Lassoing A Montana Heart

by Flightner, Ramona

  He wrapped his arms around her, rocking her side to side, wishing for an instant he could meet her father and insist he apologize to Davina. That Slims could show the man just how loveable his daughter was. And, just as quickly, Slims dismissed the idea, for he’d have to implore Bears to hide the body deep in the woods. There was no possible way Slims could meet the man who had caused his wife so much pain and not do him bodily harm. After a long moment, he breathed, “That’s all I ask, my love.”

  * * *

  For the next month, an uneasy truce existed between them. Davina continued to cook for all of them and to spend time with Sorcha in Sorcha’s private room. Charlotte rarely ventured out of her room, although her only illness now was a deep emotional malaise. While Davina suspected Charlotte needed to be urged to leave her room and to spend time with all of them, Davina did not have the desire or energy to be the one to encourage Charlotte to change.

  Winter eased its grip on the land, and the thaw slowly began. However, any joy with the change in the season was rapidly replaced when Davina realized it merely meant mud season had arrived. No matter how diligently she worked, the men tracked mud in everywhere.

  “What has you in such a foul mood, Dav?” Slims asked, as he slipped into the big house’s kitchen one midafternoon in the first weeks of March, and she glowered at him.

  “That floor was spotless, aye?” she said, pointing to the kitchen floor and the muddy boot steps now marring them. “Do ye never consider I’m sick of washin’ the bluidy floor?”

  Slims looked from her scowl to the floor and back again, wisely opting for the correct option of a nod. “I’m sorry, love,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her neck. “We wipe them down as best we can. I’ll think of a solution.” After kissing her again, he winked at her and returned to the barn to help Frederick, as he prepared for another of his mares to foal.

  That evening, Davina paused at the entrance to the kitchen to find every ranch hand bootless in the kitchen. Slims grinned and winked at her, as she gaped at him.

  “I told you that I’d think of a solution,” he said proudly. “Although you might find our stinky feet more of a bother than any dirty floor.”

  Davina burst out laughing. “Oh, ye are too clever for yer own good.” She stroked a hand down his arm and moved to the stove to lift a heavy casserole. She frowned at her husband when he gently pushed her aside.

  “No, love, let me,” he whispered, wrapping his hands in cloths and lifting the heavy pan. After setting it on small bricks on the table, he lifted off its lid and placed it nearby on the stove.

  She watched him with an intrigued smile, biting her lip as she watched him interact and laugh with the men. Soon she knew more help would arrive, and they would be expected to eat with the men in the bunkhouse or alone in their cabin. For now, she stored up each memory, relishing each moment with her family and friends, wishing this idyllic time never had to end.

  * * *

  “Sorcha,” Davina said a few days later. When her cousin looked up from working on a quilt that she planned to sell at Annabelle’s store, Davina fidgeted in her chair. “I’ve been meanin’ to show ye something, but I dinna want to cause trouble.”

  Sorcha set aside the quilt and focused fully on her cousin. “What do ye mean? Ye will no’ cause trouble, Dav.”

  Davina smiled at the nickname everyone had picked up from Slims. “I’m not a fan of letters,” she whispered. “You saw what happened to Slims and me after the arrival of that letter from my da.” After a deep breath, she pulled a small packet of letters from her pocket. “I brought these with me because I thought I’d have to prove who I was. That ye’d never believe my story if I didna have some proof.”

  Sorcha’s gaze lit with interest that she didn’t attempt to conceal. “Letters?” she whispered. “Who wrote them?”

  “My da has an odd habit of copying important letters he sends, in case there are ever disputes as to what he wrote. When I riffled through my da’s papers, discovering you had not died along with Auntie Mairi, I found a few letters. One from my uncle, tellin’ my da where you planned to move. ’Tis how I kent where to travel to. I also found letters my da had written. An’ one from yer da.”

  “My da?” Sorcha asked, her eyes round. Her hand reached out, as though to snatch them from Davina. “Forgive me,” she whispered. “I should no’ take what is no’ offered.”

  Davina smiled. “Nae, I offer them to ye, Sorcha, but ye must ken, my da is cruel. I dinna want to cause ye pain.”

  Sorcha nodded. “But my da is no’. Was no’. He was a good man.” She searched Davina’s gaze, as though hoping to see agreement in her cousin’s gaze.

  “I never met him, but what I read in his letters shows him to be exceptional.” She took a deep breath and handed the packet to her cousin. “I’ll leave ye to read.” Davina paused at the door, watching as her cousin traced over her father’s handwriting as Ewan had. After a moment, she slipped out and then walked with purposeful strides down the hall and outside.

  She pulled open the barn door, waiting a moment as her eyes adjusted to the darkened interior. She moved in the direction of a large stall where all the men stood, watching a horse inside. “Excuse me,” she said, flushing as they all spun to stare at her. “Frederick, might I have a word.”

  Frederick nodded and approached. “It’s not the best time, Davina. One of my mares is to foal soon.”

  “Oh.” She hesitated before blurting out, “I gave Sorcha a packet of letters from Scotland. I fear they might upset her.”

  Frederick took off at a run, bellowing for Slims to come and get him, if needed.

  Slims ambled to his wife, a curious expression warring with concern. “What’s wrong?” He stared at the barn door. “What did you say to Fred?”

  She shook her head, squeezing his hand. “Trust me,” she whispered. When he nodded and didn’t ask her any more questions, a doubt she didn’t know she carried lifted. “What are ye starin’ at?”

  He winked at her and led her to the stall, standing behind her. She leaned against his strong chest, and he rested his chin on her head. “One of our fillies is about to have a baby. A foal.”

  “Oh, how precious,” she whispered. She looked up at him. “Can I stay with ye an’ watch?”

  Tracing a finger down her cheek, he nodded. “Yes, although you should know, it could take hours. For some reason, they like to have their foals in the middle of the night.”

  Davina turned around to stare at the beautiful horse. “She probably hopes ye’ll lose interest an’ give her a wee bit of privacy.”

  He laughed, tugging her close, as he wrapped an arm around her waist. “Aye, you’re probably right,” he whispered in her ear. “Anytime you want to go back to the cabin, let me know.”

  * * *

  Frederick burst into his wife’s private sanctuary, gasping for breath and swearing softly at the sight of tears coursing down her cheeks. “Love?” he whispered.

  She raised eyes filled with wonder and delight to meet his. “Oh, Frederick,” she gasped. “Ye dinna ken what receivin’ my da’s letters means,” she whispered, holding it out to him. “Davina’s da is a miserable man, but my da, … my da,” she whispered, as tears choked her throat, and she was unable to say anything more.

  “Hush, love,” he murmured, as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. When she handed the old letters to him, yellowed with time, he read them slowly.

  My Darling Mairi,

  May 23, 1859

  I count the days until I can see you again. Your smile, your laughter, your radiant expression of your love for me fills me with a joy I never knew I could feel. I hear a song that you sing, and I remember being in your arms, as you serenaded me. I feel the sunshine on my face as I work the croft, and I feel your soft fingers stroking over me.

  I do not deserve you, Mairi. I do not deserve a woman as honorable and as pure of spirit as you are. But I give thanks every day that you love me as I love you
.

  Although it will be months before I have reason to return to Portree, know that you are in my heart, and I count the hours until I can hold you in my arms again.

  Yours forever,

  Malcolm

  * * *

  Dear Mr. MacKinnon,

  Sept 2, 1861

  It is with the deepest shame that I find myself forced to write you, a dishonorable blackguard who would degrade the fine name and memory of my beloved sister, Mairi. How you ever inveigled yourself into her good graces, I will never understand. Mairi was always the most proper, well behaved of my siblings, and to know she fell so low brings me the greatest grief imaginable. To no longer consider her family due to her wickedness only engenders an even greater sorrow. To know she will not be interred in our family’s plot will forever bring me grief.

  Mairi died due to her wicked liaison with you, sir. If you had left her alone, she would never have come to such a sad death. Her child, your sinful spawn, will know what it is to suffer for the sins of her mother. She is not a MacQueen, nor will any of us ever accept her as one.

  I pray every night that you do not have the effrontery to harm another innocent as you harmed Mairi.

  Baldwin MacQueen

  * * *

  Dear Mr. MacQueen,

  September 9, 1861

  I find I must give you reluctant thanks for writing me about the death of my beloved Mairi. I had no idea she ailed nor that she was to give birth to my beloved daughter, Sorcha. Yes, Sorcha. Although you would have consigned my daughter to the living hell of being raised in an orphanage, she is now with me. She has the full protection of the MacKinnon name and is acknowledged as my daughter.

  She will only ever know love. She will only ever know that she is cherished. For she is as precious to me as my sons.

  Shame on you, Baldwin. She was your last living link to your sister, and you discarded her as though she were nothing more than a piece of rubbish. She’s a living, breathing treasure, and ’tis your shame you will never have the opportunity to watch her grow. You’ll never have the chance to see pieces of Mairi in her. If there is any justice in this world, she’ll never know about you and your treatment of her, for I want her to never doubt how much she is loved and wanted.

  Malcolm MacKinnon

  Frederick let out a stuttering breath at the last line of his father-in-law’s letter. “Oh, love,” he whispered. “Now you will never doubt. It’s here for you to read over and over again. From the moment you were born, you were treasured. Never doubt.”

  She threw herself in Frederick’s arms. “I should no’ need a letter. I should remember his carin’ of me. His love of me.” She shuddered. “But he was always sad when he looked at me, an’ I did no’ understand. I ken now it was because he saw Mairi, an’ he was missing her.”

  “Yes,” he whispered. “No man can recover after loving a woman like you and losing her.” His eyes glowed with a fervent hope. “I pray I never have to know such a fate.”

  “Hush,” she murmured. “None of that talk.” Sorcha rested her head on Frederick’s shoulder. “Davina’s da was cruel, aye?”

  “Aye,” Frederick murmured. “I wonder how much worse his letter was that he wrote your cousin.”

  Sorcha let out a deep breath, snuggling farther into his lap. “Davina was generous enough to bring me a letter, proving how much I was loved. How much my parents loved each other. I canna imagine the heartbreak of receivin’ a letter from my da while he lived where he told me that he loathed me. That I was such a disappointment that he told neighbors and friends I was dead to him.”

  Frederick leaned back, cupping her face in his hands. “Her father said that?” When she nodded, Frederick groaned. “No wonder she reacted as she did, pushing Slims away.”

  “Aye,” Sorcha murmured. “An’ I ken ’twill take more than a few sweet words to take away the sting of a parent’s rejection.”

  Frederick held her close to comfort her, as she fought to forget the woman who had raised her and had loathed her, instead murmuring words in her ear, encouraging her to focus on her real mother. The woman who had loved her but had died too soon.

  * * *

  Hours later, Slims, Shorty, and Frederick sipped cups of coffee and chatted quietly as they watched the dark gray filly, Witching Hour, stomp and pace and grunt as she prepared to have her foal. Slims looked over his shoulder, smiling to see Davina wrapped up in a blanket, asleep on a soft pile of fresh hay. As Frederick eased into the pen to help the filly, if needed, Slims approached Davina.

  “Darlin’,” he whispered, as he ran a gentle hand over her head and arm. “It’s time.”

  She woke with a start, a smile spreading at the sight of Slims. “Simon,” she breathed. She arched up, kissing him softly. “Time for what?” she asked with a groan, as she tried to fully wake up.

  “Time to watch Witching Hour have her foal.” He grinned as she gave a small chirp of excitement, grabbing his arm for him to haul her upright.

  She stepped forward, wrapping her arms around his chest for a moment, breathing in his scent of sweat, hay, and horse.

  “I stink, Dav,” he murmured, attempting to push her away from him. “I need to wash.”

  Gripping his hand, Davina pulled him in the direction of Shorty, Dalton, and Dixon. “No, ye smell like my husband, the most enticin’ scent I’ve ever smelled.” She winked at him as he gaped at her, turning to pay attention to Frederick and the filly. She giggled as he wrapped his arms around her, hauling her back against his front. Together, they watched the mare ably deliver her foal, and the foal’s wobbly attempt to stand.

  “Oh, how precious,” Davina murmured. She looked over her shoulder at Slims with a look of wonder and awe. “Can I visit every day?”

  He chuckled before kissing her cheek. “Of course you can, darlin’. Witchin’ Hour’s friendly, although she’ll be a little cautious now that she has a young’un.” His hands held her just a little tighter against him. “You live here. You can come and go as you want, Dav, unless there’s a worry you’ll be harmed.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, her gaze ensnared by watching the filly and the foal interact. “I feel like I could watch them forever.” She smiled her thanks as Dalton handed her a steaming cup of coffee, and she turned to watch the foal thrust its head and attempt to figure out life outside of its mother’s womb. He appeared black, but Davina suspected the foal would be a dark gray, like his mother. On his right flank, he had a jerky line. “Can I name him Lightning?”

  Slims shook his head. “No, darlin’. A horse named Lightnin’ is already in town. Bears’s favorite horse.”

  She bit her lip a moment as she continued to watch the filly and the foal with an endless fascination. “Flash?” She smiled at Frederick as she saw him listening in to their conversation. At his nod, she gave a soft squeal of delight. “Oh, look at her,” she breathed, as she watched Witching Hour ignore all of them, as she tended to Flash. “How many foals has she had?”

  “This is her first,” Slims murmured. “Fred was worried about her, but she did well.”

  “Aye, she did. I’ll pray that her foal has continued health.”

  “Oh, Dav,” her husband murmured, as he heard the sorrow in her voice.

  With a bright smile, she handed the half-filled mug to Dalton and faced her husband. “Dinna mind me. I’m tired is all.” She stroked a hand down Slims’s strong arm. “I’m goin’ to sleep for a few hours.”

  Frederick called out from inside the birthing stall, “Don’t worry about breakfast tomorrow. Get plenty of rest, Davina.”

  Davina waved, marching for the door to her cabin. When she was inside, she washed with cold water and then slipped into a flannel nightgown, before sliding under the blankets into the cold sheets. With a groan, she sat up, glaring at the stove, as she had forgotten to stoke the fire within. Sighing, she heaved the pile of blankets off her and rose to build up the fire. Once she was nestled in bed again, she attempted to force herself to sleep
, but her mind wouldn’t settle.

  Over and over, she remembered the birth of her children. The horrible pain forgotten, instead recalling the overwhelming elation as they cried and then suckled at her breast. The wonder as she counted their fingers and toes. The amazement that any hair could be as silky and soft as a baby’s downy head. The awe that she had created such a beautiful being.

  Turning on her side, she attempted to focus on the joyous days she’d had with her babes, rather than the agonizing weeks, months, and years after she had lost them. Curling into as tight a ball as possible, she tried to prevent the pain from permeating the happiness of her present. However, she was discovering the past always had a way of oozing its way into the here and now. She worried she couldn’t prevent the past from affecting her future.

  She jumped, stifling a shriek, when a hand stroked her back. “Simon?”

  “Were you expecting someone else?” he whispered.

  She rolled over, grabbing his hand. “Of course no’, dinna be foolish.”

  He frowned as he saw her expression. “Are you well, Davina?”

  She reached out for him, as she scooted back in the bed. “Hold me, Simon,” she said, a desperation in her gaze. “I need yer comfort just now.”

  He kicked off his boots and shed his clothes, crawling into bed beside her. “Shh, love,” he murmured. “Whatever it is, you’re well. You’re safe.”

  She shivered at his words, clinging to him.

  His fingers played over her back, stroking a random pattern over the soft fabric of the flannel and through her hair. “I imagine tonight had you thinkin’ about your babes,” he said in a soft voice. When she pressed her face against his chest, he kissed her head. “I’m sorry you aren’t holdin’ them in your arms, Davina. That they aren’t racin’ around you, chattering away and raisin’ havoc.”