by Cheri Chaise
With the unexpected high birth rate among our herds, I’d spent more time in the saddle fending off predators from the calves and lambs.
Evan’s trapping season had left him with a mountain of furs that kept him busy in the tanning shed well past sundown.
Bret’s foals and yearlings had doubled over the past year, and he was kept busy with constant care and training.
Then the orders for Drew’s finely crafted furniture continued to pour in, guaranteed to keep him busy for the rest of the year.
Between all of our individual pursuits, there was still the feeding, planting, milking, and mucking that had to be overseen each day before winter offered a brief break from the fields and orchards. Fall in Montana lasted only a few weeks before those cold Canadian winds sent everyone indoors.
Even with the help over the next several days, we’d be lucky to stack up two whole stories of logs and put on a roof to enclose this new addition in time. But we had to try. With Stella due to birth soon, our bedroom alone was about to go from cozy to cramped this winter without the additional space.
And two babies in the room would put an even bigger damper on our amorous activities at a time we were all craving to have and to hold.
Most importantly, I’d made a promise to our wife – and I wasn’t about to break it.
For two years that loom of hers had collected dust at the back of the barn. The monstrosity had been a sore spot in the early days of our marriage, as we’d had to lug it all the way from Fort Union, along with those nineteen trunks. I’d even threatened to break the thing up and turn it into firewood on our drive across the Montana plains.
But what had once been a source of friction between us had become the gift I yearned to give back to her so she could again weave the tapestries she’d once spoken of so fondly in her letters. And after viewing the completed one she’d brought along with her, I was curious to see how a bunch of different colored threads all smashed together produced such intricate and detailed imagery.
So in order to do that, I was determined to finish this project before winter set in this year – come hell or high water.
Or, according to this time of year, snow.
“Drew!” I called out. “Where do you need me?”
Seeing as how this was his area of expertise, I was more than happy to surrender the leadership role as the oldest and submit to my youngest brother’s direction.
He shoved his hat back on his head and grinned at me from behind a full sawdust beard clinging to his sweaty face. “If you’d help Evan notch those logs back there,” he said, pointing toward the stacks of felled logs we’d hauled in over the summer, “we can go faster getting the walls up for the first level once the floor is in.”
“You got it.” I patted Drew’s shoulder as I headed behind the house to see Evan hewing his hatchet deep into the soft pine.
I snatched up one from the assortment of tools as I passed and went all the way down to the other end of the same log.
“You’ll need this,” Evan said, pulling a piece of twine from between his lips.
“Then what’ll you use to measure?”
He pulled a different piece from his pocket and hung it from the corner of his mouth. “Got a few more.”
I wiped the soggy string against my trousers. “Coulda given me a dry one.”
Green eyes that matched mine twinkled. “Where’s the fun in that?”
“Damn fucker,” I muttered with a chuckle.
“Fucking asshole,” he returned good naturedly.
I got to work at the opposite end of the log, measuring out how far from the end to cut and then using the twine to measure out how deep to notch it to match my brother’s. It didn’t take long before we rolled that log out of the way and started in on the next.
The hours melted away as we worked quietly side-by-side. My next oldest brother wasn’t much of a talker, spending large swaths of the year trapping alone in the wild. The lack of conversation did help increase our efficiency as the morning dwindled though. That is, until my focus was arrested by the hum emanating from the opposite end of the log.
At first the noise just touched the back of my mind, like a buzzing fly or bee. Slowly I realized the hum had a rhythm. A tune.
It took only another moment for the shocking truth to sweep through me – my brother hummed a song softly to himself.
I stopped hacking away at the notch and listened a bit more closely over the clattering of hammers and saws around the corner of the house. It wasn’t just humming now. I heard distinct words passing over his lips. My own tugged into a pleasant smile.
How many years had it been since I’d heard Evan hum, much less sing? To strum the strings of his guitar?
Not since we’d lost Sky.
I’d been so consumed with my own grief at the loss of our wife and my son, it was years later before I stopped to realize how deeply my brothers were impacted by her absence.
Even though he’d yet to partake with us, Stella’s mere presence had been good for my brother. Enough so that Evan was actually singing again – at least to himself.
Maybe I could persuade him to pull out that old guitar and entertain us when he came home for Christmas this winter. Evan hadn’t bothered to come home over the holiday until Stella’s arrival either, so chalk up another improvement since we’d taken her as a wife. Hell, forget waiting until Christmas to drag out the guitar even. Why not tonight after dinner?
The singing stopped, and Evan glanced over my way. I quickly turned my focus to the ache that suddenly registered in my burned hand and tugged the glove off to flex the bandaging.
“Hand bothering ya?” Evan asked.
“Not too bad.” Though the tender sensation increased, and the bandages were tinged with a bit of watery blood. “I may’ve burst the blister.”
He pushed his hat back on his head and came to stand over where I squatted. “Estella did a good job wrapping it.”
“That she did.”
“You might want her to change it though.”
“I already spent part of this morning inside while you all were out here working. I’m not about to go in and leave you out here by yourself like some whiny little pussy.”
He shrugged and sauntered off to his end of the log. “Just saying…you don’t want to lose a hand to infection.”
And we were back to gangrene and cutting off my hand. I half expected to hear Bret’s teasing offer again
Evan squatted down and pulled his hatchet from the wood in my silence. “And you shouldn’t let your wife carry all that food out here in her condition.”
My stomach growled as soon as I caught a whiff of baked ham. My head whipped around when it hit me that the hammering at the far end of the house had stopped. I snarled and slammed my hatchet deep into the log as I leapt up.
When I rounded the edge of the house, I just about lost my temper to see Stella waddling into view, carrying a platter filled with thickly sliced ham steaks. Bret was already headed her way, while Drew slid planks together over the sawhorses for a makeshift table.
Her face was pale. Sweaty strands of coal-black hair clung to her cheeks. Exhaustion had returned to her blue eyes, and she looked about ready to fall over the moment Bret took the platter.
“Go back in the house, Stella,” I barked. “You need to rest.”
“And leave you all out here to starve?” Defiance stiffened her spine. “I think not.”
My stride ate up the distance between us before I snatched her up and plopped that beautiful pregnant ass on the newly laid floor. I wanted nothing more than to punish her puckered opening right now with a good, hard fucking, even though neither of us would consider that pleasure a punishment.
I grabbed her chin and planted a quick kiss on those lush and pouty lips. “Then sit here in your new room while we finish bringing out the food.”
“It’s only a baked ham and potatoes. Just a few fixings.”
“Then we’ll get the potatoes.”
“Oh…and don’t forget about the cake cooling on the counter,” Stella said when we returned and before I had a chance to grab a plate and sit down beside her.
I grumbled and did as instructed. A cake. My hugely pregnant wife had spent time and flagging energy making a damn cake for a bunch of grimy guys who were only stopping long enough to fill empty bellies.
But it was hard to stay mad when my mouth watered over the apple crumb topping the entire walk back outside. I cut Stella the first piece to ensure she got some of the delicious-smelling dessert.
Russ cleaned his plate so fast I thought he’d wolf down his fork if he wasn’t careful. “That was a mighty fine meal, Mrs. Carston.” He even picked the cake crumbs from his mustache and licked his fingers. “Can’t remember the last time I ate so well.”
Stella beamed beside me. “You’re too kind, Mr. Watkins.”
“Least not since Ma left,” his youngest son deadpanned.
Dirk nearly knocked the plate from Doug’s hands when he backhanded his brother. “Don’t mention that woman, you idiot.”
Russ just shook his head my way with a grunt. “Come on, boys. Finish up so we can get back to work. I sense a freshening of the air, and this addition ain’t gonna finish itself.”
I glanced at Evan as he searched the sky and sniffed the air. A freshening meant only one thing – the winds were shifting. He stared at me with a grim nod as I helped Stella down with a stinging hand in need of a new bandage – or better yet, a ripe ass to spank.
But I ignored the warring sensations of pain and pleasure and got back to work. Russ was right. This new addition wasn’t going to get finished on its own.
And if we didn’t hurry, neither would we.
Chapter Seven
Estella
The day was a whirlwind of activity. While the men pounded, chopped, and yelled back and forth with each other, I bustled about the kitchen, making pies and checking food stores in preparation for what to cook for dinner.
I barely had time to stop and play with my little girl, who mostly contented herself with her dolly and the wooden blocks Drew had made for her. To avoid yet another mishap and Cole’s concerned barking if he chanced upon us, I made a comfortable area of blankets near the pantry just for her.
But with all of the constant noise right outside my bedroom, Meghan only settled for a brief nap later in the afternoon. I took advantage of that fleeting window to gather clean linens and prepare the upstairs for our guests.
Mr. Watkins and his sons only planned to stay the night and help out in the morning before setting out on the return trip to their homestead. After all, a ranch required constant care, and Russ wasn’t about to leave his ranch hands to oversee his holdings any longer than necessary.
But losing those three was sure to slow down work on the new addition. My men were by no means slothful. Neither were the various hands we employed. It was simply a matter of mathematics. More hands meant faster gains in the work to be had.
By twilight, their work was quite evident when I went out to the porch to call everyone in for dinner and witnessed a sight to behold.
Where this morning there had only been stone footings, now stood the partially constructed log walls of what was to become rooms to house our books and my loom and a nursery for our young children. The ground floor walls were raised just over halfway, with this new addition butting up to the existing structure. I was amazed at how tightly they were able to get the wood to all fit together.
And at how much they’d gotten done in one exhausting day.
“What do you think?” Cole grinned from ear-to-ear, smelling of pine and sticky with sweat when he turned his face up to me from the ground side of the railing. I was more than happy to grant a well-deserved kiss, regardless of how my belly impeded our efforts. “If the chinking is dry enough by tomorrow morning, we should be able to cut in the windows.”
“It’s so…I can’t believe how much you…” Tears clouded my vision yet again. “It’s perfect.”
Cole rested his injured hand on the porch railing and surveyed their work. “It’ll be perfect once we get this floor finished, the second floor in place, and a roof over the top of the whole thing. Then we can take our time with the inside over the winter.”
“How in the world will you lift those logs so high?” I asked in wonder, and shivered with the obvious danger inherent in such an undertaking.
“Very carefully.”
“You’d better be careful, Cole Carston. I don’t want to have to explain to your child when he’s older why you’re dead.”
A cloud passed over his face before he reached between the porch spindles to rest a hand on my belly. “How are you feeling?”
I shook my head to reassure him. “I’m fine. No pains.” At least not of the birthing sort.
“You didn’t overdo it today, did you? You found some time to rest, right?”
I laughed. “With all the noise you boys were making and hungry mouths to feed? Not a chance.”
My husband’s eyes darkened. “You need to rest, wife. I know you’re ready to see our son…”
“Or daughter,” I reminded with a tap to his nose.
“But,” he emphasized, “I just need you to rest and hold him in a few days longer until we can get finished here and get a roof on.”
“I’ll rest when you do, husband.” My smile was pinched as another series of jabs to my ribs impeded our conversation.
But Cole was thankfully oblivious as he turned away and yelled out to the workers, “Wash up! Dinner’s inside on the table for everyone.”
Weary activity sped up, and in what seemed like mere moments, we were all filling plates with chicken and potatoes, fresh corn-on-the-cob and snap peas, biscuits, and huckleberry pie.
Our hired hands rarely ate inside with us except for holidays, taking their meals in the commons area of the bunkhouse. But this was a special occasion – a holiday of sorts – and the work they did for us today made them like family.
When dinner was done, no one allowed me to lift a finger, especially when Cole barked to make quick work of the dirty dishes and head out to get a good night’s sleep. They all looked so weary from the exertions of a hard day, I had no doubt they’d fall straight into their bunks.
I only wished I could do the same. But with guests in the house and the need to hold this baby in its cocoon, I doubted Cole and Bret would be willing to pursue a night of delectable and passionate release again.
“Another fine meal, Mrs. Carston, ‘specially them tender biscuits,” Mr. Watkins said with a satisfied sigh. “I’m gonna miss your cookin’ when we leave out tomorrow.”
My heart warmed under such high praise indeed. After those disastrous, hard-as-rocks earlier attempts, to know I’d been able to perfect the one item that had given me such trouble made tears attempt to worm their way from my eyes again.
But this time I successfully swallowed them. “I’ll be sure and make extra biscuits in the morning for you gentlemen to take home.”
Yet another thing I needed to be sure and write to Mrs. Barker about when I penned the birth announcement letter to her.
“Much obliged.” With a grateful nod, Russ clutched his hat in his hands and motioned his sons toward the front door. “Come on, boys. Let’s not disturb the Carstons any further tonight.”
“But I thought you were staying through the night, Mr. Watkins,” I questioned.
“That we are,” he replied. “We’ll just be heading out to grab a bunk with the hands, if they’ll have us.”
“Sleep in the bunkhouse?” I cried, struggling to stand with Cole’s assistance. “You’ll do no such thing.”
“We’ve got our bedrolls in the wagon if there ain’t room.”
“And you’ll not sleep in your
wagon either. I’ve prepared rooms upstairs for you.”
“Stella…,” Cole started to interrupt.
I held up my hands. “You’re our honored guests, Mr. Watkins,” I finished firmly. “And we’re glad to have your help, though I hope Dirk and Doug won’t mind sharing a room.”
“I doubt Dirk…,” Doug began.
“Will mind,” Dirk finished with a sharp glance at his younger brother.
“Then it’s settled,” I said with a triumphant nod then patted my belly as the baby rolled and pushed forcefully against my innards. “Though…I’ll let Drew show you gentlemen upstairs.”
Evan came around the corner from the kitchen, drying his hands on a cloth. “If you’ll ‘scuse me, I’m gonna head to the tanning shed to oil some traps for the season.”
With the hunting and trapping season fast approaching once again, Evan had a lot to prepare, or so it was explained before the previous season got underway.
He’d yet to invite me out to see his operation, though truth be told, I wasn’t too keen on getting up close and personal with animal hides – especially when a few covering our floors still retained their heads, staring out from sightless eyes.
“I’d be happy to help,” Dirk offered, and followed along as Evan headed out the door while the rest of the Watkins brood retired upstairs.
Bret came out of the bedroom and softly closed the door behind him. “Meg’s out.”
“Already? But I didn’t even nurse her.”
Dark eyes brightened with mirth as he bent to kiss me. “She was as tuckered out as the rest of us, I guess.” He grabbed his hat from where it hung off the chair spindle and headed for the door.
“Where are you off to?”
“Got horses to feed. Don’t wait up.”
No chance of that. I was about to fall asleep where I stood. It was as if the first night of solid sleep I’d had in a month last night hadn’t even happened. Oh, how I hoped this baby and the accompanying aches and pains allowed me a few hours’ sleep at least.
