Lassoing A Montana Heart

by Flightner, Ramona

  Sorcha giggled, a light flush coloring her complexion and the firelight making her seem even younger than her twenty-eight years. “Nae, no’ Slims. The man in Skye.”

  Davina’s eyes widened, and she blushed with mortification at her misunderstanding of her cousin. “Oh,” she whispered, her gaze dropping to her fingers, clenched together on her lap. “He was a good man. A kind man. A nice man.”

  Sorcha’s needles stilled, as she thought through what Davina refrained from saying. “Borin’ as watchin’ a kettle, waitin’ for it to boil?” Sorcha said with a wry smile. When Davina flushed, Sorcha chuckled. “Why would your da want ye to marry him?”

  Playing with a loose thread on her skirt, Davina shrugged. “My da, your uncle, is a businessman, and I was a means to ensure the business prospered. My future sons were to strengthen the claim we had as the most important family in Portree. I ken that doesna seem important here, but, on Skye, it is.” Davina’s gaze was distant. “Da never saw me as anythin’ other than a woman who owed him my fealty. He never cared what I wanted.”

  At the long silence, where a low wind howled outside, Sorcha murmured, “And? What ’tis it ye desire?”

  “Love,” Davina said. “A man to want me, no’ because I’m a MacQueen or because my da is powerful. But because the man wants me.” Her eyes gleamed with passionate sincerity. “It’s no’ too much to ask, is it?”

  “No,” Sorcha said with a smile. “When ye meet the rest of the family, ye’ll see we’ve all married for love.”

  Davina sighed, some of her tension leaving her. “I’ve never kent that. My mother married my da because her da told her to. Theirs was a practical marriage, an’ they dinna understand my desire for more. My da only saw me as a woman who had to do his bidding because I’d be destitute without him.”

  “Ye are no’,” Sorcha said, her needles clattering together as she made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. “Ye have family, and, although we ken lean times on the ranch, ye will never starve.”

  “Thank ye,” Davina said. “Although I know I must find a way to be useful. I’d hate to be a burden.”

  Sorcha smiled. “This is a workin’ ranch. There’s always plenty to do an’ I’m certain ye’ll find somethin’ ye enjoy.” With a sly smile, she said, “Or at least tolerate.” After minutes where the only sounds were again of the fire crackling and her needles clicking together, she said, “’Tis interestin’ ye should have noticed Slims.”

  Davina rested her head against the back of the settee, her eyes closed, as though soaking in the warmth from the fire. “He’d be a hard man to ignore.” She flushed beet red at her cousin’s chortle. “Do no’ get ideas of matchmakin’,” Davina warned, as she turned her head to meet her cousin’s innocent gaze. “I did no’ race halfway across the world to escape my da’s wily ways to run into yers.”

  Sorcha sobered. “Of course no’,” she murmured. “Forgive me for teasin’ ye.” She continued to watch her cousin through her lowered gaze. She frowned as Davina played with one of her fingers, as though caressing a ring no longer present. “Ye were married afore,” she whispered, her brows furrowed, as though in absolute befuddlement.

  Davina stilled the motion of her fingers, flushing beet red. Her gaze rose to Sorcha’s, her brown eyes lit with panic as Sorcha watched her with curiosity. “Aye,” Davina whispered. “To a MacDonald.”

  Sorcha goggled at the news her cousin had been married into one of the most powerful families on Skye. “A MacDonald? An’ who were ye to marry the second time?”

  “A MacDonald cousin,” she whispered. “They joked I would no’ have to worry about rememberin’ a new name.” Davina closed her eyes and ducked her head, as though in shame.

  Setting aside her needles, Sorcha scooted closer to her cousin. She clasped Davina’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Come. It canna be as bad as all that.” She smiled as Davina appeared to relax in front of her. “Ye’re here, in Montana.” Her smile broadened at the thought. “Ye must have been terrified of the man to have raced away.”

  Davina shook her head. “Nae,” she whispered. “I wanted a taste of freedom is all.”

  Sorcha rested her head against the back of the settee, curling up on it as she studied her cousin. “If ye married one MacDonald, ye should already be a bit of an heiress.”

  Flushing, Davina shrugged. “I have coins sewn into my cape. An’ jewels hidden in the hem of my petticoats.”

  Sorcha burst out laughing. “Oh, ’tis a fine day that you came to call, cousin, on your quest for freedom and love.” When she heard the first cry from one of her twins, she rose with a contented sigh. Resting a hand on Davina’s shoulder, Sorcha urged her to remain by the fire. “Rest and warm yerself. I’ll return when they are settled again.”

  Davina watched as Frederick emerged from his office, his hand outstretched to link with Sorcha’s, as he murmured something to his wife to cause her to blush and giggle. They walked to the nearby room, where the children slept, and Davina heard the murmur of their voices as they talked to their children.

  A heretofore unknown envy filled Davina. She wanted that. She wanted a man so dedicated to her and to their children that he would set aside his work to join his family. She yearned for a man so devoted that he craved time spent with her as much as she did with him.

  During her mad dash across the sea and this continent, all she had focused on was her goal of arriving. Her fear at her reception had consumed her. Now that she had reached the ranch and had met her cousin, Davina realized how naive she had been. She had never thought of what she would do or what her life would be away from Portree. She was not a crofter’s daughter. She couldn’t fathom how a ranch worked. What could she possibly offer them?

  “Fool,” she muttered to herself, as she rested her head against the back of the settee. She fought her greatest fear: That her da was right. That she was only valued for a liaison she could make for her family. Never for herself alone.

  * * *

  Davina slipped into the kitchen the following morning, the scent of bacon, fresh baked bread, and coffee acting like a beacon. Her steps stilled the moment she entered the room at the sight of all four ranch hands seated at the table. “I beg yer pardon,” she whispered, her eyes rounded.

  Slims stood, and the other men followed suit. She flushed and waved at them to retake their seats. All wore rough work clothes, although they appeared to have washed up before the morning meal.

  Sorcha bustled in behind her, absently tucking in strands of loose hair. “Davina, I’m glad ye woke in time for breakfast.” She beamed at her. “Ye ken Shorty and Slims,” she said, pointing to the two men who sat across from each other at the table, “and this is Dixon and Dalton.”

  “A pleasure to meet ye,” Davina said.

  “Ma’am,” Dalton said. He kicked Dixon who had been on the verge of rising again.

  Sitting with a thud, Dixon glared at the older man. “Nice to meet you, missus. Sure is nice to have another pretty woman on the ranch. And to think that you’re Miss Sorcha’s cousin. Aren’t we lucky?”

  Sorcha smiled at her cousin before scowling. “Ye ken we’re supposed to get another cook. A storm must have delayed her.”

  Dixon brightened even further. “Then we’ll have even more women on the ranch.”

  “And you’ll still be single,” Shorty muttered, earning a snicker from Dalton and a grin from Slims.

  Frederick entered, pausing to squeeze Sorcha’s shoulders and to kiss the back of her head. “Or she’s heard about us and came to her senses.” He winked at Davina, as he poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot sitting on the stove. “Davina?” he asked, holding up the pot. At her nod, he poured her one too and brought it to the table. He motioned for Davina to sit. Sorcha would sit beside her with Frederick at the head of the table.

  Dixon stared with wide-eyed fascination at Davina, who sat across from him. A strand of blond hair fell into his eyes, and he brushed it away. “Do you cook?”r />
  “Dix,” Dalton hissed with another kick to the young cowboy.

  Davina looked at everyone watching her with unveiled curiosity. “Aye, I cook a little. But I ken ye would eat better if someone else were preparin’ yer meals.” She frowned as they all laughed.

  Frederick picked up a piece of bacon to chew on. “Slims is on duty tonight, and I know we’d all prefer if we didn’t have to eat his hash again.” He smiled at his foreman to show he was teasing.

  “At least I don’t burn down the house when boilin’ water, Boss,” Slims said with a sly smile.

  Frederick and Sorcha blushed beet red at the comment. “Ah, that was an unfortunate event,” Frederick stammered out, as he fought an embarrassed chuckle. “My attention was diverted. I thought it was the heat of the moment. Never realized it was heat from another reason.” He shrugged as the ranch hands burst out laughing.

  “You’re lucky you didn’t singe more than your favorite pair of pantaloons,” Dixon said, his brown eyes glowing with mischief and glee. When he saw Davina staring at them, as though they had gone mad, Dixon laughed and pointed his fork at Frederick. “Boss got a bit too lovey-dovey with Miss Sorcha and had a kitchen disaster.”

  “Oh my,” Davina breathed.

  “We’re fortunate it was summer, and we saw the smoke comin’ out the open window,” Shorty said, as he lost his battle with his laughter and began to chortle. “Never did see two people jump apart faster than those two when they realized the near calamity they’d caused.”

  “And when they had a perfectly good bed upstairs,” Dalton muttered with a shake of his head, although he grinned broadly.

  Davina glanced around the kitchen, which showed no evidence of any near calamity. “Ye’d never ken a near disaster had been had in here.”

  “Well, most kitchens aren’t whitewashed,” Frederick said, as he winked at his wife. “Took a few coats to cover up the singe marks.” He smiled at Davina. “However, I’m the sly one. I’ve been off kitchen duty for over six months now.”

  “Ye have no’,” Sorcha protested. “Ye still have to do dishes.” She laughed. “An’ ye ken we dreaded every meal ye prepared.”

  Davina sat in silent wonder as she watched the ranch hands interact with their boss and the boss’s wife. She had never imagined such familiarity between hired hands and the owners of a large establishment like this ranch.

  Slims focused on Davina, his brown eyes intense and serious. “So the question remains, miss. Can you cook?” When she paused, he asked, “Will you cook for us?”

  Davina cast a furtive glance at the large stove. “I will cook, but I’ll need help learnin’ how to use that stove. I imagine ’tis different from the ones in Skye.”

  “Aye,” Sorcha said, “’tis. But ’twould be a big help to me. I have yarn to spin and the bairns to tend.” She smiled at Slims in an innocent manner. “I’d be most grateful, Slims, if ye’d take the time to teach Davina all ye ken. Ye’ve prepared plenty of meals on that beast of a stove.”

  Slims flashed her an irritated look before nodding. “Of course, Miss Sorcha. Whatever you would like.” He pushed away from the table, picking up his plate to bring to the sink. “I’ll be back this afternoon, miss, to work with you.”

  Davina nodded, as she watched the other men gobble down the rest of their food and then follow their foreman outside. When the room went silent, too silent she realized, she asked, “Why do they eat here?” She cringed when she saw the disappointment in Sorcha’s gaze and then the friendliness fading from Frederick’s gaze.

  “This is no laird’s house,” Sorcha snapped, rising to bring her dish to the sink and to begin the cleanup. “We work together and ken each other’s problems. We like each other. An’, if we dinna like ye, ye dinna stay long.” She sighed, as she rubbed at her temples. “Both cooks abandoned us, one in November, the other in December. One to run away to marry a miner. The other to God kens where.” She slammed down a pan in frustration.

  “Sorch,” Frederick said in a calming voice that also held a note of warning.

  “I can cook and clean,” Davina whispered. “I should do something if ye are lettin’ me stay here.” She looked from Sorcha to Frederick and back to her cousin. “I did no’ mean any criticism. Life here is different from what I ken, aye?”

  Sorcha stilled her frenetic movements and set aside the rag she used to wash the dishes. After swiping her hands, she moved back to the table. “I ken everythin’ is different from Skye. But I can promise ye this, Davina. If ye are a good person, truthful, and loyal, ye will be granted the same loyalty and love and will never again want for family.”

  Davina fidgeted at her words and then nodded.

  “I ken life here will seem wild and strange for a while. But ye’ll soon see how marvelous it is, Davina.”

  * * *

  Slims stood in the barn and watched his boss and good friend, Frederick, walking toward him. Most of the chores were done, and Slims debated joining the men in the bunkhouse to play yet another game of poker. However, he yearned for the chance to set out on a long ride through the fields, returning at sunset. In the middle of winter, that wasn’t possible.

  He studied Frederick, sensing an undercurrent of frustration. He had seemed at ease with his wife at breakfast, and Slims wondered what had occurred after he left the kitchen. Slims leaned against one of the stalls, absently patting Boots’s head, as he too watched Frederick approach. Boots was Frederick’s prize chestnut filly with white around her ankles. She nickered, sticking out her nose, as though sniffing for a treat.

  “Ah, girl, I forgot,” Frederick soothed, as he ran a hand down her long jaw, giving it a good scratch. “Why can’t all women be as uncomplicated as you?”

  Slims stiffened as he focused on Frederick. At fifty-one, Slims was seventeen years older than Frederick, and he had watched the younger man grow up since he was a boy in the frontier town of Fort Benton. When Frederick’s family had departed Fort Benton to find a homestead in Bear Grass Springs in 1864, Slims had joined them, as he already considered them his family. When Frederick’s parents fought, and his mother abandoned them, Slims remained loyal to the boys, holding them as they cried, cleaning them up after they fought at school, and acting as an uncle to them. Even then, Frederick had been his favorite. Slims had liked Cole and Peter well enough, but Frederick had always treated Slims as family.

  After a long moment of silence, Slims asked, “Was I wrong to bring her here, Boss?” Frederick stared at him long and hard. “Should I have brought her into town instead?”

  Swearing under his breath, Frederick shook his head. “No. Then you’d have an irate Sorcha too. And that’s the last thing we need in the middle of winter.”

  Chuckling, Slims shook his head. “None of us need that.” Sobering, he focused on Frederick, who remained staring into space, as he absently patted his horse. “What bothers you, Boss?” Although they were friends and virtually family, Slims insisted on treating Frederick with respect. He wanted to set an example to all the men who worked on the ranch.

  “I don’t know what to make of Davina.”

  Slims stood silently waiting, knowing Frederick would eventually say more.

  “She was shocked we would be on such friendly terms with our ranch hands. That you would be in the kitchen, having a meal with us.” He stared at Slims and shook his head.

  Slims stiffened, as though personally insulted. “She’s the newcomer. She has no right to judge how we do things.”

  Nodding, Frederick sighed. “It makes no sense to me that she shows up in the middle of winter. What woman flees her home and arrives here in January?”

  Slims stood in quiet contemplation. “I’m sorry, Boss. I shouldn’t have taken her at her word and brought her here. I should have returned her to the station and told her to leave.”

  Frederick paced the barn. “No, that would have only stirred up a hornet’s nest. You know Leena would have spoken to Annabelle, and then the MacKinnons would have wanted
to hog-tie you for forcing a family member from town.” He shared a rueful smile with Slims. “You know how they are about family.”

  “I don’t want to let a viper into your home, Fred.”

  “She’s no viper,” he murmured, “but I don’t know what she is.” He shared a frustrated look with his foreman. “Come. Let’s go check on Sugar. She’ll need a little lovin’.”

  Slims chuckled, following Frederick to the stall of one of Frederick’s pregnant mares. Three mares would foal this spring, and he suspected they’d have to build an addition onto the horse barn if Frederick didn’t begin to sell his horses soon. However, Frederick hated the thought of selling any of the horses he’d raised, and Slims knew only time and patience would ease Frederick into the idea of parting with a beloved horse.

  While Frederick looked over Sugar and reassured himself there were no imminent signs of her beginning the birthing process, Slims remained deep in thought. After Frederick joined him outside Sugar’s stall, he asked, “Do you believe her story? That she came here to avoid an arranged marriage?”

  “Aye,” he said, “but I know there’s more to it than that. She had already been married once, so why not accept it again? What would make a woman suddenly defiant?” Frederick shared a long look with his foreman. “I don’t like the idea that trouble shadows her, Slims.”

  * * *

  That afternoon, Davina reentered the kitchen when she heard the sound of many pans rattling. She paused at the incongruous sight of the giant of a man wearing an apron over his red flannel shirt and brown pants. Unable to fight off a giggle, she met his glower as he turned to the doorway.

  “Thought you’d never show up,” he muttered.

  “You could have called for me,” she snapped back, standing rigid, as though reprimanded by her overbearing da.

  “No,” Slims murmured, turning back to the countertop where he chopped a potato. “We know better than to make much noise.” He pointed to the pans with his knife. “That was as much of a racket as I’d ever make.”