Healing Montana Love: Bear Grass Springs, Book Eleven

by Flightner, Ramona

  A tear tracked down her cheek. “I already felt like a feeble woman. To have you know the extent I’d been punished …” She closed her eyes with shame.

  “Not punished. Abused,” he corrected. “No one should ever have believed they had the right to treat you in such a manner.” He gazed deeply into her eyes. “Do you know the terror that filled me tonight?” At her soft shake of her head, he whispered, “I realized I’d already almost lost you but been unaware of it. I knew you’d suffered and had fought back after losing your babe, but I hadn’t realized he’d also attempted to murder you.”

  She ducked her head. “Ambition is a powerful incentive.”

  “Not for me,” he said. “Honoring you and what we have is all the incentive I need.” He let out a deep breath. “I know I will do things that will scare you. That will remind you of the past.”

  She placed her fingers over his lips. “I don’t want to think of any of that.”

  “I can’t bear the thought of unconsciously hurting you.” His eyes gleamed with sincerity.

  “You won’t,” she reassured him.

  He looked around the room, rising to pull a chair out of the corner. After setting it beside the bed, he sat and leaned forward, resting on his elbows. His hands played with hers, and he gazed into her eyes. “Trust me,” he murmured. “Tell me about your past. You know I don’t care what Warren said.”

  “How can you be certain?” she whispered.

  He smiled, his thumb tracing the smoothness of one of her fingernails. “Because, if Warren had revealed you’d killed either or both of them, I would have rejoiced. I wouldn’t have felt one moment of remorse, other than that it was a memory you had to live with.” He paused, settling into his position, canted forward, as he studied her.

  “Come. Rest beside me as I tell you about me,” she murmured, scooting backward in the bed. Her eyes flared as the bed squeaked in protest with her movement.

  Chuckling, Dalton kicked off his boots and crawled under the covers fully dressed. He settled beside her, holding out an arm, so she could rest her head on his shoulder. Rather than insist she begin her tale, he gifted her with silence. After many long minutes, he sighed.

  “I’m not asleep,” she murmured. “I never realized men like to hold a woman.”

  “I don’t know about men, but I know I do,” he said, his chest rumbling under her ear. His fingers played with her hair.

  “You know what it is to be wanted,” she murmured. “To have parents who wanted you.”

  When she fell silent, he said in a soft voice, “Yes.”

  “I’ve never been wanted.” She pressed her head against his chest to avoid looking at him and seeing pity. “Not the way I’ve seen the women of this family wanted by their husbands. Or the children cherished by their parents.”

  His fingers continued their soothing pattern over her cotton-covered skin. “I don’t understand.”

  “My first memory is falling to the ground, after receiving a slap, because I displeased my grandmother. My mother stood by and laughed.” Charlotte spoke in a monotone, as though the memories she related had occurred to a distant acquaintance. “I quickly learned I had to earn affection. I would never be enough.”

  “What more did they do?” he asked, as he kissed the top of her head.

  “I began to clean houses and to work by the time I was six or seven, and I learned to cook by the time I was nine. I preferred the kitchen because I had proof of my worth there. A well-baked cake. A delicious cookie. A well-seasoned stew.”

  He growled with discontentment. “You’ll never cook again.”

  “No,” she protested, pressing up to stare down at him, her hair shimmering red-gold in the faint lamplight. “I … It’s what I know to do.”

  He paused, his panting breath heating her cheek. His determined gaze met her desperate one. “You have nothing to prove to me.”

  “I will until the day I die,” she breathed, dropping down to rest on his chest. “I’ll forever be in your debt.”

  “I don’t want you in my debt, Lottie. I don’t want you believing you have to earn my affection. My esteem. My lo—” He broke off. “Tell me more about your childhood. Your life before you arrived at the ranch.”

  She shrugged. “I became a proficient cook and ran the kitchen for a small café in my town. My grandmother and mother guarded me. Never wanted me to meet a man, for fear I’d run away, and they’d lose their edge over the competing cafés.” She stiffened. “One night the kitchen stove caught fire, and our café burned to the ground. We lost everything.”

  “Oh, Lottie, I’m so sorry.” He kissed her ear.

  “I was dumbfounded. How could a fire have started? I’d banked the fire. I’d done nothing different from hundreds of other nights.” She burrowed farther into his embrace. “But my mother accused me of wantonly destroying our livelihood and home. And she cast me out.”

  Dalton murmured soft words, although she could feel a tension thrumming through him. “I recall you saying you never ate well until you came to the ranch. That makes no sense if you were a cook. You had food all around you.”

  “If I took one taste test too many of the food, I had my knuckles swatted. If I nibbled at a cookie that crumbled, I was denied my meager portion of dinner. If I took a sip of milk, I was denied milk in my coffee for a month.”

  “What?” Dalton exclaimed, rolling so she was on her side, and he looked down at her. “They denied you food when you worked in a kitchen? When you brought them riches?”

  She shrugged as she fought tears. “It’s how I earned my worth.”

  “No, love. No.” He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against hers. “You are worthy simply because you are you. You need do nothing for me to value you. I will repeat this, over and over again, until you believe it. I will show you this, over and over again, until you never doubt. Please, Lottie. They abused and took advantage of you since you were a young girl. And then they threw you out. Why? Why not just build another café?”

  She flushed. “I heard my mother whisper that she hoped I’d meet a wealthy benefactor, who would provide for the entire family. Tossing me out was her way of introducing me to the world.”

  Dalton stared at her in befuddlement. “She threw a naive and beautiful young woman out into a merciless world and hoped you’d escape unscathed? It makes no sense.”

  “Mama wanted me to go to Butte. Find a wealthy miner. But I disobeyed her. I disembarked the train here. I liked the look of the town.” At the proud glint in his eyes, she said in a hesitant voice, “I thought that, if they had disowned me, I had the right to determine my own future.”

  “And you did.” After a moment, he murmured, “Why’d you take such a dislike to Slims?”

  She flushed. “He terrified me. Huge beast of a man. Arrogant and thought he could order me around. I had finally realized I could bake and cook what I wanted. That I could eat a little of it too. I didn’t want to have to answer to him or to anyone.” She flushed. “And I hated the rumors I had heard on the ranch before we left. That Miss Sorcha had hoped she would be successful in her matchmaking with us.”

  “She was matchmaking?”

  “That’s what Dixon told Shorty.”

  “If he told Short, then Slims knew, and he would have been ornery,” Dalton said. “I’ve never met a man who likes to be maneuvered.”

  Charlotte bit her lip before blurting out, “I’d thought I’d escaped my mama’s and grandmama’s control, and, to be here, on a ranch, with another woman trying to manipulate me, was almost more than I could bear.” She let out a huff of breath. “I was angry. And I took it out on Slims and Shorty.”

  “Do you even know if it was true?”

  Shrugging, Charlotte shook her head ruefully. “And then I met him. Orville. And I thought he was what a real gentleman should be. Solicitous. Kind. Nothing like the rough men I’d met on the ranch.” She ducked her head in apology for including Dalton in that statement. “I knew Orville was rich
, and I thought I would make Mama proud by marrying a wealthy man. Finally I’d earn her love. I’d do something right.”

  “Oh, Lottie,” he whispered, sorrow lacing his tone.

  Tears leaked out, and she whispered, “I was too naive and too gullible to realize he had no regard for me either.” Sniffling, she spoke, in a barely audible voice, “No one ever has.”

  “That’s not true, darlin’,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her. He held her as she settled against him, not pressing her for any more details about her past. The little he knew would fuel his anger and fill his nightmares for years to come.

  “Hold me,” she whispered, as her voice thickened with sleep. “Never let me go.” She slipped into sleep in his warm embrace.

  Chapter 9

  Charlotte clung to Dalton’s hand as they walked from Cailean’s house to the outskirts of town. MacKinnons flanked them to the front and back, and she felt cocooned by their friendship and support. Strains of dueling fiddles grew louder as each step brought them closer to the dance, and she saw Sorcha swaying from side to side with excitement to finally be in town for the Founders’ Day Dance.

  A severe bout of shyness had overcome Charlotte all day after her late-night conversation with Dalton. Even though she had fallen asleep in his arms, she had woken alone, her fingers searching for his warmth and comforting embrace. Until they had departed for the dance, she had only seen him at the midday meal, where he had been occupied, talking with Warren and a few of the brothers. She had enjoyed listening to the women chatter, with no expectation that she would join the conversation. Never had she known such camaraderie. However, she had wished she sat beside Dalton. She missed his quiet companionship and the reassurance of her hand in his.

  Now she focused on their short walk. From Cailean’s house, the dance was nearby, just across the main street near the whitewashed church and school. Wagons crowded the area at the outskirts of town, with families traveling in from their nearby ranches and farms. Many would sleep in their wagons, as few could afford a night in the hotel or were fortunate enough to have family in town with room to spare. Charlotte gripped Dalton’s arm, thankful that she had been offered friendship from the MacKinnons and that she was not consigned to an evening sleeping under the stars. With a quick glance down Main Street, she noted that all the businesses, except for the saloons, were closed.

  As they approached the dance area, she smiled at the tables laden with food, while an entire section was saved for Annabelle’s and Leena’s baked goods. Children stomped on the grass, an attempt to make the dance floor, although Charlotte suspected their parents were hoping they’d rid themselves of some of their pent-up energy before they got into too much trouble. A few chairs were scattered on the side of the dancing area and also near the food tables, for those who needed to sit. However, most people stood and mingled. All the single women knew they’d be sought out for dancing, as there were far more men than women.

  “I never thought so many people would be here,” Charlotte whispered to Dalton.

  “Oh, yes. The men from the mining town always come down, and the nearby ranchers and farmers came into town too. It’s why the hotel is so full.” He nodded in the direction of a beanpole of a man. “Mr. Atkins relishes these days, as he can hike up his prices and can charge an arm and a leg for the meager food he serves in his hotel dining room.”

  “Why they’d eat there rather than in our café, I’ll never understand,” said a gray-haired and slightly stooped man with a hitch in his gait, as he slapped Dalton on his shoulder. “I’m Harold Tompkins—Frederick’s grandpa and Jane’s great-uncle. We weren’t properly introduced last evenin’.” He beamed at who he’d call the young’uns. “Mighty fine to see a beautiful woman on the arms of one of my favorite men.”

  “Sir,” Dalton said with a tip of his hat.

  “Ireney,” Harold bellowed, waving over a gray-haired woman with an apron around her beautiful pink dress. “Can’t get her to take off her darned apron. Everywhere she goes, she insists on helping.” He kissed her cheek and then beamed at Dalton. “Our boy’s taken a shine to someone again.”

  “Oh, Dalton,” Irene said, her light-blue eyes twinkling with joy. “Finally.” She pushed forward, separating Charlotte from Dalton as she enfolded him in a hug. When she released Dalton, she paused as she studied Charlotte. “I recall you.”

  Flushing, Charlotte stammered, “I worked on the ranch last summer. I … You might have seen me at the Harvest Dance last fall.”

  “When that boor from the East was passing through,” Harold said with disgust. “Little of any good comes from the East.”

  “Harold,” Irene chided. “We’re all from the East, and we’re all good people.”

  “Aye, but we’ve had the good sense to be here for years.” He focused on Charlotte again. “Do you plan on breaking our boy’s heart? He’s suffered enough already.”

  “Harold,” Irene scolded with a shake of her head. “Really, you are incorrigible.”

  Dalton grinned. “He hasn’t changed from the moment I met him, Miss Irene.”

  Charlotte stared at the older couple, a sudden intense yearning filling her for such a stalwart pair intent on ensuring her happiness. “I hope to marry him.”

  “Marry!” Harold hollered, his arms in the air as he gave a hoot. “Is that why you’re in town?”

  “Partly,” Dalton said, unable to suppress a grin at the old man’s antics. “I’d hoped to speak to you privately, but the café was too busy today. We told the family last night, but you had left the room to be with the children.” He flushed as Irene kissed his cheek.

  “’Bout time, my boy, ’bout time,” Harold said, beaming, as he rocked back on his heels and held on to his suspenders. “Never can have enough weddin’s and good fortune.”

  “Well, first we must talk with the pastor. I fear he won’t want to marry us on Sunday.” Dalton failed to hide his worry from them.

  “Then you’ll marry tomorrow,” Irene said. “Saturdays are beautiful days for weddings, and we’ll have another excuse for a party.” She beamed at Charlotte and Dalton. “Oh, I’m so glad I lived to see this day.”

  Dalton sobered. “No talk of anything happenin’ to you, Miss Irene.”

  Harold wrapped an arm around his wife’s waist. “Oh, she’s fine. Aren’t you, darlin’?” he asked, as he kissed her head. “Just sentimental. We want all our boys settled before … Well, before.” His blue eyes gleamed. “We aren’t gettin’ any younger.”

  “Well, with any luck, you’ll witness my … our marriage tomorrow.”

  * * *

  The lively fiddle music slowed to a waltz, and Dalton eased Charlotte onto the dance floor. In spite of the fact that he’d stood beside her for over an hour, her hand clasped in his, he knew nothing would relieve his desire to hold her in his arms. He chuckled when she shrieked as he twirled them around. “Ah, you’re a delight, Lottie.” He lowered his head, so it rested near hers.

  She shivered at being held so closely in his arms. “You are the most fortunate of men.”

  He laughed, kissing her cheek. “You’ve finally discovered that?” he teased. “I’m holding the most beautiful woman at the dance in my arms and will marry her tomorrow. I couldn’t be more fortunate.”

  She flushed, whispering, “Thank you,” at his compliment. “No, I meant you have so many concerned for you.” She arched away to stare into his inquisitive blue eyes. “You have no idea what it would mean to have one person care for me as all of these here do for you.”

  “But you do, Lottie,” he murmured.

  She flushed and broke her gaze from his. “Forgive me for being envious.” When he shifted his hold on her, so one arm remained at her waist and the other cupped her cheek, she wrapped both of her arms around his neck. “I wished I had had a Harold or an Irene in my life.”

  “Ah, Lottie, I wish you’d had them too. But now you do,” he said. “They can be overbearing—can interfere at times—but they a
re loving.” He sighed with regret as the waltz came to an end. “Come, love. Let’s join the others. It’ll give you time to plot tomorrow.” He bumped into a startlingly attractive black-haired woman with her voluptuous figure in a sapphire satin dress. “Beg your pardon, ma’am.”

  “You should be sorry, you degenerate cowpoke,” she said in a low voice. “I thought it an aberration of all I hold good and true in this world when I learned that an upstanding man would deign to marry this woman.” She spoke in a nasally disgusted voice, as she pointed at Charlotte.

  “Ma’am, you’re making a scene, and I cannot abide anyone speaking poorly about my bride,” Dalton said in a soft voice, laced with warning.

  “Bride?” she gasped. “So you’ve already married this woman and turned your life into a travesty?”

  Dalton’s hand gripped Charlotte’s tightly. “We marry on the morrow. And, if you are so kind, we’d appreciate it if you were not present.”

  “I don’t care what you appreciate. This woman’s a harlot. She relishes attempting to steal other women’s husbands. Did she tell you that?” Her brown eyes flashed with anger, as she waved at Charlotte, standing slightly behind Dalton. “Look at how she cowers behind you. She can’t even admit to her own maliciousness.”

  “My malicious deeds?” Charlotte rasped. “You … witch.”

  “I take it you are related to Warren Clark?” Dalton asked. He looked up to see that the MacKinnons had wended their way around them, forming a buffer between them and the townsfolk. Only if the woman yelled would anyone in town be the wiser to what she proclaimed.

  “I am Adella Coldwell. I am here to right a wrong and to prevent another man from being duped by this deceiver.” Adella stood as tall as her short frame allowed, her hands on her shapely hips. She posed as though she understood the power the feminine form had on addling men’s reason.