Her Montana Twins

“Looks good, Mr. Harcourt,” Hannah said, pushing down the futile emotions. “I look forward to seeing what the firefighters come up with.”

“And if I have any questions?”

“Just come to me.” Hannah hoped she sounded businesslike and not like a breathless schoolgirl in the presence of her crush. “Have a good day.” Then she looked past him as Robin got up to walk toward the counter.

“Can I help you, Robin?” Hannah asked, effectively dismissing both Brody and Lilibeth.

Brody paused a moment as if he did, indeed, have a question. But then Robin stepped up to the counter and he turned and stepped aside, smiling at a joke Lilibeth was telling him.

“Nice-looking couple,” Robin said as she set her folder of papers on the divider.

They’re not a couple, Hannah wanted to say, but she stopped herself. What did it matter to her that Robin thought Brody and Lilibeth were together?

“I returned those papers you lent me,” Robin continued, handing an envelope back to Hannah. “Though the documents were interesting, I was hoping to find out more about some of the occupations of the extended Shaw family. Olivia said to talk to you.”

Hannah bit her lip, thinking. “I’ll see what I can find. Mayor Shaw might have that information, as well.”

“I don’t want to bother him,” Robin murmured.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it,” Hannah assured her, then had to apologize as she answered the phone again. Her day didn’t look as if it would be slowing down anytime soon.

Or her life. She gave another quick glance at Brody, holding open the door for Lilibeth, then turned her attention back to her work. She had no space in her life for a man like him.

* * *

Well, that didn’t go as well as he had hoped.

Brody Harcourt dropped his hat on his head and heaved out a sigh as he held the door of the town hall open for Lilibeth Shoemaker. He had been the one to pitch the idea of setting up a booth for the firefighters at the fair precisely because he had hoped he could spend some time with Hannah Douglas.

Brody had been a senior in high school when he and his parents first moved to their new ranch in Jasper Gulch, and already then Hannah Douglas, with her gentle smile and perky demeanor, had caught his attention. But other than one summer when he was graduated and she and David had briefly split up, she had always been David Douglas’s girl.

Now she was David Douglas’s widow and the mother of his twins and, from the way she had just treated him, still not interested in him.

“If I make a basket, you’ll have to make sure to bid on it,” Lilibeth was saying to him. “I’ll let you know what it looks like.”

“Isn’t that against the rules?” he said as he tugged his cell phone out of his pocket.

Lilibeth simpered at him, then shrugged. “My sisters do it all the time.”

“I might be too busy to bid anyway,” Brody said, giving a quick glance at the screen. A text from his friend Dylan. He was already at the café and waiting for him.

“Well, you set some time aside for me,” Lilibeth gave him a coy smile, then sashayed down Main Street.

“She’s quite the spitfire, isn’t she?”

Rusty Zidek’s gravelly voice behind Brody made him spin around. “Yeah, she is,” he agreed, looking back at Lilibeth, who shot him one last look over her shoulder as she stepped into her car.

“She seems overly upset lately about not winning the Miss Jasper Gulch contest,” Rusty continued, stroking his mustache, his grin showing the glint of a gold tooth.

“Her pride probably got bruised. Two of her sisters won before and I think she’s feeling the sting of sisterly competition.” Brody gave the elderly man a quick smile. “I have two sisters. They’re always one-upping each other. Clothes, boyfriends, jobs.”

“So was she nattering to Hannah about the contest, then?” Rusty asked, his voice nonchalant. But Brody caught a flicker of intensity in his eyes and was curious about his furtive movements.

“All I know is that she wanted to find out more about the Miss Jasper Gulch contest. Claimed it was rigged. She was asking if Hannah could access the minutes from the council meetings.” Brody felt like a tattletale, but he was curious where Rusty was going with this.

Rusty nodded slowly, as if digesting this information. “Well, we’ll need to discuss that later.” Then he looked up at Brody, his expression serious. “And I heard that you’ve said you would be willing to be part of the Time Capsule Committe.”

“Yeah, about that...” Brody paused a moment, thinking of the work ahead of him and his father on the ranch. They had just expanded and were busier than previous years. “Not so sure I can do it.”

“We could use your help trying to find the town’s missing time capsule. Deputy Calloway had his concerns about your being on the committee, but he did say if you were willing, he would overlook them.”

Brody knew exactly what those concerns were. He and Deputy Calloway had had a few run-ins during Brody’s wilder years. But Rusty’s comment made him uncertain, his pride battling with his ongoing desire to prove himself trustworthy.

“Hannah is the new secretary,” Rusty added with a little nudge of his elbow.

Brody held Rusty’s gaze, his piercing blue eyes nestled in a valley of wrinkles, a road map of his years and experience. Rusty had seen a lot coming and going in this town, and Brody knew the older man didn’t miss much.

“Well, that has a certain appeal,” he admitted. No sense being less than straight up with someone like Rusty.

“Kind of thought it might,” Rusty said with a smug look. “We started meeting in the late afternoon, to accommodate Hannah’s schedule. Our next meeting is Wednesday.”

“I’ll be there. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to meet Dylan at Great Gulch Grub.”

“See you later,” Rusty said, then turned and walked across the street to the bakery where Brody saw his camouflage-colored Mule was parked.

Brody followed him but ducked into Great Gulch Grub. He saw Dylan sitting at a table toward the back of the noisy café, his hands clasped on either side of his shaved head, glowering at a large manual lying on the scarred, Formica-covered table.

“Can I please get a coffee and a piece of Vincente’s amazing apple pie?” Brody asked Mert, who stood behind the counter. Behind her he could hear Vincente singing snatches of an unfamiliar song. Probably some opera thing that he seemed to enjoy.

Mert’s hair was pulled back in her perpetual bun, but this late in the day a few hanks of hair had come loose and hung around her narrow face.

“What am I, your wife?” she quipped, giving the empty counter a wipe with the cloth she held.

“I still live in hope,” Brody said, sweeping his hat off his head and placing it on his chest.

“You should get your own in time for the Old Tyme wedding going on next month,” Mert teased. “I thought a romantic like you would be all over that event.”

Brody just laughed, Mert’s innocent comment making him think of Hannah. “Not yet, Mert. Not yet.”

“Don’t worry, cowboy, I know your future bride is out there. And if she’s not ready, we’ll find someone for you.”

“That makes me worry,” he said, pointing a finger at her. “I can find my own wife, thank you very much.” Then, before Mert could carry the conversation any further, he strode to the back of the café, greeting a few of the people he knew and dropping into an empty chair across from his friend.

“Troubles with the motorbike?” he asked, glancing over the pages Dylan was studying.

“Yeah. Something with the manifold.” Dylan sighed. “Sure wish you hadn’t sold yours. I could’ve scammed some parts from it.”

“Everything has its season and the motorbike’s was over.”