Montana Hearts (6 page)

Luke swallowed hard. He needed her on
his
side, not her father's. “He has influence,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. “Your father could speed up the process. Instead, he's made it clear he's going to delay our permit as long as possible.”

“He did?” Sammy Jo's expression softened and her green gaze locked with his in that special way that always stole his breath whether he wanted to admit it or not.

“What do you think?” Luke challenged.

She let out an exasperated sigh. “Of course he did. My father has been whistling about the house these last two weeks as if he's the happiest man in the world.”

“Help us,” he said earnestly, “and you'll make
me
the happiest man in the world.”

Her dark brows drew together into a tight scowl. “After I got that bucket of paint dumped over my head I vowed I'd never help you again.”

“That's one promise you will never keep.” He drew closer and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Because you weren't made that way. I see that now. You love helping others. That's what you do. You're also very convincing. I was hoping you could use some of your special persuasive powers to convince your father to speed the permit process along?”

She let out a laugh and rolled her eyes. “You think I have ‘special persuasive powers'?”

“Definitely.”

“Except they don't appear to work on you.” She frowned. “You want my help, but you won't even ask me out on a date.”

Luke shrugged. “I'll take you anywhere you want to go.” Then he grinned. “If you drive.”

“You'll take me out on a date if I go against my father?”

Luke shook his head. “I'm not asking you to go against him. Just soften him up and convince him this may end the silly feud once and for all.”

Sammy Jo's expression perked up. “You really think it will?”

Luke shrugged. “Who knows?”

She hesitated. “I don't think I can change his mind. He's been awful stubborn lately.”

“And you're not? If anyone can change his mind, it's you.”

“You'll really take me out on a date?”

“Whatever it takes.”

“I'm tempted. But now that's not enough.”

Not enough? What more did she want? A kiss?

His gaze dropped to her mouth. She did have a set of full, inviting lips . . . and he'd wondered more than once over the last ­couple weeks what they might taste like, despite his misgivings.

He hesitated, his heart pounding, then drew his head closer and asked, “What will it take to make you say yes?”

“A fair trade,” Sammy Jo announced, pulling back. “I'll
try
to get my father to push your permits, if you'll
try
to get on the rehab horse.”

“The
rehab horse
?”

“Yes.”

“You call that a fair trade?”

Sammy Jo smiled. “I do.”

He stared at her, stunned. He thought for sure she'd demand a date or kiss, but
why the horse
? What did she have to gain? “I told you I can't ride.”

This time she gave
him
an earnest look. “Have you tried?”

“No, but one fall and, instead of using a cane, I could end up in a wheelchair the rest of my life.”

“Doubtful. They make prosthetic legs now all the time.”

“Not something I would look forward to,” he assured her.

“I don't want you to get hurt,” she explained. “But I do want to see you happy again.”

“You think riding a horse will make me happy?”

“Whenever you think no one is watching I see how you look at the other riders, longing to tear out into the fields with them at breakneck speed, with an excited, half-­wild look in your eye and that wide goofy grin.”

“No.”

“No?” She put her hands on her hips and gave him that adorable stubborn tilt of her chin. It was clear she was enjoying this. Enjoying having the upper hand and making him eat humble pie.

He couldn't start a feud with her. He needed her. He needed to help his family. As co-­owner, he needed to make his guest ranch work.

“Please, Sammy Jo. Let's be honest and make this easy on each other. You want to use me to get your father off your back so he won't set you up with any more creeps. I want to use you to soften your father up so he'll issue our permits. It's a win-­win for both of us and we both get what we want. What do you say?”

“I want you to try the rehab horse.”

Luke glared at her and she glared right back. She wasn't going to lay off the horse issue. She would hold on and fight him until she finally got her way. Just like she always did. But isn't that why he was making her the deal in the first place? Because she was persistent?

“Okay,” he agreed. “But you've got to ‘try' to convince your father to give us the permits
first
.”

 

Chapter Four

S
AMMY
J
O WASN
'
T
sure she'd made the right decision. Instead of having Luke try to ride the rehab horse, she could have pressed her advantage. She could have demanded a kiss.

“What do you think it would be like to kiss Luke?” she asked Tango as she ran a brush over his thin palomino summer coat.

The horse didn't answer but gave a loud snort. Then he continued chewing the patch of green grass in front of the tack shed as if he wasn't interested. But she was.

If Luke kissed her, would it be hot and hungry? Slow and soft? Hesitant at first, then more insistent? She smiled as she dwelled over the countless possibilities. If only she'd asked . . .

Then she remembered why she hadn't and her shoulders slumped. Luke had
expected
her to ask. She could tell by the way his gaze kept drifting toward her mouth. Except he didn't look too sure about whether he wanted to.

Despite her pleasant romantic daydreams, the reality was that if she'd asked for a kiss, Luke would have given her a fast, stiff, brotherly peck. And if she'd insisted he prolong the kiss, she knew his heart wouldn't be in it. What an awkward disaster that would be. Not the best way to make him fall in love with her. No, what she needed was time. The more time they spent together, the more likely he'd
want
to kiss her. Then someday, when their lips finally met, they'd
both
be happy.

Luke had jerked back in surprise when she'd insisted he try to ride the rehab horse. Obviously he hadn't seen that one coming. But she got him to agree and that was all that mattered. Now she could look forward to spending several long days with Luke as he discovered he
could
ride, and he
did
want to kiss her.

Sammy Jo took a hoof pick out of Tango's tack bucket and gave him the cue to pick up his foot by leaning into his shoulder and running her hand down the length of his leg. But instead of complying, Tango pulled away from her.

“Hey, boy, what was that all about?” she asked, running her hand down his leg again.

The area just above his hoof was warm and slightly swollen. Gently, she lifted his foot to take a look beneath and, sure enough, he had a pea-­sized abscess. The good news was that it was draining. The bad news was that she'd have to soak his foot in Epsom salts and they'd have to back out of the rodeo that weekend.

Maybe she could spend the extra time with Luke?

The familiar rumble of her father's truck pulled into the driveway. Good. She wanted to talk to him about the Collins building permit to uphold her end of the bargain.

Except . . . her father wasn't alone. This time he
did
bring that banker woman, Winona Lane, with him. And another truck, a brown Ford with a deep V-­shaped dent above the left rear wheel well, pulled into view behind them. Harley Bennett's truck. He was pulling a brown horse trailer and Sammy Jo could see through the side window slits there was a single horse inside.

“Oh, no,” she told Tango with a groan. “Looks like I won't be able to talk to my dad about the Collinses anytime soon.”

She let her palomino friend go back to grazing, and looked around for a bucket to fill with water and the salts for his hoof soak, then realized her father wasn't taking his company into the house. He was leading them toward
her
.

“We have a surprise for you,” her father announced, a proud eager grin spread across his face. “Mrs. Lane has agreed to sell us her barrel-­racing champ, Black Thunder.”

Sammy Jo glanced at Mrs. Lane, who affirmed what he said with a nod and a smile, then her gaze flew toward the dark horse Harley Bennett was unloading from his trailer.

“But—­” She looked back at her father, who had come to all her competitions while growing up but had never been interested in riding too much himself. “I don't need another horse.”

“Tango's age may be catching up with him. I heard you didn't even place in the top three at the last rodeo.”

That wasn't Tango's fault, it was hers, but instead of telling her father that, she said, “Tango has a hoof abscess. I'm sure that's why we didn't place. It might have already been bothering him.”

“See?” her father exclaimed. “Another reason you need a second horse—­in case one is lame. Now you'll never have to miss another rodeo.”

He had a point. Every rodeo she passed up meant less money in her pockets and she needed to be able to support herself and save enough for her own house someday.

“At least take him for a quick ride to try him out,” her father insisted.

Thunder had beautiful conformation. A quick ride wouldn't hurt. It would be fun to see what kind of speed and pivotal turns the supposed “champion” had.

“All right,” she agreed. But then after Harley brought the horse's tack out of the trailer and she saddled up, Tango let out a soft whinny that shot a pang of guilt straight through her heart. “Don't worry, Tango,” she called over to him. “You're still my best boy.”

Her ride around the orange barrels strategically placed in the open field beside the river affirmed it. Although Thunder had Tango's talented ability, Sammy Jo didn't have the same bond with him as she did with her own horse. Bonds like that took months, sometimes even years, to develop. But when two hearts finally shared that special connection . . . it was worth every moment of the wait. And with that realization came another. She now knew what it was she had to do.

“I appreciate the offer,” Sammy Jo told her father's entourage upon her return. “But I don't have time for another horse. I've been overwhelmed enough as it is. Jesse Rinehart, the owner of Happy Trails Horse Camp, asked if I could continue to help out over the summer even though she knows I've been going to the rodeos on weekends, and during the week I help out the Col—­”

“You'll have to tell the Collinses you need to focus on your priorities,” her father said, and Mrs. Lane and Harley nodded in agreement. “Let them find someone else to give their guests weekly lessons.”

Sammy Jo shook her head. “They need me.”

“You can't do everything.”

Was that what this was all about? Her father's way of getting her to stop spending time at the Collinses'? How could he do this to her? First he'd brought Harley over, hoping to distract her, and now a horse?

She dismounted, handed the black horse's reins back to Harley, and drew in a deep breath to steady her anger.

“Well?” her father asked. “What do you think of Thunder?”

“He's a fine horse,” she told him. “One who deserves to be ridden. But it won't be by me.”

“But he's the best barrel racer in the county,” Winona protested, her face aghast.

Sammy Jo would have argued in Tango's defense but didn't want to offend the woman any more than necessary. “Mrs. Lane, the truth is, I've decided I'm not going to compete in any more rodeos this year.”

“What?” her father demanded. “You're not serious!”

She lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. “I am.”

Taking her arm, he pulled her out of earshot of the others. “You haven't missed a year in over a decade.”

“Well, then, maybe it's time,” Sammy Jo said, keeping her voice low. “There's more to life than rodeo.”

“A year ago you would have sworn differently.”

“You're right,” she agreed. “But now things have changed.
I've
changed. I want . . . more.”

“It's because of those Collinses, isn't it?” he demanded. “You'd give up rodeo to be with them?”

“Yes, I would. Because I care about them, and since their previous ranch managers left town with their money their guest ranch is struggling.”

Her father smirked. “Nothing you do will be able to help them. You'll just be wasting your time.”

“Why?” she challenged. “Did you delay the filing of their building permit on purpose?”

This was
not
how she'd envisioned the conversation when she'd rehearsed it earlier that day. However, she couldn't back down now.

“I may have misplaced their paperwork for a few days,” he admitted.

“But it's filed now?” she pressed, hoping to be able to give Luke the news.

He hesitated. “Well, not yet. I still need to go over the fine print and make sure all is in order.”

“When? By the end of this week?”

He inclined his head, ever so slightly.

“Give me your word.”

“I give you my word, the Collins permit will be filed by the end of the week,” he said, then frowned. “But that doesn't mean they'll get a new one. Their application still has to go through several of our departments.”

“I understand,” she said, and smiled. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“You shouldn't be thanking me,” he scolded. “You should be riding rodeo.”

“And
you
,” she said, reaching up to give her father a quick kiss on the cheek, “should be making friends, not enemies.”

“The Collinses and I will never be friends,” he warned.

“Why?” she pleaded.

“I don't want to talk about it,” he replied.

Sammy Jo noted his troubled expression and didn't press him further. She'd already won one battle today, and for now, that was enough. She'd have to discover the details behind his feud with Jed and Loretta Collins some other time. Or else maybe . . . it would be a good question to ask Luke.

L
UKE WITHDREW S
OME
of his savings at Mountain View Bank to buy the lumber he'd need to build the gazebo. Then noticed the assistant manager giving his ma a hard time.

“Not many ­people keep a safe deposit box in Fox Creek,” Mrs. Lane drawled. “What do you keep in there?”

“That's my own business,” his ma said, her voice rising—­a sure sign she was agitated.

“Jewels? A few gold coins, maybe?” Mrs. Lane pressed.

Luke stepped forward. “We don't have all day,” he told the middle-­aged woman. “Open the vault so my mother can access the box and we'll be on our way.”

“Well, you could say ‘
please
,' ” Mrs. Lane shot back. “No need to be rude about it. Just wanted to satisfy my curiosity, is all. I've been working here over twelve years and see your ma come in every two weeks to take a peek in that box of hers, but I never see her take anything out.”

“That's to keep it safe,” Luke's ma said, her face creased with worry. “Some things are too valuable to keep at home.”

“Now you've really got my curiosity cranking,” Mrs. Lane said, and laughed. “Follow me. I'll open the vault and won't say another word. Maybe another day you'll finally tell me what you've got hidden in there.”

Luke doubted it. His mother didn't even tell
him
what she kept in her private box. And she'd had it as long as he could remember.

As Mrs. Lane led his ma toward the door to the vault, Luke went out and sat in the passenger seat of his family's parked pickup and waited for her return.

Glancing around, he realized Fox Creek hadn't changed much over the years. The same two-­block strip of stores lined both sides of the street with Ralph's garage on one end, and the historic Fox Creek Hotel on the other. The bank lay smack-­dab in the middle, on the corner next to the sheriff's station.

A cowboy with a straw hat and trophy-­sized rodeo belt buckle exited the bank and pocketed a wad of green bills. When he looked up, Luke recognized him and gave a slight wave.

“Luke Collins, The Legend of Fox Creek,” A.J. Malloy greeted in his familiar easygoing tone.

Luke smirked. “I haven't been called ‘The Legend' since high school.”

A.J. let out a hearty chuckle. “Remember the time you left your keys in the truck outside the café and that bully, Harley Bennett, drove off with it? You ran three blocks to catch up with him, jumped into the back, and punched him through the window to make him pull over.”

Luke remembered all right. Except it hadn't been his truck but Sammy Jo's and she'd been the one who had left the keys in the ignition. He'd acted, not to save Sammy Jo like some damsel in distress but because her truck was his and Bree's only ride home and he had a job to do that night. The carpenter up the road had promised to pay him a hundred dollars if he showed up to lend a hand on the Johnson house at five o'clock. And he'd needed that money to help cover his entrance fee at the next rodeo.

“And the time you led us out to the range to rope that wild mustang?” A.J. continued. “You jumped on his back and it's a miracle you didn't get thrown off and break your . . .”

“Yeah, good times,” Luke said, sliding his cane unseen under his seat.

“What are you up to now?” A.J. asked. “Still in the army?”

Luke shook his head. “Got out last year. Spent some time in Florida, but now I'm part-­owner of my family's ranch.”

“Going to compete in any of the local rodeos this season? I'd hate to lose the prize purses I've been winning over the last few years but I'd sure love the competition.”

Luke hesitated. “No, not this year. Too much work to do.”

“Too bad,” A.J. said with drawn-­out regret. “I saw Sammy Jo Macpherson at the rodeo in Bozeman a ­couple weeks back. But she must have been having an off day. Her scores weren't even high enough to get her into the top three and we know she's better than that.”

“Yep, she's a top-­notch competitor, hard to defeat,” Luke agreed.
Especially when she is fixated on getting her own way.

A.J. double tapped his hand on the rim of the open truck window and shot him a grin. “Hey, me and some of the other guys are meeting up at the café later tonight before we head off to the next rodeo in Helena. You want to come?”