Montana Hearts

He returned his attention to his burger and fries, leaving Sarah feeling slightly breathless and surprisingly intrigued by the man.

Within minutes, he’d finished his meal, while she’d only made it through half a sandwich. He put some money on the counter and picked up his hat.

“Nice talkin’ to you.” He touched the brim of his Stetson and sauntered out the door.

In spite of herself, Sarah exhaled in relief.

Bonnie came over to pick up his cash and the dirty dishes.

“He’s something else, isn’t he?” she said, putting the ketchup bottle back where it belonged. “When he lost his wife, I’d never seen a man so stricken. And his two kids.” She shook her head. “A real shame, that’s what it was. He could sure use all the help he can get.”

Sarah glanced out the front window. Kurt had parked across the street, a black extended-cab pickup. He stood talking with another man, one hand resting on the open window of his truck.

“Do you think he really wants to hire a house keeper?” she asked.

“I imagine so. Grace Livingston, his mother-in-law, is still grieving. Can’t get over losing her only child. I don’t expect trying to take care of Kurt’s two kids is easy at her age.”

Sarah waited for a full minute, trying to decide what to do. Taking a chance warred with her fear of hurting people who had given her so much. She’d come here to help the Ryder family. Had she just been presented with a way to do that?

Please, God, let me do no harm.

She dug some money out of her wallet and put it on the counter. “Thanks.”

“Wait, you didn’t eat all of your sandwich. Was there something wrong?”

“No, it was fine. It’s just that—” Across the street, Kurt was getting into his truck. She didn’t want him to leave until she had a chance to talk to him.

She left the diner at a dead run.

Kurt slid his key into the truck’s ignition. He had to get back to the ranch. Lately, Beth and his mother-in-law had been all but coming to blows over one thing or another. His job was to referee.

“Excuse me, Mr. Ryder?”

The feminine voice startled him. He turned to find the woman from the diner standing next to his truck, her sky-blue eyes filled with an intensity that pulled her blond eyebrows closer together. Her short, sassy hairdo and the way she dressed in slacks and a blouse identified her as a city girl.

“What can I do for you?” He mentally shrugged. Maybe her impractical little car had broken down and she needed a ride.

“My name’s Sarah Barkley. I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation in the diner. If you’re really looking for a housekeeper, I’d be interested in applying for the job.”

Kurt’s eyebrows shot up, and his mouth went slack. She was the least likely looking housekeeper he’d ever met. Way too slender and dainty to handle any heavy work. A real lightweight. He had to wonder if she even knew how to cook.

“Miss, my ranch is five miles out of town. My closest neighbor is more than a mile away as the crow flies. I’ve got two kids who can be a handful and are forever tracking dirt into the house, stacks of laundry are always piling up and three meals a day need to be fixed.” His wife, Zoe, had grown to hate the isolation, the constant sameness of each day. That’s why they’d gone to Seattle, to give her a break. A second honeymoon, they’d said. And he’d as good as killed her with his own hand. The grief, that truth, had been lying in his stomach like a sun-baked rock for more than a year.

“I don’t mean to insult you,” he said, “but you don’t look like you’d be up to a job like that.”

A blush traveled up her slender neck and bloomed on her cheeks. “Mr. Ryder, I’m a lot like my car. I may look small but I’m strong and dependable and tougher than you think.” She reached into her purse, pulled out a business card and wrote something on the back. “That’s my cell number. I’ll be in town for a day or two if you change your mind. Naturally, I’d be happy to provide references.”

“References as a housekeeper?” Maybe as secretary for a big-city law firm, or even a paralegal. Not a housekeeper. That didn’t fit.

“References from people who know me.”

With that, she whirled and walked briskly back across the street. In the side mirror, Kurt watched her go, a bundle of energy in a small but very attractive package. He’d give her an A for spunk, too.

He glanced at the number she’d written on the card then flipped it over. Sarah Barkley, Puget Sound Business Services, Payroll & Accounting, Seattle, Washington.

Maybe she’d been laid off or the company went out of business. He shrugged and tossed the card on the passenger seat. No matter. Time to get back to the ranch.

Less than ten minutes later, he drove over the cattle guard and through the entrance of the Rocking R Ranch. His great-grandfather had moved to the northern plains of Montana with his family when he was ten. They’d homesteaded the land, raised cattle, made friends with the Indians and sometimes battled them. His ancestors’ blood and sweat and tears had nurtured the land, protected it. Now it was Kurt’s turn to protect that legacy for his own children and teach them to love the Rocking R as much as he did.

He pulled past the two-story ranch house and parked near the barn. By noon today, the temperature had topped ninety degrees. Now clouds were forming on the western horizon, but that didn’t mean they’d get rain. Not the way weather patterns had been lately.

He climbed out of the truck. Rudy, their aging border collie, ambled out of his favorite shady spot by the tractor to greet Kurt. Automatically, Kurt scratched behind the dog’s ears and gave the old guy a friendly pat on his rib cage before going into the house.

He found his daughter in the kitchen grabbing a soda out of the refrigerator, the twelve-year-old’s face as red as a flag hanging off the rear end of a truck with a long load.

Sitting at the oak table, Nana Grace’s face was almost as red, not from embarrassment but from one of her “spells.” A line of perspiration had formed above her lip.

Kurt’s heart sank. More trouble at the Rocking R.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nana grounded me! For a week!” Beth’s shrill cry pierced the air. “Tell her she can’t do that, Daddy. Tell her she can’t.”

He held up his hand to quiet Beth, like a referee separating two boxers. “What happened, Grace?”

“This morning I told little Miss Smarty Pants that I couldn’t drive her into town. I had the laundry to do and I wasn’t feeling well.” Using a napkin, she wiped off the perspiration from above her lip. “Next thing I know, I see her get into a car with a boy and they drive off. She hadn’t even told me where she was going.”

“It was Caroline’s brother. I was going to go see her, like I told you.” Using her hips, Beth smacked the refrigerator door closed. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

Caroline was Beth’s best friend, but it didn’t sound like the girl had been in the car. That troubled Kurt. Beth not telling Grace where she was going troubled him even more.

“An hour later,” Grace continued, “a deputy sheriff brought your daughter back home. That boy had been speeding, going close to a hundred miles an hour, the deputy said. An seventeen-year-old boy. The deputy gave him a ticket. He thought leaving a girl as young as Beth—”

“I’m almost thirteen!”

“—with someone so irresponsible wouldn’t be safe.”

Kurt didn’t think so either. He knew Caroline’s big brother. The kid was too old for Beth and played too fast and loose with the rules. “Is what your grandmother said true?”

“I didn’t know he was going to speed.”

“But you knew he was going too fast, didn’t you?” Kurt asked.

She made a great study of opening the soda can. “I guess.”

“Did you ask him to slow down?”

She shook her head. “He wouldn’t’ve listened to me.”