Healing Montana Love: Bear Grass Springs, Book Eleven

by Flightner, Ramona

  * * *

  Charlotte watched the door close behind Dalton and sank to the rocking chair as his whispered heated words swirled around her. Clutching her hands to her chest, she shivered. How was she to be brave again, like he wished? How could she dare?

  She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, as she thought about Dalton. His steady, quiet presence in her life. With a jolt, Charlotte realized she had come to expect he’d always be a part of her life. She stared into the dark in a daze. How had that happened in only a few short months?

  Ever since her return to the ranch, he had acted as her shadow. Never threatening, always supportive and encouraging, he had been there whenever she needed help or a short pep talk. When the new hands had arrived, he’d ensured all treated her with respect.

  Now she wondered if they had done so because they had understood she was Dalton’s. Or because they believed she was as good as his. Rather than indignation or righteous anger, she continued to sit in a dumbfounded stupor as relief flooded her. Even when she was unaware, he had protected her from unsolicited advances from the new hands.

  Charlotte considered all she did and did not know about Dalton. The other hands respected him, while Frederick and Slims seemed to consider him an integral member of their team. He was quiet and steadfast. Honest and seemed loyal. She knew nothing of his people and little about his past. Nor did she know how he reacted after too much liquor or when he was in an uncontrolled temper. What sort of man was he like then?

  Although she had hurt him on the porch with her words when she questioned his honor and the veracity of his words, he had never lashed out at her. Would he lash out at her in the future?

  Curiosity gnawed at her as she considered his first marriage. What had drawn him to the woman he called Mary? Would Charlotte have liked Mary? Charlotte shook her head at the inanity of her thoughts, pushing herself up with a groan, as her joints and muscles had stiffened in the cold.

  She forced thoughts of romance and Dalton from her mind, easing the squeaking door open. She froze as she sensed she wasn’t alone in the darkened hallway.

  “There’s no need to fear, Miss,” Dalton said in a soft voice. “I wanted to ensure you returned to your room without problem.” He paused, clearing his throat, his voice now barely louder than a soft summer breeze. “I wanted to ensure you didn’t hate me.”

  She took a step inside, into the darkened hallway, her hand raised as though to stroke his cheek to soothe away the worry. She stilled the instinctual motion, her hand suspended in midair. “I could never,” she whispered.

  He clasped her hand, kissing the tips of her fingers. “You remained outside too long. You’re freezing.” Clamping his large warm hands around her frozen fingers, he used his body heat to thaw her cold hands.

  Unthinkingly, she stepped forward into his arms. “You’re like an oven.” She pressed forward, shivering, as his arms wrapped tightly around her.

  “Forgive me for taking my coat with me. It was callous.” He kissed her head.

  Pushing against his strong chest, she slid out of his arms. “No, it wasn’t. It’s yours, and you had every right to bring it inside.” She stood now in the circle of his warmth but no longer touching him.

  “Rest, Lottie,” he murmured. “Your days are long.” He ran a finger over her cheek. “Perhaps you’ll dream of me as I do of you.”

  Her gaze flit to his, and she stood on her toes, kissing his cheek in a feather-soft caress, before dropping onto her heels and scurrying away. Once she’d shut and latched her door, she leaned against it, her cheeks flaming red. Why must she always act impulsively?

  Chapter 4

  Dalton entered the kitchen the following morning, after ensuring most of the other hands were already there. He felt uncomfortable and exposed after the previous night’s events and didn’t want to be alone with Charlotte right now. His left cheek burned, as though it were branded, where she had kissed it, and he knew he was being fanciful. He hadn’t been fanciful since …

  Shaking his head, he grabbed a plate and served himself a generous portion of eggs, fried potatoes, bacon, and toast, before sitting at his usual place beside Shorty and across from Dixon. The other hands fanned out along the benches toward the door, away from the stove and Charlotte. As Dalton sipped at his coffee before he dug in, he realized he had claimed the seat closest to Charlotte, where he could watch for any prospective challenges to her.

  With a sigh, he wolfed down his food, resolutely ignoring the inquisitive stares from two of his close friends. When Dixon kicked him in the shins, he glared at the young pup. “Don’t start, Dix. You won’t like how it ends.”

  Dixon flushed at the warning but sat back with a grumble. About ten years younger than Dalton, Dixon was no longer the green young man who had joined them years ago. However, he still saw the world with a youthful vitality that often left Dalton exhausted.

  Shorty chuckled, munching on a piece of buttered toast. “You can try to ignore us, Dalt. But we’ll badger the truth out of you sooner or later.” With a wry smile he finished his meal and rose, murmuring his thanks to Charlotte, who remained overly preoccupied with polishing the stove so early in the morning. Dixon was on his heels.

  Dalton ate the last few bites of his large breakfast, unable to remember what anything tasted like, and followed his friends. He cast a furtive glance over his shoulder, unable to hide a satisfied smile to see Charlotte staring at him with a wistful expression. He winked at her, a jaunty hitch to his stride, as he emerged outside to begin another long day in the saddle.

  He saw Slims and Frederick walking in their direction and moved to meet them. “Boss, Slims,” he said with a deferential nod. Like Slims, he wanted all the men on the ranch to always act in a respectful manner. Thus, even though Frederick and Slims were like family to him, he would always treat them with the respect they deserved during the time they worked together.

  “You’re staying here for the foreseeable future, Dalton,” Frederick said. “You can help with the stalls and keep the ranch running.”

  “What?” Dalton sputtered. He looked from one to the other in horror at the thought of missing his time on the range, when everything was green with the promise of new life. Although he had readily agreed to forego riding out the previous few days, he had never expected to be stranded on the ranch for a long period of time. “I’m to muck out stalls, like a greenhorn?”

  Frederick took off his hat, thwacking his thigh with it a few times, as he stared at the mountains in the distance. “Dammit, Dalton, I thought you’d want to stay here. To be near her. Am I reading the situation wrong?”

  “She’s on the ranch, Fred. She could spend her time with Miss Davina or Miss Sorcha. Miss Ingram wouldn’t be alone then.” Dalton closed his eyes, as he fought the sensation of being hemmed in.

  “I can’t imagine you’d miss a day of plannin’ where a fence will go and figurin’ out how to dig post holes and run wire,” Slims said with a wry quirk of his lips. The giant of a man stared at his friend with fond understanding. “By the time we return tonight, you’ll be thankful you weren’t out with us.”

  Frederick nodded. “Aye, and most of the men won’t be comin’ back to the ranch each night. They’ll take enough food so they can stay out for a few days or so.” He watched his friend with a fierce intensity.

  Dalton swore and paced a few steps away before returning. “I can’t be away for days. During the day, yes, but not overnight.”

  Shorty, who had just sidled up to them with a cup of coffee in his hands, smiled as he held the coffee cup to his mouth. “And why would that be, Dalt? Could it be because you want to canoodle with a pretty woman at night?” He yelped as the coffee cup went flying, splattering the dark liquid all over his shirt.

  “You talk about her with respect, Short,” Dalton snapped.

  Shorty held up his palms. “I ain’t got a fight with you.” He cast a furtive glance at Slims, who had lost his relaxed stance and stood straight, an alert gleam in
his eyes, as he watched the two ranch hands. Shorty focused again on Dalton. “I thought you and she had finally stopped circlin’ each other, after I saw you in the hallway last night.”

  Dalton sighed and rubbed at his forehead. “Sorry, Shorty,” he muttered. “I hate what she suffered. And I hate that too many will consider her …”

  “Fair game,” Slims said in a low, serious voice. “When word gets out what happened, too many will believe she’s ripe for a repeat seduction, Dalt.”

  Dalton spun to stare out at the rangeland. A fierce desire filled him to ride out onto the range and to lose himself in days’ worth of hard work, with nothing and no one to worry about except himself and his horse. He longed for the cloak of numbness he had shrouded himself in since he had lost Mary and their babe three years ago. However, that cloak had become tattered, as though devoured by a horde of hungry moths, and he now felt exposed and vulnerable. He had never wanted to feel this way again. Not about a woman who could leave him. Again.

  He focused on the prairie, green and lush with the spring rains. A red-tailed hawk hovered in place as it caught site of prey, before swooping down. It rose again, with empty talons, to swoop and soar over the land. Dalton wished he were so unfettered and free and then closed his eyes, as he acknowledged he had lied to himself.

  Considering the elation filling him last night after her innocent kiss on his cheek, he knew he couldn’t leave. He couldn’t merely hope that fate was kinder this time. Neither to him nor to her.

  “I’ll stay,” he said. “Not because anything shameful happened last night,” he said, as he opened his eyes and met the gazes of his friends. “But because you’re right, Boss. I can’t be away for days at a time. I’m needed here. And any work that must be done is good and honorable work.”

  Frederick nodded. “Aye,” he said. “Tomorrow night expect to have the bunkhouse to yourself for a few nights. I’d expect I’ll be the only one comin’ back, as we work farther from the ranch. Sorcha’d skin me alive if I were to leave her with the twins overlong.” He winked at them.

  Slims and Frederick moved on to speak to the other men, leaving Dalton and Shorty alone. “Look, Short. I’m sorry,” Dalton said, as he motioned at the man’s shirt, now splattered with patches of drying coffee.

  “It won’t matter in an hour or two, when the whole thing will be sweat stained,” Shorty said pragmatically. He studied the man he’d worked beside for over a decade. “What’s the matter, Dalt? You’re out of sorts, and that ain’t like you.” When Dalton remained quiet, Shorty nudged his side. “You’ll have time alone with Miss Ingram, and you can see if you suit. Court her without all of us around.” Shorty raised and lowered his eyebrows in a teasing manner.

  Chuckling, Dalton huffed out a breath. “I suppose I could.”

  Shorty scowled at him, his hands on his waist, as he stared up at him. “Suppose? Suppose? Frederick is giving you the perfect opportunity to get to know her better, and you’ll squander it? You have another chance, Dalt.”

  Dalton’s smile froze, as he envisioned his future with Charlotte. At first, an incandescent joy filled him at the vision of Charlotte as his wife, at the secret smiles they’d share. Slowly the elation turned to dread, as he imagined her heavy with his child. He paled and swore, spinning away from Shorty’s observant gaze.

  “Dalt?” Shorty asked, gripping his arm. “What’s the matter?”

  “She’ll die too,” he rasped, as he ran a hand over his suddenly clammy forehead. “She’ll die, and I’ll have nothing but grief as a companion. I can’t do that again.”

  Shorty looked to Slims, who approached them, shaking his head to keep his best friend silent. “You don’t know that, Dalt.”

  Dalton nodded, his expression glassy and tormented, as though looking into the pits of hell. “But I do, Shorty.”

  Slims gripped his shoulders, giving him a swift shake that rattled his teeth. “What the hell’s the matter with you?” His brown eyes gleamed with concern. “Are you ill?” At Dalton’s silence, Slims looked to Shorty.

  “Lovesick and terrified,” Shorty murmured.

  “Hell,” Slims muttered, releasing Dalton. “I thought you’d want to stay here. Be close to her and have time to resolve whatever’s between you.” He waved his hand around. “It’s plain as day to see somethin’ more than friendship is there.”

  “Slims,” Dalton said with a shake of his head. “I was a fool to believe I could begin again. That I had the right to forget Mary.”

  “That’s a load of bull crap, and you know it,” Slims said, leaning forward so he was eye to eye with his good friend. “Your Mary died due to misfortune. It had nothing to do with you. If you’re too stupid to understand that and ungrateful enough not to grab at your chance at happiness now, there’s nothin’ I can say to change your mind.” He looked to Shorty. “You can stay behind, Short, and keep the womenfolk safe.”

  “No,” Dalton rasped, his blue eyes lit with determination. “I’m stayin’.”

  Slims nodded, a smile fighting to burst forth. “I thought you might. Come, Short. We’re ridin’ out.” He nodded at Dalton, before heading back into the barn.

  Shorty looked at Slims’s retreating back before he spoke. “Slims has little patience for fear, since he and Davina faced theirs and found happiness.” He paused. “You deserve more than a life in the bunkhouse, Dalt.” He slapped him on his shoulder and sauntered off to saddle his horse.

  Dalton walked through the barn to the paddock and opened the back gate so the men could ride directly out onto the range. After they had left, he watched their retreating forms and the puffs of dust kicked up by the horse’s hooves. Already he struggled with an overwhelming desire to seek out Charlotte. To learn more about her. To spend time with her.

  Instead he stood, staring out at the lush prairie in late May, knowing these days wouldn’t last. Just like his days filled with delight with Mary, these were fleeting. Too soon the range would be baked brown, and the sun would be scorching hot, and few clouds would hold the promise of rain. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to think about Mary. Their life together. Their home filled with laughter and happiness. They’d had their disagreements and arguments but never anything that led to him sleeping in a chair.

  His hand clenched around the wooden railing, as he remembered the night she died. The joy he’d felt at the start of her labor. The realization that something was wrong. Miss Helen’s presence and then her frantic panic, which she tried so valiantly to hide from him as Mary bled to death. His attempt to be stoic. Philosophical.

  He pounded his hand on the railing, grunting as splinters dug in deep. Lowering his head, tears leaked out, and he sobbed at the loss of his beloved wife and their babe. His shoulders heaved, as he mourned the dream of what he would never share with her. He wished he were brave enough to risk this pain for the love of Charlotte. He wished he believed what he had said to her the night before, that the past belonged in the past. With an acute clarity, he realized that some events would scar him forever.

  * * *

  The following night, Dalton shuffled a deck of old cards. He hadn’t thought he’d long for the sounds of the men playing, the quiet mutters of distress as they received a poor hand, or the soft teasing as they heckled one another. Life in the bunkhouse hadn’t changed much since he had first arrived over ten years ago, which was some comfort. Even though he found himself chafing against the monotony of the life, wishing the future held more for him, he feared he wouldn’t have the courage to believe in his dreams again.

  With a chagrined shake of his head, he laid out cards for a game of solitaire, his mind continuing to think through his current predicament, as he played the game. Although he had hoped he would be a father now, his wife by his side, he knew he should be thankful for the few years of happiness he’d had with Mary. Even though the acute ache of missing her had eased, the yearning for more remained.

  Although a solitary man for the majority of his life, he’d never desired
to live his life alone. After losing his family in the aftermath of the Civil War, he had dreamed of marrying a fine woman, like his mama, and having a half-dozen children. When he’d met Mary, he’d thought his dream would be fulfilled.

  With a sigh, he cleared the game to shuffle the deck again to replay. Although he liked and admired Charlotte, he resented that her presence evoked memories he attempted to forget. Longings he wished he could ignore. As though conjuring her, he heard her call out to him from the kitchen. Setting aside the cards, he walked with a slight hitch in his gait, before loosening up after a few strides. “Yes, Miss?” he asked, as he entered the kitchen.

  “Do you want a cup of coffee or tea?” She swiped at the table, bending over and straining the buttons along the front of her dress.

  Taking a deep breath and averting his gaze from her fetching form, he shook his head. “No, ma’am. Thank you. I’ve had enough for the day.”

  She rose, her cheeks a peony pink, while her hands fisted the rag. “Have I done something to offend you?” she whispered.

  “No,” he said, his gaze focused on the stove.

  “Mr. Dalton, please,” she whispered. “I … I hoped,” her voice faltered as it cracked. “I hoped we might be friends.”

  He had turned away from her, toward the kitchen window, cracked open to help cool the room after a long day of work, able to see her in the reflection of the glass. “We’ll always be friends, Miss Charlotte.” He cleared his throat. “Miss Ingram.”

  She tossed the rag onto the table and settled her hands on her hips, as she glared at him. “Why am I Miss Ingram again?” When he failed to meet her gaze, she stomped her foot on the ground. “What happened to the man from the other night? The one who wanted me to dream of him?”