Although the men had offered to help her clean after the meals, she had been astute enough to realize that a few of them would hope for some form of compensation. A walk. A larger portion of stew. Perhaps even a kiss. Rather than fending off any disappointments, she had declined all help and had worked hard to feed the men three meals a day. Dalton had appreciated her discretion, although he worried that one of the newer men would continue to press her for more than she wished to offer. Life on the ranch was lonely, and one rarely found a single handsome woman.
The bunkhouse was a long building with a small covered front porch. Inside, a long hallway connected the kitchen at the far end to the right to the large gathering room to the left, with three private bedrooms in between. Past the gathering room was a large bunkroom where the seasonal workers slept. As the cook, Miss Ingram’s room was directly beside the kitchen. Shorty and Dixon shared the room beside hers, and Dalton’s was next to the gathering room.
Dalton used to share his room with Slims, but, when he married Davina, Slims moved out to a nearby cabin. Now one such cabin remained empty, in case another of the year-round hands married.
Although Dalton trusted Shorty, Dixon, and Slims implicitly, he didn’t know the men well who worked on the ranch each season. Thus he had angled his chair on the porch near the window, so he could hear the goings-on in the kitchen. If he heard Miss Ingram sing, well, that was simply an added bonus.
Charlotte never joined him outside, and he knew she had retreated to her room when the kitchen fell silent. She never mingled with any of the ranch hands, and Dalton had ensured that she had a sturdy latch on her door when she moved in. To date, none of the interim ranch hands had made any inappropriate advances toward her, and Dalton hoped their respect for her never wavered.
Closing his eyes, he fought memories of other evenings, when he sat in quiet companionship, listening to a woman sing as she puttered around him. After three years, her face was becoming blurry, but the sense of home, of the peace she had always engendered when he thought of her, readily filled him. The pervasive longing he had felt when he saw Davina and Slims together overcame him again. “Mary,” he breathed, his breath catching, as he longed to forget those last moments as he watched her and their baby die. Although the agony wasn’t as acute today, the ache for all he had lost was ever present.
He rested his head against the back of his rocking chair, silently berating himself. Dalton knew he should be used to being alone. After his family had been brutally taken from him during the Civil War, he had struck out West. After years where he had thought he would wander forever, he had been fortunate enough to drift onto the Mountain Bluebird Ranch. Harold and Irene still ran it at the time, and they took him on for seasonal help.
He smiled with his eyes closed, as he remembered that first summer. Although he had thought he knew all there was to know about working a farm, he soon realized he knew next to nothing about cattle ranching and precious little about breeding horses. To this day, he didn’t know what induced the Tompkinses to take him on as a full-time hand, but he would never forget their generosity.
Although he often lost patience with Dixon, the youngest permanent ranch hand, Dalton saw so much of his youthful self in Dix. The eagerness to please. The belief that there was no promise of tomorrow, so he had better enjoy today. The desire to learn everything he could with the hope of becoming indispensable. Even though he had tempted fate and had believed for a short time in the promise of tomorrows, Dalton knew Dix was right. There was no reason to worry about tomorrow, for today was all he had been guaranteed.
* * *
Charlotte glanced out the window, surreptitiously noting that Dalton continued to rock and doze on the porch, as she worked and sang in the kitchen. She had first seen him outside one evening as the weather warmed, and she suspected that he always sat nearby, as though to fend off any undesired attention. Flushing with appreciation for his chivalry, she continued to putter around the kitchen. After today’s near stabbing, she had feared he would wash his hands of her and would forego any further attempt to safeguard her.
Since her arrival on the ranch in February, he had been her unofficial guardian, shadowing her, as she slowly decided she did not want to die. That it was worth fighting to live, even though the life she thought she’d have, had dreamed of having, would never be her reality. She turned away from the window, as though banishing that thought and began to sing again.
She had discovered that singing soothed a sorrow deep in her soul. With a mournful smile, she also knew it brought joy to her audience of one. For some reason, that small knowledge filled her with a sense of accomplishment and delight.
When she finished her song, she looked around the tidy kitchen and nodded with satisfaction. Although working as a cook had never been her dream as a girl, she knew any type of work was to be valued. Too often women had far-too-few options.
Picking up her lantern, she whispered a silent, “Sweet dreams,” to Dalton and moved on soundless feet to her room, where she prayed her nightmares gave her one night’s respite.
Chapter 2
Charlotte tended to tune out the men’s chatter at every meal, and she did so again, as she set out the evening meal for them to eat. They sat at a long table with benches on either side. No one sat at the head of the table, unless Slims joined them for dinner. As foreman, he liked to join them once or twice a week, if possible, to chat with the men and to socialize with them away from work. As he no longer lived in the bunkhouse, due to his marriage to Davina in February, it was one of the few ways he had to spend time with them when the men weren’t working.
Charlotte thought it curious the foreman would be so concerned about keeping a close bond with his men. However, she rarely attempted to make conversation with the man, as he still hadn’t fully forgiven her for the havoc she had wreaked upon her return in February. Thankfully his wife was more understanding, although Charlotte supposed it was helpful Davina was Sorcha’s cousin. Everything was easier when you were related to the owner.
Battling bitterness at her persistent lot in life, Charlotte set out baskets of cornbread before she ladled up bowls of chili. Reluctantly she listened in, as the men chattered around her.
“Shorty, are we goin’ to the Founders’ Dance in a few weeks?” one of the new hands asked.
“Dix, do you think pretty girls are gonna be there to dance with, or is it a waste of money to go to the barber?” asked another newcomer to the ranch, an eagerness in his expression.
“It’s always a waste for you,” Shorty said with a teasing glint in his eyes, as he winked at Dalton.
“Dalt, did you hear about that fancy lady come to stay at the hotel? Heard tell she’s married to one of the Copper Kings!” another said, as he fidgeted, eyeing the cornbread.
Charlotte froze as the conversation continued around her. The ladle was in one hand, half raised, with the bowl tilted precariously to the side, as her breath emerged in pants. A buzzing began in her ears, and she felt on the verge of fainting. Suddenly her world went black, and a blissful numbness overtook her.
* * *
“Miss Ingram!” Dalton bellowed, as he launched himself toward her, when she swayed and fell backward. He caught her just as she was about to crash to the floor, cradling her head against his leg which he thrust out to break her fall. Grunting with pain as she landed hard, he held her while sitting on the floor.
After assuring that she was as well as she could be, he looked to Shorty and Dixon. “Get Slims and Boss. Now.” They raced away. Glaring at the other men, Dalton said, “Take a piece of bread, a bowl of chili, and eat somewhere else. I don’t care where. But you will stop staring at her.”
The men muttered their agreement, hastily snatching up food and leaving the kitchen. Soon Dalton was alone with an insensate Charlotte in his arms. “Come on, Miss Ingram. Wake up. Nothin’s so bad that you need to pull such shenanigans.” He closed his eyes, as he attempted to still his racing heart, kissing her on her h
ead, while his hands rubbed her back to convey some comfort. Anything so that she would know she was safe. “Come on, love,” he whispered. “Wake up.”
“Shenanigans?” she murmured in a disgruntled voice, as she struggled against his hold. “Do you believe me so vain that I would act like this for no reason?”
He smiled as she opened her beautiful sherry-colored eyes. “No, but I didn’t know what else to say. It’s not every day I catch a woman on the verge of a faint.” He sobered as he saw terror fill her gaze. “You’re safe here, Miss Ingram. You know Boss and the men will protect you.”
Closing her eyes, she snuggled into his embrace for a moment before stiffening, suddenly realizing what she was doing. She pushed at him, attempting to force herself up to stand.
“Take it easy. You’ve had a fright for some reason. Don’t overdo it.”
“What must you think of me?” she asked, as she held up a hand to shield her face from him. “You must consider me the most immoral woman you’ve ever met.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “You’ve never been to the Boudoir, Miss.” At her deep flush, he bit back what more he would have said. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t tease you.” At the sound of running men, he looked to the door. “Boss,” he said. “Slims. Sorry to interrupt dinner at the big house.” He looked around their shoulders to see Davina had raced along behind them.
“She really did faint,” Davina said with a small frown of surprise.
Charlotte struggled in earnest to rise and to be released from Dalton’s hold. When Frederick and Slims took hold of an elbow each and hauled her up, she gasped and swayed on her feet. “Oh, give me a moment,” she breathed. “I’ve never been so unsteady.”
Dalton leaped up, and he held a hand to the small of her back. Leaning over her, he peered at her with avid concern. “Are you going to have another spell?”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t know what came over me.”
Davina stood there, and she shook her head, glowering with disapproval. “I dinna believe ye. I think ye do remember but want to continue to hide it from us all. Why no’ be honest with us? With Frederick? He’s protectin’ ye an’ doesna even ken why.”
Charlotte looked around the kitchen and shook her head. “Not here. Please.”
Frederick nodded. “Come. Let’s go to the big house.”
Dalton watched as Charlotte ran a hand over her dress and walked demurely past the men loitering on the front porch. With the open windows, Dalton understood her desire for privacy. Too many would have been privy to her private affairs. He walked behind her, wishing he had the right to escort her. To be the man she leaned on when she stumbled. Instead she reached for Frederick.
Upon entering the big house, Frederick motioned for her to sit on one of the settees, as he went in search of Sorcha. Everyone knew better than to call out for her, as none wanted to be responsible for waking the twins, if they had already gone down for the night.
Dalton angled himself so he could watch Charlotte’s reaction to everything that was said but hoped his close perusal of her wasn’t obvious. She sat, her hands clasped together on her lap, her head bowed, and he again wished he could sit beside her, whisper sweet words in her ear. Anything to ease her tension. Instead he acted as witness, waiting for the arrival of Sorcha.
Sorcha bustled into the room with food stains on her dress and her reddish-brown hair falling out of its pins. Her light-blue eyes held a fair amount of suspicion as she stared at Charlotte. Settling across from her on a matching settee, she smiled at Davina, who sat beside her. “So, Charlotte, it seems ye had a wee spell while cookin’ dinner.”
Charlotte nodded, her gaze remaining downcast. She took a deep breath, before raising her gaze to meet Sorcha’s. “Your sister-in-law is a reporter. A good one, I’m told.”
“Aye,” Sorcha said, her brows furrowed in confusion, as though attempting to understand where Charlotte’s story was going. Sorcha thought it common knowledge that she was the youngest MacKinnon sibling and that her youngest brother, Ewan, had married Jessamine, the town’s reporter.
“She’d be able to discover a newcomer’s identity in town. Her true identity. Not the one she wanted folks to believe.” At Sorcha’s nod, Charlotte heaved out a breath. “I have little money, but do you think she’d investigate something for me?”
With a wry smile, Sorcha said, “If ’twas an interestin’ story, I ken Jessie’d pay ye for it.” Her smile faded, as Charlotte paled at her attempt at teasing. “Will ye no’ share with us what troubles ye? Ye’ve let it fester too long already.”
Dalton stood stock-still, hoping Charlotte would speak. Praying she’d forget he and the other men were present, so Dalton could finally hear the truth. When she began to whisper in a halting voice, a surge of triumph raced through him. Now he would know the enemy. No longer would the foe be faceless and nameless. Now, finally, Dalton would be able to protect her.
“I was a fool. But you all know that. You all know my greatest shame,” she whispered in a halting voice. “You know I came here, claiming to be pregnant. Claiming it was Slims’s.” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry.” Her voice quivered with remorse, as her gaze darted in his direction. “I would never have agreed with Wa … with the plan, if I’d known of your interest in another.”
“Warren’s plan,” Slims said with a nod. “I’ve known since February he had a hand in your precipitous arrival here.”
Charlotte wrung her fingers together, the words leaving her in fits and starts. “I never should have left here in December. I’d thought I’d met the man of my dreams during trips to town. He was sweet and attentive. He wrote letters. I thought he loved me.”
Dalton clamped his jaw shut from saying anything that would interrupt her story. However, he yearned to offer her comfort as she sat alone, in a roomful of people who were not her friends or family, baring her soul.
“I met him in late September,” she whispered, “when we came back from the far homestead.”
“Good riddance,” Slims muttered emphatically, referencing the miserable summer they had spent sparring on the ranch. He and Charlotte had never seen eye to eye and had fought constantly, as she cooked for him and Shorty during the months they had spent there.
She flushed. “He was the opposite of you, and I thought that meant he loved me. Solicitous. Kind. Charming.” She flushed red. “I didn’t realize it was all a ploy to entice me to behave improperly. I believed his words. I … acted in a way I shouldn’t have. At the Harvest Dance. And I discovered, in December, that I was to have his child.”
“’Tis why ye fled in December,” Sorcha said.
“I knew he was in Butte then.” Her gaze flit to Dalton, who had frozen at the mention of the mining city. “I knew I needed to find him. To share our good fortune. To raise our child together.”
Dalton studied her, as she sat in dejected silence. “He was already married,” he said in a cold, hard voice.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Unfortunately his wife is a vindictive, jealous woman. And barren.” She cleared her throat. “When I refused to agree to give her my baby, she invited me for tea.” Charlotte flushed. “I’ve always been poor. My time here was one of the few periods of my life when I didn’t have to worry about where I’d find my next meal. When I was with her, I ate too much. Drank too much tea.”
“Why should that matter?” Frederick asked, a confused glance in Sorcha’s direction.
“She hurt yer bairn, did she no’?” Sorcha asked in a soft voice, as she shared a long look with Davina. “She gave ye tea that would hurt yer bairn?” Sorcha glared at the men in the room as they swore their anger.
“That’s what I was told.” Silent tears coursed down her cheek, as she held her hands over her lower belly. “I was informed that, if anyone from his family ever found me again, they’d find a way to kill me. And that no one in this Territory or the entire West Coast would care about a poor woman’s death. For he, … my baby’s father, … was a man who wou
ld soon be a Copper King. And royalty can do what they like.”
“She killed yer bairn and thinks to make ye feel guilty for it?” Davina hissed. “The witch.” One of her hands instinctively rose to clasp Slims’s, the other to cover her lower belly.
“Ain’t no royalty here,” Dixon sputtered out.
“Aye, but the rich have a funny way of forgettin’ that,” Shorty muttered, as he looked at Charlotte with sympathy.
Dalton stood silent, thinking through the conversation bandied about before supper that evening. About a fancy woman from Butte arriving in town. “You fear she’s come to Bear Grass Springs. That she’s looking for you again.”
“Yes,” Charlotte said. “And this time, she’ll kill me.”
* * *
Dalton stiffened at her proclamation. “Over my dead body,” he rasped. He flushed when everyone turned to stare at him but did not take back his words. He nodded to Charlotte. “Miss Charlotte, you’re safe here. Even if that woman is in town, she has no reason to come here, and she’ll not be able to harm you here on the ranch.”
Charlotte curved her shoulders into herself, as though protecting herself. “I have no right to expect you to do more than you’ve done.”
Davina rose with a disgruntled murmur, moving to sit beside Charlotte. She wrapped an arm around Charlotte’s shoulder, easing her close to her side in a comforting gesture. “Shh, dinna talk such nonsense. Ye ken we’ll care for ye. We’ve been upset—Slims an’ I—because ye refused to tell us the truth. Now that I ken how ye suffered and all ye fear, I would never hold that against ye.”
Healing Montana Love: Bear Grass Springs, Book Eleven Page 2
