Montana Legend (Harlequin Historical, No. 624)

by Jillian Hart

  She shook her head. There would be no rescue for him. It served him right for being so handsome—and for not believing in love. What had he said? He believed in something more practical.

  She did feel sorry for him.

  “Come on, Ella, it’s time to go.”

  Huddled close to Lucy, Ella gave the mare one last pat. How wistful she looked, just wishing. Her eyes were so big in her pale face. There was so much Ella deserved. So much Sarah wanted to give her.

  The first chance I’m able, I’m going to buy her a horse. New towns were cropping up all over the West as the open prairies became more settled. There had to be a job for her somewhere out there. She was sure of it.

  “Sarah?” Lucy dashed over to her and peered around the corner of the shanty. “Who are those women?”

  “The blond one lives down the road.”

  “So she lives real close?”

  “Yes. The other lady is her friend from town.”

  “Ladies come up to my pa all the time.”

  “I’m sure they do.” Sarah felt foolish—at least she knew she wasn’t alone in her attraction to the handsome horseman. She was lonely, after all, and wishing for a better life. For someone to love. It never hurt a woman to dream.

  “Can Ella come to play sometime?”

  “Anytime.” Sarah took her daughter’s hand. “If you need anything, Lucy, our house is just over the creek and down the rise. It’s the first shanty you see.”

  “I’ll tell my pa that you said that.” Lucy squinted in the direction of the fancy buggy gleaming in the sunshine.

  A movement caught Gage’s eye. Sarah was leaving? She couldn’t leave him here with these girls. He tried to call out to her, but Sarah was too far away, waving goodbye. Her skirt snapped around her shoe tops, and he remembered her small pale feet, bare and smudged with soft dirt.

  Louisa cleared her throat to grab his attention, but nothing was likely to do that.

  “Excuse me, ladies. My daughter will enjoy your gifts.” He tipped his hat, taking the basket only because handing it back would be rude. He didn’t want to offend the banker’s daughter—at least, not too damn much. Yet.

  He left them standing there, turning his back on their huffs of disapproval as they left. That had been a waste of his time, but at least he knew the banker couldn’t be trusted.

  He’d bet the only reason those girls were here with their fancy basket and simpering smiles was because Mr. Lockwood had revealed the size of Gage’s bank account.

  “I see the welcomes have started.” Sarah didn’t hesitate on her way down the road as he caught up with her. “Remember what I said about my uncle.”

  There was something about her. As he let her go on her way, Gage felt a thud in his chest, a foolish thud, because he knew darn well where listening to his heart led.

  “Ella’s ma is really nice.” Lucy’s hand slipped into his, her fingers warm and small. Trust glittered in her dark eyes and something else.

  Longing.

  “Mrs. Redding told me she isn’t looking for marriage. In case you have any ideas.”

  “Aw, Pa. I already got ideas.” She leaned her cheek against his arm, all innocence and dreams.

  She’d been too young to remember how it had been, so he didn’t blame her for wishing, but he had to be honest with her. Maybe in time she’d understand.

  He wouldn’t be walking down the aisle a second time.

  Lucy took the basket from him and lugged it into the shanty. Her footsteps faded away, and he was alone on the windblown prairie, staring after a woman in a simple checked dress.

  She grew smaller with distance and still he watched. Her blue skirt became nothing more than a dot on the brown plains, and he could not turn away.

  One thing was sure. When it came to Mrs. Sarah Redding, he’d be wise to keep his distance.

  Chapter Four

  Late-night weariness tugged at Sarah like a cold north wind as she wrung water from the mop. Droplets tinkled in the bucket and the soap sudsed, sending up tiny bubbles to pop in the candlelight.

  Over the past year she’d washed this floor so many times, she didn’t make a sound or need more than the single flickering light as she bent to her work. A board squeaked beneath her foot, the only sound in the silent hotel.

  Earning her keep at her aunt and uncle’s homestead left her little time to earn the money she needed. There was always an expensive new medicine to pay for or new shoes to buy, for Ella was always growing. What was left of her salary went to pay the doctor.

  It was times like these when she was exhausted from a long week of working days and half the nights and when living with her aunt and uncle seemed unbearable, she didn’t know how she could keep going.

  Her small weekly payments seemed to make no difference; the debt she was in seemed insurmountable. When she was falling asleep on her feet and her hands bled from lye soap, it seemed her life was never going to improve.

  She was simply tired, and she knew it. Tomorrow, when the sun was rising and the breeze brought with it the sweetness of the morning prairie, she would feel differently. She always did. She took heart in that. Today had been an especially difficult one.

  Uncle Milt’s mood had not improved by suppertime, and he grew into a rage when told of the latest gossip concerning their new neighbor, Gage Gatlin. Sarah shivered, remembering the look in her uncle’s eyes when he spoke of the man he believed to be a drifter, the man who’d taken cattle that Milt had decided were his.

  A shivery sense of foreboding that sat deep in the pit of her stomach stung worse than her hands as she dunked the mop into the pail and wrung the excess water. She had a bad feeling about this. Milt wasn’t the most kind or honest of men. How far would he go? Would he steal those animals? Or worse?

  Sarah’s chest felt tight with worry as she gripped the mop handle more tightly and accidentally banged the side of the bucket.

  A metallic clank shot through the silence like a gunshot. She froze, listening to the echo fade in the long corridor. Wincing, she gently eased the mop back into the water, hoping beyond hope that she hadn’t startled anyone awake.

  The door in the shadowed hallway flew open and a man’s broad shape emerged as dark as the night, only a silhouette against the pitch-black room behind him.

  Sarah felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. With water dripping onto the floor, she carried her mop with her as she dared to step toward him. “I’m truly sorry I woke you, sir. I—”

  There was a metallic click that echoed eerily through the night. Sarah froze when she realized it was the sound of a revolver being uncocked and lowered. The man was armed. She didn’t know what to say as he jammed the Colt into the leather holster he carried and wiped his brow with his sleeve.

  “Sorry about that, ma’am. I guess that sounded too much like a gunshot to a man sound asleep.” He lifted one sculpted shoulder in a shrug.

  Gage Gatlin. The mop handle slipped from her grip and clattered on the wet floor. She jumped when the noise bounced down the hallway like cannon fire. Oops. That wasn’t helping her job any. “I suppose that sounded like a band of road agents taking over the hotel.”

  Before she could kneel to rescue her mop, he was there, bending down and into the light, his dark hair tousled handsomely, his jaw rough and his eyes weary.

  So very weary. Sarah could only stare, mesmerized, as he straightened, only wearing his trousers, unsnapped and unbuckled, the faint lamplight caressing the span of his bare chest and abdomen.

  A very fine chest and abdomen. Sarah swallowed hard, feeling heat burn her throat and sear her face. It was entirely indecent to notice the light dusting of fine dark hair that splayed across his chest and arrowed down his firm, toned abdomen to where his silver belt buckle winked in the shadowed light from downstairs.

  “I didn’t know you worked here.” He held out the dripping mop, his stance open, a crook of curiosity arching his brows. “Your uncle and aunt don’t keep you busy enough?”
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  She blushed harder, but for a different reason. He’d said his words kindly enough, although it didn’t stop the shame from creeping through her.

  Remembering how lovely the banker’s daughter had looked this morning when she’d visited Mr. Gatlin, Sarah felt plain indeed. Small and mousy and as dull as the patched dress she wore.

  She didn’t want to be attracted to Mr. Gage Gatlin anyway, so it didn’t matter what she looked like. Gathering her pride, she straightened her spine, looked him in the eye and took possession of her mop. “Living on the homestead has become rather dull, so I spend my nights in town seeking one thrill after the next.”

  “You strike me as that sort of woman. Far too bold for propriety’s sake.”

  “That’s what everyone always tells me.” As if to prove her point, she dunked the mop in the bucket and knelt, her soft skirts swirling around her, and wrung the excess water with a twist of her small, delicate hands.

  Gage swallowed. “And you spend your free time roaming the halls of this hotel, I take it. Causing trouble wherever you go.”

  “That’s right. I’ve even been known to be so brash as to scrub pots in the kitchen, if it’s been a late night for the cook.”

  “Ma’am, with your reputation I’d best stay clear of you.”

  That made her laugh, light and quiet, and how that made his pulse surge through his veins. Fast and thick and hot enough to make him take notice of the way her apron clung to her shape as she swished the mop across the floor between them. He was a man and couldn’t help noticing the soft nip of her waist and the gentle sway of her breasts as she worked.

  Gage tamped down a hotter, more primal response. He was tired, that was all, and troubled by the nightmare that had torn him awake tonight. By the remnants of a dream that had been shattered when he’d heard the pop of metal in the corridor.

  Memory was a strange thing, making the past so real he could taste it, smell it. He wondered if there would ever come a time or a place where he felt safe. Had he come far enough? Would he find peace in this small Montana town? On these high, desolate plains?

  Sarah Redding wiped at the floor with determined strokes, leaving tiny soap bubbles popping in the air above his bare toes. She was looking awfully hard at the floor, and now that his head was clear and the nightmare gone, he could see why.

  Half naked, with a holstered gun in one hand. Now, didn’t that beat all? “Guess I’d best apologize. Next time I hear a commotion in the hallway, I’d better pull on a shirt first. If you come here often, that is.”

  “Five nights every week.”

  He reached into his room and found his shirt hanging on a peg by feel. “It’s two in the morning. When does your wild night on the town end?”

  “When I reach the end of the hall.” Her mop dove playfully at his feet.

  Being a wise man, he backed into the threshold. “So, you work half the night, and then you’re up before dawn to feed the chickens.”

  “Sure. It keeps me busy. Out of trouble.”

  He heard what she didn’t say. When you have a child, you do what it takes to provide for her. He knew all about that. And he’d had his share of seeing what happened when parents didn’t. Or worse, for that matter.

  He closed his mind against the memories he didn’t want. From a time when he’d worn a silver badge on his chest.

  “As you can see, I get into my fair share of trouble.” Her mop bumped the wall, scrubbing the last of the floor. “Banging my bucket in the hall, waking up paying guests. I hope you’re not angry with me.”

  “I would have woken anyhow.”

  “A light sleeper?”

  “A troubled one.” It surprised him to admit the truth, but the low-spoken words escaped from his tongue and he shrugged, bashful at revealing so much.

  “The life of a widow. Or widower.” Her voice softened and she straightened, turning to gaze up at him with understanding alight in her gentle blue eyes.

  It had been a long time since he could look on the world and see goodness in the people in it. And it touched him right in the center of his chest, in the place where his heart used to be.

  Where he hoped it still was.

  “Don’t tell me you ride home alone this time of night,” he said as he lifted the bucket for her.

  “All right, I won’t tell you.” She lifted her chin a notch as she stole the pail from his grip. “Now that I know you’re a light sleeper, I shall try harder tomorrow night not to wake you.”

  A frown furrowed a disapproving line across his brow. “Your uncle thinks so little of your protection that he would allow this?”

  “The countryside is safe.”

  “No countryside is that safe.” He passed a hand over his eyes, looking troubled, looking weary. “Let me grab my boots and I will see you home.”

  “No, that’s not necessary—”

  “I’m not going to sleep at all if I let you go alone.”

  “I have done so hundreds of times,” she reassured him, touched that he—nearly a perfect stranger—would care for her welfare when her kin cared so little.

  Still, she was not his responsibility and she’d been independent far too long to lean on a man now. “Go back to your room, Gage Gatlin, and rest well. I’ll be fine on my own, and besides, what are you going to do? See me home every night?”

  “Well, now, I admit I haven’t thought that far.” He flashed that grin at her, softened by sleep, edged by the dark shadow of a day’s growth.

  He was a charming man. “You’ve got a child to look after,” she reminded him, because it was the practical thing to do. It wasn’t as if he was attracted to her, the way she was to him. He was simply being neighborly. Gentlemanly. Polite. That was all.

  She clutched her mop close as she headed down the hall. “Good night to you, Mr. Gatlin.”

  He didn’t answer as she swished down the stairs and into the lamplight of the lobby.

  Someday, she thought wistfully as she stowed the broom in the back hall closet and carried the bucket out the side door and into the alley. One day she would no longer be alone. Someday she would have the warm embrace of a man holding her close through the night. Know the welcome comfort of a good man’s love.

  “Done for the night, then?” Mrs. McCullough asked from the front desk, her knitting needles pausing as she looked up, squinting through her spectacles. “You sure do look tired, Sarah. These late nights are too much for you. I can get you a morning shift in the kitchen—”

  “I wish I could.” Sarah sighed, trying not to think of the work that awaited her each day at her aunt’s shanty. “See you tomorrow evening.”

  Sarah stowed the empty bucket in the small closet and her coat sleeve brushed her shoulder. As she lifted the garment from the hook, she tried not to think of the long walk ahead. Weariness weighed down her muscles as she tripped down the crooked board steps and hurried down the dark, narrow alley.

  Piano music from the nearby saloon rang sharp and tinny on the icy wind. Random snowflakes drifted through the shadows and clung to her eyelashes and the front of her cloak as she shivered, walking fast past the lit windows where rough men drank inside.

  For the ten thousandth time she felt the old anger rise up, anger at the injustice of David’s death. It wasn’t his fault, Lord knew, but nights like this when exhaustion closed over her like a sickness and even her soul felt weary, she longed for the way her life had been. For her own humble home, a cozy log cabin in the Idaho mountains, where Baby Ella had banged pots and pans on the polished puncheon floors and David’s laughter rang as he made a story over the events of his day at the logging camp, where he’d worked.

  She longed for that gentle peace she’d known cuddling him in their bed at night, listening to his quiet breathing and feeling the beat of his heart beneath her hand. Of how when he stirred in his sleep, he reached for her, pulling her against his warm strong body, holding her close.

  And although she’d grieved him long and well, she missed all he had
given her. She knew she couldn’t go back, couldn’t live for the past and try to resurrect it. But she ached to know that kind of happiness again, the kind of love David had taught her a man and woman could find, if they were honest and loving enough.

  Remembering made the night colder and more desolate as she left the town behind her. Walking quickly and steadily down the road as dark as despair.

  Perched in his stirrups, Gage could barely make out the shadow of Sarah Redding as she walked the deserted road. The prairie winds moaned, making the landscape seem alive. Dried grasses rasped, an owl glided low, startling the mare. Coyotes howled, close enough to make the skin prickle at the back of his neck.

  Old instincts reared up, ones that had once served him well. He’d vowed to keep away from Sarah, and here he was, looking out for her, making sure she was safe in the night.

  But from a distance of half a mile. That was keeping away from her, right? Thanks to the long, flat prairie, he could see the road for a good mile and the lonely woman on it, walking with a tired hobble that was almost a limp.

  He told himself it was sympathy he felt—not attraction—for the woman with the circles beneath her eyes and the worn dresses. For the widow with a daughter who’d been ill. He knew what it was like to be alone in the world with the sole responsibility of a child. And it was the former lawman in him that made him uncomfortable with the thought of any woman walking alone, in a peaceable countryside or not, because cruelty could dwell anywhere.

  The road rolled down a gentle incline, stealing Sarah from his sight. He waited as a distant cow’s moo carried on the breeze until she reemerged, a slim shadow of grace against the endless prairie.

  Sarah slipped from his sight completely, and he nudged the mare forward, searching for her in the dark.

  There she was. Outlined against the empty road and rolling prairie. Looks like she was right all along. Maybe Buffalo County was as safe as it appeared. No danger in any direction.