Beneath Montana Skies. Mia Ross
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peak of his spectacular life, and it seemed that he was in for a long, hard recovery.
Then, in a flash of insight, she understood why her brother had rushed to her defense when he—like everyone else—knew she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. “How much did you hear?”
“More than I think you’d like.” Grimacing, he added, “Then again, I figured it out for myself about ten minutes after you came home to tell Dad you were pregnant.”
That was news to her, and her heart plummeted to the floor. “How? I was eight weeks along, and Ty was long gone. Anyone could’ve been the father.”
“Come on, sis,” he chided, shaking his head. “You might’ve fooled everyone else, but I know you. It was Ty. It was always Ty.”
Yes, it was, she conceded as he strolled off and left her alone in the barn. But for the past seven years, she’d been focused solely on raising her girls and doing everything in her power to keep their legacy ranch in the black. Then the threat of development had pushed her to start the conservancy, which gobbled up most of her precious spare time. By necessity, she’d put aside her past failings and turned all of her effort toward making the future the best it could possibly be for her daughters.
Because, quite honestly, the only other option was to give up. And no matter how long the odds were, a Whittaker never, ever quit.
That thought had just rolled through her head when her cell phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number, so she answered with, “Whittaker Ranch, this is Morgan.”
“Hey there, cowgirl.” A sigh escaped her before she could stop it, and Ty chuckled. “Not who you were expecting, huh?”
“How did you get this number?”
“Found it on the ranch’s website. Nice job with that, by the way.”
“Jessie’s in charge of that stuff, so I’ll pass on the compliment. What do you want?”
“We weren’t exactly done talking when Sheriff Ryan showed up and ran me off,” Ty pointed out, his tone as casual as if they’d been discussing the next livestock auction on the schedule.
“I was.”
Her terse response seemed to catch him off guard, because there was a quiet hum on the line while he absorbed that one. “Well, I wasn’t. I just found out I have two daughters, and I’ve got some more questions.”
“Such as?”
“I’d really rather hash this out in person.”
She’d really rather never see him again, but apparently that wasn’t going to happen. They’d have to hammer out some kind of compromise eventually, so she relented. “Fine. When and where?”
“I’ve got stuff going on the next couple days, so I was thinking my place Friday night, after you get the girls tucked in. I’ll be around, so come over whenever it works for you.”
“It doesn’t work for me anytime,” she spat before realizing that he’d already hung up. Thumbing her phone off, she glared at it and slid it into the back pocket of her jeans.
An evening alone with Tyler Wilkins, she mused while she slit open another bale of shavings and began shoveling the contents into a wheelbarrow. There were plenty of women who’d kill to be in her boots right now.
Too bad she wasn’t one of them.
To Ty’s knowledge, there wasn’t a word for how bad the cabin smelled.
His concerns about rodents had turned out to be right, but he hadn’t counted on there being so many corpses scattered around. Opening all the windows had helped a little, but he was going to need some heavy-duty cleaner and a good measure of patience to rid the house of the smell entirely. Fortunately for him, there weren’t any storms in the forecast for the next week, so he should be able to air it out in a few days.
For the past couple of days, he’d been relegated to being outside, cleaning up years’ worth of fallen limbs and rotting leaves. Behind him, he heard a mellow nicker and said, “Not now, Clyde. I know you’re antsy, but I’ve got a ton of stuff to do today. We’ll take a ride tomorrow.”
“How ’bout now?”
Startled by the sound of another voice, Ty whipped around to find Morgan and Sadie trotting up the grassy aisle that separated his property from the Whittaker place. Setting aside his rake, he strolled over to greet them. “And here I thought he was talking to me. Weren’t we meeting up on Friday?”
“I don’t get out as much as I’d like these days, so I was going to ride out and watch the sunset anyway. If you want to come along, we can talk on the way.”
Translation—I don’t want to give you home field advantage. She was the only woman he’d ever known who strategized that way, and it was comforting to know she hadn’t lost that sharp quality over the years.
It was also more than a little intimidating, he mused as he quickly tacked up and hauled himself into the saddle. She’d always been smarter than him, and chances were the gap hadn’t closed up enough to make much difference. He’d do well to remember that.
The horses were old friends, and the two of them traded looks occasionally while they trotted companionably side by side, as if they’d last seen each other earlier that week instead of seven years ago. Morgan seemed content to ride in silence, and Ty followed her lead, taking the opportunity to reacquaint himself with his surroundings.
Wild prairie and barely tamed pastureland stretched out like a quilt of grass and flowers for miles around them. Ringed by thick stands of pines, the broad valley was cut through by the winding currents of the Calico River. Modest in width but dependable even in the driest years, the deep-running mountain stream supplied the local ranches with a reliable source of water for their livestock.
Beyond that rose the majestic Bridger Mountains, which ran along the northern boundaries of Mustang Ridge and several other small towns nearby. Home to everything from mountain lions to grizzlies to bighorn sheep, those ragged peaks were the image that always came into Ty’s head when he thought of home.
As he and Morgan gained altitude, they got an ever-broader perspective of the valley below. When a small herd of horses came into view, he asked, “Where did they come from?”
“Everywhere. A few years ago, the state took an interest in our mustangs and managing the population. I didn’t like their solution, so I stepped in and petitioned to adopt the herd.” Gazing over at the milling animals, her face softened with affection for the creatures she’d managed to save. Pointing, she explained, “Over there is public land available to anyone for open grazing, and the strip with access to the river belongs to a local family. They gave me permission to use it, so I relocated the ponies and started a mustang rescue. I break and train some of them for people who want to use them as pleasure horses, but the others stay here, where they belong.”
Her very practical approach to the problem didn’t surprise him in the least, but he was impressed all the same. “That’s awesome. Not many folks would go to that much trouble for some wild ponies.”
“They’re the symbol of everything the Mustang Ridge Conservancy stands for,” she told him firmly, her jaw set in determination. “If the animals who’ve always lived here lose their birthright, chances are we won’t be far behind.”
When Sadie and Clyde reached the southern bank of the creek, Morgan finally stopped and turned to him. Her eyes held a resigned look that he tried not to take personally.
Letting Sadie drop her head for a drink, Morgan said, “So, you wanted to talk.”
“Can we get down first? My back’s not as limber as it used to be.” Plus, he didn’t want her taking off if she didn’t like something he said. Clyde was a gamer, but there was no way he could catch the half-mustang mare at a full run.
“Fine.”
Swinging