Healing Montana Love: Bear Grass Springs, Book Eleven

by Flightner, Ramona

  “Nor would I,” Slims said.

  “We protect our own, Charlotte,” Frederick said, while everyone else in the room murmured their agreement with his proclamation. When she gaped at him, he nodded. “Aye, you’re one of us, now that you’ve trusted us with what happened.” His jaw clenched. “If I’d known what occurred, what that libertine had done …” He clamped his jaw shut. “You wouldn’t have been alone in December, Charlotte.”

  She stiffened her shoulders and spoke in a voice filled with forced bravado, as though unwilling to accept their compassion. “I had every right to leave. And I thought he wanted me.”

  Sorcha stared at her long and hard. “Ye believed we’d turn our backs on ye because ye were unwed and pregnant. Ye were desperate, and ye ran.”

  Charlotte raised and lowered her hands, as though to signal her despair and frustration, her bravado seeping away. She looked around the room, meeting the gaze of everyone present, as though searching for the one who would prove false their solidarity of understanding and compassion. Instead, all showed an earnestness and a regret at what she had suffered. Her gaze held Dalton’s the longest, and she let out a quivering breath at the searing remorse in his expression. “Everyone knows it’s always the woman’s fault,” she whispered.

  “Bull,” Dalton said. “You were an innocent seduced by an expert. He knew what he was doin’. An’ he knew he wasn’t free.” His jaw ticked as he clamped it shut.

  “You say he’s a Copper King, Miss Ingram?” Slims asked, as he scratched his head. “I thought they were married. And a bit old for you.”

  Dalton watched as a soft flush covered her neck and cheeks. “No one judges you here, Miss.”

  She looked directly at him, as though overwhelmed by the number of people discovering the truth. As though she needed to focus solely on him to continue to talk about the betrayal she had suffered. “I know it makes me a naive fool. I should never have been taken in.” She sniffled, as tears coursed down her cheeks. “I learned, when I arrived in Butte, that he’s hoping to become rich, like Daly or Clark. He has minor claims and some wealth. But nothing to truly rival one of the Kings.”

  Davina held her hand. “But even that amount of riches was more than ye’d ever seen before, aye? Ever dreamed about?” She spoke in a soft voice, her gaze filled with compassionate understanding.

  “Yes,” Charlotte whispered. “I was blinded by riches.”

  “Ach, ’tis hard no’ to be when ye’ve been poor,” Sorcha said. “Especially if ye’ve no family to ground ye.” She sighed and glared at Slims. “If ye’d no’ fought so much with Slims, ye might have seen that we could have become yer family.”

  Charlotte choked on a sob, causing Dalton to fist his hands, as he fought every instinct to pull her into his arms and to soothe her. “We still can,” Dalton said, causing everyone present to again gape at him. “Miss Ingram is here now. She’s under Boss’s protection.”

  Frederick stared at him assessingly. “It appears I haven’t been paying attention.”

  Sorcha made a sound in the back of her throat, muttering, “Ye have, but ye were none pleased when ye did no’ ken the truth.” She rose and held out her hand to Frederick. “Come. We must check on the bairns.” A subtle shake of her head quieted any protest Frederick might have attempted.

  Davina stroked a hand down Charlotte’s arm. “Dinna fash, Charlotte. All will turn out well. I ken everything seems bleak at the moment, but ’twill improve. I promise ye.” She rose, linking her arm through Slims’s, as they too departed for their nearby cabin.

  Dalton met Shorty’s gaze, as Shorty nodded at his friend and coworker, a silent vote for Dalton to remain here with Charlotte, until she was ready to return to the bunkhouse. Shorty and Dixon headed to the bunkhouse to eat dinner.

  A fire crackled in the hearth, the only sound breaking the quiet in the large room after the exodus. Dalton remained standing, as though a sentry, near the edge of her settee. Finally he took a deep breath, before he asked in a soft voice, “Why didn’t you tell me?” He fisted his hands at his sides as he stared at her, battling his instinctual need to sit beside her, to pull her close, and to comfort her. Instead he stood woodenly, his gaze inscrutable, as he waited for her to look at him.

  “What was I to say?” she whispered with ducked head, the red in her hair glowing in the fire’s light. “I was a fool.”

  “Ah, Lottie,” he whispered, the use of his nickname for her causing her head to jerk up. He smiled gently as he moved closer to her. His hand rose to softly trace a line down her cheek, evoking a shiver. “We’ve all been fools for love. Some of us pay a higher price than others.”

  She sniffled, scooting away, her gaze defiant, as she wrapped her arms around her belly and hunched her shoulders. “I never want to feel that way again.”

  “In love?” he asked with a frown. “Or like a fool?” He took a half step in her direction, stilling before she felt as though he were crowding her. Backing up, he resumed his position in the corner. “I beg your pardon. I realize you have no desire for friendship with one such as me.”

  “One such as you?” she asked, staring at him in confusion. “I fear you have it backward.” She pasted on an impersonal smile as she stared at him, as though he were nothing more than a ranch hand.

  “Don’t look at me like that.” His eyes glowed with anger and despair. At her confused stare, he whispered, “As though I were nothing more than a man you make coffee for or set a plate in front of.” He closed his eyes and took a step away from her to return to the bunkhouse. “Forgive me.”

  She rose, setting her small hand on his arm, the warmth of her fingers like a brand. “No,” she entreated. “Don’t leave me. When I know you are close, I feel safe.” She ducked her head and whispered, “Safer.”

  He took a deep breath. “I would ask one thing of you.” He waited, frowning as he saw the disappointment in her gaze. With a gentle smile, he murmured, “Don’t feel shame for having dreamed.”

  Her eyes widened in shock at his words, a soft smile blooming.

  At the sight of her smile, Dalton felt a tightness in his chest and knew he would cherish the memory of this moment forever. He traced a finger down her cheek again, motioning for her to walk in front of him, so he could escort her to the bunkhouse.

  Chapter 3

  That evening Dalton sat on the bunkhouse stoop, rocking as he stared at the moon. The other men were inside, playing cards, reading from five-and-dime novels, or attempting to scratch out letters to distant family members. Miss Sorcha encouraged all of them to write to family and had insisted the ranch would pay for the postage of all ranch hand letters, up to two letters a month per ranch hand. He wondered if they knew how fortunate they were to have someone to write to.

  Dalton closed his eyes a moment, as he rested his head against the back of the rocking chair, listening to the men chatter away, worse than magpies. Although he knew women had the reputation of being the worst gossips, he had long suspected the men who he worked with were far worse than any women he knew. The main difference being that men rarely had any desire to hurt another with their prattle. None of the hands seemed overly concerned about Charlotte fainting in the kitchen, as she had appeared to quickly recover from her swoon, although a few had cast curious glances in his direction.

  When the bunkhouse door creaked, he slitted open an eye to see who interrupted his quiet interlude. At the sight of Charlotte creeping out with her beautiful hair tied in a loose braid that nearly reached her bottom, he sat upright. “Miss Ingram.”

  She jumped, swallowing a shriek. “Oh, you startled me, Mr. Dalton.” Freezing, a hand on the doorknob, she stood with indecision, as she rocked her weight from foot to foot. “I shouldn’t be out here at this time of night.”

  He waved away her protest and motioned for her to join him in the vacant rocking chair beside him. “I’ve always found listening to the land put itself to sleep a calming way to soothe my nerves before attempting to go to bed.”r />
  She sat in the chair, her weight shifted forward, her hands knotted together on her lap. “Although some of the creatures wake up at this time.” As though to prove her point, a distant wolf howled.

  He chuckled and nodded, pushing on a foot to put his chair back in motion. As he sat in quiet contemplation again, he noted her relaxing into the chair, until her head came to rest against the back of it, and she let out a quiet sigh of relief.

  A soft breeze blew, and he saw her shiver. Fearing she would grab at that excuse to scurry back inside, he shucked his jacket, resting it over her like a blanket. In the faint light cast from a window, he saw shock and trepidation in her gaze. “No need to worry over a simple kindness.”

  She bit her lip a moment. “I’ve always found kindness never comes without expectations.”

  Settling again in his chair with a grunt of disgust, Dalton slapped his hands on the armrests. “Well, it does from me, Miss.” He watched her out of the corner of his eye, as she snuggled into his jacket and sniffed at it. Flushing, he prayed it didn’t stink too much of sweat and horse dung. “Why did you come outside?”

  She seemed to shrink farther into his large jacket, causing him to note again how small she was. How delicate. He’d attempted to ignore how she had felt in his arms when she fainted. Soft. Voluptuous. Precious. Now she looked fragile, and he hated to think of anyone harming her.

  “I forgot to open the window in my room today, and it’s stuffy.” She ducked her head. “And I was tired of listening to the men boast about conquests, as they played poker.”

  “Conquests?” he murmured. He shifted his chair, so he could better watch her, but he had given her the perfect armor, and now all he could see was her head, which she kept lowered. “I doubt the majority of them have danced with a woman, never mind kissed one.” He smiled ruefully, as he met her startled gaze. “You must come to understand that most men will do anything to safeguard their pride.”

  Charlotte met his gaze for a long time. “I resent that their boasting is seen as something to be cheered. And they never have to worry about the women they harm.”

  “Talkin’ about a woman from Laredo or Cheyenne isn’t harmin’ her, Miss,” Dalton said. “Considerin’ we all know the woman doesn’t exist. It’s what we do to pass the time and to forget we’re still alone—and will probably always be alone.”

  She frowned, her cheeks a rosy red, as though embarrassed. “I’m surprised you’re alone, Mr. Dalton.”

  He shrugged. “I wasn’t meant to be. I married. Had a fine wife, who understood this life and who didn’t mind it.” He lowered his gaze and cleared his throat. “I’ve come to realize that the good times are never meant to last, Miss. It’s why you have to enjoy those fleetin’ moments of joy.” When she stared at him in confusion, he murmured, “She died.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry! In all the gossip, no one ever said anything about …” She bit her lip and shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

  “It was three years ago. I shouldn’t let it ache as much as I do.” He cleared his throat.

  “You still miss her,” she breathed, her voice filled with wonder and surprise.

  He nodded, his gaze distant, as he focused on the faint outline of the chicken coop and the mountains in the distance. “Yes. I’ll always miss her. She was my wife and my friend. When she died, my future died with her.” He cleared his throat. “Mary died in childbirth and our baby with her.”

  Charlotte gasped, her hand clawing out from under the cover of his jacket to grasp at his. “Oh, Mr. Dalton. How tragic. I’m so sorry.”

  He shrugged, squeezing her hand once before releasing it. “Thank you, Miss.” A barn owl hooted, and a cat yowled, as though in a fight. He cast a curious glance in her direction, attempting to decipher her mood in the faint light. “There’s no need to be embarrassed, Miss. The men may jabber on, but they respect my privacy.”

  She sequestered her hand under his jacket again and let out a shaky sigh. After a long silence, she finally said, “I’ve thought only of myself. Of the disappointments I suffered. I haven’t thought of the suffering of others. Or of what my actions could have done to others.”

  “Hmm,” he murmured, as he settled into his chair, his hands clasped over his trim belly, as he tilted his head up to look at the stars. “After she died, I found I only had energy to focus on myself. If I’d tried to find compassion for anyone else, I would never have had the strength to recover. And then I would have been no good to anyone. Sometimes taking care of ourselves ain’t selfish, Miss. It’s a necessity.”

  “I hurt others,” she said in a plaintive cry.

  “Ah, that you did, Miss. Or you nearly did.” He paused as he saw her swipe at her cheeks, his fingers tightening on each other to remain clasped, as though reminding him that he had no right to reach out and to offer her comfort. “Seein’ how everyone reacted tonight, Miss, you have no reason to fear that Slims and Miss Davina don’t understand.”

  When he heard her attempt to stifle a sob, he swore under his breath. “Dammit,” he muttered, as he eased from his chair and knelt in front of her. “It’s all right, Miss. You’re safe here with us. No one will harm you.”

  “You can’t promise that!” she said, thumping him on his shoulder with an impatient smack. Her shoulders shook as pent-up sorrow finally erupted. “You say that now, but I know men. You’re like little children with shiny toys. Someone else will come along and will interest you, and any concern for me will be forgotten.” Her breath caught on a deeper sob, tears streaming from her eyes.

  “Come here, darlin’,” he murmured, settling on the wooden floor of the porch. He gave her hand a soft tug, and she tumbled forward of her own will into his arms and onto his lap. “Just as I remembered,” he breathed. “Light as a feather.” He maneuvered them so his back was to the wall, all the while cradling her on his lap.

  Rather than encouraging her to quiet, he ran strong soothing strokes over her back and shoulders, murmuring soft words of comfort as she sobbed. He rocked them from side to side in a gentle motion, knowing it would calm her as it calmed him. When her sobs had quieted to gasping hitches of breath, he kissed the top of her head. “Ah, Lottie. When will you realize you will never be forgotten?”

  She pressed her head into his chest, her hands clutching the rough cambric of his shirt. “I’ve never been memorable.”

  He chuckled, one hand holding her close, the other running softly over her head and silky hair. “Oh, I fear you’re mistaken.” When he attempted to ease her from his arms, she burrowed closer. With a contented sigh, he rested against the bunkhouse wall with her in his arms, his hands lazily stroking her back as she continued to recover from her crying fit.

  “Why aren’t you terrified of an emotional woman?” she whispered, her breath evoking a shiver as it tickled his neck.

  “Why should I run from you, when you are showing me how you truly feel? To do so would be to dishonor you.” He kissed her head again, as though unable to prevent showing her such tenderness. “To dishonor us.”

  Her head jerked up, and she peered at him with splotchy cheeks, reddened eyes, and a runny nose. “Us?”

  “Tell me that you don’t feel it,” he whispered, “and I’ll walk away and never bother you again. I’ll be one more ranch hand who only comes to the kitchen for meals.” He paused as her eyes widened. “Tell me.” He winced as he saw her flinch, as his voice had emerged harder with a hint of desperation.

  “Mr.—”

  “It’s Dalton, Miss. Just Dalton.”

  She bit her lip and then pushed back so she could stare at him. “I wish I could see you.”

  “Why?” His hand rose to continue to soothe her, as he felt nervous tremors move through her.

  “To see if you are sincere.” Yelping, she grunted as he dumped her on the floor and stood up.

  “Sincere?” he hissed, keeping his voice low, so they wouldn’t attract the interest of the other hands. “Sincere?” he asked again, unable to hide
the hurt from his voice. “A blind woman could see truth from fiction, Lottie.”

  She pushed herself up, muttering her thanks as he helped her to rise, and he kept one hand on her waist as she listed from side to side. “That’s the problem,” she said, as she bowed her head. “I feel like I’ve been blind and dumb. I don’t know up from down. I don’t trust myself, Dalton.”

  He gave a grunt, but it was impossible to discern if it was of understanding or frustration. “What do you feel?”

  She looked up at him, her face illuminated by moonbeams. “Can’t you understand that the last thing I trust right now is how I feel? I was sorely betrayed by how I felt last fall.”

  “I am not him,” he said in a low, clear voice, each word enunciated, as though shot from a pistol.

  Her hands clutched at his arms, as though afraid he’d leave. “I know. And I know you’ve been good to me ever since I came back. And I remember how angry you were with Slims when you thought he’d acted dishonorably.” She sniffled, shaking her head. “Don’t you understand? I betrayed you too when I lied. When I refused to tell the full reason why I had returned.”

  He took a step closer, lowering his head, so they shared the same air. Looking deeply into her now-shadowed eyes, he said in a soft voice, “No, I don’t see that. I see a strong remarkable woman who did everything in her power to survive.” He nodded as two tears coursed down her cheeks, as she gaped at him in stunned wonder. “I see a beautiful woman who has the ability to leave the past where it belongs. If only she’s strong enough to believe in the future.”

  “Dalton,” she cried out. “That’s not fair.”

  He ran a finger over her cheek, his jaw clenching, as though seeing her cry caused him physical pain. “Aye, it is, Miss. Take it from me. Leave the past where it belongs. Or you’ll be condemned to live in it.” He dropped his hands, picked up his discarded coat, and entered the bunkhouse, leaving her alone on the porch.

  Once inside, he took an unsteady breath, waiting for regret to fill him for speaking so plainly to Charlotte. Instead Dalton was filled with a sense of relief. Finally he had told her how he felt. He only prayed she felt the same.