Runaway Montana Groom: Bear Grass Springs Book 12

by Ramona Flightner

  “I hate that she’s back,” Peter rasped, looking down as he clenched his jaw. “She has no right.”

  “Right or wrong rarely has much to do with anything.” Harold slurped another sip of coffee and sighed. “But I agree with you. If she had any sense of decency in her, she would have stayed dead and spared everyone further heartache.”

  “I worry what she’ll do to Fred,” Peter whispered.

  Harold shook his head. “No, she can do little to Fred. He has Sorcha and their twins now. He’s not the forlorn little boy, sitting on the front steps every day, waiting for his mother to return.” Pausing, Harold looked at his eldest grandson. “I fear you still are.”

  “What?” Peter gasped. “How can you say such a thing to me?”

  Harold shook his head, a keen understanding in his gaze. “I know you, Peter. You will forever try to protect those around you and ignore what’s been done to you.”

  Peter rolled his eyes, as he stood up and walked to the stove to pour himself another cup of coffee. “She can’t hurt me anymore.”

  “Can’t she?” Harold asked, as he watched the muscles in Peter’s back tense. “You’re allowing her to ruin your relationship with the woman you love.”

  Stiffening, he turned to face his grandfather. “That’s not fair.”

  Shrugging, his grandfather murmured, “Your mother’s never played fair. When she’s happy, or believes herself content, she’ll leave you alone. When she wants something, or she’s miserable, she’ll do everything in her power to make you as miserable as she is. That’s her way.”

  “Why?”

  Harold shrugged again and motioned for Peter to rejoin him at the kitchen table. “Some people can’t handle their own misery, so they have a need to share it. Your mother is that sort of woman.” He looked at Peter. “I give thanks for you every day. Never doubt that.” When Peter stared at him in confusion, Harold murmured, “But I can’t help wishin’ your father had found a different woman to love.”

  “What is it old Cruikshanks liked to spout, as he stared at us with a triumphant gleam in his eyes?” Peter asked, as he thought back to the miserable hours spent in church, as the previous pastor had verbally abused his family, after their mother’s abandonment and supposed death. “That children must always pay for the sins of their parents.”

  “Hogwash,” Harold snapped, as he slapped his hand on the table. “That man was a puffed-up windbag who should have known better.” He gripped Peter’s wrist. “Sometimes people cling to such idiotic notions to make themselves feel better, to explain something they have never experienced. Every family has chapters we hope no one will discover. And, when they do come to light, we pray those around us will show kindness and charity.” His voice rang with regret. “I’m forever sorry I couldn’t spare you and your brothers the pain inflicted on you by the townsfolk.”

  “We were stronger for it,” Peter said in a soft voice.

  “No, you hardened yourself against feeling again. And that ain’t right.” He waited until he could look deeply into his grandson’s eyes, frowning at what he saw within.

  “I never want to be humiliated as he was.” Peter laughed and shook his head. “Which is ironic because Mother’s reappearance has only brought shame to my life.”

  Irene tsked, as she entered the kitchen, an apron already over her serviceable blue dress, faded to gray. “Only if you let it, boy. Be the intelligent man I know you to be and refuse to give her such power over you.” She paused, cupping her hand at the nape of his neck. “Be brave, like Frederick.”

  Peter stared at her in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

  “Dare to trust and to love,” she murmured. “Come. We must go to the café. There will be hungry men clamoring for food.”

  After a long day at the café, Peter walked out of town and over a hill, away from anyone who might desire conversation. He needed time alone to think. Thankful for the long summer evenings, he strode to a toppled pine tree and sat on the slowly decaying trunk, breathing deeply of the fresh pine-scented air. Against his will, images of his mother filled his mind. Her gleeful laughter as he did something to please her. Her scowl when he and his brothers were slow to compliment her on her rudimentary cooking. Her silence when she was displeased with him and wanted to punish him.

  With a sigh, he picked up a limb and pulled off dangling branches, until he had stripped it. Early on, he had learned to embrace silence. For, if he weren’t affected by silence, she, nor anyone else, could use silence as a weapon. He realized that, for too long, he had lived a quiet life. These past days in the chaos of the café, he had relished the constant conversation with customers. In his grandparents’ house, he had felt a deepening connection at the ever-present murmur of their chatter. Silence did not bring people closer, he realized. It did not build the connection he craved.

  “You thinkin’ too much again, boy?” Tobias asked, as he approached.

  Peter swore and stood, gaping at his uncle. “What are you doing here?”

  His uncle shrugged. “Same as you, I expect. Looking for a moment of peace, after a busy day in town.” When his nephew continued to stare at him, he let out an aggrieved puff of air. “I’ll let you be.”

  “No! Stay,” Peter said, flushing, as though he hadn’t expected to say those words.

  Tobias stilled, watching his nephew with cautious hope, as he waited for him to retract his words. When the only sounds were that of the forest, Tobias nodded and sat a fair distance down the trunk. “I’ve always found this a good place to clear my mind.”

  “What would bother you?” Peter asked.

  “You sound just like your father. Like there’s nothin’ in this world that could possibly affect me.” Tobias grunted. “I have a daughter.” He nodded. “Aye, I figured Frederick forgot to tell you that the last time you were in town. You never did come callin’ to see her, and she was mighty hurt how you ignored her. Still is.”

  “A daughter?” He paled. “With my mother?”

  “Heck, no,” Tobias spat, as though that were a blasphemous thought. “With a wonderful woman named Ada. I gave her up, and my chance for a happy family, for your mother. Damn idiot.”

  Peter frowned. “Why has no one ever mentioned this to Cole or to me before now?”

  Tobias shrugged and stared at him a long while. “You boys haven’t shown much interest in the family for some time. Been too eager to hightail it out of town and to chase a herd of cattle around.”

  Peter stared into the forest, his mind racing. “Why did you abandon your own daughter?” He stared at his uncle in horror. “What you did to us was bad enough, but …” He stared at his uncle and saw him flinch at his words. “You knew you were to have a child,” he said in a voice filled with doubt.

  “No. I never knew. And I lost my chance to watch my babe grow. To watch her flourish.” He clamped his jaw tight. “Clung to my hurt and my spite and lashed out at her when she arrived in town, never knowing she was my daughter.”

  Peter gaped at him. “What would you have done, had you known?”

  Tobias rose and took a step toward his nephew. “I would have given up your mother. I would have found my Ada and we would have raised our child together. I would have had a family.” His eyes gleamed with a lifetime’s worth of regret. “Instead I lost everything and everyone.”

  “You have your store,” Peter said mulishly.

  “My store?” Tobias said, with an incredulous snort. “You think having my store compensates for all I lost?” When Peter stared at him, Tobias snapped, “I lost you boys. I lost the ranch. I lost my family. I lost everything.” He closed his eyes, as he took a deep breath and looked away. After a long moment, he looked at Peter. “Don’t be me, boy. Don’t be a bitter man who clings to pride and to hurt. Dare to believe in another. Be like Freddie.”

  “Freddie,” Peter whispered. “No one calls him that anymore.”

  “No, but he’s the one of all you who never lost his courage.” He paused, as th
ough expecting Peter to protest. When his nephew remained silent, Tobias sighed and sat again, incrementally closer to his nephew, the forest slowly quieting, as dusk descended. “Don’t lose your chance for happiness and then spend the rest of your days living with regret as your constant companion.”

  Peter gave a grunt and looked at his uncle. “You seem different, Uncle Tobias. Better. Not nearly as mean.” He whispered, “Like the man I knew as a boy.”

  Rising, Tobias looked at Peter. “I was given a second chance, and I wasn’t stupid this time. I grabbed at it and didn’t let it go. Every day I wake, worried that Jane is a dream. And every day I’m reassured she isn’t. I will never take my good fortune for granted again.” He paused. “Please visit her. Please accept her into the family. I know you may never forgive me. That you have every right to resent me forever.”

  “Uncle,” Peter whispered, his gaze tormented, as he looked at the man he had adored as a boy.

  “Don’t make her pay for my mistakes.” Tobias walked away, the sound of crushing leaves under his feet his goodbye.

  Peter sat in silence, contemplating his recent interactions with Philomena, his grandparents, and his uncle. For too long, he had clung to the belief that he did not deserve to be happy. That something was inherently wrong in him that prevented him from finding a deep, abiding love. Now, as he thought about his interaction with his uncle, a kernel of doubt entered his soul, and he wondered if he was wrong about that.

  At the very least, he knew he needed to meet his cousin and to ensure she knew how delighted he was to have her as part of the family.

  Ignoring the tinge of guilt, as she walked away from what she knew to be her responsibilities, Philomena wandered to the main road, her decision made that she would walk a short distance out of town. The day was resplendent, with a robin’s-egg blue sky and clouds so white they looked like they had been bleached. Birds trilled in the bushes, while, in the distance, hawks soared overhead, searching for pray. Philomena sat under a cottonwood tree by the gurgling stream, as the scent of wildflowers wafted over her. She breathed in deeply of the fresh air, relishing her sense of freedom from her obligations, even if only a fleeting freedom.

  All too soon, she sighed, as she felt a tug of guilt to return to town. To return to aid her brother and to resume her life as the dutiful sister. She battled the yearning for a more fulfilling life, as she took one last moment to relish the quiet peace, listening to the birds trill and to the creek babble. Finally she stood, retied the ribbon of her bonnet under her chin, thankful for the shade it provided on this sunny day, as she started a slow walk across the field toward the road and town.

  While she walked, she thought about her day. Although she knew her brother would call her witless, Philomena had yearned for time outside of the house and away from any potential parishioners who might call. Philomena had a short supply of patience for vacuous conversations about the weather. Sighing, she admitted that she dreaded further conversations filled with pitying innuendos about her unmarried state and the increasing likelihood she would remain a spinster for all time.

  Too many had delighted in the articles written by Jessamine MacKinnon and had relished in visiting the rectory to meet half of the infamous pair. Philomena had borne the brunt of their inquisitiveness with as much equanimity as she could muster, but today she needed to be away. She knew Morris could brew a pot of tea as easily as she could, and she had left him a batch of scones to share with whomever called. She only hoped, when she returned, that he wouldn’t act too petulant at having to host parishioners alone. She attempted to focus on the day and not her brother, as she now walked on the main road, nearing town.

  As she rounded a corner, she immediately encountered two people on horseback and jumped to the side. Stumbling on the loose dirt, she fell to her knees and scraped the palms of her hands.

  “Forgive us!” called out one of the riders.

  Philomena saw them stop but had already pushed herself up, swiping at her palms and then patting at patches of dirt on her skirt. “It’s fine. I was too busy admiring the beautiful day.” She stared curiously at the couple. “I don’t know you.” She flushed, as she had blurted out that statement.

  The petite woman with a hat pinned on at a jaunty angle, covering the palest blond hair Philomena had ever seen, moved her horse in Philomena’s direction. “Ach, ’tis no’ yer fault.”

  “You’re a MacKinnon,” Philomena said, with an instinctive step backward. “How did I not know about you?”

  The woman shared a long look with the man on the horse with her. “I’m their cousin, Davina, although I’m married to Slims.” Her chin tilted up with pride at that proclamation. “An’ I dinna like kennin’ ye dinna like the family.”

  Philomena blushed. “Oh, it’s nothing like that. I’m Miss Fitch. My brother is the new pastor. I thought I knew most townsfolk by now.” She bit her tongue to stop babbling, a habit she thought she had outgrown.

  “Miss Davina is in town for a spell,” said the man, his voice low and melodious, his black hair braided down his back. His brown eyes on the verge of black stared at her with a deep intensity, as though he were peering into her soul. “You should take care not to walk alone, miss. It isn’t always safe for a single woman.”

  Davina turned to the man. “Bears, help me down. We’ll walk back with her. I’ve enjoyed our ride, an’ I ken the horse needs a little more time to heal, afore she’s ready for more active pursuits.” She patted the neck of her chestnut horse, who snorted and lifted its head, as though to receive more of her attention. “This beauty had a bad case of hoof rot.”

  “Yet she looks fine,” Philomena said, as she watched Bears hop down and then ease Davina from her saddle.

  “Looks never tell you the whole picture, miss. Or have you never been deceived?” Bears asked, with a lift of one of his black eyebrows. When she flinched, he nodded. He rubbed a hand over the horse’s neck, before murmuring soft words to his steed.

  Standing stiffly, Philomena studied the man, who she knew to be one-third partner in the MacKinnon livery. Although not a direct relation to the MacKinnons, he had married Annabelle MacKinnon’s sister, Fidelia, and was now family. Philomena knew his father had died, just before he began working with the MacKinnons, and her estimation of this town had risen, when she realized that none refused to do business with the livery due to the fact he was half Native American. “I thought you were an expert at caring for horses.”

  Bears’s gaze glinted with amusement, as he looked at her. “I am, as Miss Davina is learning to be too.” He waited until they had begun a slow walk in the direction of town.

  “My horse was brought in by a man who didna have the sense to care for it,” Davina said. “Bears has been helpin’ it to heal for the past month.”

  Curious, even though she knew next to nothing about horses, Philomena asked, “How are you able to ride it? Isn’t it dangerous?”

  Davina chuckled, her brown eyes lighting with a deep contentment. “Oh, I ken my ways around horses, an’ I’m no’ skittish.” She raised her brow, as she looked at Philomena, as she had seen the way the woman had shied away from the horse approaching her. “But ’twill be my last ride for some time. I promised Slims.”

  Staring at the woman, who appeared a few years older than Philomena was, she asked, “Slims is the foreman at the ranch, isn’t he?” She flushed when she saw Davina’s speculative glance.

  “I dinna like ye actin’ as though ye dinna ken a thing about the family. Ye were Peter’s beloved, aye?” Davina asked bluntly. When Philomena flushed and tripped, Davina made a sound of dismay in her throat. “Why do ye no’ fight for the man?”

  “Davina,” Bears murmured.

  “Well, ’tis as plain as this beautiful day that she still cares for him,” she said to Bears, pausing to meet Philomena’s horrified stare. “Ye ken ye do, so why are ye lyin’ to yerself?” She made an impatient motion with her hand. “Life’s short, ye ken? I never thought I’d be happy a
gain, an’ yet I am. I came here out of desperation, an’ I found a family. An’ love.” She shrugged, as a satisfied smile bloomed.

  “Not all are as fortunate as you, Mrs. Slims,” Philomena said in a brittle tone, her joy in the beautiful day diminishing with each step she took beside Davina.

  “Ye ken we’d accept ye, aye? As long as ye made the man happy, ye have to ken there’d be no objection from us.” Davina stared at the woman, who kept her head downcast. “Or is it that ye want to believe we’d no’ accept ye? That ye want to create mischief where it does no’ exist?”

  Philomena stopped, her skirt swirling around her, as she glared at the bold woman. “You may believe you have the right to ask me such impertinent questions, but I don’t have to answer them. Just because you nearly ran me over and then stopped to inquire after my well-being doesn’t mandate that I form a friendship with you.” Philomena bristled with anxiety, as her brittle voice echoed around them, her words crisp and precise and overly formal, as she attempted to conceal her deeper emotions. She knew she had failed when Davina smiled at her with sympathy.

  Gripping her arm to prevent her from rushing away, Davina shook her head. “Aye, ye’re searchin’ for any reason no’ to be with the man. Are ye that afraid of love?”

  Wrenching her arm free, Philomena half-ran, half-walked away, thankful when they didn’t follow her. “Good day,” she called out over her shoulder, as she raced on in the direction of town, so filled with anger that she could barely make out where she was going. Upon reentering town, she sat on the shaded bench beside the church that was unoccupied. She knew from experience that she would have as long as she needed to compose herself before returning to the rectory. Morris preferred to remain indoors most days and preferred those in his flock to seek him out in an environment he controlled, rather than on a bench beside the church.