Healing Montana Love: Bear Grass Springs, Book Eleven

by Flightner, Ramona

  “Orville,” he spat. His shoulders slunk lower, as he curled into himself. “Do you still dream of him?”

  “What?” Charlotte gasped, her eyes rounded in horror. “How can you ask me that when you know all I suffered at his hands?”

  Staring defiantly ahead, Dalton said, “I refuse to explain the obvious, Charlotte.” After a long moment of silence, he muttered, “But I know it wasn’t my touch you desired last night.”

  Silent tears coursed down her cheek, marring her view of the rolling hills and mountains, as they changed colors in the early evening light. “Now, now that we are married, you doubt me.”

  He pulled on the reins, stilling the steady progression of the horses. Tying up the reins, he hopped down and held his arms up for her. “Come, Lottie. We have to talk, and I don’t want to do it where I can’t look at you.” After helping her down, he walked a short distance away, kicking rocks and tufts of dirt. “The problem, Lottie, is I don’t know all you suffered at his hands. I need to hear it from you.”

  She stared at him in confusion. “Why? What good will it do for you to know about me being attacked and pulled into an alley to be beaten and left for dead?”

  He swore and marched away a few paces, before letting out an anguished roar as he bent over at his waist. He stood tall again, his hands clenched together at his side, and he turned to face her, wearing a mask of rage. He held out a hand when she backed away a step. “No, love, forgive me.” He closed his eyes, corralling his deep emotions. “None of this is for you. It’s for that monster who ever dared hurt you.” He swallowed, asking in a low voice, “Did Adella ask you about the baby when you had tea with her?”

  Charlotte paled, her hands over her belly again. “Yes.” She bit her lip, thinking over that distant memory. “She tried to convince me to live in Butte until I had the baby and to promise to leave once I did. When I spurned that offer, she was irate but insisted I remain for tea. Said she refused to have the servants spread gossip about her being a poor hostess.”

  Dalton scratched at his head, staring at the mountains. “Why would you believe Warren’s cousin?” When he saw her pale, he asked, “Why wouldn’t you believe he’d continue to lie to you?”

  “Don’t you understand? I needed to have faith someone cared for me. I was completely alone in this world, and he seemed genuinely concerned.” Her mouth dropped open, and she gasped. “He asked me where I was staying, and I told him. I gave him the information he needed so his men could find me.”

  Dalton took a halting step toward her. “Did they strike you in your belly? Kick you?” At her swift nod, he closed his eyes, before taking the few steps that separated them and pulling her close. “I’m so sorry, love.”

  “Why?” she cried. “Why would he hurt me?”

  He ran soft hands over her back. “I can’t answer for Orville. I wouldn’t want to have to answer for his sins.” He sighed with pleasure when she clung to him and didn’t fight being in his arms. “I promise you, Lottie. I will have faith in you. And I will not touch you again as a husband until I know it is what you truly want. You’ve had enough of having your choices taken from you.”

  “But—”

  When he placed his fingers over her lips, she swallowed what more she would have said in protestation. Dalton shook his head to silence her. “No, I mean what I say, Lottie. I care for you, and I won’t, … I can’t …” He broke off, easing her away, as he smoothed tears off her cheeks with his fingers. “Come. We must continue on, if we are to arrive before nightfall.”

  Charlotte crawled back onto the wagon bench beside her husband, relieved the anger between them had been resolved. However, a different tension thrummed through her. So much remained unsettled. How was she to show her husband her desire without fear that he would pity her?

  * * *

  That evening set the tone for the next week. After emptying the wagon and stabling the horses, Dalton joined Charlotte in the kitchen for a simple supper. After a few minutes of awkward silence, their customary ease returned, and they chatted about their time in town. As it came time for bed, he waited for her to settle on her side, curled away from him, and he laid down with his back to her.

  Although he thought he’d toss and turn and rue the fact his wife didn’t want to be held by him, he slept soundly. As was his custom, he woke early and rose, leaving her slumbering beside him. After fixing a pot of coffee, he wandered outside to stare at the outbuildings. The chicken coop looked as though it would fall down with the next strong wind. The barn was in decent shape, although a few shingles were missing, and it needed patching in places.

  After finishing his coffee, he set off in the direction of the barn to search out supplies he’d need to repair the barn. When that was completed, he’d move to the chicken coop and digging post holes. Anything to occupy his time while out here alone with a wife who had no desire for his attention. His affection. His jaw tightened at the thought, and he forced himself to relax.

  Closing his eyes, he reminded himself that he had to be patient to earn her trust. A deep yearning settled in his chest that he had been the one to travel here with Lottie last summer. That they had had the chance to fall in love then. That she had never known heartbreak and betrayal. For he feared he’d never prove himself worthy of her full regard. He ducked his head, rubbing at the back of his neck. He didn’t know how he’d live years with only a sham of a marriage.

  “Dalton?” her soft voice called out.

  He spun to her. “Yes? Are you well, Lottie?” His eager gaze took in her mint-green calico dress, slightly wrinkled from all their recent travels.

  “I … of course. Breakfast is ready. I can’t imagine you’d be successful with your work if you haven’t eaten.” She looked at her feet. “You shouldn’t have let me sleep. My job is to cook for you.”

  “Your job?” he whispered. “No, Lottie, you don’t work for me. You’re my wife.” He shook his head with frustration. “You were exhausted after everything that’s occurred recently. There was no reason for me to wake you.” His hand rose to stroke her hair, but he stilled the motion when she flinched. “Lottie?”

  “If I don’t cook, what kind of wife am I?” she cried out. “You already made your own coffee. Did you eat too, and clean up after yourself?” By this point she was on the verge of hysteria.

  “Lottie,” he said in a calm voice. He gripped her arms, looking deeply into her eyes. “Love, please. I never meant to make you feel unworthy. I wanted to give you time to rest.” He paused before muttering, “I only wish I’d given you a reason to be exhausted this morning.” He smiled with chagrin as she gaped at him, her beautiful sherry-colored eyes filled with embarrassment. “There’s nothing wrong with a husband sayin’ he desires his wife’s company,” he whispered, as he kissed her cheek. He sobered. “Please don’t deny me the right to look after you, Lottie.”

  She swallowed, staring deeply into his gaze. “You were truly worried about me?” At his nod, she pressed forward into his arms. “I don’t know how to do this,” she cried out.

  “This?” he said in a soft voice, wrapping his arms around her and breathing a sigh of relief to hold her in his arms again.

  “Be a wife. Be what you want. I …I don’t know what to do!”

  He urged her back a step, so he could gaze into her eyes. “Neither do I. We’ll learn together, Lottie. Form our own marriage. It’s what you do with someone you care about.” His fingers played through the hair framing her face and tickling down to her ear. “We’ll have missteps and fights and misunderstandings. But let’s try.” He swallowed, as he was unable to hide the pleading in his voice.

  “Yes,” she whispered, “let’s try.” She kissed him on his jaw and clasped his hand. “Come, husband. It’s time for breakfast. I want us to eat together every morning. I want it to be one of our traditions.”

  A satisfied smile bloomed. “I like the sound of that, Lottie. I want us to have traditions.” He walked beside her into the homestead that alrea
dy felt like a home, simply because of her presence.

  * * *

  A week later, Charlotte dug through the boxes of supplies Dixon had delivered an hour ago. He’d only stayed long enough to have a cup of coffee and a slice of her rhubarb cake before returning to the main ranch. Charlotte had thought he’d be a source of gossip, but he’d chattered on about the fence building and the unsuccessful search for another cook.

  Although Charlotte relished her time with Dalton, an undercurrent of tension thrummed between them. They continued to sleep as though a chasm separated them, and at times she wished she could cuddle up against him. However, she didn’t want to give him the wrong idea, and he always jerked like she’d poked him with a hot fire iron when she touched him. Biting her lip, she feared her touch evoked pain rather than pleasure.

  She turned to the second box of supplies, stilling when she saw a newspaper on top and a few letters. Lifting the newspaper, she realized it was Jessamine’s. Scanning the front-page story, she collapsed onto a nearby stool. “Oh my,” she breathed, as her gaze raced over the article.

  “Is everything all right, Lottie?” Dalton asked, earning a startled shriek from her as she dropped the newspaper to her lap.

  “Dalton,” she gasped.

  “Who else would you be expectin’?” He tilted his head to the side, pointing to her lap. “What is that?”

  “It’s the newspaper. I’m so embarrassed,” Lottie said, as her cheeks flamed. With reluctance, she handed it to Dalton, who sat across from her and read it aloud.

  TRUE & TANTALIZING

  It has come to my attention, dear reader, that we were graced by the presence of a woman of the finest society this past weekend. Our great misfortune is that we were unaware of such genteel breeding among us and were unable to proffer her the adulation she is accustomed to. Why one of purported good breeding, fine manners, and impeccable tastes would deign to visit our small town is a mystery. Her boorish manners, her impolitic comments, and her persistent refusal to dance led this observer to believe she was a crow in a peacock’s dress. Perhaps I was mistaken.

  Although claiming a friendship with one of our newest and most estimable residents, it remains doubtful she and Miss Ingram were ever more than acquaintances. After the visitor attempted to dig her talons into our estimable lawyer, Mr. Clark, he proclaimed that he had thought the interloper’s natural habitat was one of soirees and balls. Preferably in Philadelphia. Not our town’s joyous celebration of its founding.

  I must admit that I watched the visitor with a morbid fascination. What sort of woman is intent on mischief and provoking discord between a man who desired to wed the woman he loved? What sort of woman continually attempts to sow strife between family and friends? Why would such a woman ever be someone to be emulated?

  This woman, who by all appearances had everything she could ever want, had nothing. She lacked in everything that is truly precious. Love. Family. The esteem of those you cherish. She was a shell of what one should dream of becoming. The pursuit of the superficial had stripped her of life’s true pleasures. And I pity her for that. My hope, dear reader, is that you have discovered that there is more to life than the next harvest, the next roundup, or finding the next gold nugget.

  So much more.

  As for our interloper, I saw her, with the greatest relief, depart town a few days after our town dance, fervently hopeful she will never flutter her overstarched silk skirts on our boardwalks again.

  Dalton scratched at his head, as he stared at the paper. “I like to think I can read, but what exactly did she say?” He looked to Charlotte in bewilderment with brows furrowed. “If I think too hard, I’ll give myself a headache.”

  Charlotte laughed. “Oh, Dalton, thank you. I hate that Jessamine wrote about me—us—in an indirect way. That she alluded to the fact we’re having trouble as a couple.” She bit her lip, as though she had said too much, dropping her head down.

  The paper rustled as Dalton set it down. “Are we, Lottie?” When she wouldn’t look at him, he rasped, “Are we having trouble as a couple?” He rose and paced away. “I thought we were doing all right. We like each other. We always have something to converse about.” He shrugged.

  “Is that enough?” she whispered, daring to look at him.

  He stood with his hands on his hips, staring out the window. “No. Never,” he rasped. “But I’m patient. I’ll wait.” He looked at her. “You deserve that, Lottie.” He nodded to the supplies. “I’m glad Fred sent out plenty. We’ll be fine for another week or so.” He spun on his heel and left.

  “Dalt …” She bit her lip as the sound of his boot heels faded away. “How am I supposed to seduce a man when I have no idea about the art of seduction?” She dropped her head forward to rest on her folded arms. With aching clarity, she wished she were at the main ranch, with Sorcha and Davina near her. They would help her. They would have pushed her to do something days ago. For Charlotte feared, the longer she allowed insecurity and fear to limit her actions, the harder it would be to show her husband just how much she desired him.

  Chapter 13

  A week later, Charlotte stood on the stoop of the homestead’s small front porch, wishing for something more to do. For some company. She had mended shirts, and she knew she could knit another pair of socks, but she had already knitted a half-dozen pair. Would her husband go through so many socks in one winter? With a sigh, she walked down the front steps, wishing Dalton were here. He’d ridden out a few hours ago to check on the cattle, although she suspected he needed a little time alone. He’d desired time alone every day since they had arrived a few weeks ago.

  She refused to begrudge him that need, for she knew he relished his time riding the range. When he returned to the homestead, he’d have a tale for her. She’d laugh and enjoy their moments together, until the evening winded down. Then the tension and the stilted silences would begin. She only wished the distance that seemed to grow between them each night could be easily overcome. Her reticence at being touched while in bed had formed a wedge between them, and she didn’t know how to span that gap. She wished she had the confidence to seduce him.

  Closing her eyes, she recalled her attempt a few nights ago. She had played with the button on her dress, smiling in a welcoming manner. He had stared at her a long moment, a flush rising on his cheeks to the point she worried he was ailing with a summer fever. Suddenly he rose, marching to the door. “I want a wife, Lottie, not a tease,” he had rasped, before leaving and slamming the door behind him. His words echoed in her brain. The memory of him storming from their room replayed over and over again, as did the long night without the comfort of knowing he was near. For the first time since their wedding, he had slept somewhere other than their bed.

  Covering her eyes with the palm of one hand, she looked out at the flat land, leading in the direction of the mountains. Although she’d promised her husband she’d always keep the homestead within view, she could walk a fair distance without breaking that promise.

  She saw a movement in a nearby field, and her curiosity was piqued. Walking with purposeful strides, she made her way across the uneven ground, each footstep causing a small puff of dirt to rise. “How quickly it dries out,” she murmured. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the far outline of the homestead and knew she needed to stop.

  However, when she faced forward, she saw a beautiful chestnut-colored stallion with its mane billowing in the breeze. Her breath caught as he turned to stare at her, his nostrils flaring, as though he caught her scent. He reared, running toward her for a few strides before veering away.

  Charlotte held a hand to her chest, collapsing to her knees. “Oh, good Lord,” she whispered. “He could have trampled me.” She looked up to see the horse watching her. He tossed his head and took a few steps, as though urging her to follow him. She shook her head, backing away, so that she continued to face him. “No, beauty,” she called out. “I must return home.”

  She smiled as the horse neighed and tro
tted away in the opposite direction, watching the stallion’s fluid, graceful movements. “I wonder why he’s not one of Frederick’s horses.”

  Charlotte retraced her path home, her mind filled with possibilities.

  * * *

  Days later, Charlotte exclaimed, “Mr. Dixon!” as she returned to the homestead after her now daily walk to meet with the wild stallion. “What a surprise.” She flushed as he looked her over from head to foot and frowned. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “Were you expectin’ someone else?” he asked with a sharp tilt of his head, his gaze penetrating and none of his customary teasing present in his expression.

  “Of course not,” she sputtered. Wrapping an arm around her waist, she remained outside with him. “I’m afraid my husband is out on the range today. I’m uncertain when he’ll return.”

  Dixon nodded, taking off his hat to tap against his thigh. “I’ve stabled my horse. I can wait.”

  Charlotte blushed and battled her inclination to stomp her foot in frustration at his tone—implying she had been caught doing something wrong. “I would prefer you remain outside until my husband returns. If you are thirsty, a stream is nearby.” She waved in the direction of the creek. She clomped inside, slamming the door behind her. This was the first time she’d been so uncharitable to him, but she had no desire for his rude company.

  Taking deep breaths, Charlotte forced herself to calm down. Until now, Dixon had always been friendly, even mildly flirtatious. Today he had looked at her with suspicion. With a shiver, she realized how much she had relied on the trust everyone had shown her since she had revealed her past. To have anyone doubt her now provoked pain and confusion. What could have happened?