“Do you wish you had Mary in your arms rather than me?”
“Oh, dear God, no,” he breathed, rolling them again so she rested against his chest. He wrapped his arms and legs around her as though his full body hug could alleviate all her doubts and fears. “Never. I rejoice in every moment I have you in my arms. Every moment you trust me to give you pleasure. And I pray I do please you.”
She frowned, as she wriggled against him to free an arm, so she could run a hand through his disheveled hair. “Why would you doubt?” she whispered, gazing into his eyes, as though mesmerized by what she saw.
“Do you remember when I approached you with the preacher? You said to me, ‘That what I thought was true was a lie.’” He paused, as he gathered his thoughts. “What if the truth that was a lie was your feelings for me?”
“No, Dalton, no,” she said in a rush. “You have to understand. I was talking about Adella and the tea. I was so confused. Please.”
His eyes shone with love as he gazed at her. “Understand this, Lottie. I was filled with fear. What if you dreamed of him? Wished you were with him?” Her sweet smile caused his breath to catch.
“Never,” she vowed. “He will only be a memory I wish to forget. Every touch, every kiss from you helps me forget him a little more.” She leaned forward, her lips hovering over his. “Help me leave him behind, Dalton.”
He groaned, kissing her softly. As he deepened the kiss, he broke away for a moment to murmur, “With the greatest pleasure, my love.”
* * *
The following morning, Dalton rose late, unwilling to leave his wife’s company. However, he knew he needed to speak with Dixon, before he departed. Stepping onto the front porch with a cup of day-old cold coffee, he saw Dixon, repairing the chicken coop. “Why are you doing that, Dix?”
Dixon turned to shrug. “Seemed better than doin’ nothin’. If I’d known I’d be here waiting for a man who’s wooin’ his wife, I would have brought one of my novels with me. The roof needs work, but it shouldn’t take much time to get it functional again.” He turned his focus from the chicken coop to study his friend. “Is everything all right with your missus?”
Unable to suppress a satisfied grin, Dalton nodded. “Aye,” he murmured. “Everything’s better than all right.” He shifted his feet. “Would you tell Boss we won’t be returnin’ right away? We want a little while longer out here, before we have to return.”
Dixon grinned. “Sure. I know Boss envies you. He’d like a little time away with Miss Sorcha, but he won’t have that now that they have the twins.” He shrugged. “I doubt Boss really minds.”
“No,” Dalton said, the memory of holding little Harold flashing through his mind. “I doubt he does.”
“Sorry I stirred up trouble last night,” Dixon said.
Dalton threw the day-old coffee that tasted like sludge into the dirt. “I’m not. You helped us, Dix. Thanks.”
The younger man shrugged, moving into the barn to saddle up his horse and to head back to the main ranch. Dalton waved at Dixon when he rode out, ignoring the work that he should do that day. Rather than rush to saddle his horse and ride out onto the rangeland to dig more post holes, he turned back toward the farmhouse. Toward his wife.
Poking his head into the kitchen, he saw the stove was still banked, and no fresh coffee had been started. Deciding that the few swigs of the day-old brew would suffice, he kicked off his boots and reentered their bedroom, halting at the sight of Charlotte curled up on the bed. Her hair was an unruly mess, shining like a red and gold kaleidoscope in the sun’s rays. Her lips were turned up in a soft smile.
Stripping his clothes, he slipped back into bed, wrapping his arms around her. He kissed her head and then her shoulder, his fingers playing over the satiny skin of her back. He was unable to keep himself from touching her.
“Where did you go?” she murmured in a sleep-slurred voice. Her fingers reached up, caressing his face, her fingers scraping over his stubble.
“I dreamed of this,” he rasped. “Of you wanting to be in my arms. Of breathing in the intoxicating scent of your hair and feeling it tickle my nose and slide across my chest. Of you running your hands over my cheeks.” His eyes glowed with a deep emotion. “I feared it would forever remain a dream.”
“Dalton,” she breathed, her eyes filled with adoration. “Forgive me for all the time we lost. Forgive me …” She gasped as he kissed her.
“No,” he rasped, as he rocked her side to side. “There’s nothing to forgive. We needed time to arrive at this moment. We needed time to realize what we have is precious.” Her luminous smile made his breath hitch.
“Precious,” she said, as she pushed up to brush her lips over his. “To be cherished. And well tended.”
He groaned, rolling her over. “God, how I love you, Lottie.”
“Show me,” she said with a passionate sigh, as he kissed her neck. “And let me show you, too.”
Chapter 14
A week later, Frederick had come and gone. After being reassured that all was well and that both Charlotte and Dalton desired more time on the distant homestead without further interference, Frederick had sent out supplies that could last them two more weeks. Frederick had appeared apologetic when he informed Dalton that he was needed back at the main ranch at the end of the two weeks. Dalton had slapped Boss on his back, thankful for the generous time with his wife, away from the busy ranch.
Charlotte covered the loaves of bread she set into the bread pans to rise, swiping at her perspiring forehead. She had hoped the day would prove cooler than the previous three days. However, they were out of bread, and she felt she had no choice but to bake bread, even in the sweltering heat.
She grabbed her knitting needles, determined to knit a blue scarf to match Dalton’s eyes, and settled on the porch in the rocker, hoping for a breeze. Sorcha had sent new yarn in the supplies Frederick had shipped out to them, as though understanding Charlotte would need more than cooking to fill her time while Dalton worked on the homestead. Sorcha had also added the most recent newspaper, and Charlotte flushed as she recalled all that Jessamine had written in her Fact or Fiction section.
FACT OR FICTION
Imagine my surprise to hear a most fascinating tale, as I sat on my newspaper office stoop, suffering in this stifling heat. One of our estimable townsfolk, who will remain anonymous, relayed to me that one of our newest citizens has claim to a great deal more notoriety than she cared to impart.
Now, dear reader, I am still uncertain of the veracity of this tale. I fear the title of this column would more appropriately be titled Farce or Fantasy. However, this fine gentleman swore on a Bible that his tale was as good as the gospel. If he is to be believed, the woman who recently married the esteemed ranch hand, Mr. Dalton, is, in fact, the wayward daughter of a Mr. Harland Jackman.
Now I can hear you saying to yourself, Why should I care who Mr. Harland Jackman is? If you recall, he was a preeminent explorer, who documented the natural world before we attempted to tame it. His writing and paintings have helped those mired in the cities to imagine what the wilds of our world are like. In fact, his sketches of native plants and trees were recently posthumously published to great acclaim in New York City.
When I inquired about the use of the last name, Ingram, it appears Charlotte has used her mother’s name from infancy, as her father died soon after her birth, in a brutal bear attack. In a desire to prevent unwanted interest in Mr. Jackman’s only living child, her mother attempted to shield her from intrusive inquiries. Rather than return to their lavish homes in the outskirts of our nation’s capital, her mother and grandmother fulfilled his wishes and remained in a remote part of Montana, raising Charlotte alone, with no knowledge of her famous father, intent on sheltering her from the spurious claims to her fortune.
Now, I ask you, dear reader. Is this Fact or Fiction?
Charlotte made a sound of disgust as she reread Jessamine’s article. “Hogwash, all of it.” She laughed, setting
aside the paper. “At least she’s made me seem more intriguing than I truly am. And the paper will make good kindling.”
Humming to herself, rocking, her knitting lay dormant in her lap as her mind replayed scenes from the previous evenings. Always they were filled with conversation, laughter, and passion. She sighed with happiness that Dalton never used the pain of her past against her, instead focusing on the future and the new memories he hoped to create. He had taken her at her word, intent on replacing every memory she had of Orville with better and more passionate moments with Dalton.
“Soon Orville will be nothing more than a distant memory,” she said to herself.
She heard the sound of a twig snapping nearby and looked up. Listening intently, she hoped to see Dalton striding from the barn. However, she knew it was barely past midday. He took his responsibilities to Frederick seriously, and she’d never wish for him to sacrifice his standards for her. With a sigh, she hummed again and rocked in the chair in the shade, praying for a breeze.
At the sound of another twig breaking, she glanced up. Dropping her knitting needles, she rose to race into the house. At the shattering of the wood on the doorjamb directly to her right, the sound of a gunshot ricocheted around her, and she froze.
“You can’t escape me, Charlotte,” Orville Coldwell said with a sneering laugh. “I’ve had to bide my time. But I’ve found my way to you.” He was tall, almost as tall as Warren, and he appeared urbane, even though he didn’t wear a suit. His boots were new, their polish dusty. His cambric shirt starched, as though awaiting a collar and a waistcoat. He didn’t wear the typical cowboy hat but instead wore a hat with a flatter brim. Although it appeared he attempted to blend in, as though he were any other cowboy, he was as out of place as a buffalo in a sitting room.
“Why?” she gasped. “I’m a married woman. You shouldn’t want anything to do with me.”
Orville waved the gun around, indicating she was to step away from the house. He nodded as she took jerky steps toward the side of the house and in the direction of the rangeland. “Oh, I want to know something. Did you enjoy ridiculing Adella? Making yourself feel superior because you can have a child, and she’s barren?”
Shaking her head, Charlotte stumbled as she walked backward. She was intent on watching the gun he waved around like a lunatic, although she wasn’t certain why. She could do nothing to stop a bullet from ripping apart her vulnerable flesh. “No. I’d never do that to another woman.”
“You soulless hussy!” he screeched. “You already have. You denied us the child we should have had. All you had to do was agree to give us what was rightfully mine. My child.”
Charlotte shook her head. “No. You had no right to ask. To demand. And no right to have me beaten and left for dead.” She continued to stumble backward, praying for Dalton to return home early. To save her from being forced to wander any farther away from the homestead, a place that had become her sanctuary, with the man of her nightmares.
“Of course I wanted you dead,” Orville snapped. “If you wouldn’t give us the baby and make us parents, then what good were you?”
Charlotte shook her head, over and over, as she backed away from him. “Did you ever like me at all?”
He snorted and rolled his eyes. “Like had nothing to do with it. You were an easy target. You had no one to protect you, and you were with little sense. Your knowledge of men was abysmal, and your flirting skills were worse than a seven-year-old’s.”
She flushed at his criticism. “My husband doesn’t complain.”
“A man who spends his time living in the remote backcountry of Montana will be thankful for any woman willing to warm his bed.” He gazed at her pityingly. “Adella mentioned your delusions that the man truly cared for you.”
“Of course Dalton cares,” Charlotte said, her gaze roving wildly for anything she could use as a weapon. “You should leave now before he finds you here.”
Orville took a lunging step toward her. Charlotte shrieked, jerking backward and almost losing her balance. She regained her footing, barely scooting out of his grasp. She felt the air move where his hands swatted in their attempt to grab her.
He smiled with a maniacal joy. “I love our cat-and-mouse game. It reminds me of when I was convincing you to trust me. To let me into your bed. It’s a pity you played the upstanding virgin for so long. We could have had more time together before I had to leave town.”
Charlotte shook, battling her memories of her time with him. “And I can only wish I’d had even less time to spend in your arms.”
“Oh, come. Your protestations ring hollow. I doubt you’ll ever have another lover like me.”
She nodded. “You’re right. I’ll never again allow a selfish brute, intent only on his own pleasure, in my bed ever again.” She shrieked again as his arm lunged forward, smacking her in her cheek. She careened backward, landing on her back. Her legs tangled in her skirts, but she scrambled up just as he approached her.
“Why rise when I know you prefer to have our rendezvous laying down?” he sneered, gripping her arms.
“Let me go!” she yelled, kicking at his legs and attempting to stomp on his feet. Her efforts earned her a few grunts but did not grant her freedom.
“Come. I’ve had enough chatter. I’m taking you away from here. I’m certain your husband will believe you’d prefer my company to his.” He jerked on her arm, propelling her away from the homestead.
“No,” she cried. “I promised I wouldn’t leave.” She stumbled, falling to her knees. However, Orville showed her no solicitude, jerking her upright to propel her farther and farther away. When she walked over a rise and saw a horse tied to a tree, she dug in her heels. “No,” she gasped again. “It’s not safe. That horse isn’t tamed.”
“I’ve had enough!” he shrieked. “You will get on that horse, and you will cease fighting me. Imagine my surprise when I realized you were a secret heiress.”
“A secret heiress?” Charlotte asked. “Are you delusional?”
“I read the article, just like everyone else in town. I was the only one astute enough to act. You’re coming with me to Butte. You’re signing over your father’s legacy to me.”
Charlotte shook her head in disbelief. “I have no legacy. You don’t understand.” She shrieked as he waved the gun in front of her face, nearly hitting her in the head.
“No, you don’t understand. I will have your money. Not your worthless husband. Now get on the horse!” Orville ignored Brutus flapping his ears and tossing his head, as he pawed the ground with agitation. With a grunt, Orville threw her on the stallion’s back. He moved to untie Brutus from the tree, screaming in agony as Brutus yanked on the reins, freeing himself.
Brutus reared, causing Orville to cower. Standing on his haunches, Brutus punched wildly with his front hooves, until one of them pummeled Orville’s right arm and shoulder. With a snort, Brutus landed down on all fours with a thunderous clomp, narrowly missing trampling Orville. Brutus pivoted away, racing over the prairie, with Charlotte clutching at his mane.
Her teeth rattling, her back jarring, and her legs gripping Brutus’s flanks, Charlotte held on for dear life. She knew if she let go, she would suffer a severe body blow and would be knocked unconscious in the middle of nowhere. Praying for calm, she murmured to the stallion, “Regal, please, there’s no danger now. We’re fine. I’m fine. You left the bad man behind. Please, Regal. Don’t hurt me.” She pressed her tearstained face to Brutus’s neck, quivering with relief as the punishing gallop slowed to a trot and then a walk.
She continued to cling to the stallion, completely disoriented and terrified. If she focused hard, she knew she might discern where she was. However, after the shock of seeing Orville and the flight across the rangeland on Brutus, she decided to trust in the horse’s instincts.
As her arms and legs went numb from clutching Brutus, she feared she would involuntarily fall off his back. “Please, please, let us arrive to wherever we are going soon,” she ple
aded. She kept her head down, unwilling to face the reality she could be traveling farther into the wilderness. Farther away from Dalton.
Her mind imagined how her husband would feel when he arrived home to find her missing. Would he understand she did not leave of her own volition? Or would he imagine the worst? She hoped the previous days they’d had together would give him the confidence to know she would never willingly return to a man like Orville.
She heard what sounded like a man’s voice and then a whistle. Her head jerked up, and she moaned from the stiffness of being in the same position for so long. She saw Slims, Frederick, Shorty, and Dixon approaching her on horseback, and fresh tears coursed down her cheeks. However, as they neared Brutus, the feral horse whinnied and raced in the opposite direction.
“No, please, no,” she gasped. “Help me!” she screamed.
After a few more bone-jarring strides, Brutus stopped his mad dash, snorted and stomped his feet, but remained in one place.
“There’s a good boy,” she soothed, as she tried to ease her stranglehold on his mane. Her cramped fingers finally let go, and she gasped with pain as she moved her arms. She slid around so both legs were to one side and hoped the drop to the ground wasn’t too far. With a small prayer, she let go, falling the few feet before she landed with another bone-jarring thud. “Ouch!” she cried out.
The moment she was off his back, Brutus reared up and whinnied. He then took off, racing a short distance away, before he pranced around to face her. She remained on the ground, unable to move.
“Charlotte!” Frederick screamed, as he raced toward her. His horse kicked up dirt near her, as he vaulted off Boots. Kneeling beside her, Frederick reached out a hand, stilling his frantic movements when she flinched. “Charlotte,” he said in a low voice, his blue eyes gleaming with terror. “You’re well. You’re safe. Let Slims help you to the ranch. We’ll care for you.”
Healing Montana Love: Bear Grass Springs, Book Eleven Page 17
