Читать книгу Montana Dreams - Jillian Hart - Страница 12

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 good 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 scorching 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.

By the time she’d scrabbled up the side of the remaining stack, little infernos had ignited everywhere. There were too many. Maybe it’s time to let the barn go. The tractor’s engine roared and more crackling bales gave way at the ramlike punch of the tractor’s bucket. She caught sight of Hunter shifting into Reverse, covered with soot and brushing burning hay off his forearm. Sparks rained on him, incinerating chunks tried to land on him and still he made another go at the fire.

Definitely time to admit they were outmatched.

“Step back, missy.” A voice spoke behind her. Milton drove his pitchfork into a patch of burning hay. “We’ve got a barn to save.”

“We?” Through wisps of smoke, pickups pulled to a stop across the road. Men leaped from them, shouting orders.

“Hunter called on his cell,” Milton explained, pitching the flames and hay outside onto the gravel. “I turned around and called a few neighbors. Don’t worry, we’ll get this licked.”

Emotion pricked her eyes and she had to turn away. Hunter. Why did everything always come down to him? She watched him behind the wheel, in control, lowering the bucket to scoop burning debris away from the remaining haystack. So close she could see the heat reddening his face and an angry burn on his arm.

Her only goal in coming here had been to avoid him. Impossible. Somehow she was going to have to figure out a way to deal with him. She risked a glance across the road, where Simon sat next to Whip. She caught the nasty gleam in her old man’s eyes. He was the sole keeper of her secret.

The problem with secrets was that they rarely stayed truly hidden.

This one had to.

* * *

“I told Whip that hay was still a mite too damp.” Milton looked worse for wear as he sat on the bumper of the fire truck, letting Jerry, the volunteer fire marshal, patch him up. “But no, he wanted the men to stack it. Wouldn’t listen to me. You know how he gets.”

“Everyone knows how he gets,” Jerry assured him.

“You put up hay that isn’t totally dry, those damp spots build up heat. On a day as hot as today, it can ignite.” Milton sent a stream of tobacco into the ditch. “Truth is, those were some tough days with Whip sick and in pain and takin’ it out on us. Not sure the men stacking the hay cared much, and I was busy jury-rigging the water pump, so my hands were full.”

Hunter nodded, leaning against the fire truck’s fender. No doubt working conditions had been tough here for a while and considering his obvious financial problems, Whip hadn’t wanted to pay the hands an extra day’s work to wait around for the hay to dry. He took a moment to notice the peeling paint and the missing shingles. While he’d worked in this barn after high school, he and Whip had parted ways long ago, before Millie left. He’d never had much respect for a man who treated people the way Whip did.

“The fire’s out, we’ve mopped up, but you’ll have a big cleanup.” Jerry gave Milton a pat on his arm. “You make sure Doc Littlejohn takes a look at that tomorrow. Hunter, you’re next.”

“I don’t need patching up.” A few blisters were nothing to worry about. “Did you take a look at Millie?”

“First thing. She refused, too.”

“I’m not surprised.” That woman could take stubbornness to new levels. He’d nearly had heart failure seeing her climb the stack, standing in the rafters surrounded by flames. Not that he didn’t admire her for it. “If we’re done here, I’m heading home.”

“That’s what I’m gonna do.” Milton staggered to his feet. “It’s way past my bedtime.”

“Nearly midnight. Sleep tight, Milt.” Hunter followed the light of the moon to the open barn doors, where the volunteers rolled up the last fire hose. The dank smell of smoke and charred hay overwhelmed him as his boots hit the floor.

A close call. No doubt about it. He wandered down the aisle past vacant stalls to the fall of light from the office door. The wise choice would be to hop in his truck and head home, but he had to check on her. Some habits were hard to break, regardless of how bad they were for you.

“Okay, I’ll be there in a bit.” Nothing was prettier than Millie’s voice soft with affection as she talked into a handheld radio. “Just close your eyes and think of home.”

“But there’s funny noises in the wall.” The boy’s words crackled across the two-way.

“It’s nothing to worry about. Think of being able to play with your friends again. What’s the first thing you’re going to do when we get back?” Leaning against the wall, she smiled over at him, gave him an in-a-second look.

He nodded, message received, and stayed in the hallway. He jammed his hands in his pockets, just glad to see she was all right. Well, relatively all right, as she was streaked with soot and her T-shirt riddled with little burn holes. What was she doing refusing medical treatment?

“Then just think about Alexander’s tree house and going back to school with your friends and you’ll fall back to sleep, kiddo.”

The boy’s sigh rasped from the speakers. “I’ll try.”

“Good boy. Call again if you need me.” She set the hand unit on the battered wooden desk. Heaps of paper, junk mail and bills with red past due stamps were piled as high as the cracked computer monitor. Millie shook her head at the mess and focused on him. Big blue eyes full of gratitude. “You. Not sure what would have happened if you hadn’t been here.”

“Anyone around here would have done the same thing. No biggie.” He didn’t want her feeling beholden to him. That was a recipe for disaster. “Just wanted to check on you before I head out.”

“I’m glad you did. I owe you a huge, ginormous thanks.” She pushed off from the wall. “What you did tonight—”

“Forget it.”

“I can’t. You could have been badly burned. The entire stack could have come down on you.”

“I used the bucket as a shield. Not my first time knocking down a fire.” The air in the room vanished. He pretended it didn’t. “Had a big wildfire last summer. Most neighbors were out fighting it by hand. We stopped it before it got a hold and ripped through every field and barn in the valley.”

“Why am I not surprised? You were on the front line leading the charge, weren’t you?” She eased in, smelling of charred wood, smoke and faintly of lilacs.

Lilacs. That jogged his memory, flashing him back a decade. Easy to remember standing right here in this barn, with the haze of midsummer sunshine and the horses huffing softly in the doorway, waiting to get going with the trail ride. How he’d taken his time, laying his hand against the satin softness of her cheek, his pulse kicking double time, gathering up enough courage to kiss her. His chest squeezed, wringing out an old drop of affection. Affection he’d be a fool to give in to.

“Better go. I’ve got an early morning.”

“It is technically morning. You’re not going anywhere until I take care of those burns.”

“They’re fine.”

“Don’t even try that on me.” She opened a squeaky cabinet and hauled out a flat gray box. “Not sure how up-to-date this is.”

“It looks like World War II surplus.”

“Tell me about it. The cobwebs are a little worrying.” She swiped them off and opened the tin, shoving aside the pile of paper on the desk to make room to set it down. “There are a few cans of pop in the fridge, if you want to get them.”

“Now that does sound good.” He was parched from the inside out. The rumble of the fire truck faded, the men were gone and he and Millie were truly alone. Not sure he was comfortable with that. He yanked open the ancient refrigerator and let the cool wash over him before grabbing two cans from the shelves.

“Here.” He popped the tabs, set Millie’s down next to the first-aid kit and breathed in the sugary scent of grape soda. “Guess Milton won’t mind. We haven’t broken into his stash in ten years.”