much to help us,” Grandma continued. “I figure we need to take matters into our own hands and deal with these rustlers once and for all.”

Luke handed Meghan off to Delaney and walked forward to take the remaining sticks out of his grandma's hands. “Let me take care of these,” he told her. “And let me worry about the rustlers.”

“You have a plan?” his grandma asked, her expression hopeful.

“I do now,” Luke said, and realized he had to take action before his eighty-­year-­old grandma landed them all in a heap of trouble.

T
HE FIRST ITEM
on Luke's to-­do list was to pick up the phone and call for a doctor's appointment. His hand shook when he made the call, but after eight months of waiting, it only took two seconds to schedule the needed appointment for an updated exam and evaluation on his injured knee.

Somehow it made the second item on his to-­do list even easier, and when he walked into the Macpherson living room to confront Sammy Jo's father, he didn't even break a sweat.

“Mr. Macpherson,” he said, looking the startled man in the eye. “I want to date your daughter.”

Andy threw down the newspaper he'd been reading and sprung out of his recliner onto his feet.
“No.”

“I'm not asking your permission,” Luke warned. “I'm not sure exactly what the feud you have with my parents is about, but it has nothing to do with me and Sammy Jo.”

“Rodeo is her life. She may have given it up for a season,” Andy said, narrowing his gaze. “But I know she'll be right back out there again next year. You know how tight-­knit the rodeo community is and you just aren't a part of that world anymore. Do you really think Sammy Jo would be happy dating a guy like you?”