Runaway Montana Groom: Bear Grass Springs Book 12

by Ramona Flightner

  She sighed as arms wrapped around her, tugging her backward against a hard chest. She breathed deeply, this time smelling the intoxicating scent of her husband. Sweat and bay rum and musk.

  “Hello, my love,” he murmured, kissing her neck. “I’ve missed you.”

  She sighed again, turning her head, so he could better kiss her. “I wasn’t gone long.” She moaned, tilting her head back, as he ran a hand over her front.

  “Yes, you have been,” he murmured, dropping his hands to her waist and turning her, his gaze solemn and filled with adoration and love. “You disappeared a week ago. Where did you go? What happened?” He frowned at her panicked intake of breath and kept his strong grip on her, when she struggled to free herself.

  “Let me go!” she whispered. “You have no right to … to keep me here.” She pushed at him.

  “You are no prisoner,” he said in a hurt-laced voice. “I never meant to imply …” He backed away, dropping his hands and staring at her with impotent fury. “What did I do to lose your affection?”

  A tear rolled down her cheek, as disenchantment filled her gaze, and as her shoulders hunched forward. “Affection? Is that what you call it now?”

  “Mena?” he whispered in a soft voice, as his thumb stroked her cheek. “What’s the matter?”

  Shaking her head, she whispered, “I’m being more emotional than usual.” She held a hand over her belly. “Be patient with me.” Gasping out an oof as he pulled her tight, she buried her face against his chest, thankful he was no longer peering into her gaze, eager to discern truth from lie. She wished she found as much comfort in his embrace as she had just a week ago. However, now everything was shadowed with doubt.

  She only wished she had the courage to confront him. The dread of having her fears realized filled her with terror, keeping her silent.

  “Shh, little love,” he murmured. “Forgive me. Come. Rest. Let me hold you.” He urged her to walk with him to their bedroom.

  She followed, eager to take whatever comfort she could. As she rested in his arms, listening to the steady beat of his heart, she wondered how long she would know such momentary peace.

  Peter walked to the Merc on a slow afternoon, the café closed for a few hours. Philomena was working in the kitchen, preparing the evening meal, but she didn’t seem eager for his company. He found himself reluctant to sit in the kitchen in a stilted silence, as resentment bloomed in him. He had no wish to become like his father.

  With a sigh, he murmured an apology as he bumped into someone. When he was pushed back a step, he raised his head and focused on the irate man, glaring at him. “Morris,” he said.

  “I can’t believe the townsfolk of this good town allow you to walk the streets after you sullied my sister,” Morris hissed, punching him in his shoulder.

  Peter fell back a pace, shaking his head. “You don’t want to pick a fight with me, Preacher,” he said in a low voice, tinged with warning. “I can guarantee you will lose.”

  Striding to him, Morris stood until he was toe-to-toe, his pungent breath wafting over Peter. “How could you behave in such a reckless manner? How could you leave her, defiled and undesirable?”

  Taking a deep breath, Peter fought for calm. “We’ve been over this, Morris. I think the question you need to ask yourself is how you can continue to treat your sister with such disdain, when she has only ever been good and honorable.” He shook his head. “A moment of passion does not negate what you know her to be.”

  When Morris continued to glare at him but remained silent, Peter said in a low voice, “You must ask yourself what kind of Christian you are that you can’t forgive her for having the temerity to love someone other than you and for daring to believe she deserved happiness outside of caring for you.”

  Peter pushed past a stunned Morris, continuing on his way to visit his uncle. An ache in his soul eased when he saw the flash of joy in his uncle’s gaze at the sight of him, and Peter waited until the customers left before approaching Tobias, who stood behind the counter toward the rear of the store. “Can we close the store for a few moments? I’d appreciate your wisdom.”

  Tobias took a deep breath and nodded, his eyes shining with delight. “Of course. Flip the sign. However, I don’t have anything cold to drink.”

  “Water will do,” Peter called out, as he locked the front door and flipped the sign to Closed. He walked to the rear room and sat, sighing his thanks, as his uncle set a glass of water in front of him.

  “What’s the matter, Peter?” Tobias asked. “Your mama causing trouble again?”

  After a protracted silence, he shrugged. “She might be. The problem is, I don’t know what’s caused the distance growing every day between me and my wife. She claims nothing’s wrong, but she’s pricklier than a porcupine, and I can’t find a way to her soft underbelly to soothe her.” He groaned. “I don’t know how to make her happy.”

  Tobias sighed and stretched out his legs. “Tryin’ to find a way to make your woman happy will keep you busy for the rest of your days. Hopefully she isn’t the sort to crave being miserable.” He smiled at his nephew. “From what I can tell, she isn’t.”

  Leaning forward with a boyish earnestness, Peter asked, “What can I do? I’ve done everything short of begging her to love me.”

  Scratching at his scraggly beard, Tobias sighed. “Begging ain’t going to change how she feels.” When Peter nodded, Tobias murmured, “There isn’t anything to do. Be who you are. Show her your love through your constancy. If that’s not what she needs, not what she wants, then you know she’s not yours. Not truly.” He stared at his nephew, worry and a hint of sorrow in his gaze. “And have the strength to let her go.”

  “Was that how it was with my mother?” he asked.

  Tobias sat back, his gaze momentarily unfocused, as he thought of the past. “No, not so much your mother. With Ada. I knew the type of woman I was losing when I let her go, but I wasn’t willing to forego the idiotic dream of your mother. And I lost everything for my folly.”

  “What happened to Ada? Why don’t you try again with her?”

  Tobias shook his head, his gaze sorrowful. “No, she died. She’ll never know how much I regret forsaking her.”

  Peter sat for a long moment in silence, as he studied the man who had been an integral part of his childhood. “I cried myself to sleep for months after you left,” Peter whispered, nodding when Tobias stared at him in shock. “I concealed it because I never wanted anyone to discover the depth of my dismay.”

  Tobias took a deep stuttering breath, his voice thickened with deep emotions. “I never knew. I never dreamed you would speak with me again, much less seek me out for advice.”

  Smiling wryly, Peter murmured, “You know what it is to lose the woman you love. I fear I may soon be in the same predicament.”

  His uncle gripped his forearm, sternly shaking his head. “No, boy, you won’t because you have the sense to fight for her. You know how much she loves you and you her. You understand marriage is a struggle through misunderstandings and disagreements, but you’ll find a way to make it work.” He paused. “Find out who hurt your wife. Who filled her mind with lies. And prove them all false.”

  Philomena sat on the stoop, enjoying the cool morning breeze. She missed Peter with a deep ache, although she knew that would come as a surprise to him. The distance was more palpable each day between them, and she feared it would soon become an unbreachable chasm. This morning, she attempted to focus on the meadowlark’s sweet song, but not even its call could lift her spirits.

  “Already miserable, I see,” Katrina called out, as she approached. Today she wore a well-fitting navy-blue dress, with matching bonnet.

  Stiffening at her mother-in-law’s voice, Philomena rose, ostensibly to greet the woman but really to prevent her from entering her home. “Ma’am,” she said in a deferential tone that failed to emit any warmth or welcome.

  “Insolent,” Katrina snapped. “I don’t know why I thought my son could d
o no better.” She looked over Philomena, who wore a hand-me-down dress in faded pink calico. “He doesn’t even care about you enough to keep you well-clothed.”

  Gripping her hands together over her ever-expanding middle, Philomena forced a smile. “I believe that is truly no concern of yours, ma’am.” She waited, refusing to offer Katrina a seat or to invite her inside. “I presume there is a reason you walked up here this morning.”

  “I had hoped to have tea with my daughter-in-law and to inquire after her health,” Katrina snapped, her cheeks flushed with her agitation. “After all, you will be the mother of my grandchild.” She sighed as she looked down at the ever-growing town. “If there is any mercy in this world, it will be a boy. Girls are so tiresome, and their prospects in life so limited.”

  “If there is any mercy in this world, she will be healthy and showered in love and acceptance, without a grandmother filling her head with lies about her uselessness.” Philomena stood tall, her eyes flashing with rage, as she glared at her mother-in-law. “If there is any mercy, we will have no contact with you.”

  “Whether you like it or not, I am also a Tompkins. I have every right to join family gatherings. In fact, I believe I shall join you at the ranch, as you give your ghastly party for Harold and Irene.” She lifted her chin in a show of bravado, her gaze daring Philomena to contradict her.

  “You can certainly come to the ranch,” she murmured, “but I doubt you will remain there for long. Everyone there is loyal to Frederick, not to you.”

  Philomena watched as Katrina spun on her heel and stormed away, confused as to why Katrina had visited today. “I’m certain she has the sense not to travel to the ranch,” she murmured to herself, before she ignored Katrina’s visit and readied for work at the café.

  Chapter 13

  In early September, wagons were readied to help move Irene and Harold to the ranch. Philomena stood to one side of the small group gathered by the livery, watching as the men loaded the wagons and chatted. She and Peter had decided to close the café for a few days, with Cailean, Bears, and Alistair keeping an eye on the establishment in their absence. Tobias too had made a last-minute decision to close his Mercantile and to travel to the ranch with Jane and Ben. Helen and Warren had finagled an invite, earning a teasing from the MacKinnons, as Warren enjoyed time away from town on the ranch with his wife.

  “I’m no fool,” he said in a soft voice to Cailean, which Philomena overheard, as the wagons were loaded. “We’ll have a baby soon, and all her focus will be on the little one.” He smiled. “As it should be. But, for now, I’ll take what attention I can get.”

  Cailean laughed and slapped Warren on the shoulder, before moving to kiss Irene and then to shake Harold’s hand. “Just because you’re moving to the ranch doesn’t mean you aren’t expected to return to town when we have a party.”

  Harold nodded. “You couldn’t keep us away.” He pulled Cailean close and whispered in his ear.

  Soon everything and everyone were loaded into the wagons for the journey, with some men on horseback. Philomena sat beside Tobias, who held the reins to one of the three wagons. She studiously ignored her husband, who rode beside their wagon on a black gelding. She focused on the beautiful day and battled nerves at traveling to the ranch.

  “There’s no need to fret,” Tobias said in a soft voice. “You know Sorcha and Fred, and Slims and Davina are there now too.” He smiled at her, before turning to focus on the team of horses in front of him. “Unless you regret marryin’ our boy.”

  “Never,” she said instinctively. “I regret nothing.”

  Tobias sat, swaying softly, as the wagon jostled down the road. “That implies you believe he does.” He glanced at her, the upper part of his face in shadows as he peered at her. “Nothing ever comes from secrets or hiding your fears.”

  “I’m certain you have the right to your own opinion,” she said in a curt, dismissive voice.

  Chuckling, Tobias nodded. “If you don’t sound like my Ada,” he murmured.

  “Ada?” Philomena asked, her curiosity stoked against her will.

  “Aye, the woman I should have married.” He nodded to the wagon in front of them and to his daughter. “Jane’s mother. She fled town with a broken heart, when I was played like the finest fiddle by Katrina. While Ada was pregnant with my babe.” He stared at Philomena, his eyes filled with fathomless regret. “You’ll never know what it is to have lost everything out of cowardice and pride and stupidity.”

  Philomena let out a shaky breath, pausing for a moment to glance at the beautiful valley, now burnished gold in the late summer. Her gaze followed the winding path of willow bushes, which lined a stream. “You haven’t lost everything,” she murmured. “You’ve been accepted back to the ranch. Your daughter adores you. And Peter relies on you.”

  Tobias’s eyes shone. “Yes, as I rely on him. He’s a good man. Trustworthy and loyal. Which is why I don’t understand why you are treating him so poorly. Can’t you see how your coldness hurts him?”

  Against her will, tears formed, and her jaw quivered. “I refuse to be the wedge that breaks apart the family.”

  Shaking his head, Tobias transferred the reins so he could clasp one of her hands. “No, my dear, you don’t understand at all. You are his family. You are who he cherishes most. First and foremost. Above anyone—Frederick, Cole, me, his grandparents. Anyone else comes second to you.” When she gaped at him in disbelief, he nodded. “It’s how it should be. And how it is for him.”

  “But he’ll resent me,” Philomena whispered.

  “Only if you keep acting like this. Be strong, my girl. Trust him. Share your fears.” Tobias gave an encouraging nod and squeezed her hand once more, before releasing it and focusing again on the horses.

  Philomena sat in a dazed silence beside him, contemplating all he had said. She knew she wanted the marriage they were forming, before doubt and fear had paralyzed her. As the wagons turned down the drive to the ranch, she firmed her shoulders, promising herself that tonight she would speak with Peter. She prayed his love proved true.

  Harold sat in a place of prominence in the main ranch house, after the wagons were unloaded. He sat on a comfortable chair near the fireplace that crackled with a small fire, watching his family and friends interact in the place that had always been home. The room on the main floor—where Sorcha had convalesced that fateful winter after her fall and that had most recently been used as the day nursery for the twins—had been converted back to a bedroom for them. Harold watched his grandsons chat, satisfaction glinting in his eyes to see them together. “Ah, if only Cole were here.”

  Peter looked at his grandfather, joining him, while the others mingled closer to the kitchen. “He’ll be here any day now. And then you’ll be wishing for peace and quiet.” Glancing at his brother, he watched without rancor as he spoke with Tobias.

  “I never thought to see him allowed into the main ranch house again,” Harold murmured.

  “Nor I,” Peter said, with a shake of his head. “Nor did I ever think to say that I’m glad he’s here.” He shared a chagrined smile with his father. “It’s good to let the past go.”

  Harold grunted, his gaze focused on another in their party.

  Peter frowned when he saw his grandfather staring with animosity at his wife. “What has Mena done to offend you?” he asked in a soft voice, canting forward so their conversation remained private.

  “If you don’t know, then you’re a simpleton,” Harold snapped. Peter shook his head in confusion. “She’s like your mother. Trapping you into marriage.”

  Peter froze, his jaw dropping open as he gaped at his grandfather. “You believe that? Truly?” He shook his head, as though he were attempting to understand a foreign language. When Harold stared at him mutinously, he glowered at his grandfather. “You better not have shared any of your crazy ideas with her.”

  “I have every right to speak my mind, especially seein’ as no one else had the guts to,” Harold snapped.<
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  “How could you?” Peter whispered, holding a hand to his heart. “She’s nothing like Mother. Nothing. If you’re too simpleminded to see it, that’s your problem, not mine.” He rose, striding away from his grandfather and approaching his wife, who spoke to his grandmother. His cheeks were red, his eyes flashing and his breath coming fast as he demanded, “Did you know, Grandmother?”

  Irene glanced from Peter to her disgruntled husband and back to her grandson. She shook her head, as she raised an eyebrow in her husband’s direction. “Calm down, Peter. All will be well.”

  “No, it won’t! Not when he’s decided my wife is no better than my mother!” He flushed as all those nearby heard his pronouncement, and the cheerful chatter quieted. He stared at his wife, who had paled and taken a step away from him in horror. “Mena,” he rasped. “I had no idea.”

  “How could you?” she whispered, as she looked around in horror at their friends and family staring at her. She thrust her cup at him and ran away.

  Before he could chase after his wife, Irene gripped his arm. “Harold is protective of those he loves. The only person he loves more than you three boys is me. Don’t punish him for being an old man, afraid for his family.”

  Peter wrenched his arm free, racing down the hallway and out the back door. “Mena!” he screamed, as he stared at the vegetable and flower garden. He searched for any sign of her green dress, uncertain where to go.

  “Dinna yell at me either,” Sorcha ordered in an imperious tone. “However, when I was mad at Frederick, I hid in that shed.” She shrugged, as she pointed to a worn-down building a short distance away. “I’d have a look there.”

  Mumbling his thanks, he leaped off the back porch and ran toward the shed. He stilled when he saw her crouched outside, facing away from the house. “Mena?” he whispered.