Montana Dreams. Jillian Hart

nudged his brother, his tone teasing.

      Fine, he deserved that. He hadn’t meant to be impatient; shopping always put him in a mood. The automatic doors opened and closed. Millie and the child were out of the building but not out of sight of the long front windows where a rusty, thirty-year-old Ford waited for them. It had taken a while to recognize her because she’d changed so much.

      “Are you all right?” Luke asked, kindly, always a good brother.

      Hunter cleared his throat and gave his cart a shove forward. He wanted to look unaffected, as if seeing Millie didn’t bother him one bit. He was tough. No woman was going to bring him to his knees. He’d learned a long time ago the best way to protect yourself from a broken heart was not to have one.

      Not that that was the truth, but he didn’t have to admit it, did he?

      Because he didn’t trust his voice, he said nothing and faced Enid with a nod. Maybe Luke would get the hint and go back to talking with his girlfriend. Over the beep-beep of the scanner he watched Millie disappear behind the far side of the pickup—probably getting the door for her kid.

      That kid. Agony tore through him at the thought of Millie’s child. No, he couldn’t think about her married to another man. Too painful. As he swiped his card and punched in his PIN, his gaze stayed stuck to the window.

      Millie. She stepped into view, far from the bright, sunny girl he’d loved so deeply that she outshone everything in his life—every other thing. There had been only her, beautiful and precious, and his great overwhelming love for her.

      “That’ll be eighty-seven dollars and forty-six cents.” Enid punched a button and her cash register spat out his receipt. “Would you like paper or plastic?”

      “Whatever.” He didn’t care—he’d forgotten the reusable bags again. He hardly noticed the box boy moving in to bag his purchases. All he could see was Millie climbing into her dad’s rusty old pickup. What had happened to the bounce in her step? To her wide, beaming smile that made everyone around her smile, too, unable to help themselves?

      “Out of the way, you’re holding up the line.” Judging by the laughter in Luke’s voice, he was enjoying this.

      “I don’t want to get back with her if that’s what you think.” He rolled his eyes, glad Luke couldn’t read his thoughts. Millie, on her own, with a child? Nothing angered him more than a mother on her own struggling to pay for groceries. Where were the fathers? Why weren’t they better men? A man takes care of his family, that’s the way it was supposed to be.

      Sure, it was an old issue with him. It brought back memories of how hard their dad had been on Mom. Never reliable, always out gambling or drinking, always shirking his responsibilities. Hunter’s guts twisted up thinking Millie’s life obviously hadn’t turned out much different. There hadn’t been a wedding ring on her left hand.

      He’d checked.

      “I’ll see you back at the ranch.” It wasn’t easy to unclamp his jaw. He took charge of his cart and steered it toward the automatic doors. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Millie—still slim and graceful—hop onto the seat. When she closed the door, he lost sight of her. Too much glare on the side window.

      She wasn’t going anywhere in that truck, or didn’t she know it? He frowned, arrowing his cart at his vehicle, parked two spaces away from the rusted heap Whip Wilson should have junked long ago. While Hunter was sorry the man was dying, he should have at least told his daughter about the barely working transmission. Whip had never been a good dad either.

      Not your business, Hunter, he told himself passing by at top speed. The cart rattled and bucked in protest, but minding his own business turned out to be impossible. Behind him, the rusted pickup’s engine coughed to life, pistons misfiring. He yanked the cart to a stop, wedging it against the side of his truck so it wouldn’t roll away. Disappointed in himself—a truly tough man, one who was completely over a breakup—would put his groceries in the truck and drive away.

      But did he?

      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.