Lassoing A Montana Heart

by Flightner, Ramona

  “Aye,” Davina said with a laugh, “but ’tisn’t one includin’ Charlotte. An’ I ken now, if I want to have a good relationship with my husband, I must no’ be meek an’ passive. I must show how much I care for him.”

  Sorcha crinkled up her nose, her hands fisting in a mound of soft, rough wool. “Care for him? Nae, ye care about getting’ a good sleep each night. Ye care for those ye dinna ken well.” She leaned forward, her gaze filled with a heartfelt fervency. “Ye love, Davina. Love yer husband an’ yer family.”

  Flushing and then paling, Davina sat back in her chair, as a subtle trembling worked through her. “I … I’m afraid I’m no’ good at that kind of emotion. Carin’s about the limit of what I can offer.”

  Sorcha made a deep sound of disgust. “Does Slims ken ye’ll never love him? That ye’ll only care for him?” she challenged, her gaze aflame with passionate outrage. “Ye canna go through life hidin’ from what ye want an’ what ye feel, Davina.” She paused as she saw anguish in her cousin’s gaze, her anger seeping out of her as fast as it had come. “I understand fear. But I also learned, if I did not show my husband, an’ tell him, of my love, that I would hurt him in ways I couldna imagine.” She let out a deep breath. “In ways I couldna bear to hurt him.”

  Davina sighed, her gaze desolate. “Love’s always betrayed me,” she whispered, flushing with embarrassment. “I dinna remember a time I was loved for me.” She shook her head, closing her eyes, as she envisioned a long ago time. She murmured, “That isna true. Aunt Mairi loved me as I was. No’ as she wished I’d be. An’ ’twas was such a gift.” She sniffled, meeting Sorcha’s gaze, and whispered, “My da told me, when she died, I couldna mourn such a woman, an’ that love was a wasted emotion. An’ that her love had been wasted on me.”

  “Oh, Davina,” Sorcha whispered, as tears trickled down her cheek. “That was his twisted truth. No’ yers. Ye ken?”

  “It became mine.” Davina swiped at her cheeks. “For no one loved me in my da’s house.” She closed her eyes. “Or in my first husband’s house.”

  Sorcha squeezed her hand and smiled reassuringly at her. “I ken ye’re wrong. Frederick came home with a pile of mail for us, an’ mixed in the post was a letter for ye. From Scotland. I ken no one would have written ye if they did no’ care.” Her triumphant smile burst forth as she pulled out a letter from her pocket.

  Davina’s hand shook as she traced her da’s handwriting. “My da,” she breathed. “I wonder how he kent where to find me?” she whispered. After taking two deep breaths, she slit open the envelope and extracted the paper inside, her expression one of hope and yearning. Within a few moments, the hope had been vanquished, and she gasped for breath and paled as the paper shook in her hands. She stuffed the letter back into the envelope, wrinkling it and nearly ripping the envelope.

  “Davina?” Sorcha asked. “Is all well?”

  “Merely a letter from my da,” Davina croaked out. “Informin’ me that he’s a wee bit displeased by my actions.” She stood up so abruptly she knocked over her chair. “If ye’ll excuse me?” She raced away, tripping from the room in her haste.

  * * *

  Davina stumbled onto the front porch of Sorcha’s home. Rather than the impressive mountains in the distance, her gaze saw the tidy row of homes abutting the peaceful harbor of her hometown, Portree, Scotland. She recalled neighbors calling out to her, people who had always seemed friendly. Did they pity her as her da did? Had they secretly thought Davina unlovable too?

  Swiping at her cheeks, Davina walked with faltering steps to her cabin, my home, she whispered to herself, and curled into her rocking chair. After stoking the fire, she opened the envelope again with a shaking finger, hoping she had missed another missive from her mother. Some soft words of caring from the woman who had raised her. Swearing under her breath when it cut into her soft skin, Davina sucked on her bleeding finger, her fingers searching and turning the envelope over until it was empty, but only her da’s missive filled the envelope. Against her will, her gaze unerringly roved over the letter from Scotland, as she read it again and then again.

  A pervasive dread and disillusionment settled into her soul as her da’s words settled deep inside. Words he had implied in the past but now so clearly expressed. “Oh, how foolish of me,” she whispered. “I should have kent I’d never receive their support.” She brushed at her cheeks, but the tears continued to fall in a steady stream.

  Dropping the letter to the floor, she curled into the rocking chair, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle. Why would the people here act like they cared for her? How could they be so cruel as to give her false hope? Her mind turned to her husband, Slims. How was she to face him? If her own parents couldn’t love her, how could anyone else?

  * * *

  Slims entered his cabin, a sigh of relief and pleasure escaping him at the sight of Davina. He still had trouble believing she was here. That she wouldn’t disappear like a dream. “How was your day, darlin’?” he asked, as he hung up his hat and coat and approached her to stroke a hand down her arm.

  Rather than the warm teasing smile he had expected, she sat, staring dully into the fire, barely noticing his appearance. “Why do ye lie?” she asked in a low confrontational voice.

  “Lie?” Slims asked, rocking back onto his heels. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

  She glared up at him. “Why do ye lie by calling me words like love an’ darlin’?” She looked at him scornfully. “I ken ye have no real regard for me.”

  Slims froze under her verbal barrage, slowly lowering to his haunches, so he was near eye level with her. “Dav, what happened today? When I left this morning, everythin’ was perfect between us.”

  “Aye, because I was willin’ to believe a lie,” she snapped. “A lie that ye could ever be content with me.”

  He rose, his face flushing and his hands fisting as he glared at her. No longer filled with tenderness, his confused, angry gaze clashed with hers. “I was content. And I thought you were content with me.”

  “Content,” she whispered, her voice choked with tears. “’Tis a worse word than care.” She sniffled. “But then I should have kent better than to expect anythin’ different from a man who spends his days with animals.”

  Slims stiffened. “You knew who I was and what I do before you married me. It didn’t seem to bother you then.”

  “Desperation breeds its own form of madness, aye?” she asked.

  Breathing heavily, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, Slims demanded, “Are you saying you aren’t satisfied? That you’re upset you married me?”

  She stared at him, shaking her head over and over, as an air of desolation swirled around them.

  “Answer me!” he roared.

  She turned away, curling into the rocking chair, her arms wrapped around her legs, quietly sobbing.

  Swearing, Slims spun away, yanking on his hat and coat before marching outside and slamming the door. Deep breaths didn’t calm the roiling emotions inside, and he trudged the short distance to the big house. When he entered, he heard the cacophony of delighted voices in the kitchen, wincing at the thought of having to join them. Instead he approached Frederick’s office.

  He entered, sitting in a chair in front of Frederick’s desk, his gaze unfocused, as the argument played over and over in his mind. He couldn’t figure out what went wrong or how he should have acted differently. He jerked when a hand clasped him on his shoulder.

  “Slims,” Frederick murmured, “it’s not like you to sit in the dark and to ignore time with the men.”

  “I’ve never been married before,” he muttered.

  Frederick lit a lamp and sat beside Slims, rather than behind his desk. “What happened?”

  With a dazed voice, Slims murmured, “I honestly don’t know. I thought we were happy.” He swallowed. “I was happy this mornin’ when I left. How could she not have been? What did I miss? What did I do?” he asked, his hand clenching his thighs as he s
hook his head in despair.

  With a sigh, Frederick gripped Slims around the nape. “Davina has fears. We all know that. I suspect you know more about them than anyone.” When Slims remained quiet, Frederick murmured, “Sorcha gave her a letter today from Scotland. It was from her father. And from what Sorcha told me about Davina’s reaction, he wasn’t kind in what he wrote.”

  “A letter?” Slims asked. “How could a letter have ruined what we were startin’ to have?”

  Frederick let out a small laugh. “You’d be surprised what can disrupt your peace. I never know what will disturb Sorcha. But she trusts me enough now to tell me, rather than act out.” He met Slims’s devastated gaze. “I fear Davina hasn’t had the time to learn to fully trust you yet, Slims.”

  Slims nodded, before whispering, “And that hurts almost as much as anythin’ she said.” He took a deep breath and rose. “Thanks, Fred.”

  * * *

  After hours in the barn, where he spent the time sitting on a pile of hay and reliving all his encounters with Davina, he rose. He was chilled to his marrow, but he knew it had more to do with the loss of Davina’s esteem than the cold temperature inside the barn.

  After easing open the cabin door, he entered on soundless feet. With a quick glance, he saw his wife asleep on their bed, a pillow hugged to her chest, as though she missed having him beside her. His jaw clenched in anger and a deep remorse. After tugging off his boots, he approached her in stocking feet, pausing when he heard a small scraping sound on the floor as his feet rubbed against something. Bending over, he discovered a piece of paper.

  With a glance at a sleeping Davina, he moved to the stove and lit a lamp. Sitting in his chair, he rapidly read the missive, his jaw tightening the more he read.

  Davina,

  I shall not call you darling daughter ever again. For how could I proclaim you thus after you have betrayed everyone and everything that has sheltered and encouraged you? But you, you selfish, greedy, pathetic excuse for a daughter, never thought of anyone but yourself. I should have known I was cursed when your mother gave me a daughter. I should have known I was cursed when you mourned your worthless aunt Mairi with such fervency. I should have known I was cursed when you couldn’t even keep a single bairn alive, thus endangering our alliance with the MacDonalds.

  Instead I continued to hope you would keep your part of the bargain. A well-respected husband, generous support for your family, and a comfortable home for you. Why should you believe you deserve more? Why should you have the temerity to turn your back on everything this family has worked so hard for?

  Did you believe Mairi’s bastard child would take you in? Would love you? That you would find a better life than the life I worked to ensure you had with your second MacDonald husband? You are a fool to believe anyone would ever love you. Your curse is to never realize just how unlovable you are and always will be.

  You are a disgrace and a discredit to the family MacQueen. When I am asked, I reply I have no daughter. She is dead. For you are. Never return, for no one misses you, and no one ever wants to see you again. And be under no illusion. No one is coming after you for that would infer you are precious or valued, and you are neither.

  Baldwin MacQueen

  “Bastard,” Slims breathed, reading it over once more, before his gaze landed on his wife. With the lamp lit, he could discern dried tear tracks down her cheeks, and his gut clenched at the thought of the pain she had suffered upon reading her father’s disparaging words. Slims’s anger flared again that she had lashed out at him, rather than seeking solace from him.

  After stoking the fire, he picked up his chair and moved it to the side of the bed, where he sat to watch over his wife. He knew it would be a sleepless night for him, as too many emotions had been roiled and too much remained unanswered.

  Her words, desperation breeds its own form of madness, continued to play, over and over, in his mind. Was that all she had felt when she had married him? Desperation? He rested his head against the back of his chair, closing his eyes as he remembered their recent wedding. The feeling of an abiding joy filled him as he recalled her walking toward him with a shy smile. Had he mistaken pleasure and hope in her gaze for desperation and a resignation with her fate? Shaking his head, he refused to believe he had been so wrong. Like him, Davina had not sought marriage, but she had appeared eager to create a life with him.

  Uncertainties continued to plague him. And, beneath it all, a deep, resounding resentment toward her took root. He tried to fight it. However, as he stared at her, a bitterness filled him that she had believed one word of her father’s vile letter rather than trusting in what they were building. Rather than seeking comfort from Slims, she had attempted to prove her father’s words true. He sat, through the darkest hours of the night, watching her sleep, wondering if he could possibly overcome her lack of faith in him.

  * * *

  Slims groaned, arching his back as he woke. He stretched his arms overhead and groaned again as his muscles protested the night he’d spent in the chair. His movements froze when he saw Davina watching him. “How long have you been awake?” he rasped, clearing his voice of its rustiness.

  “No’ long,” she whispered. “Why did ye no’ join me in bed?” she asked in an abashed voice.

  Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees. “Why would I, Dav?” he asked. “You made it plain last night that you have little regard for me or our marriage.”

  “Nae,” she whispered. “That is nae true.” She waved her hand around, as though that explained what happened.

  He waited, but she remained quiet. He rose, ignoring her protests at him moving away from her, and snatched the letter from the small table. Waving it at her, he said, “I read this last night. I found it illuminatin’.”

  She paled as she sat up and reached forward to snatch it from him. He pulled it away from her, keeping it out of her hands.

  “I was shocked and saddened by what I read,” he said in a low, emotion-laden voice. “But I was more upset that you wouldn’t tell me the truth.”

  Davina shrugged. “That is my truth.”

  He flushed and shook the sheet of paper from side to side. “There is precious little truth in this letter, Davina. I don’t recall one thing he wrote that wasn’t a lie.”

  She gaped at him, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “Never use my feelings against me again, Davina. That’s cruel and unfeeling and unjust. It’s something the man who fathered you would do. Not you. Never you.” He stormed from the cabin, ignoring the tears cascading down her cheeks. He paused on the stoop of the small cabin, taking deep breaths, as he allowed the rage to seep from him. In its wake, all he felt was a searing agony and sadness. For himself and for his wife. He thought about his family, his loving father. He couldn’t imagine receiving such a letter from his pa. How would he bear it?

  With another deep breath, he turned on his heel and reentered the cabin, rushing to her side, as he saw her sobbing on their bed with such intensity that she nearly hyperventilated. “Breathe, love,” he coaxed, as he eased her into his arms and settled with his back against the wall and her on his lap, easing her head onto his shoulder. Soon the cloth of his shirt was soaked by her tears, but he ignored everything except her misery. He hated that he had added to it by his own outburst. Although he had thought it a righteous outburst, he realized nothing was worth causing her one moment’s worth of pain. “Shh, love,” he murmured, “all will be well.”

  “How?” she stuttered out. “I … hurt ye. An’ ye’ll never forgive me.”

  He held her even closer and kissed the top of her head. “Aye, you did, and I will,” he whispered. “I imagine you’ll hurt me many more times in the next forty years.” He said a silent prayer that he would be gifted with so much time with her. “I’ll hurt you too. Like I just did by leaving you in anger, when you needed me to soothe you.”

  “You caaaanno’ excuse what I said to ye last night, Simon,” she choked out. “I said un
forgiveable things.”

  He closed his eyes, as he thought through her words, his arms tightening around her. “Almost unforgiveable,” he murmured, kissing her head again. “If you meant what you said, then I agree.” His body tensed, as he waited for her to speak. However, she remained quiet. “Dav?”

  “I’m sorry, Simon,” she whispered, pushing up to meet his shuttered gaze. “Nae,” she stammered, as her hands rose to clasp his hard jaw, abrading the day’s worth of stubble. “Nae.” She pushed him down, when he would have sat up, a smile bursting forth at the evidence of his care of her as he would not thrust her aside. He would not do anything that would lead to her harm. “Nae,” she said one last time.

  “I don’t understand,” he said in a soft voice, his emotionless gaze replaced by one of desperation and sadness. “Dav?”

  “I did no’ mean what I said. I lost myself to my da’s words. Words I’d heard most of my life. Words I came to believe as true as any gospel.” She choked on a sob, as she rested in his arms. “An’ I believed his truths again. No’ my own.”

  Slims was quiet, as he contemplated a lifetime of such abuse. Any resentment he had clung to evaporated as he realized the depths of despair she must have felt at receiving such a letter. He palmed her cheek, letting out a stuttering sigh of relief when she turned her cheek into his palm. “And not mine.”

  A tear trickled down her cheek. “What is yer truth?”

  He smiled with a desperate tenderness, his fingers playing in her silky golden hair. “You are precious. A treasure I never thought to find. A gift I fear I am unworthy of.” He kissed her cheek. “But I’m too selfish to ever give you up.” Some of the tension in his shoulders eased at the wonder in her eyes. “And I give thanks every day for you, Dav. Don’t let anyone sully what we have. Please.”

  “I’ll try, Simon,” she whispered as she fell forward into his strong arms. “I promise.”