Montana Hearts (8 page)

He'd teased her, thinking she didn't really care for him the way she let on. Then when that genuine look of jealousy, anger, and . . . hurt crossed over Sammy Jo's features . . . it made him think that maybe . . . she
did
.

What then?

Most of his life she'd been the next-­door menace he couldn't escape. Even after he'd left town, she'd filled his return visits with dread. Not because she wasn't good-­looking, because . . . God knows she was. Her dark curls had grown out into longer waves while her slim form had developed all the right curves.

And it wasn't her personality, because he admired her extroverted, fun-­loving ways, her skill at persuasion, courage in the arena, and even more . . . her loyalty to his family despite her father's opposition.

But what haunted him the most was how she could tease him like a bothersome little brother, and then . . . become attracted to him, as if he was
not
. What changed? Had she simply grown up?

In the past she'd always made a point to remind him he was younger, as if that one year made all the difference in the world. Since he'd come back she hadn't mentioned it once.

Sammy Jo had always made it clear she would rather hang out with his sisters than him, and groaned whenever they had to bring him along on their adventures. Now she sought him out first whenever she came over, instead of Bree or Delaney.

She also used to put him down for things he couldn't do. Like the time when he was twelve and tried to pop the clutch on his father's pickup so he could drive into town for the rodeo. He'd been grounded for another offense and forbidden to go. Then when the entire stick shift pulled out of the casing and he crashed into the side of the barn, he'd found himself in double trouble. And Sammy Jo had laughed and told him he would have had better luck if he'd borrowed her Barbie bicycle. He'd been mad at her for over a week for saying such a thing.

True cowboys rode horses, he'd thought, not bicycles. Especially not bicycles meant for girls.

He'd been wary of her suggestions ever since. So naturally, when she said she liked him and wanted to spend time with him, and hinted she might even like him to kiss her . . . he'd had a hard time trusting her.

He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, the stinging reversal, the next retort out of her mouth that would confirm she could never be interested in someone like him.

But then the look on her face when he'd made up the bit about kissing another woman flashed into his head again. No matter how he tried to dismiss her expression from his mind, or discount the emotion he'd heard in her voice, something deep inside kept niggling at him.

Something that said her feelings toward him were real and sooner or later he'd have to tell his own secret. Over the last few weeks he'd been looking at
her
in a whole new way, too.

After fluffing the pillow beneath his head, he rolled over, and chuckled to himself in the dark.

He'd thought of Sammy Jo as self-­centered and manipulative, but after he'd seen her working with the kids and saw how she'd given up a date to help him ride, he wondered if maybe
selfless
or
encouraging
would be better words to describe her.

He supposed he'd also traded in the notion that Sammy Jo was a bothersome annoyance because the truth was . . . her flirtation made his heart beat twice as fast and he now looked forward to their conversations when she came around.

And if she really did have feelings for him? Then that meant she did
not
consider him a last resort or want to
use
him. It meant she admired him, thought him worthy, maybe even worthy enough to kiss.

If he chose to go that route.

Two consecutive shots pierced the still air, the first disrupting his thoughts and the second making him bolt upright in his sleeping bag. The thunderous sound of racing hooves followed and Luke scrambled out of his tent, his hand on his pistol.

Who would be out shooting at this hour? On their property?

Scanning the moonlit landscape, he spotted four silhouetted riders on horseback not more than a hundred yards away. They'd come from the direction of the cabins and were headed toward the distant tree line.

More prowlers? He and the Tanner brothers had ridden along the border before sundown and hadn't seen anything suspicious. Adrenaline surged through every part of his body, bringing him fully awake. He'd jump on his horse right now and chase after them in a heartbeat . . . if he could.

Instead, he clenched his hands into fists and watched them disappear. Next he found his flashlight and aimed the illuminated beam toward his watch. It was 2:35 in the morning, not the same time as the other two sightings. Grasping his cane, he climbed into the gator, revved the motor, and made his way back to his family's house as fast as he could.

When he arrived, he found his entire family outside milling about the main courtyard with a crowd of troubled guests.

“I'm not staying here another minute,” one man said, turning toward his wife. “Let's gather our things and get out of here before those men come back.”

“We're leaving, too,” said another family. “This is no place for kids. Some vacation! You'll be hearing from my lawyer.”

“I want my money back,” a woman demanded, shaking her fist in front of Bree's face.

“We
all
want our money back,” cried out a man behind her.

Luke's gaze swung toward the Walford twins, who stood beside him, squealing they'd been attacked.

“Tell me what happened,” he said, shining the light so he could see their expressions.

Nora used frantic hand gestures to illustrate her experience as she spoke. “Instead of going home we stayed overnight in one of the guest cabins. We were sleeping and—­”

“There was a crash,” Nadine said, cutting in.

Nora nodded. “Then another.”

“And then another and another!” Nora exclaimed. “Each one coming closer and closer.”

“Louder and louder,” Nadine added, waving her arms.

“Then someone broke our cabin window,” Nora continued. “We got up and turned on the light and there was glass all over the floor.”

“That's when we saw the blood,” Nadine told him.

Luke's stomach dropped. “What blood?”

Both the twins pointed toward their toes and chorused in unison, “From our feet!”

“We'd stepped on some of the glass when we sprang out of bed,” Nora explained.

The teenagers showed him their cuts and Luke was relieved to see they were minor. “Did you see who broke the window?”

“No,” Nadine said, her eyes wide. “But someone else did. There were four riders on horseback. And they had guns.”

Luke recalled the shots he'd heard back at his camp and the hair on his forearms stood on end. He glanced around at the other faces in the crowd to make sure everyone was accounted for. Hard to tell with some of the guests walking back toward their cabins, and others just coming out.

“They rode real fast,” Nora said, her voice rising. “And smashed the back window of every cabin as they went.”

“Then what happened?” Luke demanded.

The twins looked at each other and back at him and said together, “They rode away!”

Luke left them and wove through the crowd to find Bree.

“Ryan will be here soon,” his sister told him. “And the sheriff. The gunmen must have used the butt of their rifles to break all the windows. Dad thinks they did it to scare everyone away. Probably also why they fired those shots into the air. I'm just thankful no one got seriously hurt.”

“Someone
did
,” Luke said, his chest tight.

Bree gasped. “Who?”

“Us.” He motioned toward all the guests who were carrying suitcases out of their cabins and heading toward the parking lot. “Not only will we have to refund their money, and try to put a stop to potential lawsuits, but we'll have to pay to replace all the windows.”

Bree cringed. “We'll also need to repair our reputation.”

Luke wasn't sure Collins Country Cabins' reputation had ever been repaired from the previous month when their ex–ranch managers hired their vindictive neighbor, Mrs. Owens, to sabotage them.

“We'll get through this,” he said, not only to assure his sister, but to assure himself. “We found out who was responsible last time and we'll find out who's behind this, too.”

“Luke,” their ma called, coming toward them. “Thank God you're here. I was worried those men might come up on your camp and catch you alone. It's not safe out there.”

“Seems I'm safer than you are,” he countered.

“Please move back into the house?” Ma pleaded.

“No,” he said as the sheriff's car pulled into the driveway. “It will be easier for me to catch these guys if I stay out in the field.”

“You think you're going to catch them?” Bree asked, and glanced down at his injured leg.
“How?”

 

Chapter Six

T
HE
FOLLOWING MORNING,
Sammy Jo pulled back on the reins and slowed Tango to a stop in the middle of the field, not far from Luke's camp. A second later, Bree and Delaney halted their own horses beside her.

“What's up?” Bree asked as Sammy Jo slid out of the saddle. “Do you see something?”

Bending down, Sammy Jo retrieved the small, metal, cylindrical item that had caught her eye and held it up. “Rifle cartridge.”

Bree nodded. “Our intruders fired two consecutive shots in the air. The first cartridge had to drop out of our shooter's rifle right here before he could fire off the second round.”

“Unless two men each took a shot,” Delaney pointed out, “instead of one man firing both.”

Sammy Jo shook her head. “Either way, Luke said he heard the shots and then saw them run past his camp, which would place the men here when they fired.”

“If they waited until reaching the field to fire, that must mean they didn't intend to harm anyone, just scare them,” Bree said, giving her new mare, Angel, a pat.

“It worked.” Delaney sighed. “Every guest packed up and left, leaving us with an empty guest ranch in the middle of summer for the first time in . . . well, forever.”

“A new week's worth of guests will show up soon,” Sammy Jo assured them.

Bree winced. “Not if news of what happened spreads.”

Sammy Jo hoisted herself back up into the saddle. “Let's continue on. We know there were four men from the four different sets of tracks. They entered through the Owenses' vacant property, cut across toward your guest cabins, then came through here. I'd bet their tracks lead straight out the back of your property into the hills.”

She was wrong. Minutes later when they stopped again, it was because they'd followed the soft hoof prints from the intruders' horses straight toward Sammy Jo's own property line.

“They cut my fence!” she exclaimed, inspecting the damage. “The same way they cut the Owenses' fence line. Straight up between two posts so they could pull the wire away and ride right on through.”

Bree took the lead as they galloped across Sammy Jo's property, then slowing a third time, she pointed. “I don't think they were headed toward the hills. I think they were headed toward the road.”

Sure enough, the trail of scuffed dirt ended at the pavement. When they'd set out on the trail ride they'd assumed since the men had been on horseback that they must be from a nearby ranch. But now . . . it was possible the men had a horse trailer waiting for them, to drive them away.

“Oh, no!” Delaney cried. “Now how are we supposed to find out who they were? If they left in a horse trailer, it could have been
anyone
.”

“Not anyone,” Bree said, raising her chin. “Whoever it was, we know they had to have a trailer large enough to transport four horses.”

“What if they had two smaller ones?” Del argued.

“Two might have been too noticeable. I think Bree's right.” She pointed toward the bend in the road shaded over with a grove of aspen. “They probably had a driver waiting for them, someone who parked a single trailer there, out of sight. Then when the other men rode up they could have easily loaded the horses and driven away.”

“You think there were that many of them involved? Five men?” Bree's mouth fell open. “Who do we know who has a group like that who also owns a trailer large enough to transport multiple horses?”

Sammy Jo froze as the answer slipped easily to the forefront of her mind.

“I have an idea,” she told her friends, “but before we go pointing fingers,
I have to talk to my father
.”

S
AMMY
J
O SCANNED
the interior of her house wondering how she could make it look more romantic. Her father would be home from work any minute, and for her plan to work, she needed to make him believe she was besotted with a new beau.

Of course, she
was
, even if her intended didn't feel the same way. Not yet. She thought of the tenderness in Luke's voice when he told her he hadn't dated—­or kissed—­anyone in a long time. If that wasn't a reason to dance, then she didn't know what was!

She twirled and dancing made her think of music. Yes . . . of course. Turning on the stereo, she inserted a CD titled
Country's Most Romantic Hits
, and moments later the room was filled with the rich, melodious sound of a country crooner.

Sammy Jo twirled again and touched the soft, velvety petals of the red roses she'd purchased in town. She signed the attached card with
“To my beloved sweetheart, Sammy Jo, from the one who adores you with all his heart.”
At least that's what she'd always dreamed some sweet-­talkin' cowboy would say to her one day. Then she placed the fragrant flowers in a vase on the dining room table where her father would notice them as soon as he walked in.

Next, she dipped into the box of chocolate-­covered cherries and popped one of the rich, fruity delicacies in her mouth. As long as she was buying, she figured she might as well pick out her favorite. No real beau ever had.

The door opened, her father walked in, and stopped up short. “What's all this?”

Sammy Jo smiled, heaved a great dramatic sigh she'd seen actresses do in movies, and flounced toward him the way she'd practiced. “I guess I'm officially off the single market.”

Her father still didn't move, but stood where he was by the door. “What do you mean?”

She gave him another smile. “You don't have to worry about fixing me up with one of your clients for a date anymore.”

“You're dating someone?” The look he gave her was incredulous. Didn't her father think she was capable of finding a man on her own?

She raised her chin. “You could say that.”

“Who?”

The question shot out of his mouth faster than a bull from a bucking chute, exactly as she anticipated. “I'm not sure you'll approve, but who I date is my business. I'm twenty-­seven, not sixteen, and I can date whoever I want.”

Her father set down his briefcase and stepped forward, his face lined with concern. “I still think I have a right to know who my daughter is dating.”

“Why is that?”

His expression turned dark and he scrunched his nose in obvious disgust. “Because there's only
one guy
I know of who could bring that big of a smile to your face and if you're dating
him—­
”

“Who, Daddy?” she asked, keeping her tone as sweet and syrupy as her chocolate-­covered cherries.

Here it comes
, she said, inwardly bracing herself.

“It
is
him, isn't it?” he demanded. “If Luke Collins lays a finger on you—­”

“Better him than that last guy you tried to fix me up with.”

“Harley Bennett? What's wrong with him?”

“Four horsemen sabotaged Collins Country Cabins last night,” she told him. “The intruders cut our fence and rode across our property as they made their escape. I believe your precious Harley was one of them.”

Her father frowned. “Why would you say that? What proof do you have?”

“He hangs out with those other wretched men from the auction house and he has a trailer large enough to load four horses and make a clean getaway.”

“Now you're jumping to conclusions,” he stated, his voice matter-­of-­fact.

“So are you, when you think you can dictate who I spend my time with.”

“Anyone but a Collins,” he warned.

She sighed for effect, hoping he'd take the bait. “Okay, Dad, I'll make you a deal . . .”

L
UKE FINISHED NAI
LING
together the floorboards for the gazebo, glanced across the front lawn of the eerily vacant guest ranch, and saw Sammy Jo, dressed in her usual V-­neck T-­shirt and cutoff denim shorts, headed his way.

His pulse automatically kicked up a notch and he couldn't help but anticipate where their conversation might lead this time. Maybe she'd ask more questions about his past relationships? Or try flirting with him again? Call him a sweet-­talkin' cowboy?

Stopping directly in front of him she crossed her arms over her chest and announced, “I talked to my father.”

“Did you ask him about our permit?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

“Yes, I tried to reason with him, many times, but—­”

“But?” He looked straight into her emerald green eyes, admiring their beauty . . . as if he'd never seen them before.

“It didn't work. He's as stubborn as a mule.”

“What? You were the best on the debate team in high school. No one could defend themselves against your quick wit and smart replies. How could you not convince him?”

For a moment Sammy Jo just stood there staring at him with a surprised look upon her face as if he'd never paid her a compliment. Maybe he hadn't.

“I didn't say I was finished,” she said, her face turning red. “When he couldn't be reasoned with I decided to appeal to his emotions.”

“How?” he asked, his gaze dropping toward her mouth.

“I said that he could stop trying to fix me up with other men because you had expressed romantic interest, and if he didn't approve your permits, that you and I would start dating.”

“What?”

Sammy Jo frowned. “I thought you said you were willing to do whatever it takes.”

He
did
say that.

“Is the thought of dating me that horrible?”

No. Not anymore. He grinned.

“Is it?” she demanded, hands on her hips.
Nicely curved hips.

Luke pulled his attention back to the matter at hand. Then couldn't help himself. He grinned again. “It's just awkward, you know. I've known you since we were kids.”

Sammy Jo's mouth formed an adorable little pout. “Well, what matters is that my father believed me . . . and it made him mad.”

“I bet it did.”

Luke had only been in Sammy Jo's house once. She'd wanted to show him and his sisters her new Breyer horse figurine collection in her bedroom. But her father had come in, lifted him by the ear, and steered him toward the door with a warning never to return.

“After I threatened to date you,” Sammy Jo continued, “my father said he'd seriously see what he could do to get your building permits approved. But I think if I brought you home for dinner, it would clinch the deal.”

It sure would.

“You haven't said much,” Sammy Jo commented, the confidence on her face fading. “What do you think?”

Luke tried to imagine the look on her father's face when she brought him through the door and let out a chuckle. “What time's dinner?”

“Six o'clock. And, Luke?” She held his gaze a moment, then warned, “Act like you love me.”

S
AMMY
J
O HAD
faced a number of opponents in her life from top of the line rodeo contestants to overly aggressive men who didn't know how to keep their hands to themselves. But never had she felt this nervous. Maybe because she'd never seen her father angry except when talking about the Collinses and knew she was about to get a front row seat when Luke arrived in less than fifteen minutes.

Her palms damp, she brushed them over the front of her denim shorts for the fourteenth time and took the round, ceramic pan of shepherd's pie out of the oven. The dish filled with savory ground beef and a mixture of fresh vegetables covered with piped, gently browned mashed potatoes was her father's favorite. She'd thought the meal might soften the blow of dining with a Collins, but she also hoped she might prove her cooking skill and show Luke what he could look forward to . . . when they married someday.

Now that she'd quit riding rodeo, she had more time to win Luke's favor without having to worry he'd find another woman during her absence. But that didn't decrease the urgency of her mission. She'd always valued independence as much as Luke did, but the more time they spent together, the less she wanted to be apart. She'd spent enough time on her own. Now what she wanted most was to build a future
together
.

And while she expected them to be equal partners in the household, her attempt to improve her domesticated skills had taught her something new about herself—­she actually
loved
cooking! Maybe one day soon she'd be able to cook a meal for just the two of them, or maybe they could cook together and have a “cooking date.” She'd heard Luke's grandma say his skills in the kitchen weren't half-­bad.

Of course she'd have to put her plans to date Luke on hold until the Collinses' building permit process was over to keep her word to her father . . . or else find a way to get Luke to propose
without
dating him first. Challenging, but not impossible.

The anxiety in her stomach continued to churn. Why did getting herself hitched have to be so complicated?

Her father's words echoed in her head.
“Anyone but a Collins.”

Except she didn't want just anyone. She wanted
Luke
. And she'd known it since the day he'd valiantly chased after the high school bully who'd stolen her truck, and returned her ride. After that, her entire perception of Luke Collins's character and good looks had changed, and now that she had marriage on her mind . . . there was no one else who would do.

She placed the dish on a hot plate on the dining room table next to her vase of roses. The night before, she'd caught her father looking at the attached card she'd placed on the flowers and heard him groan. Would he ask Luke about them?

Maybe she should have told Luke that he was supposed to be the one who “adored her with all his heart.” Another wave of queasiness rolled over her stomach. What if her father didn't buy the fact Luke was interested in her? What if Luke didn't play his part?