Montana Dreams. Jillian Hart

      When he reached the Wilson dairy, things were just as he’d expected. The rusty pickup Millie had driven to town was parked neatly at the house across the road. Lamplight shone in the windows. No doubt she was there, finishing dishes or maybe watching TV with her son. No need to worry.

      He pulled beside the barn and cut the engine. The hot evening air met him. A giant herd of cattle lowed the moment they saw him. Their unhappy bellowing followed him as he stalked away from the truck.

      A shadow moved in the dark depths of the barn. Milton, probably come to say how relieved he was. Hunter tugged down the brim of his hat. The slanting rays made it hard to see who stepped out of the darkness to greet him.

      “Hunter McKaslin.” Millie burst into the sunshine, burnished by it. “What are you doing here?”

      “The bigger question is why aren’t you over at the house?”

      “Because Milton needs help. That’s why you’re here.” She nodded, as if putting it all together. “That’s why he didn’t tell me who he’d put calls in to, and for good reason.”

      “Don’t get worked up. I know that look—”

      “What look?” She glared, like a warrior woman ready for battle.

      “Glaring eyes. Chin tipped up so high you can barely see me over your nose.” He planted his hands on his hips. “It won’t do any good to try and get rid of me. I gave Milton my word.”

      “He doesn’t need your help.”

      “You mean, you don’t.”

      “You’ve helped enough.” The earlier humiliation at the grocery store returned. He’d been a witness to the fact that she’d been unable to pay for all her groceries, and that he’d given the truck a push still rankled. “I can’t be obligated to you. You get that, right?”

      “Doesn’t change my intentions.”

      “How would you feel if the circumstances were flipped? What if you needed my help?”

      “Darlin’, I’d never accept a woman’s help.”

      “And I can’t accept yours. This is too much. You know full well I can’t pay you.”

      “That’s right.” He squared his hat on his head. “I’m not doing this for money. I’m here for Milton, not you.”

      “Oh.” A slap couldn’t have stunned her more. She should have known. Humiliation swept through her, remembering the days when Hunter had shown his sweet side always doing for her, always helping. Crazy that she’d just assumed...well, of course things had changed. “Sorry.”

      “If I run the second carousel, can you keep up?” Brash, Hunter shouldered past her toward the door.

      She nodded, listening to the beat of his boots against the cement and wishing she was anyplace but here. Being beholden to the man was going to be a bitter pill.

      “Don’t worry, Freckles.” His voice rumbled low with a nostalgic warmth. “You’ll hardly know I’m here.”

      Why did her pulse skip at the hint of his grin? “That’s what you used to call me when we were...”

      “Close?”

      “I was going to say in love.” She shrugged. “Water under the bridge.”

      “I’ll say.” He shrugged a what-can-you-do? “I’ll take the present over the past any day. How about you?”

      “Absolutely. The past is a bummer.”

      “Then we’ll leave it floating down the creek with the current. How about it?”

      “Sounds good. It’s probably heading toward the ocean about now.”

      “Or floating on the tides to Fiji. We were a long time ago, Millie. I say we forget about it.”

      “Agreed. Thanks for coming.”

      “It’s what we do around here, neighbors helping neighbors.” He paused at the doorway, half swallowed by shadow. “No thanks necessary.”

      “The thing is, I don’t see any other neighbors rushing in to help.”

      “No, Whip likely broke their good will long ago. He’s a hard man, but he was hardest on you. That was never right.”

      “Doesn’t that fall into the category of the past?”

      “I’m just sayin’.” Hunter’s iron jaw softened, perhaps a momentary weakness. “Get back to the wash-down. If Milton knew I was standing around shootin’ the breeze when I ought to be working, he’d have my hide.”

      “Tempting to say you’d deserve it.”

      “No doubt.” An almost-smile curved the chiseled line of his mouth. He disappeared through the barn doors, leaving her alone in the sunshine.

      A cow’s moo started the rest of the herd lowing, a loud bawling that shattered the evening’s peace. Shaking her head, she headed inside. Hunter McKaslin back on the Wilson farm again. How about that? She dearly hoped it was not a trend. Having him around here all the time? Could not happen. No way, no how. There was one piece of the past she couldn’t banish down, and it was sitting inside the house with Dad, watching spaghetti Westerns.

      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