“Ye are very blessed,” she whispered.
He stared at Davina a long moment and nodded. “Yes, I am.” He looked deeply into her eyes, and she found herself unable to look away from his penetrating gaze. “I fear you believe you have not been so blessed.”
She shrugged and cleared her throat as she fought tears. “I’ve never been one to inspire loyalty. Or love.”
Bears stared at her in wonder, a soft smile playing around his lips. “I fear you’ve believed other’s truths for too long. You must learn to recognize what you know to be true and to not accept the falsehoods others feed you.”
Davina sat in silence, wringing her fingers together on her lap, as she watched the MacKinnons laugh and chatter around her. “How can you know this?”
Bears followed her gaze. “Already you’ve inspired the MacKinnons to extend their hospitality to you.” He shook his head as she was about to protest. “They don’t have gatherings like this for just anyone.” He paused. “You’ve survived weeks on the ranch with Sorcha. Which means, she considers you friend, if not family. If you are brave enough to accept what they offer you, Davina, you will have a full, happy life here.”
Davina broke off what more she might have said when Ewan called her name. “Aye?” she asked him. Already she considered him cousin.
“I want ye to meet Ben Metcalf and his beautiful wife, Jane,” Ewan said, as he nodded to the unknown couple. “Ben’s my right-hand man, an’ Jane’s Frederick’s cousin.” He beamed at his friend. “We’re officially family, which means I receive a discount at the Waterin’ Hole.”
Frowning, Davina shook her head in confusion, as Ben laughed at Ewan’s joke. “Waterin’ Hole?”
Jane, a beautiful brown-haired woman, who glowed under her husband’s devoted attention, flushed beet red. “It’s a saloon in town. Ben and I own it.”
“Truly?” Davina asked.
“She won it in a bet,” Ben said with pride, as his hand played with loose strands of hair on Jane’s shoulder. “Outsmarted an inveterate gambler.”
“Oh my,” Davina whispered.
“Aye,” Ewan said with a chuckle. “She won a more valuable asset than ever’s been bet in any gamblin’ match in town.”
“Except for Fidelia,” Bears murmured.
“Of course,” Ewan said, with a wink to his sister-in-law. “But Dee is, an’ never was, somethin’ to be bartered.”
“We’re only fortunate that the Madam was desperate to continue her play and that you won,” Annabelle said.
Davina sat in wide-eyed wonder, as her extended family discussed gambling as readily as the women on the Isle of Sky did their favorite church hymns. Davina relaxed when Slims gripped her hand and squeezed it.
“They find a way to take what has hurt them, or has the potential to hurt them, and turn it into a story that entertains. It removes any potential poison and binds them closer together,” he whispered into her ear.
“’Tis remarkable,” she breathed. “I’ve never seen anythin’ like it.”
“Well, this is what family means to them. Even if you’re no blood relation, if they take a likin’ to you, you’re a member.” As the kitchen door was thrust open, and an elderly couple entered, Slims rose abruptly, dropping her hand. “Mister, missus,” he said in a deferential, near-reverent tone.
“We’ve come to meet the woman who claims she’s family,” the older man said. He appeared to be in his midseventies, with thick gray hair, slightly stooped shoulders, and an intelligent gaze.
The woman jabbed him in his side, her astute gaze homing in on Davina. Her dress had seen its share of washes, but she held herself proudly, and her gray hair was tied back in a knot at her nape. “Welcome. You’ve had a long journey, but we hope you will feel as at home here as in Scotland.”
Davina rose and nodded to them, fighting an urge to curtsy to the couple, although she had never curtsied to anyone. “Thank ye,” she said in a quivering voice, as she fought a sudden onslaught of nerves. Everyone at the table had quieted to watch this introduction. “I am Davina MacQueen, and I’m Sorcha’s cousin.”
“Davina,” the man said with a pleased sigh. “What a beautiful name. Now how are you related to our Sorcha?”
Standing tall, Davina said, “Her mother, Mairi, was my aunt.”
“Mairi,” Harold said with a nod. “’Bout time someone from your family showed sense and came lookin’ for Sorcha. She’s a jewel.” He rounded the table and pulled Davina into a hug. “Welcome.”
Squeaking with surprise, Davina didn’t react in time to embrace him before he released her.
The older woman approached with a chagrined smile. “Forgive Harold. He’s lost any manners he ever had.” She reached forward and squeezed Davina’s hand. “We’re Irene and Harold Tompkins. Frederick’s grandparents.”
“Oh, how lovely,” Davina breathed, before she could stop herself. She flushed as she heard chuckles from everyone at the table.
“Yes, it sure is,” Harold said with a self-satisfied grin. “It means, if you’re related to Sorcha, you’re related to us too.” He nodded as though there were no more logic to work through.
Irene squeezed Davina’s hand again. “No point arguing, dear. Once he’s taken you under his wing, you’re there forever.”
“Oh, how lovely,” Davina whispered again, now battling tears.
“Come. None of this,” Irene said, pulling her forward in a soft embrace. She held Davina, murmuring about imagining being overwhelmed at meeting them all. “And we run the local café, so you must come visit. You are always welcome.”
Davina laughed when she heard Harold say, “I hope we’re not too late for dessert. No one bakes a better cake than you, Anna.”
Davina raised her head and met Irene’s amused stare. “Do ye no’ mind him sayin’ that?”
Irene shrugged. “Anna makes the best cakes from here to Helena, if not in the Territory. I can’t fault my husband for being truthful.” She spoke softly, so only Davina would hear, “But I would protest if he likes anyone’s fried chicken more than mine.”
Davina giggled, and Irene winked at her. Soon Irene had urged Davina back to the table, where the stories and the laughter continued.
* * *
Davina tossed and turned. After punching her pillow for the fifteenth time, she rolled onto her back and sighed, as she stared at the ceiling. Sleep would not come to her. Snippets from the day played over and over in her mind, and she marveled at her family. At their generosity. At their use of humor to show love and affection, rather than to hurt or to show one’s perceived superiority. At the frequent laughter, hugs, and expressions of joy. How different they were from her own family. From anyone in her husband’s family.
She heard a creaking in the hallway and assumed Slims had risen to pilfer Annabelle’s well-stocked larder. Rubbing her stomach, she debated the merits of seeking out another piece of cake and decided she’d eaten her fill.
As the door to her room opened with the merest squeak, she gasped. Rather than tiptoe downstairs, Slims stood staring in at her. Yanking the sheets and blankets up to her chin, she gasped, “What are ye doin’?”
He smiled, his gaze roving over her. “Checking on you. Ensuring you are well.” He saw the bedsheets torn from the bed, and his smile broadened. “Seems you are having as restless a night as I. May I?”
She paused a long moment, their gazes locked together before she whispered, “Aye.”
He slipped inside, shutting the door with a barely audible click. He wore the same clothes he’d worn into town, although they were now dry, albeit very rumpled. “May I lie on top of the covers while you fall asleep?” he asked, as he stood beside her bed.
“Nae.”
“Davina, I promise—” His words broke off when she gripped his hand and squeezed it.
“Nae, Simon. I want ye to hold me. Make me feel safe again. Cherished,” she whispered.
He groaned, falling to his knees, so he was at eye level with her.
“I don’t want you to feel forced into letting me into your bed.”
She giggled. “I’m only askin’ ye to hold me, ye ken?”
He traced a finger over her smiling cheek. “I know,” he whispered. “And that’s much more than I ever thought I’d have.”
Davina scooted over, holding the blankets up so he could slide into the place she’d occupied. When he’d settled, she rested her head on his shoulder. Quiet night sounds settled over them. The faint crescendo and decrescendo of a snore. The soft whistling of the wind. The distant yipping of coyotes.
His fingers traced up and down her arm, while his head arched over her, so he could kiss her soft hair. “Why are you still tense?” He spoke in a low voice, so Cailean and Annabelle wouldn’t wake and hear them, discovering him in her room. “If having me here brings you more distress, I’ll leave.”
She gripped his arm, rubbing her face against his cotton-covered chest. “Nae, stay. Please.”
“On all that is holy, I wish I were as I was last night,” he muttered, earning a startled gasp from her, as she recalled he had been as naked as the day he was born. He kissed her hair again and relaxed against the pillows, continuing to run his hands over her. With every caress, every soft word of praise, she relaxed incrementally more.
“I worry about church tomorrow,” she said, as she turned to press her face into his neck, as though attempting to hide against him. She breathed deeply of his scent—a mixture of soap, horses, and a musky scent that she knew was all Slims. Without a thought, she kissed him there, earning a shiver.
“Shh, darlin’,” Slims soothed, forcing himself to focus on what she said, not her actions. “Your cousins are good people. As are the Tompkinses. Trust them. They would never intentionally hurt you.”
She rested her head against his chest. “I’ve only kent them a day, but I believe ye.” She shivered. “It’s the preacher I dinna trust. I ken they said he would no’ act out on his last day, but still I worry.”
“You have people you can rely on, Davina.”
She traced fingers down his arm, until she reached his hand, intertwining her fingers with his. “I missed this,” she murmured, as sleep beckoned.
“What?” he asked.
“These moments of quiet sharin’. Of consolin’ and carin’, when nothin’ more was expected. When disappointment and anger werena all I felt.”
“I’ll never feel that way about you, Davina,” Slims vowed.
“So ye say,” she whispered, her words slowing, as she neared sleep. “But I ken things change. An’ never for the better.”
“Davina,” he whispered, but he heard her breath deepening, as though she were about to fall asleep.
“Roll over,” he whispered. He helped turn her gently to her side and tugged her back to his front, cocooning her with his large body. He tugged the blankets around them and held her securely to him. “There, love.”
“Love,” she murmured. “I’ve never been anyone’s love.” She tumbled into sleep, leaving Slims with jumbled thoughts beside her.
Chapter 5
Slims sat beside Davina, yearning to hold her hand, but aware that it was wholly inappropriate in church. The MacKinnon family filled the rows in front, beside, and behind him, and he took comfort in the fact he was not alone for the pastor’s last sermon. Although Harold and Irene had urged them to attend, Slims worried their presence would prove a grave mistake. Now, in the light of day, he dreaded having Davina’s fears come to life.
His mind was filled with her. Of holding her in his arms. Of their short talk before she fell asleep. Of waking with her again cradled to his chest, where he always wished she’d be. Of hearing her small noises as she woke and of kissing her forehead. Of letting go of all worries as she cuddled into him, rather than forcing him from her bed and her room. Of meeting Cailean’s concerned gaze as Slims slipped from her room, and the silent nod from the eldest cousin signaling he trusted Slims.
He focused on his surroundings and noted the large attendance for the pastor’s last sermon, before Pastor Cruikshanks departed Bear Grass Springs. When Slims felt Davina shiver next to him, her murmured, “Don’t worry. You aren’t alone here, and you’ll never be alone again.”
She placed her hand on her lap, her fingers inching toward his, so that her pinkie finger touched his.
“Ah, miss,” he whispered, “how you please me.” He quieted as the pastor entered, and the congregation stood.
After they sang a hymn, everyone sat, and Pastor Cruikshanks strode to the front of the church. He stepped up to the pulpit, his long black robes flowing around him. He outstretched his arms to those worshipping with him that day, although it appeared as though he were summoning a curse rather than a benediction. He did not reach for his Bible to read a verse and then discuss it, as was his custom.
Instead his beady eyes were lit with a fervent righteousness, and he raised one hand with a finger pointing to the ceiling. “Jezebel,” he said in a loud, precise voice. “A Jezebel is among us, and we must do everything in our power to rid ourselves of temptation.”
The parishioners squirmed, casting nervous, embarrassed glances at each other. Men cast relieved glances, as they knew they wouldn’t be the focus of the pastor’s wrath. The women patted at their hair and skirts, anxious that they were not the one to be called out by the preacher. For all knew they had sinned in one way or another. None were without blemish.
The pastor slammed his hand down on the wooden pulpit, causing those tittering and fidgeting to jump and to focus on him. “She is a charmer. Speaks with a forked tongue, appearing beguiling and innocent, when, in reality, she is wanton and wicked. Rather than join her brethren in the house of sin, sparing the townsfolk from her lascivious wiles, only sullying the reputations of those so-called gentlemen foolish enough to enter a house of ill-repute, she tricked God-fearing men to bring her to a ranch. Thus turning such an estimable place into its own den of iniquity.”
Slims glowered at the pastor, his breath coming in near pants as he fought his rage. He cast a glance at Davina, and she sat beside him with her hands gripped together in her lap, and her head lowered, as though in shame. He raised wrathful eyes to stare at the pastor, as the man continued his diatribe.
“For who among us could ever resist the call of a Jezebel?” Pastor Cruikshanks asked, his face red and splotchy, a spot of spittle on his chin. “Who among us has the strength to deny her when she taunts and teases us with her libidinous wiles?”
By this point, Slims had stiffened with righteous anger and was on the verge of attacking the pastor, holy man or not.
However, Alistair sat on his other side and kept a firm hand on his thigh. “Dinna even consider it,” Alistair whispered.
“Everyone in this town believes the MacKinnons to be a respectable, honorable family. Taking in strays. Building successful businesses.” The pastor scoffed and rocked on his feet, as though the mere suggestion of honor or decency with relation to the MacKinnons were a mockery of the word.
“You tell me. Which marriage among the siblings wasn’t tinged by scandal? Which marriage didn’t have an element of shame or regret associated with it?” he roared. “Too often they didn’t even believe in the sanctity of a marriage in front of this fine congregation. No, our blessing was not needed. Only the blessing of their family and friends. And now, now, they have welcomed in the worst woman yet.”
He shook his head, as he leaned on the pulpit, as though his strength had left him at such a notion. “Now they are forcing you, you my wonderful Christian brethren, so filled with charity and goodwill, to suffer the presence of such a woman. A woman who would spend the night with a man while unmarried. And feels no compunction!” he roared, his arms waving about, as though he were in the midst of a fit.
“Right,” Slims muttered. “I’ve had enough.”
“Aye,” Alistair said. He muttered something, and the MacKinnon family stood up as one, along with Harold and Irene Tompkins, Warren and Helen Clark, Leena
and Karl Johansen, and Ben and Jane Metcalf. Over one-quarter of the congregants moved to depart en masse.
With Davina in the middle, they turned for the door, the pastor’s raging and abuse raining down on them. However, they moved without haste, as though they were impervious to his words. Their calm retreat seemed to enrage Pastor Cruikshanks even more, as the volume of his vitriol rose.
Finally, at the door, Harold Tompkins turned around and yelled back, “Cruiks, you may believe you used your pulpit well. You may believe sowing your seeds of dissension and hate were a worthwhile way to spend your Sundays. You may believe allowin’ your jealousy and your envy to eat away at you was a good way to while away your life. But it wasn’t, and it ain’t.” Harold glared at the man who’d been in town for years, using Harold’s family as a bludgeon every time he was in a sore mood. “Your cross to bear is that you’ll never fully understand friendship or familial love. You’ll perpetually wonder why such basic sentiments as love and loyalty will forever be denied you. And I’ll know that my prayers are answered and that God is good on the day I watch your wagon roll out of town.” He glared at the pastor before turning on his heel, slamming the door behind him and the awestruck congregation.
* * *
A blinding sun glinted off the bright snow, and they paused outside the church. Davina shook in stunned silence, as the pastor’s muffled voice could be heard bellowing inside. Thankfully they could not make out his words.
“Come,” Annabelle whispered. “Come to the house, and we’ll have tea and a treat. Everything is better with a treat.” She slung an arm over Davina’s shoulder, sending a worried glance to Slims.
Slims watched Annabelle and Davina depart, wishing he could offer her comfort, but knowing such an action would only engender more gossip. He stood with his hands fisted and arms quivering, as though readying for battle. “If I ever see that man again …” he rasped, as he imagined how Davina suffered.
Lassoing A Montana Heart Page 8
