Montana Legend (Harlequin Historical, No. 624)

by Jillian Hart

He was no stranger to work, and she had to admire the way his muslin shirt stretched over his broad shoulders as he handled the plow. The wind battered the shock of dark hair tangling below his collar—longer than was proper, but it seemed to fit the rough, raw image he made, a lone man against the endless prairie and sparkling sky.

  And what was she doing? Wasting time standing idle while he worked? Goodness, he’d already completed one long row. Swiping off his hat, he tunneled his fingers through his dark locks, then glanced at her, his smile slow and easy.

  “Does it meet with your approval, ma’am?”

  Oh, his Western drawl was honey-sweet and made her chest flutter. She did her best to hide it and to answer politely, not like a woman interested. “Just fine, Mr. Gatlin. How can I thank you?”

  “There’s no need, as we’re neighbors now. I might be needing a favor in return one day.” He repositioned the plow, making a second row. Muscles bunched beneath his cotton shirt, and sweat beaded his brow as he worked.

  A favor, huh? She couldn’t imagine what. Plowing was hard work, so how was she ever going to help him in return? She wasn’t used to being beholden to a neighbor—and a handsome stranger at that.

  Well, there was work always waiting to be done. She’d best get to it. After one last look over her shoulder at the man with the dark Stetson shading his face, she hurried into the kitchen. She truly shouldn’t be watching him so much, it’s just that her eyes kept finding him if he was in sight.

  You wish too much, Sarah, for things that cannot be. Was it sadness or regret that lingered heavy and familiar in her chest? She didn’t know which as she pumped water until it ran cool and she discovered she could see Gage through the open kitchen window. Hat tilted at a jaunty angle, he was speaking low and easy to his mare. His big hands held the plow with ease.

  What kind of man was he, at heart? she wondered. There was an untamed toughness to him, rugged like the very land itself. Yet he handled the mare with kind words when other men would use the reins as a whip.

  Oh, well, it wasn’t her concern, anyway, was it? she reminded herself and turned her back on the kitchen window, winding through the dim, cramped shanty to the back bedroom. The door creaked on its hinges as she peered into the room far enough to see Ella, asleep in her bed. Fierce love burned in Sarah’s heart for her child, who lay lost in dreams, her blond locks curling across the snowy pillowslip like finely spun gold.

  Unable to stop herself, Sarah smoothed the crocheted afghan tucked beneath the girl’s chin, remembering a time when Ella had been a baby asleep in her crib and a man had been plowing their first garden patch—her husband.

  It was so long ago now that her grief at his death had healed. One day she knew there would be another man in her life she thought to herself as she walked to the kitchen. A man who had enough love in his heart for a woman with a child and responsibilities.

  Looking out the kitchen window as she mixed sweet ginger water, Sarah watched Gage Gatlin finish furrowing another row of her garden. The rich earthy scent of freshly turned dirt filled the air as he managed the plow with easy skill. He gripped the handles and clucked to his mare to send her plodding forward. He looked hot beneath the noontime sun.

  She had to figure out something to repay him, something a neighbor would do for a neighbor. The thought heartened her as she searched the pantry for sugar and spice, and a jar of winter preserves caught her gaze. That’s what she’d do. She would bake him a cherry pie in exchange for his kindness to her.

  Feeling lighter, Sarah rescued the best cup from the top shelf in the kitchen and filled it with cool water. The curtains snapped in the breeze to give her brief glimpses of the man hard at work. She tried not to think about how masculine he looked as she measured sugar and ginger into the cool water.

  By the time she swept down the steps and into the side yard, Gage was pulling his lathered mare to a halt. He was breathing hard with exertion. He whipped off his hat and raked his fingers through his dark locks.

  “You’re done already?” She handed him the glass.

  “I don’t let grass grow under these boots.” He drank all the water in one long draught, the cords in his strong neck working with each swallow. He gave a well-satisfied sigh and held out the glass. “Sweet and cold. Sure hits the spot. Like what I’ve done to your garden?”

  “It’s wonderful. I can’t begin to tell you the time and the blisters you have saved me.” She took the empty cup, the glass warm against her fingertips from the breadth of his hand. “I suppose you’ll want to wait for my uncle after this.”

  “If you think I plowed your garden to get on your uncle’s good side, then you’d be wrong.” He scanned the fields, the wind tousling his dark hair, looking pirate-tough and lawman-strong. “It seemed the right thing to do is all.”

  “So the truth is out. You’re an honest-to-goodness gentleman.” Sarah’s heart fluttered. She couldn’t help the pull of warmth and attraction deep in her stomach. “I didn’t know they still existed.”

  “I guess there’s a few of us good guys still roaming the earth.” He winked, and the fine smile lines around his eyes crinkled handsomely. Taking a step back and away from her, he tipped his hat so he could scan the sky. “The sun is nearly straight up. I’d best be on my way. I have business in town.”

  “My uncle and his family should be returning soon. Would you like to stay for the noon meal?”

  “Nothing against you, Sarah, but your uncle and I are not going to be friendly, be it over a dinner table or not.” He gathered the reins and his mare sidestepped and turned neatly, hauling the disengaged plow to the barn.

  Every step he took was a powerful one. The way he walked sure could affect a woman. The straight line of his shoulders and the breadth of his back, his lean hips and long trim legs. He had just enough muscle to make a woman feel tingly all the way to her toes. And yet not too brawny so there was an inborn grace to him, like a cougar prowling his territory.

  Sarah dragged in a deep breath, but it didn’t chase away the flutter of attraction in her chest or drain the heat from her face. Besides, Gage Gatlin didn’t have the look of a courting man. He was friendly and polite, that was true enough, but he didn’t catch her gaze and hold it with interest like others had done—before they’d met Ella.

  And it wasn’t as if she would attract any man’s attention dressed in her work clothes. This morning battling the chickens and finding their feathers snagged in her braid. And now in the often-patched dress she wore only for messy work, a man would have to have extremely poor eyesight to find her the least bit attractive.

  Looking down, Sarah brushed a streak on the front of her skirt. She sat on the steps, working at the dirt stain on her dress. It was vanity, and she knew it, but she couldn’t help the embarrassment heating her face.

  Twice now Gage Gatlin had seen her at practically her worst. Goodness, there was more dirt on the other side of her skirt. She looked as if she’d been rolling in the garden patch instead of hoeing it.

  Land sakes, she did have bigger problems to face than how she looked to a complete stranger. And that it mattered just a little—all right, maybe a whole lot—bothered her. She was a country girl and always would be.

  Anyone could see by simply looking that Gage Gatlin was a man of means. Not that he wore a coat and tie like the men in town with fine jobs and hired servants in their large brick homes, but Sarah could see it all the same. It was in the steel of his spine and the controlled confidence that shone in him like a winter sun.

  Ready to go, Gage Gatlin returned, mounted on his fine mare. “I’ll see you around, ma’am.”

  “Good luck with my uncle.”

  He tipped his hat like a man out of a legend. Her heart flip-flopped once—just a little bit—as she watched him ride away. All myth and dream, disappearing into the vast prairie.

  And he was far too fine for her.

  Sarah looked after him, although there was nothing but brown prairie and a dust plume where his horse h
ad walked. She’d learned long ago that a person often didn’t get what they wanted. So it wasn’t too hard to let the air out of her chest and her wishes with it.

  So, what did it matter if Gage Gatlin was not the man for her? There was someone destined for her, someone kind and caring who could look past the five-year-old dress with the streaks of dirt on it and see the real her. He was out there somewhere, and he’d be worth the wait.

  What she’d better do now was get back to the house and check on her daughter. Sarah stood and noticed ten naked toes peeking from beneath her hem.

  No, it couldn’t be. She blinked, but her bare feet were still there. She wasn’t wearing her shoes. The whole time Gage Gatlin was here, she’d been exposing her bare feet like some sort of strumpet.

  Embarrassment burned through her like a grass fire, and she started to laugh. Gee, he had to notice. Laughing harder, she covered her mouth with her hand to keep from waking Ella. See? That’s what she got for being prideful and fretting about her appearance.

  A floorboard squeaked behind her. “Ma, is it dinner yet? I’m awful hungry.”

  Ella appeared, thin and pale, in the shadowed hallway. Sarah forgot everything, even a man as handsome as Gage Gatlin, as love for her daughter filled her up. She folded the spindly little girl into her arms and held her tight. It hadn’t been that long ago when she’d feared her daughter would not live. “Are you feeling better, sweetie?”

  “Yeah, but I wish I didn’t get so tired all the time.” Ella rubbed a fist over her forehead as if her head still hurt.

  Sarah pressed a kiss to her child’s brow. “You’ll feel better after you eat. Come, let me get you some dinner.”

  “I wanna drumstick.” Ella collapsed in a chair and propped her elbows on the table edge, her blond hair escaping from her braids in a sleepy tangle. “It’s nice with the cousins gone. Real nice.”

  There was no denying how difficult times had been staying in this house, but it wasn’t as if they’d had another choice. Sarah slipped the platter from the warming oven. “We’re grateful to them for letting us stay, remember?”

  “I know, I know. But do you have to stay here forever?”

  “Not forever, baby, but it is hard to say when we can leave.” Sarah kept her voice light, knowing her girl couldn’t understand how tough the world was for a woman alone.

  “As soon as our medical bills are paid off, we’ll get our own place. I promise.” Sarah set the plumpest drumstick on a blue enamel plate alongside two big potatoes. “There’s carrot sticks in the covered bowl in front of you.”

  Ella found one and crunched into it. “Ma, could it be a house painted white and pretty?”

  “We’ll see.” She set the plate in front of her daughter. “Clean your plate, or I’ll have to string you up by your toes from the maple tree.”

  Ella rolled her eyes. “I know, I know, and I’d better drink every drop of my milk or you’ll flog me.”

  “I’m glad you know how things run around here.” Sarah reached for the pitcher. “Do you feel up to helping me plant the garden this afternoon?”

  “Sure,” Ella said around a mouthful of potato.

  “Don’t forget the bread.” Sarah set the glass of milk on the table and nudged the covered basket closer.

  A clatter rose in the yard outside. A second later two small boys charged into the house. Pearl followed, carrying squalling Baby Davie on one hip. His twin was silent but red-faced, balanced across Pearl’s other arm.

  Sarah hurried to help. “Here, let me take Davie—”

  “You’d better take him because I’m worn out.” Pearl thrust the year-old child into Sarah’s arms as if eager to be rid of him. “At least you got the garden turned while I was gone.”

  Remember to be grateful. Remember how no other relatives had offered to take you in. “I have lunch ready to set on the table. All you have to do is sit and rest.”

  “We ate in town.” Without an apology, Pearl headed back outside to shout at the children to come in and get started on their chores.

  Sarah adjusted Baby Davie on her hip and patted his back, trying to comfort him.

  With any luck, Pearl had brought the newspaper back from town and it was full of job advertisements.

  Sarah might be down on her luck, but that only meant there was no place to go but up.

  Good luck had to be around the corner. Right?

  Gage climbed the Buffalo Inn’s carpeted staircase to the third floor where he knew his daughter would be waiting. Gentle spring sunshine streamed through windows and cast a golden glow onto the bed where his little girl sat, her nose in a book.

  “Pa!” Lucy leaped off the mattress, her book tumbling to the quilt. “Did you buy this one? Do we got a new home?”

  He laughed as she wrapped her arms around his waist. “Hold on now, that’s no way for a little lady to behave.”

  “I ain’t no lady, Pa. Did you buy it?” Her eyes searched his and she clapped her hands together. “You did! I know you did.”

  “Yep. We got ourselves a home. Now don’t go getting your hopes up too high. The place needs a lot of work. Did you behave for Mrs. McCullough?”

  “Sorta.” The seven-year-old shrugged her narrow shoulders. “I tried. Honest.”

  “She didn’t try hard enough,” Mrs. McCullough reported from the chair in the corner, where she gathered her embroidery things. “I must say I’m disappointed in you, Mr. Gatlin. You charmed me into agreeing to watch this child and I have come to regret it.”

  What did Lucy do now? he wondered, but did his best to look apologetic. He might need Mrs. McCullough’s help again. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ll pay you extra for your trouble.”

  “Indeed.” Mrs. McCullough’s gaze narrowed as he placed dollar bills on her outstretched palm. A small pile accumulated, and she nodded. “I suppose it’s not her fault, the poor motherless thing. You find a mother for that girl. Just my piece of advice.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He didn’t think much of her advice, but he held his tongue and closed the door behind her.

  “Pa, I’m dyin’!” In agony, Lucy hopped up and down, her twin braids bouncing. “Tell me. I gotta know.”

  She had a knack for changing the subject but luckily he wasn’t easily distracted from the problem. “I expect you to do better next time I leave you with Mrs. McCullough.”

  “I’ll do my best, Pa, you know that. But sometimes it’s just hard.” Lucy sighed, full of burdens. “I’m only a little girl.”

  “You aren’t foolin’ me one bit, darlin’.” He tugged on one end of her twin braids. “Find your hat and I’ll take you out to our new place. It’s tumbling down, but I can fix that.”

  “I know, ’cuz you can fix anything.” She dashed to the bureau. “I got my sunbonnet, but I can’t do the ribbons.”

  “Then it’s a darn good thing you have me around.” He caught the blue straps of her sunbonnet and made a bow beneath her chin. “You’re the prettiest girl this side of the Rockies. I’m proud to be seen with you.”

  “You have to say that. You’re my pa.” Lucy beamed at him anyway and slipped her small hand in his.

  In the livery, he saddled Lucy’s little mare while she pulled sugar cubes from her pocket for the horse. When he had the cinch nice and tight, he gave her a hand up.

  “Do you know what, Pa? I’m sure glad I got this new saddle.” Lucy settled into the leather like a natural-born horseman. “It’s got a good horn. Know what I need now? A rope.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “That’s what you say when you mean no.”

  “I mean, let me think about it.” He mounted and led the way toward the main street. “Come on. We’ll take the long way through town so you can see the sights.”

  Lucy reined the mare into step beside his. Her ruffled skirt hem caught the breeze and the matching blue sunbonnet shaded her face.

  Would she be happy here? He watched her study the storefronts and shoppers scurrying along the boardwalk. A frown d
ug into her forehead. Her mouth twisted.

  Finally she nodded, her inspection complete. “This don’t look like a bad place to live.”

  “That’s what I figured.” Gage tipped his hat to keep the high sun out of his eyes.

  “Know what, Pa? I don’t see a school. There’s gotta be a school.”

  “And so there is, that way.” He gestured down the street that cut between the hardware store and the shoemaker’s. “We’ll get you enrolled Monday morning.”

  “I can see it.” Lucy stood in her stirrups, straining to see the whitewashed building down the street. “Oh, Pa, a real school. It’s got a bell and everything.”

  “It sure looks fine.” Gage nodded toward a neat little storefront. “There’s a seamstress shop. I figure we can get you fit for new school dresses with the way you’re growing.”

  “I keep gettin’ bigger.” Lucy hitched up the brim of her sunbonnet as she gazed on the woman-filled boardwalk just outside the mercantile. “Do you know what, Pa? There sure are a lot of pretty ladies in this town.”

  Gage kept riding.

  “Awful pretty ladies, Pa.”

  “I heard you the first time.”

  “I just had to be sure.”

  He chuckled, not one bit fooled by her sly innocence. “You know I’m not the marrying kind.”

  “You married my ma.”

  “And I could marry some other woman, is that what you think?”

  “Sure. A girl needs a ma. Mrs. McCullough just said so. What if she’s right? I reckon she could be.”

  There was too much hope in those sparkling eyes, and it troubled him. “Lucky for you I’m an exceptional father.”

  She shook her head. “Yeah, but you can’t sew.”

  “What if I learn?”

  That earned a giggle and effectively ended the conversation. He breathed a sigh of relief. Settling down was the right step to take for Lucy’s sake, but that didn’t mean he had to find her a mother. The thought of taking a wife again—

  He shuddered all the way to his soul. Once he’d been carried away by what he thought was love. But in time it had crumbled to dust.