Free Montana Hearts by Darlene Panzera

details behind his feud with Jed and Loretta Collins some other time. Or else maybe . . . it would be a good question to ask Luke.
    L UKE WITHDREW S OME of his savings at Mountain View Bank to buy the lumber he’d need to build the gazebo. Then noticed the assistant manager giving his ma a hard time.
    â€œNot many ­people keep a safe deposit box in Fox Creek,” Mrs. Lane drawled. “What do you keep in there?”
    â€œThat’s my own business,” his ma said, her voice rising—­a sure sign she was agitated.
    â€œJewels? A few gold coins, maybe?” Mrs. Lane pressed.
    Luke stepped forward. “We don’t have all day,” he told the middle-­aged woman. “Open the vault so my mother can access the box and we’ll be on our way.”
    â€œWell, you could say ‘ please ,’ ” Mrs. Lane shot back. “No need to be rude about it. Just wanted to satisfy my curiosity, is all. I’ve been working here over twelve years and see your ma come in every two weeks to take a peek in that box of hers, but I never see her take anything out.”
    â€œThat’s to keep it safe,” Luke’s ma said, her face creased with worry. “Some things are too valuable to keep at home.”
    â€œNow you’ve really got my curiosity cranking,” Mrs. Lane said, and laughed. “Follow me. I’ll open the vault and won’t say another word. Maybe another day you’ll finally tell me what you’ve got hidden in there.”
    Luke doubted it. His mother didn’t even tell him what she kept in her private box. And she’d had it as long as he could remember.
    As Mrs. Lane led his ma toward the door to the vault, Luke went out and sat in the passenger seat of his family’s parked pickup and waited for her return.
    Glancing around, he realized Fox Creek hadn’t changed much over the years. The same two-­block strip of stores lined both sides of the street with Ralph’s garage on one end, and the historic Fox Creek Hotel on the other. The bank lay smack-­dab in the middle, on the corner next to the sheriff’s station.
    A cowboy with a straw hat and trophy-­sized rodeo belt buckle exited the bank and pocketed a wad of green bills. When he looked up, Luke recognized him and gave a slight wave.
    â€œLuke Collins, The Legend of Fox Creek,” A.J. Malloy greeted in his familiar easygoing tone.
    Luke smirked. “I haven’t been called ‘The Legend’ since high school.”
    A.J. let out a hearty chuckle. “Remember the time you left your keys in the truck outside the café and that bully, Harley Bennett, drove off with it? You ran three blocks to catch up with him, jumped into the back, and punched him through the window to make him pull over.”
    Luke remembered all right. Except it hadn’t been his truck but Sammy Jo’s and she’d been the one who had left the keys in the ignition. He’d acted, not to save Sammy Jo like some damsel in distress but because her truck was his and Bree’s only ride home and he had a job to do that night. The carpenter up the road had promised to pay him a hundred dollars if he showed up to lend a hand on the Johnson house at five o’clock. And he’d needed that money to help cover his entrance fee at the next rodeo.
    â€œAnd the time you led us out to the range to rope that wild mustang?” A.J. continued. “You jumped on his back and it’s a miracle you didn’t get thrown off and break your . . .”
    â€œYeah, good times,” Luke said, sliding his cane unseen under his seat.
    â€œWhat are you up to now?” A.J. asked. “Still in the army?”
    Luke shook his head. “Got out last year. Spent some time in Florida, but now I’m part-­owner of my family’s ranch.”
    â€œGoing to compete in any of the local rodeos this season? I’d hate to lose the prize purses