Sweet Spring
A Montana Matchmakers Short Story
Reina M. Williams
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to places, establishments, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental and the work of the author’s imagination.
Copyright © 2020 Reina M. Williams
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First Digital Edition/March 2020
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Epilogue
About the Author
Chapter One
ANA SET DOWN HER EMPTY mug. That was a metaphor for her state of being lately. She shrugged off the melodramatic feeling and leaned into the window, too cold to press her cheek against. This window seat in the kitchen seating area at her cousin’s house had become a favorite spot. Ana liked to have favorite spots, favorite people, favorite poems, and more. The first two—favorite spots and people—had shifted since she and Nora moved here to Loving, Montana.
Glancing out at the still-frosty landscape, Ana sat tall again. Snow blanketed the flat expanse of yard, but the surrounding trees reached their limbs, bare as arms basking in the warmth of a spring day back home in Arizona. The winter seemed to drag on forever here in her new home of Loving. It wasn’t even winter anymore, but spring.
Sighing, her gaze flicked over the verse from the book of Rosario Castellanos poemas her sister Nora had given her years ago. But the words only made Ana more homesick for Delgado Ranch—and her Tucson community—where she heard Spanish daily, where she could get good sopes and cuernitos, where her family had been rooted in for four generations. Where it only snowed up in the mountains, and not for months and months on end. Sure, the snow had seemed romantic, and so had the name of this Montana town, but after almost three months, it wore on her.
With another sigh, she let the curtain fall on the view. She walked every day, no matter what. Or so she’d thought. In blizzard conditions, she couldn’t walk. But today seemed clear, if cold enough to freeze her breath in the air. Okay, she exaggerated, but no one was here to care. Her cousin Maya had gone out with her boyfriend, Dean, and Ana’s sister, Nora, and her fiancé, Cutler, were visiting his family ranch. Her new friend, of sorts, Dean and Cutler’s older brother Brandon, had disappeared on some business or other, so she couldn’t turn to him for a listening ear and companionship as she had been for the last month.
So here Ana was, at Maya’s house, alone. How was she the one with no boyfriend? Over a year now, Ana had been alone, without a special man in her life. Without Papá either. And Mamá died when Ana was a little girl. She was an orphan.
At least she could say she was married to herself now, and her circumstances rivaled that of any of her favorite tragic heroines... Well, enough to be satisfying. Maya had mentioned digging up some of the bulbs—she thought there were some heirloom varieties of daffodils, Ana’s favorites—on the far side of the property. Ana loved gardening almost as much as reading and watching love stories.
She pulled on her boots and other winter gear, grabbed her gardening tote, and headed out the door. The nippy air chafed her exposed cheeks, but she crunched through the icy snow, moving toward the trees lining the edge of Maya’s property about a half mile outside downtown Loving. Ana was still exploring the area, and navigating where she could go without trespassing on neighbors’ property.
She reached the tiny iced-over creek among the trees quickly. Trespassing was how she’d met her last boyfriend. Throwing a rock into the ice, she once again let go of that mess. They’d seemed to have so much in common, from their favorite poems and songs, to their impulsivity. Unfortunately, his impulsive side had led him to cheat on Ana, and she wouldn’t tolerate that. So here she was, the lonely, orphaned heroine of her story, thrown into a strange land and dependent on the kindness of strangers... Or, her wealthy cousin... All right, her cash-strapped cousin with a house and new business. ¡Caray! She couldn’t even enjoy a good exaggeration anymore without facts intruding.
Facts. That was what Cutler’s older brother Brandon seemed to be all about. He’d breezed into town, all six-foot-one of him, looking like a movie-ready lumberjack but acting like a starchy fact-checker, and caring and kind person. Nora, being herself a similar combination of starch and caring, thought Brandon was great, and teased Cutler that she’d met the wrong brother. Which all of them knew was total nonsense. Cutler’s wild-ish and loose self was the perfect foil for her sister’s straitlaced, ramrod self.
Not that Ana had been given much of a chance to formulate an opinion about the couple, as Nora had kept hers and Cutler’s relationship a secret for over twelve years. Nora had been in love, had her heart broken, and been reunited with her first love, and Ana hadn’t known a thing until after the fact. So much for sisterly love and closeness.
She finally saw where she was and cursed her other habit of getting lost in her thoughts. Now she was deep in the woods, and she wasn’t sure how to get back. And it was cold. A wind started, whipping through her, even past the silky long johns she wore under her jeans and sweater and parka, scarf, hat, gloves, and boots.
“Why am I here?” she wondered aloud, again missing the desert, where she could’ve been plenty snug in just the jeans and sweater.
“That’s a good question,” a male voice said from behind her.
She jumped and spun around, her fists raised, landing in a defensive stance.
Brandon Manning put up his arms in surrender. “Don’t take me down.”
She let out a long breath. “You’d deserve it, sneaking up on me like that.”
“I wasn’t sneaking. I called out to you.” He rubbed his hand over his short beard. His tanned cheeks reddened, as much as she imagined hers were, but hers weren’t just red from the cold.
“What’re you doing way out here?” she asked.
“Surveying. You shouldn’t be out here by yourself.”
“But it’s okay for you? Why are you surveying?”
He studied her for a moment, and she crossed her arms, forcing herself to face what she felt was some sort of challenge from him. Unlike his vociferous brother Cutler, Brandon was quiet, kind of like their younger brother Dean. But there was something more intense, more thoughtful, about Brandon. Dean’s easy-going, shy nature wasn’t like Brandon. But both were good listeners, and Brandon had proven himself a friend these last weeks.
“Point taken,” he said. “But I know the area better, and someone knows where I am. Does anyone know where you are?”
How did he know she hadn’t told anyone? Oh, right, he probably knew she was alone this weekend. Surely brothers talked, just like she and her sister and cousin did, or used to. What had happening to las tres hermanas? The three cousins would spend summers together at Delgado Ranch when they were little, and Mamá used to call them that once they gathered about her after a long day running around the ranch, exploring, playing, dreaming. Those days were long gone, seeming part of a dream themselves. Ana wasn’t just out in the cold today—it seemed like her new state.
“You didn’t answer my other question,” she said.
&n
bsp; “You’re right.”
She frowned. “Okay, Mr. Mysterious.”
He shrugged, not responding to her teasing, as usual. “Let’s get you out of the cold.”
“I like being outside.”
“Your nose is red. You should get some better gear if you’re going to be out here in the snow for extended periods.”
“Thanks for the advice.” She said it sarcastically, but he didn’t seem to notice. It was just as well, since he was right, and she knew it. At least he wasn’t lording that over her like her ex would’ve. She shook her shoulders, as if to leave that past on the icy ground instead of carrying it with her again.
“Come on, I’ve got my truck nearby.”
“Thanks.” This time she said it sincerely.
“I have an ulterior motive.”
She gave him a side-eye as they crunched along where his footsteps had carved a path. He met her gaze and she was struck by the crinkles around his dark eyes, as if he were amused, just a little. He was actually a handsome guy, if you could get past the seemingly boring old guy exterior. Okay, he wasn’t that old—just thirty-eight to her twenty-four. The way he acted just made him seem older somehow. Though maybe that was a maturity she wasn’t used to in men younger than forty.
“Do I meet your approval?” she asked when he held her gaze so long she wanted to squirm.
He looked ahead, his cheeks becoming redder.
She followed him toward the truck parked over by a wood fence in a clearing. “Seems like I’m not the only one who needs to get out of the cold.”
“We could both use a warm-up.”
Why did his words send a shiver of heat up her spine? He did have the kind of voice that both excited and soothed; he could probably read the phone book and she’d feel somehow relaxed. Problem was, he didn’t read anything to her. He said things that bothered her, and he didn’t say a lot more. His kind of silence made her uncomfortable, almost as if he were judging her and finding her lacking. Not that he’d ever said that. But her family sure had a time or two. She was too unfocused, too much of a dreamer, too impulsive and impractical. Her family was one long line of ranchers, scholars, politicians, business people—focused, practical, sure. Ana wasn’t any of those things: she was a bright, stretching palo verde among a stand of somber, straight pines.
Brandon opened the door for her and she stepped up and sat in a cushy leather seat. It was the first time she’d been in his truck. Usually, they ran into each other in town, or when she was out walking.
Once he was in the driver’s seat, he started the engine and cranked on the heater. They pulled off gloves and hats. The low strains of a Benedictine monks’ choral wove around her.
Shooting out his hand, Brandon made to turn off the stereo. She grasped his palm. A sizzle went through her arm, but she kept hold of him, wanting to see if that spark had just been a shock of static... But the heat stayed and intensified.
“I like it,” she said, her voice too throaty. “The music.”
He moved his hand and she slid hers back to her lap. He glanced at her as the car idled, warm air swirling around them, picking up his scent, like soap and spruce. Bracing, but clean and straightforward. She kept her gaze on him a moment too long, realizing he knew her much better than she did him. He’d let her talk on and on when they met, asking her the occasional question, but she hadn’t extended him the same courtesy or curiosity.
He cleared his throat and turned to look back as he reversed the truck. Ana leaned toward the window, wondering why she wanted to keep looking at him.
Brandon spoke as they drove along at a slow place across a bumpy track. “As I was saying, I have a reason for talking to you.”
“You need a reason? Am I usually to be avoided?” She kept a teasing tone, even though there was a tiny sprout of doubt in her stomach.
His lips twisted, but whether in displeasure or amusement, she wasn’t sure.
“We should go to Gallagher’s to get that warm drink, and talk about the wedding. Mrs. G is the de facto planner and she said we need to coordinate.”
“Why?”
“You’re maid of honor, and I’m best man. Didn’t Nora tell you?”
“We haven’t spoken in a few days.” Nora had been out of town today, and before that busy at the soon-to-open bakery, Las Tres Hermanas. At least the name would carry on, even if Ana, Nora, and Maya had grown apart. Ana should’ve been helping too, but she’d been under the weather. Today was her first walk in a couple of days. And now it felt cut short.
She glanced at Brandon again. Maybe this wasn’t an unwelcome interruption... But like the man, she wasn’t sure about it.
Chapter Two
BRANDON TRIED TO IGNORE the fire blazing through him. Ana’s touch had ignited the flames, though the spark had begun when he’d first seen her. No one who knew him would guess that he was prone to love at first sight. It wasn’t something he was proud of, and he knew now that “love at first sight” wasn’t love. That ignition was merely attraction, and maybe the pull of possibility.
Unlike with his first true love, and those before her, he was old enough now to take it more slowly. To think carefully about his reactions, and about how the woman in question responded to him. He would never purposefully disrespect anyone, especially not a woman. So he’d tried to be a friend to Ana, as best he could, and keep whatever stronger feelings he experienced buried in cold storage.
He breathed in, which was necessary but fraught with trouble, trapped in a truck with Ana. Her scent, something vaguely cinnamon and cloves, mixed with his own musk—which he hoped she didn’t pick up on, as he felt it signaled his desire for her—made a heady fragrance, all too similar to that of long nights talking and holding his first love, Amara.
In Ana’s creativity and spirited nature, in her dark hair and warm beige skin, her mischievous expressions and thoughtful silences, he also found reminders of Amara. But Ana was her own person, not some reflection of his late love. Still, he couldn’t deny Ana’s appeal. Not to himself, at least. He could deny taking any action on it.
He shook his head and retrained his thoughts on where their conversation had left off. “Why haven’t you spoken to your sister in a few days?”
“Busy times, you know.”
He grunted a response, not wanting to make pronouncements to her about it never being too busy for family. Because people needed time away from family, even beloved relatives. But he’d run too far away, and hadn’t been here in Montana for some important, and grief-filled, times. No, he’d been off serving as an army chaplain in Afghanistan, and falling in love with Amara. And then dealing with the grief of losing her and trying to continue service that no longer felt right or what he’d been called to do.
Ana set her gardening tote on the floor. Already, he knew she loved bulbs, especially daffodils; gardening; decorating; love stories; period dramas; walking; and reading.
He gripped the steering wheel more tightly. She also seemed to know him well, even after their short friendship. He supposed he had come off at first as an uptight “I’m going to tell you the best way to do things” kind of guy. It was an old defense habit when he found himself too attracted to a woman. Which didn’t happen often. And certainly not with his brother’s fiancé’s sister. And his other brother’s girlfriend’s cousin. That could prove way too complicated, and these days he preferred simplicity. It was one reason he was planning a move here to Loving, away from the family ranch, where their oldest brother, Adam, and their three youngest brothers had things well in hand. Too many gardeners ruined the soil, as Grandpa Manning used to say.
“Aren’t you going to tell me I should never be too busy for family, or something?” Ana said in that weary tone she got when someone had, or might, admonish her.
Yes, she knew him. “Something.”
He could feel her leaning back, twisting her body to face him. He focused on getting them into town on the still-icy roads.
She laughed, a rich, musical so
und. “You’re surprising.”
Heat crept up his neck, which fortunately she couldn’t see, since he wore a scarf and coat. Knowing she liked surprises, pleasure expanded his chest. Since meeting her, he’d experienced more emotion than he had in the last many years combined. It was uncomfortable. He’d found it more expedient for living to keep his emotions under wraps. Or at least in moderation. There seemed to be little moderation for him when it came to Ana, not in his inner life, anyway. Outwardly, he supposed no one knew. And there it would stay, his secret.
Because what would a vibrant young woman like Ana want with a crusty thirty-eight-year-old man like him? She was a sheltered dreamer, an artist, impulsive and fun. He was a world-weary war vet, a retired chaplain, careful and staid. They weren’t a match. There wasn’t one for him, and he’d accepted that years ago. Accepted that his one chance at lasting love had been Amara, and she was gone.
“And thoughtful,” she continued after the silence. “Unless you’re just bored.”
He heard the smile in her tone. “No one could be bored around you.” He swallowed hard. That should not have been said.
“Ay, well... Sounds like you don’t mean that as a compliment.”
For once, he thanked his dull tone, his dry humor. She’d misinterpreted what he’d said, and he wasn’t going to correct her. Even though it meant she might be hurt... He really didn’t want that.
“I didn’t mean...” he began, unsure what to say without revealing too much.
“It’s okay. We’re pretty different.” She shifted in her seat, away from him. “Y yo sé que soy excelente.”
“Sí.” He could tell her all the ways she was exceptional, excellent, exciting...but he wouldn’t.
“¿Hablas español?”
At least she wasn’t speaking to him with the formal usted; that was something. “Sí, un poquito.” He wasn’t fluent, like he was in Farsi and German. The Farsi had been challenging, but the German he and his older brother Adam had picked up from his maternal grandparents and mother.
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