by Kit Morgan
“What’s wrong, Bowen?” Grandma asked. “You’ve been moping around here since this morning.”
“Sorry I wasn’t here,” Elsie said. “How was your visit? I can’t wait to see Mrs. MacDonald again.”
“It was … interesting.”
“Visit?” C.J. said. “Begging your pardon, Dr. Drake, but are you referring to the Scotsman and his friend?” Maybe he could find out a few things to relay to Rufi. That might not be the best course of action, but until he came up with a better one, it was something.
“Yes, they were all here,” Grandma said. “Land sakes, I can still smell cookies.”
C.J. slowly turned toward her. “Cookies?”
Grandma sighed. “I know it sounds silly, but Melvale smells like sugar cookies. With nutmeg.”
“Maybe he bakes,” Elsie suggested.
“Bakes where? I haven’t heard of the man invading Sally’s kitchen at the hotel. Oh, maybe my sniffer is off.”
C.J. smiled at Grandma. “Cookies,” he mused
“Oh, hush, you. Doc’s out back.” She waved him down the hall.
He knew where to go – this wasn’t the first time he’d helped the Wallers. Near the barn behind the house, he found Doc Waller talking with Tom and Eli Turner as well. “What’s going on – did the barn commit a crime?” he joked
Doc laughed. “Howdy, C.J. They’re just catching me up on the day’s events.”
“Yes, I’ve heard a few things myself.”
“About Harlan’s visit to the Bennetts’?” Tom asked.
C.J. nodded and noted the stack of fresh-cut boards near the barn. “Floor and sides, right?”
“Yep,” Doc replied. “How long do you think it’ll take?”
“I can start today, but tonight I’m on bird patrol. I’ll probably get it done tomorrow, depending on how many boards need replacing.”
“When’s yer turn to look for the mystery bird, little brother?” Tom asked.
Eli snorted. “I got better things to do than chase after a chicken.”
“It’s not a chicken,” Tom and C.J. said in unison.
“I know C.J.’s gonna enjoy looking,” Doc chortled and winked.
“What in tarnation do ya mean?” Eli asked, his head swinging between the two.
“On account he gets to hunt with that pretty Eyetalian gal,” Tom said. “I told Eli’s wife Pleasant all ‘bout Miss Cucinotta and her sister Bella. She can’t wait to meet ‘em. Prob’ly to see if it’s true.”
“It’s true,” C.J. said before he could catch himself.
“Ha!” Doc barked. “Best enjoy it, son. Who knows when you’ll meet a woman like that again?”
Eli shook his head. “Yer gonna make our womenfolk jealous with talk like that. Pleasant wants to meet ‘em, but she ain’t rushin’ to town to see if what Tom says ‘bout ‘em’s true. If anythin’, she’s more interested in the MacDonalds and their friend.”
“Grandma thinks he smells like sugar cookies,” C.J. volunteered. “With nutmeg.”
Doc glared at him. “Still? She’s been banging on about that all day.”
“Speakin’ of jealous …,” Tom teased.
“Enough – go fix my barn, C.J.,” Doc said. “And if you tell me tomorrow that Melvale smells like pastry, I’ll find someone else to work here!” He stomped off, leaving the three younger men chuckling behind him.
C.J. shook his head. “Someone’s jealous.”
“Ain’t never seen Doc act like that before.” Tom put his hand on Eli’s shoulder. “Little brother, maybe ya better help us find that bird, so them folks’ll leave town and things can get back to normal.”
After supper, C.J. paced the hotel porch, Tom’s words to Eli still ringing in his head. On the one hand, it would be nice for things to return to normal. On the other, once the bird was found, wouldn’t the Weavers leave town? To them it was like a game, fun and adventurous. Why stay after the game ended?
He leaned against a post, his hands in his pockets, and watched the sunlight fade toward evening. He’d had supper in the kitchen with Sally, unsure if he could eat with Rufi in the same room. The more he thought about her, the less he could stop. She was beginning to drown out everything else.
Was he a fool, chasing after some elusive fowl that strangers needed a whole town to help find? But that wasn’t what had him concerned – it was the thought of finding someone that finally suited him, only to have her ignore him in favor of one of the strangers. Yet here he was, waiting for her on the porch so they could discuss the mysterious Melvale and his origins, and plot how to find out more about him. “C.J., you idiot,” he muttered to himself.
“Mr. Branson?”
He spun at the sound of her voice. She was wearing a yellow day dress with short puffy sleeves that made her look like some minor Roman deity. “Ruf … I mean, Miss Cucinotta.”
She waved dismissively. “Rufi’s fine.”
He nodded. “C.J., then. It’s what most folks around here call me anyway.”
She smiled before glancing over her shoulder.
“Are you expecting someone?”
“I hope not.” She crossed the porch. “My brother in-law Calvin lectured me on propriety at supper and no one stopped him.”
“But surely they don’t think you would act improperly.”
“No, but they’re sure you will.”
His jaw tightened. “Well, I never.”
“But I reminded all of them that the MacDonalds will be with us the whole time. It’s just …”
“What?” he asked with a curious frown.
“I don’t want this to be the only time we search. They make it sound like it is, though.”
“I see,” he said, not at all sure he did. He glanced down the street. “Well, let’s make the best of it, shall we? Have a good time like the rest of your family and not give the MacDonalds anything to report.”
Rufi smiled. “Sounds good to me.” She glanced over her shoulder again. “Now, have you thought up any questions?”
He leaned against the post. “Why don’t we ask the MacDonalds about themselves, then move on to Melvale.”
“A good idea,” she said brightly.
He sighed. A man could lose himself in that smile. “I thought so.”
She smiled again. “What else?”
He came away from the post. “We could ask if they’ve looked for other rare animals. I wonder, do they make money at it? Do they belong to some sort of society that protects them?”
“All good questions,” she said with a little bounce. He’d like to think it was because of him, but was sure it was finding out about Melvale that had her excited. He should quit now, spend the evening with her with no expectations, and let that be that.
Suddenly he recalled Cyrus’s words about his competition: Two other men, more handsome and more successful than I was at the time … hmmm. Just how successful was this Melvale? What did he do other than chase after rare birds? And what made the thing so rare to begin with?
He was quickly coming up with another list of questions. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Shouldn’t he know his competition? He couldn’t compete with the man’s looks, that was certain. But was that all Rufi was interested in? He doubted it. She’d want to get to know the man for his mind, his heart, learn his background. What about his family? The more C.J. himself knew, the better. Cyrus was right – he shouldn’t give up. He smiled at Rufi. “I think we have more than enough questions to start with.”
“But we’ve only come up with a few,” she countered.
“Don’t worry, we’ll think of more as the evening progresses.” He saw two figures approaching the hotel doors from the inside and nodded toward them. “Here they come.”
She turned and her eyes widened. C.J. looked and his did the same. It wasn’t that Dallan MacDonald strode out in buckskins, though they made him look even larger. It was the huge longbow and the quiver of arrows strung on his back. “Are you planning to shoot it?” C.J. aske
d nervously
“Nay, laddie. But if we’re going out on the prairie, I’m no going to pass up the chance for a wee bit o’ hunting.”
“I see,” C.J. said in relief. He glanced at his own holster. “I prefer shooting game myself.”
Mr. MacDonald smiled. “I like a quieter method.”
Mrs. MacDonald stepped onto the porch, Aideen clinging to her skirt. “But why can’t I go?”
“I told you, sweetheart – your mother won’t allow it. But perhaps tomorrow you and I could pick some wildflowers?”
“Oh, that would be wonderful!” Aideen clapped her hands, turned on her heel and ran back into the hotel. “Mama! Mrs. MacDonald and I are going treasure hunting tomorrow!”
Mrs. MacDonald rolled her eyes. “Oh dear.”
Her husband smiled. “She’s taken a shine to ye, Flower, and no denying it.”
“Yes, but I wish she would tell her mother what I actually said.”
Rufi smiled. “Children do that all the time. I’m used to it.”
“Aye,” Mr. MacDonald said. “I’ve seen ye with one or more in tow.”
“I watch my sister’s children and the others all the time. And there are plenty more at home.” She sounded tired just explaining it.
“So we’ve heard,” Mrs. MacDonald said. “Well, shall we get going?”
Rufi glanced at C.J. and smiled. “Yes, lets.”
Mr. MacDonald offered his wife his arm. She took it with a smile and they stepped off the porch. C.J. did the same for Rufi. She stared at it a moment before taking it with a hint of a smile.
Chapter Ten
C.J. did his best not to stare at Rufi the entire time. It was one thing to be with her around her large, boisterous family, quite another in a quieter setting amidst the flower-dotted prairie. The sweet-smelling air was warm, the sunlight golden in dusk.
And he couldn’t have asked for better escorts. Dallan MacDonald moved with the grace of a cat, his footfalls silent. His wife, too, moved quietly, the only noise that of her skirts brushing against the tall grasses.
“It’s beautiful out here,” Rufi whispered.
“It is,” C.J. agreed. “I’ve never been this way before.”
“You haven’t?”
“No. I ride back and forth to the men’s camp and today I visited the Triple-C, but I haven’t done much exploring.”
“‘Tis fine country,” Mr. MacDonald said as he glided beside them.
C.J. watched him a moment. How could such a large man move so soundlessly? Even the moccasins didn’t explain it entirely. “So where do you think it could be?”
“The wee beastie?” Mr. MacDonald clarified. “According to Melvale, it could be anywhere. But it doesna tend to venture far from town once it returns to the area.”
“Mrs. Bennett said that was just a couple of weeks ago,” Rufi added.
“Aye, then it should be around somewhere.”
“Couldn’t the Bennetts just call it?” C.J. asked. “I mean, wasn’t it Mrs. Bennett’s pet?”
“After a fashion,” Mr. MacDonald said. “Sometimes I dinna wonder if it wasna the other way around.”
Rufi laughed.
“Aye, it sounds silly, but …” The big man shrugged. “… one never kens.”
Rufi winked at C.J. “Mr. MacDonald, I was wondering … what part of Scotland are you from?”
He kept his eyes straight ahead. “Glencoe, originally. I grew up there, then went to France for a time.”
“Do you speak French?” she asked.
“Oui, madamoiselle. Je parle très bien le français. Et vous?”
“Oh, um, je le parle un peu,” Rufi said.
“Je le parle bien aussi,” C.J. added.
Rufi stared at him. “Why, Mr. Branson … er, C.J. I had no idea. What did you say?”
He shrugged. “I speak it quite well too.”
“I can see that,” she said. She looked him up and down. “But where did you learn?”
“Um …” His eyes flicked between Rufi and the MacDonalds. The little party had stopped and were all staring at him. “My grandfather thought I should learn,” he finally said. “For, um, business purposes.”
“It’s good to know another language,” Mrs. MacDonald said. “You never know when you’ll need it.”
Rufi glanced at C.J. again, then quickly looked away. Maybe he should have kept silent, but with that blasted Melvale around, he wanted her to know he wasn’t without his own talents.
Mrs. MacDonald surveyed their surroundings. “It really is lovely here.”
Her husband joined her and put his arm around her shoulders. “Aye, Flower, ‘tis.”
C.J. smiled at the endearment. He studied the couple a moment as they gazed across the prairie.
“They’re very handsome together,” Rufi whispered next to him.
He slowly turned his head, looked at her and swallowed hard. He wanted to say how handsome she was, but didn’t dare.
“She’s so tiny next to him.” Rufi looked at C.J. and smiled. The top of her head barely reached C.J.’s chin. Mrs. MacDonald’s didn’t even manage to reach her husband’s broad, powerful shoulders. C.J. unconsciously glanced at his own and rolled them.
“Something wrong?” Rufi whispered.
“No,” he whispered back.
She turned back to the couple in front of them, Mrs. MacDonald resting her head against her husband’s chest. It was all C.J. could do to not reach out to Rufi and pull her close. His longing, was growing, gnawing. Maybe he was more ready for a wife than he’d thought.
“Should we ask them now?” Rufi whispered out the corner of her mouth.
“Wh-what?” he squeaked.
She looked at him and smiled. “About Mr. Melvale? Or at least about them.”
His heart sank. Clearly she was unaffected by the ardor assailing him. “Fine.” He looked at her arm hooked through his – she’d made no attempt to remove it. “Go ahead, ask her.”
Rufi stared at him with those big, beautiful dark eyes. “Aren’t you coming?”
“They’re only ten feet away.”
“True.” She glanced at the couple and back, then headed toward them, pulling C.J. along. “Mrs. MacDonald, I was wondering … where are you from?”
The woman reluctantly left her husband’s embrace and exchanged a quick look with him. “Portland. But I’ve spent many years abroad.”
C.J. frowned. He hadn’t expected her to be more or less local. But clearly there was more to the couple than he was aware of. Would Cyrus know? Or better yet, Duncan Cooke, since they’d arrived in town together …
Mr. MacDonald nodded. “We met while I was in Portland for work. Hunting down an outlaw, ye might say. When I was done, she left wi’ me.” He kissed the top of her head.
The gesture sent a wave of longing through C.J. He turned away, fighting the urge to groan. What was wrong with him? It wasn’t as if he’d never seen an affectionate couple before. Though it was frowned upon in public, the prairie around Clear Creek was hardly bustling with people. “So what exactly does this bird look like,” he asked to get his mind off his racing heart.
Mrs. MacDonald gingerly stepped out of her husband’s embrace. “Personally, I think it looks like a cross between a rooster and a quail, but more colorful, like a peacock.”
Rufi laughed. “Oh my. That shouldn’t be hard to miss.”
“No, it shouldn’t. But I’ve only seen such a bird on one occasion, and this one is proving elusive.” She glanced at her husband again. “Considering its looks, I can understand how people might mistake it for an odd breed of chicken. But its coloring is so varied – dark purple, green and blue feathers mixed in with the black and orange.”
“It sounds beautiful,” Rufi commented.
Mrs. MacDonald smiled. “It is. And very useful under the right conditions.” She looked at her husband again and smiled.
“Aye, ‘tis.”
C.J. sighed. It was obvious they loved each other very much – it sh
one off them like sunlight. No wonder he was feeling this way. “Well, then we’d best start looking.”
“Yes,” Mrs. MacDonald agreed. “Why don’t you two scout over there?” She pointed toward the setting sun, then to the north. “We’ll go this way.”
“But … shouldn’t we stay together?” Rufi asked.
“I can see ye well enough, lass,” Mr. MacDonald smiled. “Dinna fash yerself, I ken ye’ll no give me a reason to speak to yer brother in-law when we return.”
Rufi blushed. C.J. felt his cheeks grow hot with embarrassment too. But he was a gentleman and aimed to prove it to Calvin and Benjamin Weaver. The MacDonalds’ word was the best way to do it. He took Rufi’s hand and led her in the direction indicated, only to see the other couple turned aside. So much for asking them more questions.
He wasn’t the only one that thought of that.
“Now what do we do?” Rufi asked. “This isn’t going as we planned.”
C.J. let go of her hand, and was shocked at how it pained him. “We look for the blasted bird.” She followed behind him as they headed west.
The gently rolling prairie stretched before them, dotted with juniper and other trees. C.J. stopped, bent down and plucked a purple wildflower. He had no idea what it was, not being from the area – he just thought it was pretty. He handed it to Rufi. “Do you know what this is?”
She twirled it between her fingers. “An iris, I think.”
“It’s beautiful.” He met her gaze and swallowed hard.
“Yes, it is.” She shaded her eyes against the sun and studied their surroundings. “There are a lot of beautiful flowers here.”
He let his eyes wander, but they kept coming back to her. “Yes.”
Her head snapped around to him. Had his voice betrayed him? “We had better look,” she said, “but … I do not know what to look for. The MacDonalds didn’t tell us.”
“No.” He glanced behind them. There was no sign of the big Scot and his wife anywhere. “Well, they did, sort of. It’s a bird with colorful plumage, so … we look for bird tracks, or feathers, or a nest.”
“And we know what it looks like,” she said, turning a full circle. “But how do we find it in all this space? And wouldn’t it blend in with the grass and flowers?”
