Montana Dreams

No, you are a fool, Hunter McKaslin. His feet took him around to the driver’s side of Millie’s truck. She’d rolled down the window, concentrating so hard on trying to figure out what was wrong, frowned brow, pursed lips, and he made himself like steel. Not going to notice how pretty she was.

Surprised, she jerked in her seat. “Hunter. You about gave me a heart attack. What are you doing sneaking up on me?”

“I wish I knew.” He leaned his forearms against the hot metal door, peering in at her. “Guess Whip should have told you the truck doesn’t have Reverse.”

“What do you mean? It says R right here on the gearshift.” She blew out a huff of frustration. “Of course it has Reverse. It just doesn’t want to go into Reverse.”

“Whip’s been driving around without Reverse for a good year.” Hard times had come to the Wilson spread, where Hunter had started working right out of high school. While he wasn’t fond of Whip, the old man had taught him a lot about running a successful dairy. He was sorry for the Wilsons’ misfortune. “You’ll have to keep that in mind next time you’re parking. Want me to give you a push?”

“No.” The word popped out, showing Millie’s stubborn side, which still drove him crazy. He gritted his teeth until his molars hurt.

“Just put it in Neutral and make sure the parking brake is off.” He shoved away from the door, turning his back on her protests. Did she think he liked this either? No, not one bit. His heart felt ripped open looking at her, but he held himself as hard as stone. Maybe that way he wouldn’t feel the pain or the loss.

Or the fact that some other man’s son sat beside her, looking at him with owlish eyes.

Don’t think about the kid, he told himself, lock-jawed. Millie’s face drew him—pinched and worried behind the glass. He couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from the wide blue eyes a man could fall into or the sweet set of her mouth that no longer smiled. His chest felt tight and achy wondering why.

Not your business. He planted his hands on the hood, braced his back and put some muscle into it. The truck eked backward a few slow inches before it gained momentum. Through the window shield, the dark, sleek cascade of Millie’s hair flipped as she looked over her shoulder, one slim hand on the steering wheel.

“There.” He let go, stepped back and watched the decrepit vehicle roll a few more feet. “Good luck with that truck.”

“Thanks, I need that and a whole lot of prayer.” She studied him through the window frame, the breeze tossing the ends of her soft hair.

She was definitely changed from the Millie he’d known a decade ago. A stab of grief settled deep in his chest for the girl she’d been, the laughing girl who he could no longer see in the serious-eyed woman. She nervously folded a flyaway lock of rich brown hair behind one ear.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know.” Her chin went up in either a show of stubbornness or a statement of pride, but her expressive eyes shone with hurt.

This wasn’t easy for her either. That helped. He shrugged his shoulders, trying to let go of the stress and the old wounds between them. “Prayer, huh? The Millie I used to know didn’t pray.”

“I do now.” She dipped her chin as something private and vulnerable passed across her face, and he wondered at it. He opened his mouth to ask her what had happened, but instinct held him back.

Wouldn’t that open a can of worms, one he wasn’t interested in? Millie had been the one to leave him. She’d broken it off. She’d fled him, obviously for someone better. He tamped down the strike of agony and kept his eyes on her—only on her—and not the boy sitting beside her. She’d obviously left him for another man, just as her father had said.

“I’m a praying man these days. Surprises you, right?” He tossed her an easy grin, one that said he wasn’t hurting and that he didn’t care one whit that she’d left him. Not true, but a man had his pride.

“Absolutely. I would never have guessed independent, trust-no-one Hunter McKaslin would become a man of faith.” A hint of a smile, and only a hint, touched the corners of her mouth.

“Miracles do happen.”

“Guess you’re proof of that.” No twinkle gleamed in her eyes. Only the faintest warmth of humor touched her voice, which had once been so bright.

Only hard times could do that to someone. He steeled his spine, fighting the natural need to care about her. An old habit, that was all. It didn’t mean a thing. Just like it didn’t mean anything wanting to go to her and try to brush the worry off her face. He jammed his hands in his pockets instead. “I’m sorry about your father. He isn’t an easy man.”

“No, he isn’t.”

“But he taught me what I know. I wouldn’t have a successful dairy if it wasn’t for him and Milton.” He swallowed hard, warring with himself. The smart thing to do was to tip his hat and walk away and pray he never saw the woman again. But was it the right thing to do?

“Oh, you did get your own dairy?” She tipped her head slightly, and a sleek dark lock of hair tumbled from behind her ear and back into her eyes. She shoved it away impatiently and the corners of her mouth turned upward into a genuine smile. “Hunter, I’m so happy for you. It’s what you always wanted.”

“Luke and I run it together.” He heard the rattle of a cart and the murmur of voices. When he checked over his shoulder, he spotted his brother and his girlfriend emerging from the store, pushing a loaded cart. “I’ve got to go. We’re having a family barbecue.”

“Sounds like fun. I got an email from Brooke last week that I’ve been meaning to answer, but no time.” She gripped the steering wheel tighter. “I hear she got married.”

“She did. I’ll tell my sister you said hi.” He took a step back, chest swelling with a sense of loss he couldn’t explain. There had never been any might-have-beens when it came to him and Millie. She hadn’t wanted him.

Not that he could honestly blame her for that, not completely. She’d needed what he hadn’t been able to give—and never would. “Let me know if Whip needs help. Word has it he’s not up to managing the dairy.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got it.” The smile vanished, her chin went up and pure hurt shone in her eyes. The echoes of that hurt filled him as she put the truck in gear and drove away, the engine misfiring.

“Hey, are you okay?” Luke called out.

“Yeah, fine.” He waved away his brother’s concern, doing his best to hide his sorrow. Some things weren’t meant to be—he and Millie were one of them.

Chapter Three

“Who was he?” Simon asked as the truck backfired, the sound echoing like a gunshot along the peaceful town street.

“You mean the man who gave us a push?” Her pulse stuttered but she tried to pretend it hadn’t.

“He was real strong. Think I could shove a whole pickup like that? Probably not.” Simon squirmed on his seat, restless and full of little-boy energy. “I liked his hat. No one wears hats like that in Portland. Not that I’ve seen.”

“Me either, but they’re everywhere around here. See?” She pointed in the direction of the sidewalk where a Stetson-wearing man headed into the dime store. “Everywhere.”

“My head would get really hot.”

“Mine, too.” She couldn’t help smiling, a genuine one this time. Her pulse evened out as the sputtering truck took them farther away from Hunter.

He’d changed so much since she’d known him last. He’d matured, looking like a dream in a Stetson. It seemed as if he’d mellowed a bit, too. Time had definitely improved him.

Not that she was interested. No way. It hurt too much. She slid her gaze across the bench seat to where her son sat, gazing out his window, taking everything in. It hadn’t been an easy decision not to tell Hunter about his son. Through the years guilt continued to claw at her, but she’d done what was best for Simon.

She knew there was a problem the instant the farm came into sight. A thousand Holsteins stood in a gigantic black-and-white cluster at their pasture gate, mooing. She lifted her foot from the gas pedal, and their combined chorus made enough sound to drown out the truck’s backfire.

“Mom, what’s wrong with them?”

“They’re waiting to be milked.” That didn’t seem to be the problem, though. The lack of farmhands did. She pulled onto the shoulder of the road. Only one vehicle sat in the shade of the barn—Milton’s old, battered truck. Had everyone else gone?

“I’m sorry, Millie.” He stepped out of the shadowed doorway, lean shoulders slumped. “This time was just the last straw. I got the boys to agree to come back when you can cover their checks if they haven’t found other jobs.”

“How long has this been going on?” She opened her door, stepping away from the truck so Simon wouldn’t overhear.

“For the last six months. Whip hasn’t paid us on time. The checks don’t clear. It takes most of a month to make good on ’em, and then it starts all over again.”

“I can’t blame them. I’d walk off, too.” She didn’t add that she’d had the experience of holding a worthless paycheck in her hands followed by a long stint of unemployment. It was a hollow-stomached experience she wouldn’t want for anyone. “Thanks for staying, Milton. I appreciate it.”

“No problem. The thing is, I can’t milk all these cows on my own. I’m gonna need help.”

“I know.” She blew out a sigh. “Is there anyone you can call in?”