His Montana Sweetheart. Ruth Herne Logan

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “I do.”

      He’d done it in less than an hour and from the wealth of notes Liv had on her laptop, it looked as if they had wrapped up a good deal of the planning in one short evening.

      Which meant they could pretty much be all done, but that was the last thing he wanted to be, so he plunged in, wanting at least one more day of working side by side with Livvie Franklin. “Liv, we’ve done well tonight, but shouldn’t we get together again to firm things up? I’ve got a rancher from Wyoming coming in to look at calves tomorrow night, but I’m free the night after.”

      She scanned her notes, then him, with no discernible change of expression. “Aren’t we just about done? I’ll get hold of the ladies’ auxiliary and the Jasper Gulch Hose Company about doing the food. The firefighters do the best chicken barbecue, and that way they can make money for their organizations, while the take at the gate goes to the museum. I’m sure the Sports Boosters will man their hot dog and hamburger stand like they do for the Legion games. If the high school band can do the national anthem and we get someone to sing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” at the seventh-inning stretch, we’re set, right?”

      Jack thought hard and quick. “But what about the flyers? Posting them and getting them done? And by the way, I’m heading to Three Forks on Saturday for the horse auction, and I was wondering if you’d like to tag along.”

      She sat back. Stared at him. In fact, she stared at him so long that he half wondered if she’d gone into some kind of shock, but before he could dial 911, her mother’s voice chimed in from the garden around the corner. “Liv, that would be fun, don’t you think? Dad and I are leaving on Saturday and you were just saying how you wanted a chance to reacquaint yourself with riding while you were here.”

      “You said that?” Jack leaned forward. Her mother’s reminder had chased the deer-in-the-headlights look from Liv’s eyes, but her current expression said her mother would most likely get an earful when Jack was gone. “So, come, then. We’ll grab food up there. We’d have to take off around eight in the morning. That all right with you?”

      * * *

      She longed to refuse his offer.

      She wanted to hurl his stupid invite back at him and remind him of how many nights she’d spent crying in her pillow. Did he have any clue the amount of money she’d wasted on lotion-treated tissues?

      But the other part of her, the part that had gotten downright excited when she passed the Jasper Gulch, Montana, Welcomes You! sign, knowing she’d see Jack again—the more traitorous side—said, “Yes. I’ll be ready at eight. Should I bring anything along?”

      Jack stood and shook his head. “Naw, if you email me a copy of your notes and plans, we’ll be good. I’ll print them up at home. And Livvie?” He turned as he got to the stairs, looking for all the world as if he wanted to stay, but the cool expression she aimed his way said there was no reason to linger. “Thanks so much for this.” He held up the paper that now held eighteen players. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

      “You could have but were choosing not to,” she corrected him smoothly. “And that’s not the Jack I knew. That Jack took everything in stride, the good, the bad and the ugly, and went with it. Until you hurt your arm.”

      She refused to sugarcoat his actions. He’d let an injury change him, alter his ways, upset his life. He faced her, looking uncertain, but then dipped his chin in acknowledgment. “It was a stupid thing to do, Liv, and I’m sorry.”

      She studied him for long seconds, squinted slightly, then nodded. “It’s a start.”

      * * *

      A start. That’s what he’d wanted, right? A new beginning, a chance to mend old wrongs, set things right. She got up and walked him to the truck, and when he opened the door, the scent of wildflowers escaped in a rush of late-summer sweetness. Liv sniffed the air and spotted the bouquet. Realization brightened her face as she tipped her head back to look up at him. “You brought me flowers.”

      “Yes. And then chickened out when your father approached with his nail gun.”

      A tiny grin lit her face like a morning sunrise. “So. What now?”

      He frowned, not understanding.

      She directed her look to the flowers. “Do I get them now?”

      “I— Um...they’re kind of sad looking now, aren’t they?”

      She shook her head as he reached across the seat to grasp the slightly wilted bouquet. “A good drink of water and they’ll spruce up fine.”

      “You think?”

      “Yup.” She reached out and he set the somewhat woebegone flowers in her hand. “Water’s an amazing thing.”

      “‘With joy you shall draw water,’” Jack began, and when Liv finished the sweet words of Isaiah, his heart opened just a little bit more.

      “‘From the streams of salvation.’”

      “You remembered.”

      “Your mother has that painted on the little sign above your barn doors. Is it still there?”

      It was, kind of like most everything else his mother had done or placed. He and Dad hadn’t moved much of anything. At first that was fine. Now it seemed like neither one knew how to start the process of change. “It is. I think of her every time I walk into that section of the barn.”

      “She was a wonderful person, Jack. And she wanted you to be happy.”

      He frowned, glanced down and shrugged. “I kind of blew that, didn’t I?”

      “Then? Yes. Now?” She gazed up at him once more, and the look she offered him said he wasn’t doing all that badly and that made him feel good inside. Really good. “I think you are happy now. Happy to be here, to be part of the ranch, the town. As long as you break the hermit habit, I expect you’ll do just fine, Jack McGuire.”

      Funny how words could make things seem real. Hearing her assessment, he felt better. As if he was taking big leaps instead of small steps. Was that because he was moving with more force or because Livvie showed faith in him?

      Maybe both. He smiled down at her and raised his hand, gently grazing her left cheek with one work-roughened finger. “Thanks, Liv. For everything.”

      “And thank you.” She stepped back, creating a distance, but raised the bouquet slightly. “I love the flowers.”

      He climbed into the truck feeling better than he had in a long while, and as he backed down the driveway, the sight of her standing there, holding a bouquet of native-grown flowers in her hand, made him wonder what she’d look like as a bride.

      Would she consider getting married again? Ever?

      Would she consider you trustworthy enough to take a chance on, you mean? Probably not. You broke her heart once. Why would she trust you to treasure it again?

      Because he was older. More mature. Stronger. More faithful.

      Actions speak louder than words, his conscience reminded СКАЧАТЬ