Montana Dreams. Jillian Hart
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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?”
“No one who will come without cash in the bank. Your pa has burned a lot of bridges over the past few years. He’s gotten old and cantankerous.” He winked to soften the truth. “I’ll make a few calls and see what I can come up with.”
“Thanks, Milton.” She checked on her son, still buckled up, craning his head to get a good look at the cows. Their udders were full, they had to be milked and couldn’t wait. “I’ll call you as soon as I can about the money.”
“All right.” Milton strolled away. Spotting him, the cows mooed harder, making so much racket that she couldn’t hear herself think.
Simon watched her with wide eyes as she climbed behind the wheel. The door didn’t shut on the first try. She had to give it a good slam before it caught. No matter what, the cows had to be milked. Just one more thing to add to her list, which was getting very long and overwhelming.
I’m trusting You, Lord, that this is all going to work out. She didn’t know how, but she had faith. She gave the pickup some gas, yanked hard on the wheel and bumped across the county road and up the driveway. Clouds of dust rose up behind her, fogging the air and cutting off all view of the barn in her rearview mirror.
It