Montana Hearts: Her Weekend Wrangler (21 page)

R
YAN SPRANG OUT
of bed, sure he’d heard Cody scream. He bolted toward the door, feeling his way until his eyes adjusted to the dark, and made it to Cody’s bedroom. Opening the door, he
peered in, and there was his son, sitting up in bed.

Ryan went over and sat down beside him. “Nightmare?”

Cody nodded. “Grandpa Owens tried to hit you again, but I wouldn’t let him.”

“I won’t let him either,” Ryan assured him.

“Why did he do that?”

“He was angry.”

“Like I was when I hit Mitch Wyllie at school?”

Ryan nodded. “You remember what I said about fighting?”

“ ‘Never throw the first punch,’ ”
Cody quoted.

“It would be best not to hit anyone at all,” Ryan corrected. “Fighting just leads to trouble.”

“I don’t want any more trouble!” Cody sniffed and wiped his eyes with the edge of his bedcovers. “
I
want Bree! Can you call her, Dad? Ask her to come over?”

Ryan shook his head. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“She won’t care,” Cody insisted.
“She said she’ll always be here for me.”

No, she won’t.
A ­couple hours earlier, just before midnight, he’d received a text message from Sammy Jo with the news. But should he wait to reveal this information to his son . . . or tell him now? Ryan sighed. Unlike the mare and filly, there would be no time for gradual separation.

“Cody,” he said softly, “I think Bree is leaving Fox Creek and
going back to New York.”

“No!” Cody shouted.

“Shhh!” Ryan glanced at the door, hoping he hadn’t already woken everyone else up. “Please keep your voice down.”

“Bree won’t go,” Cody said in a shrill whisper. “She promised she’d stay. Make her stay, Dad.”

The back of his throat tightened. “How?”

“You have to do something!”

Ryan gripped the edge of the bed, his heart aching
not only for his son but for himself. This was exactly what he’d been afraid would happen. He knew Bree would never be satisfied living in Fox Creek. There wasn’t enough in their small town to hold her here. Her ranch wasn’t enough. Family wasn’t enough. And certainly
he . . .
wasn’t enough. Although for a few moments, he’d hoped with all his heart and all his soul that she’d think he was.

“
Please,
Dad,
please
!” Cody whimpered, his tears flowing uncontrollably now. “I want Bree! I just want
Bree
! Please bring her back to me?”

Placing an arm around his young son’s shoulders, Ryan felt his own eyes sting.
He
didn’t want Bree to leave either. He wanted her here even more than Cody did.

“I’ll go talk to her tomorrow,” he promised. “I’ll go to her ranch and try to talk to her .
 . . one last time.”

Chapter Fourteen

U
NABLE TO SLEEP,
Bree arose early and took a few of the new guests on a trail ride. The forecast had predicted a beautiful week of blue sky and sun, but instead an endless stretch of gray clouds loomed overhead, a few darker ones hanging lower than the others.

She’d borrowed Delaney’s horse, a buckskin gelding with an even temperament as smooth as his gait,
and as she rode, she thought of Angel and Morning Glory, and how the pair had wormed their way into her heart. Much like another pair she’d grown attached to at the Triple T ranch.

How would she ever live without them?

“Bree!” her mother called when she arrived back at the stable. “Have you seen your father?”

She shook her head. Nope, she hadn’t seen him since their family spat the
day before.

“He’s not by any of the cabins,” Delaney announced, running toward them.

“And Grandma and I have checked the entire house,” Ma said, her voice rising. “Del, what about the stable? The hay barn? The garden shed?”

“I can’t find him anywhere,” Delaney exclaimed, her face as panicked as Ma’s.

Bree looked around in every direction. “He couldn’t have gone far with crutches
and a cast on his leg.”

“I called the sheriff,” Grandma shouted out the kitchen window. “Today is his day off, and although it’s too early to file a missing person’s report, he said he’d be glad to come over and help in the search.”

“Bree, have you seen Luke?” Delaney asked.

She hesitated. “Don’t tell me he’s missing, too.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Del said. “I mean, I hope not.
He’s probably still at his camp by the river, but someone should go get him and tell him what’s going on.”

Bree turned the buckskin around. “I’ll go. Maybe Dad’s with him.”

“Dad can’t walk that far,” Del reminded her.

Bree nodded. “But he’s stubborn enough to try.”

Keeping a firm hand on the reins, she gave the horse a quick squeeze with her knees. Then she increased their pace
from an easy jog to a lope to a full gallop as they passed the cabins and flew out into the field.

Once again she almost wished her brother hadn’t discovered he could drive the small ranch Gator back and forth, and that she’d been able to convince him to move back into the house with the rest of the family. But Luke liked having his own place. Always had. Even as children he’d spent more time
in his makeshift tree fort than in his own bedroom.

She spotted the tip of a tall, wooden post sticking up in the air, from which hung a red, white, and blue United States flag waving in the wind. Then a few seconds later, she crested a small rise and Luke’s triangular, olive drab, military surplus tent came into view, but no sign of him or her father.

“Luke?” She dismounted and tied the
horse’s reins to a fence post along the property border. “Luke, where are you?”

A campfire still blazed in the rock ring so he couldn’t be far. She bent down, lifted the flap to his tent, and looked inside. His sleeping bag was empty.

She glanced back at the fire. The tip of a long, metal fire iron glowed bright orange as it rested against the hot coals. The other end stuck out of the
fire and leaned against a small stack of wood. Beside it sat his work gloves and an untouched cup of coffee. “Luke?”

Her gaze swept the landscape and she supposed he could be behind one of the small hills where she couldn’t see him, or down by the river, or behind the nearby outcropping of rocks. Pulling out her cell phone, she punched in a ­couple numbers, then remembered his camp was in
the dead zone, with no cell phone ser­vice.

How would she reach him? She glanced around again and frowned. And where was the Gator?

All of the sudden she heard a rumbling motor and knew he was on his way. Sure enough, a green Gator came into view along the fenced property line that separated their land from the Owenses’. What had Luke been doing over there?

As the Gator drew closer,
she realized it
wasn’t
Luke in the open seat, but Mrs. Owens driving her own Gator. Bree didn’t like her much, but it was obvious from the taut look on her face that the woman was on an urgent mission.

Had the Owenses found her father?

R
YAN WAS ON
his way to see Bree and make good on his promise to Cody when his cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, then hesitated. Should he answer?
What would Bree’s father want with him? Especially after the way the guy had spoken to him the
last
time they were together. Ryan decided to find out.

“Where are you?” Jed Collins demanded.

Ryan’s jaw tightened. “About a minute from your house. Why?”

“I’m at the Owenses’,” Jed told him, his voice filled with alarm. “Come quick!”

Ryan stepped on the gas, pulled into the Owenses’
driveway, and swerved to a stop.
“Come quick!”
from a man like him meant something was terribly wrong.

Not seeing anything out of the ordinary outside, he tore out of the truck and ran through the open door at the front of the house. “Mr. Collins?”

“Here!”

Ryan turned down the hallway toward the living room and found Bree’s dad standing by the fireplace, leaning on his crutches. Beside
him, Mr. Owens sat duct taped to a chair.

The gray tape circled Merle’s arms, chest, legs, and feet, wrapping him up as tight as a mummy with the exception of his uncovered head. It only took a second to surmise that Bree’s father wasn’t the one responsible. In his present condition, Jed wasn’t strong enough to overpower a physically fit boxer like Merle.

“Who did this?” Ryan asked, glancing
between them.

“My wife.” Merle slurred the words and his face looked groggy.

Ryan frowned. “What’s the matter with you? Are you
drunk
?”

“No.” Bree’s father shook his head and pointed toward the plastic pill container and half-­empty glass on the table beside them. “He’s been drugged. I think his wife slipped some of her own medication into his orange juice.”

“Why are
you
here?”
Ryan demanded.

Bree’s father let out a derisive grunt and tossed a nod toward Merle. “I was gonna yell at him for destroying my family with that newspaper photo. All three of my kids are now thinking to leave! But then I found him tied up and asleep with his head hangin’. Then I called you.”

Ryan gave another sharp look around. “Where’s Mrs. Owens?”

“She’s crazy,” Merle said, again
slurring his words. “It’s all in the journal.”

“What journal?” Bree’s dad shot back.

Ryan’s gaze shifted toward the leather bound volume sitting on the windowsill. “Gail’s journal.”

He picked it up, flipped through the pages, and realized Olivia had continued to write entries after Gail’s handwriting had ended.

“She hired the realtor,” Merle continued. “She did this—­” he said,
glancing down at himself. “And now she’s going after Bree.”

The book fell from Ryan’s hands as he jolted forward. “Bree? Why?”

Jed shook Merle’s shoulder. “Speak!”

Merle’s eyes widened and he gasped. “Because . . . she’s the one . . . who’s now in charge of the ranch.”

B
REE WATCHED
M
RS.
Owens climb out of the Gator, squeeze through the split rail fence lining the property, and
march toward her.

“Ryan won’t let us see Cody anymore!” Mrs. Owens shouted.

So this was
not
about her missing father after all. Bree took in the frantic expression on her neighbor’s face. “Did he say why?”

“Because my ox of a husband punched Ryan right in front of the boy. I never told Merle to do that. It was never part the plan.”

“Plan?” Bree narrowed her eyes as the woman drew
closer. “What plan?”

“The plan to get what we deserve,” Mrs. Owens spat, her tone bitter. “We work just as hard as you do, advertise just as much, and do we get
our
ranch booked every weekend? No, we do not. The backlash from that photo should have been enough to drive you into bankruptcy. Your expenses outweigh your income so much you can’t possibly stay in business without a large client
to bail you out. But now Merle has gone and ruined everything!”

Bree gasped. “How do you know about our finances?”

Her mind raced with images of the phone bill, Mrs. Owens admitting Susan and Wade Randall had called her while she was away, and the fact they’d been friends.

“The only way you would know that is if Susan and Wade told you.” Bree took a step back. “You thought if you wiped
us out, we’d have to sell.”

“Sue and Wade expected your father to sell the ranch to them after his accident,” Mrs. Owens said, advancing on her. “They’re the ones who ran the place and took care of it all.”

Bree held her ground. “They even put the extra supplement in his horse’s stall, didn’t they?”

Mrs. Owens leaned her face toward hers and smirked. “Of course they did! But we never
expected you three kids to come home.”

Bree noted the woman used the term “we.” “You and your husband were working with them? All of you together?”

“Merle didn’t know a thing.” Mrs. Owens scowled. “All he knows how to do is use his hands, not his head.”

“And the realtor?” Bree asked. “Did Susan and Wade hire him, too?”

“No,” Mrs. Owens said, grabbing her arm. “
I
did. First I hired
him to salt the Tanners’ fields to keep Ryan away from you. When that didn’t work, I hired him to put the supplement in your horses’ feed to throw
you
off, hoping you’d leave. Then I hired him to scare away your precious CEOs with the skunk, and when he got caught? That’s when I had to take matters into my own hands and told Merle to use the camera.”

Bree yanked her arm away from Mrs. Owens
grasp. “No wonder you have no money. You spent it all on the realtor.”

“Would have been worth every penny if he’d succeeded.”

“You’re wrong,” Bree argued, glancing around for a way to escape. Her gaze fell on her horse, except the buckskin gelding was several yards
behind
Mrs. Owens. So was the Gator.

“The only thing I was wrong about was trusting my husband to do what I should have
done myself,” Mrs. Owens said, lunging toward her. “No, it’s up to me to get rid of you and the rest of your family so every guest who wants to book a cabin in Fox Creek comes to
us
.”

The woman was insane! Bree’s blood rushed into her ears as she turned tail and ran back toward Luke’s camp. There had to be something there she could use to defend herself.

Mrs. Owens followed on her heels,
pushed her from behind, and she fell to the ground. Scrambling up onto her knees, Bree grabbed the cup of coffee and threw it into Mrs. Owens’s face. The move only gained her a few seconds but allowed her to get back up on her feet.

“If only Gail could see me now,” Mrs. Owens said, picking up the fire iron with one of Luke’s work gloves. “I assure you, she’d be proud of her mama for finally
standing up for herself.”

“You need medical help,” Bree said, using the same tone as she did when gentling horses. “Put the iron down and I’ll try to help you.”

“I don’t want
your
help!” Mrs. Owens shrieked. The gray-­haired woman took the red-­hot end of the fire iron out of the fire and swung it at her. “I’m going to hurt you, like you’ve hurt my homestead.”

Bree jumped back, and
when Mrs. Owens came at her swinging the hot iron from left to right, she managed to dodge each intended blow. But how long could she keep this up? The madwoman seemed to be powered by superhuman energy.

Clearly Mrs. Owens was so enraged she didn’t care about others, herself, or what she said. The woman
wanted
her to know what she had done and why. And that made her very, very dangerous.

Gasping for air, Bree pressed her hand to her throat and her fingers latched on to the cord around her neck with the whistle Luke had given her. Of course! She put her mouth to the metal and blew as hard as she could. But the land out here was so vast it didn’t even echo. She hoped wherever her brother was, he’d been close enough to hear.

Then, her heart hammering, she grabbed hold of the
flag pole beside her and with a swift yank pulled it from the ground.

Mrs. Owens advanced again, but this time Bree swung the pole around to protect herself and waved the flag in Mrs. Owens’s face.

If only Ryan was here to help her. But he wasn’t. Because she hadn’t believed him when he told her the truth. Hadn’t trusted him.

Bree’s eyes stung and she knew in that moment what her heart
had known all along. She loved him. And Cody. Nothing mattered to her more than being with them and letting them know how much she cared.

But first . . . she had to . . .
get away from this woman!

With a guttural growl matching her grandma’s, Bree tightened her grip on the wooden shaft in her hands, gathered her strength, and
swung
. . . knocking the crazed, vengeful Mrs. Owens off her
witch-­like, black-­booted feet.

R
YAN’S TRUCK BUMPED
up and down and jolted from side to side as he stepped on the accelerator and raced across the Collins property with Mr. Collins and Mr. Owens in the seat beside him.

After they’d cut Merle free from the duct tape, they’d arrived at Bree’s house and learned from her mother, grandma, and sister that she wasn’t there. And while the family
was relieved Mr. Collins was safe, their concern doubled when they learned Bree was
not
.

Ryan tried to convince Jed and Merle to wait for the sheriff and let him go after Bree alone, but neither of the men would allow it. They’d jumped into his truck again before he could say another word.

“There she is!” Jed said as the truck suffered another jolt.

“With my wife!” Merle added.

Ryan’s jaw locked down hard. The elder woman and Bree appeared to be circling each other with sticks. Except the end of Bree’s stick held a soft cloth and the end of the stick Mrs. Owens held . . . a red-­hot branding iron.