Montana Dreams Read online

  No. Because he knew where romance led. He knew that love ended. Sure, a marriage may survive, but love? It was too fragile to last. That was the plain and simple truth and nothing on earth could ever convince him differently. He’d seen it in his parents’ marriage and in his own life, thanks to Millie.

  Agony shot through him with a crushing intensity that stopped him in his tracks. He pressed his hand to his chest again, reeling with the pain. If he didn’t know better, he’d fear it was a heart attack, but it was simply the old death throes of the love he’d once had for Millie, remaining like a ghostly pain long after the wound was healed.

  A little help, please, Lord. He reached out in prayer, hoping the Father above would understand. Hunter opened his truck door, climbed onto the seat and turned the engine over. It hummed quietly as he whizzed down the windows to let out the heat. He knew God had a plan in bringing Millie back to the valley. Her father was dying, and she had issues with her father that she deserved to have resolved before he passed on. Hunter didn’t begrudge her that. He alone knew how hard the man had been on his daughter.

  But that didn’t mean Millie’s path had to cross his ever again. Hunter slid the gearshift into Reverse, swung around and nosed down the hill. His family called out to him as he rumbled by, and he did his best not to hear their “helpful” advice as he waved. Thankfully, he left them behind in a cloud of dust when he pulled onto the county road.

  No, with Millie in the valley again, his options were clear. Avoid her. That was his new goal in life. He couldn’t go walking around in this kind of torment. He drew a shallow breath, hardly able to get air with the pain pushing in on him.

  He could use the crowd at church as a barrier between them. He could send Luke to town for groceries. And as for this evening, he’d keep to the barn with Milton and everything would be all right. Problem solved. If he played it right, he’d never have to see Millie again.

  When he reached the Wilson dairy, things were just as he’d expected. The rusty pickup Millie had driven to town was parked neatly at the house across the road. Lamplight shone in the windows. No doubt she was there, finishing dishes or maybe watching TV with her son. No need to worry.

  He pulled beside the barn and cut the engine. The hot evening air met him. A giant herd of cattle lowed the moment they saw him. Their unhappy bellowing followed him as he stalked away from the truck.

  A shadow moved in the dark depths of the barn. Milton, probably come to say how relieved he was. Hunter tugged down the brim of his hat. The slanting rays made it hard to see who stepped out of the darkness to greet him.

  “Hunter McKaslin.” Millie burst into the sunshine, burnished by it. “What are you doing here?”

  “The bigger question is why aren’t you over at the house?”

  “Because Milton needs help. That’s why you’re here.” She nodded, as if putting it all together. “That’s why he didn’t tell me who he’d put calls in to, and for good reason.”

  “Don’t get worked up. I know that look—”

  “What look?” She glared, like a warrior woman ready for battle.

  “Glaring eyes. Chin tipped up so high you can barely see me over your nose.” He planted his hands on his hips. “It won’t do any good to try and get rid of me. I gave Milton my word.”

  “He doesn’t need your help.”

  “You mean, you don’t.”

  “You’ve helped enough.” The earlier humiliation at the grocery store returned. He’d been a witness to the fact that she’d been unable to pay for all her groceries, and that he’d given the truck a push still rankled. “I can’t be obligated to you. You get that, right?”

  “Doesn’t change my intentions.”

  “How would you feel if the circumstances were flipped? What if you needed my help?”

  “Darlin’, I’d never accept a woman’s help.”

  “And I can’t accept yours. This is too much. You know full well I can’t pay you.”

  “That’s right.” He squared his hat on his head. “I’m not doing this for money. I’m here for Milton, not you.”

  “Oh.” A slap couldn’t have stunned her more. She should have known. Humiliation swept through her, remembering the days when Hunter had shown his sweet side always doing for her, always helping. Crazy that she’d just assumed...well, of course things had changed. “Sorry.”

  “If I run the second carousel, can you keep up?” Brash, Hunter shouldered past her toward the door.

  She nodded, listening to the beat of his boots against the cement and wishing she was anyplace but here. Being beholden to the man was going to be a bitter pill.

  “Don’t worry, Freckles.” His voice rumbled low with a nostalgic warmth. “You’ll hardly know I’m here.”

  Why did her pulse skip at the hint of his grin? “That’s what you used to call me when we were...”

  “Close?”

  “I was going to say in love.” She shrugged. “Water under the bridge.”

  “I’ll say.” He shrugged a what-can-you-do? “I’ll take the present over the past any day. How about you?”

  “Absolutely. The past is a bummer.”

  “Then we’ll leave it floating down the creek with the current. How about it?”

  “Sounds good. It’s probably heading toward the ocean about now.”

  “Or floating on the tides to Fiji. We were a long time ago, Millie. I say we forget about it.”

  “Agreed. Thanks for coming.”

  “It’s what we do around here, neighbors helping neighbors.” He paused at the doorway, half swallowed by shadow. “No thanks necessary.”

  “The thing is, I don’t see any other neighbors rushing in to help.”

  “No, Whip likely broke their good will long ago. He’s a hard man, but he was hardest on you. That was never right.”

  “Doesn’t that fall into the category of the past?”

  “I’m just sayin’.” Hunter’s iron jaw softened, perhaps a momentary weakness. “Get back to the wash-down. If Milton knew I was standing around shootin’ the breeze when I ought to be working, he’d have my hide.”

  “Tempting to say you’d deserve it.”

  “No doubt.” An almost-smile curved the chiseled line of his mouth. He disappeared through the barn doors, leaving her alone in the sunshine.

  A cow’s moo started the rest of the herd lowing, a loud bawling that shattered the evening’s peace. Shaking her head, she headed inside. Hunter McKaslin back on the Wilson farm again. How about that? She dearly hoped it was not a trend. Having him around here all the time? Could not happen. No way, no how. There was one piece of the past she couldn’t banish down, and it was sitting inside the house with Dad, watching spaghetti Westerns.

  Chapter Four

  Hard not to notice her, but as he unlatched the gate to send the batch of newly milked cows into the runway, he was able to keep the past downstream under the bridge. The faster he got this work done, the quicker he’d be home.

  Milton’s radio squawked and Hunter braced hearing against the faint cadence of Millie’s gentle voice. Crazy how such a soft sound could carry above the hum of machinery and the clatter of hooves on concrete. The next batch of cows, freshly scrubbed down and shining clean clamored down the carousel, into place. A bold animal grabbed hold of his sleeve with her lips and tugged playfully.

  “Hi, cutie.” He hit the lever, grain spilled into troughs and the cows dug in, eating contentedly. He turned his back to Millie. A smart man would pay her no mind. After he walked the line, made sure the connections were good, he left the carousel to check on Milton.

  “Whew, this is the last batch.” The older man swept off his hat. “Just in time, too. I’m run ragged.”

  “It’s a lot for one man alone.”

  “Millie helped. She’s as go
od as two men when it comes to work.”

  “Yeah.” He had to acknowledge that, but he wouldn’t say what was on his mind. It wasn’t right how hard Whip used to work Millie in her youth. It wasn’t right to expect the same of her now. There she was, hosing down the waiting pen, stopping to spray bleach. She grabbed a long-handled broom to scrub down the concrete. Still a hard worker. “I like to think I cut down your workload some.”

  “Only a small bit. Hardly noticed you were here.” Quick to kid, Milton swiped sweat from his brow. “Can’t believe it’s only nine o’clock. Thought for sure I’d still be at it. You’re a good worker, too.”

  “I had a great supervisor once.”

  “That so?” A smile wreathed Milton’s face. “Good to know. Never thought I could make a difference in that hard head of yours.”

  “Miracles happen. Why don’t you call it a night?”

  “That’d be foolish, as the work isn’t done.”

  “I’ll finish up. Go home.”

  “Not sure I can trust you to do things right.”

  “You’re not foolin’ me.” Hard to hide his fondness for the man who’d taken him under his wing long ago. “I got this. Get going.”

  “Guess it wouldn’t hurt. Millie’s here to keep you in line.”

  Right. Millie. Being alone with her would be a problem. He waved Milton off. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “For the evening milking. Don’t think I’m not in this for the long run.”

  “That’s real neighborly of you.” Emotion brightened the older man’s eyes.

  “It’s no problem.” He walked the carousel detaching suction cups, listening to Milton’s boots drum away into silence. Millie, just out of sight. The splash of water and the rasp of the broom reminded him she was near. Too near.

  So much for his plan to avoid her.

  What he needed was a temporary plan for the interim, until he could go back to steering clear of her.

  “That’s it, girls, you’re done.” He opened the gate, freeing the cows. But did they leave? No, the first animal in line lipped his hat brim, so he rubbed her nose. “Go on, get some fresh air.”

  The bovine batted her long lashes before ambling down the ramp. The others followed her, docile and placid, although more than a few of them expected a pat or two before moving on.

  He left the door open to the wind, fragrant with mown grass. Late evening’s peace had settled in with long shadows. A few larks sang on the fence rails and as he circled around to check on the second carousel he smelled something else on the wind. The acrid scent shot alarm straight through him. A wildfire?

  But, no, one glance outside told him all was well. Green grass, grazing cows, a few deer wandering across the meadow. No black smoke, no roiling flames anywhere.

  “Hunter, you don’t smell smoke, do you?” Millie’s hose cut off. Her boots tapped closer. “Tell me you didn’t light up in the milking parlor?”

  “I quit smoking after you left.” Ran off on me, he didn’t say because that was water under the bridge. He sniffed, following the scent. “It’s coming from the barn.”

  “No, the smoke alarms would be going off.” Her forehead scrunched, as if she had second thoughts about that and shot past him.

  Right. They would be going off if they were properly maintained. It didn’t take an expert to glance around this place and see maintenance wasn’t a high priority for Whip.

  He followed her, fighting a bad feeling in his stomach. He dashed past the office and into the main barn. Smokey air, cloudy gray, confirmed his worst fears.

  “It’s in the hay mow.” Millie stormed down the aisle, pitchfork in hand.

  He grabbed an extinguisher off the wall, prayed it was in working order, and followed the crackle and roar. Orange light licked from between two bales, one of a thousand stacked bales that ran the length of the barn. Buried in there somewhere, heat had built up and made fire.

  “We’re not too late. We had better not be.” Headstrong, she jumped in with her pitchfork, ripping away smoking bales with the pitchfork’s tines. “I’m not going to lose this barn. No way. Not today.”

  “I like your determination.” He tucked the extinguisher in the crook of his arm and shot retardant into the heart of the fire. “It suits you.”

  “Losing is not an option.”

  “You keep saying that.” Instead of dying, flames writhed higher, snapping and popping as they consumed the tinder-dry fuel at an alarming rate.

  A few minutes more and it would be out of control. They realized it at the same time. Their gazes locked, adrenaline pumped into their veins. She already had her cell in hand, punching in 9-1-1, as he kicked away a few bales of untouched hay to stair-step up the stack. Heat licked his face as he emptied the canister.

  Still no good. Smoke doubled, turning black and thick. He coughed, barely able to see Millie through the haze.

  “They’re coming!” Her shadow moved closer. A pitchfork’s handle materialized out of the smoky cloud and he seized it. He held out his hand, felt her smaller, softer one grab hold and ignored the sudden kick in his cardiac area. As long as he didn’t think about his heart then he could deny all feelings. One tug and she landed on top of the stacked hay, coughing, too.

  He yanked the collar of his T-shirt over his nose and got to work. No words necessary, which suited him just fine as they worked together separating the fire from its fuel. He wished he wasn’t aware of every stab of her fork and every pitch of hay. He especially didn’t want to notice the lean, elegant lines of her arms as she worked, or the soft tendrils escaping her ponytail to frame her heart-shaped face.

  Don’t think about her face. He clamped his molars together and kept pitching. Suddenly her face was all he could think about. The slope of her nose, the adorable little chin, the satin feel of her skin against his hand.

  His cardiac region squeezed hard. No doubt about it, being close to her was a bad idea. Fine, so he cared for her. Hard not to like the woman she’d become, so strong, serious and determined. With her delicate jaw set, purpose carved into the flawless curve of her face, she stood boots braced and confident, pitching hay with military precision.

  “I found it!” Millie’s pitchfork held fresh flames and hay turning to ashes. “It’s down in here, but how deep is it?”

  “Hold on.” He dropped to his knees, heedless of the heat and the ashes raining down on him and grabbed the hem of her jeans. He covered it with both hands and heat seared through his gloves. Just a spark, nothing serious, but when he let go of the denim a chunk was missing. A black scar on her boot told him he’d caught it in time.

  “Thanks, Hunter. I didn’t even realize.” More forgiveness shone in her eyes.

  He hadn’t realized how much he needed to see it. He took the pitchfork from her and emptied the burning bits back onto the stack. Anywhere he threw it would start a second fire. “We can’t fight this with two pitchforks. It’s growing too fast.”

  “I know, I know. But I can’t just let it burn.”

  “I’m thinking.” Heat drove him back, and he tugged Millie with him.

  Getting down proved tricky. The fire roared, licking and popping, shooting red-hot embers into the air. He batted them away from his head and Millie’s face, took her hand and led the way down, kicking out footholds as he went. By the time his boots hit the floor, the fire doubled. Flames spat at him. Red-hot ashes swooped in the air, landing on the tinder-dry hay and igniting another patch.

  “It’s no good.” He leaned the pitchfork against the wall. “Get out of here, Millie.”

  “No. What about the milking parlor and the office? They’ll burn if the barn does.” Something landed on her head. A red-hot ash. “You should go. There’s too much smoke—”

  “Here.” He brushed the scorchin
g ember out of her hair. Tender, when he could have been rough. “Do you really think I’d walk away?”

  Guilt hit her like a hammer. She knew he wasn’t talking about the past, but she couldn’t help remembering her worst fear. That if he’d known the truth, he would have done just that. Abandoning her when she’d needed him the most. She choked on smoke and lost sight of him.

  Keeping low, trying not to breathe in the black air, she raced to the loading bay, put her shoulder and weight into it and dragged the heavy wooden doors on their protesting wheels. The side of the barn opened, giving the smoke more places to escape.

  “Mom, you’re okay!” Simon skidded to a stop in the gravel. “I called the fire department, but I didn’t know where you were.”

  “Stay back, Simon. Go back to the house.”

  “No, I’m gonna help.”

  “You’ll help by staying out of the way, kiddo.” She grabbed her pitchfork and started pulling down burning bits of hay. Heat seared her face and burned her lungs. She had to shout over the fire’s roar. “It’s too dangerous here for you.”

  “But I—”

  A boom exploded from the other side of the stack. The backfire of an ill-tuned engine, she realized, startled. She grabbed Simon by the shoulder and marched him out of the way, across the road and onto the knee-high lawn. “Stay here. I need your word, Simon.”

  The boy nodded, too engrossed watching the fire to speak. The distant wail of sirens accompanied her across the road. She watched hay bales topple onto the concrete. Wild, the fire writhed like a monster, blackening the rafters and twisting in protest as the stack’s end cap tumbled into the gravel, raining flame and red ashes. She caught a brief glimpse of Hunter behind the wheel before the swirling smoke cocooned him and the tractor squealed into Reverse.

  This was crazy, he really should get out of there. This wasn’t his battle, but she appreciated him for it. She grabbed her pitchfork and slipped around the inferno. Too many ashes were falling onto the haystack and igniting, causing a greater hazard. She had to get to them now.