Montana Courage (McCutcheon Family Series Book 9)

by Caroline Fyffe

  “Here you go, Fancy,” he said, speaking with much familiarity and affection. He stood there shivering as he brushed snow from the woman’s shoulders and back. “Keep your cape on for a while.” He glanced over at Poppy. “Like Miss Ford.”

  Instantly, for something to do, Poppy ran her hand over her own heavy cape.

  The woman looked around with interest as if this was the first time she’d ever been in Cattlemen’s before. She seemed content to stay by Mr. Petty’s side.

  Poppy found her voice and closed the distance between them. “Mr. Petty, I’m relieved you’ve returned. I was beginning to get worried.” That was an understatement. She’d begun her worry the moment he’d stepped out the door. “Who is this?”

  She felt Oscar shuffle up to her side and wished he’d just go to his room and stay there.

  Before Mr. Petty could answer, the woman smiled and pushed back the hood that covered her head, revealing a bounty of long hair the color of sunshine. She peeled the gloves from her hands, exposing elegant fingers, only to brush away several snowflakes that had stuck to her abundant lashes. She gazed back in amusement.

  “I’m Fancy Aubrey,” she said, her voice sounding as warm as the scotch whiskey Poppy had once snuck from her father’s tumbler. “You must be Miss Ford, Mrs. Preece’s highbrow sister from Boston. Shad has told me all about you.”

  “The saloon tart,” Oscar snapped angrily. “What’s she doing here with respectable people?”

  Mr. Petty stepped toward Oscar, his eyes gone hard. “She’s waiting out the storm where it’s warm.” His voice escalated with each word. “Just like the rest of us. If you have a problem with that, Abe has a vacant room for you down at the Hitching Post. Upstairs where it’s cold. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

  How does Ossy know this woman? And Mr. Petty too?

  The bravado left Oscar’s face. He shook his head and dropped his gaze to the floor.

  Hildy came hurrying out of the hallway and halted abruptly in front of the group. “What’s going on out here? I could hear your angry voices all the way from the kitchen.” When she recognized the saloon girl, her eyes widened but she didn’t say a word.

  “I’m checking in Fancy. You have a room somewhere, private like, where she won’t be disturbed?”

  Hildy chewed her bottom lip for several seconds. “The top floor is the most quiet. Maybe she’d like to go up there.”

  “It’s warmer on the first and second floors,” Mr. Petty said, and then looked at Poppy.

  I shouldn’t be jealous. He tried to move me down.

  “Did you want to move, Miss Ford?” Hildy asked.

  Feeling flustered for no obvious reason, Poppy glanced between Mr. Petty and Hildy, all the while aware of Oscar breathing down her neck. “No, I’m situated nicely. And I’ve settled in. The cold hasn’t been too bad.”

  Mr. Petty’s lips quirked up.

  For some reason, she was glad she’d answered the way she had. “I’ll stay in the room I have.” And I don’t mind the saloon girl moving in, she thought, but kept the statement to herself.

  Shad nodded. “The third floor—”

  “Will do just fine,” Miss Aubrey finished for Mr. Petty, throwing him a playful look. “And from now on, I can speak for myself, Shadrack.” She turned to stare at Oscar, not intimidated in the least. “You liked me before, Oscar,” she purred, and jiggled her shoulder. “You remember, don’t you? Last weekend? I had no idea you thought me such a vile creature you couldn’t stand my presence.”

  When Oscar sputtered in objection but didn’t come up with a coherent response, Poppy fought to hide her smile. Seemed he could be bested by a saloon girl with ease.

  Hildy turned on her heel and headed for the counter. She took a key from a slot and smiled at Fancy. “I’ll show you to your room now, ma’am.”

  “No ma’am here. Fancy is fine,” Miss Aubrey said.

  Mr. Petty picked up the duffel bag he’d dropped at their feet when they entered the lobby. He glanced around. “I can do that. And afterward, everyone should meet in the restaurant. Gather all the guests that are able to come. We have things to discuss.”

  Poppy couldn’t help but admire his forthright way. He seemed so different from the cowhand who had eaten supper at her sister’s home those few nights ago. The one who had sputtered water in Oscar’s face. She fought the urge to lower her gaze when he looked her way.

  “Will you be available then, Miss Ford?” he asked as the two made their way toward the stairway.

  Hildy lit a candle and handed the candleholder to Miss Aubrey.

  “I’ll be here, Mr. Petty,” Poppy said. “Would either you or Miss Aubrey like a cup of tea when you return? I can ask Cook to heat the water. You must be very cold.”

  Oscar let go a disgusted harrumph.

  Mr. Petty smiled. “That sounds mighty good. Thank you.”

  With that, Poppy watched the two ascend the wooden stairway, feeling a warm glow growing within. Perhaps being stranded in a hotel would prove to be entertaining . . . and maybe even more.

  In the next moment, she shook the crazy thought from her mind. She had plans to go to France this spring, and nothing would stop her now. Not after all the years she’d been dreaming about the school and begging her father to let her go.

  She glanced at Oscar, who also watched Mr. Petty and Miss Aubrey disappear into the darkness, a strange expression on his face. She’d keep an eye out, for more reasons than one.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  A half hour later, Shad paced back and forth in front of the dining room window that looked over the rear of the hotel. He had changed into dry clothing but had put his coat back on.

  Hildy and Lenore sat at a table, talking quietly over cups of something he presumed was tea. Miss Ford sat in a booth by herself, and Mel and Bonnie Grant, the old couple he’d just met, sat nearby.

  Cook was still working in the kitchen and told Shad to call when he was ready to commence. The family Brandon had brought wasn’t present, but Shad didn’t expect them to be. He’d explained everything to Fancy when he’d lit her fire and got her settled in. They both thought it best if she stayed put as much as possible. No surprise, Oscar Scott was the only one absent.

  Shad ambled over to Miss Ford’s table. “We’re waiting on your friend. Is he coming?”

  Her chin popped up. “I don’t know. Let me go to his room and see.” She quickly glanced around, then got up and hurried away.

  Watching her go into the darker hallway, he realized he shouldn’t consider her Scott’s keeper. They weren’t married or engaged.

  A moment later, he heard footsteps. Miss Ford preceded the tall Bostonian into the room and resumed her seat. Scott sat opposite.

  “Thanks for showing up, everyone,” Shad said, taking stock. He leaned his head toward the kitchen. “Cook, we’re starting,” he called out in a loud voice. “You may want to come out here.”

  The round man ambled out, wiping his hands on a dishcloth, and stood next to the door.

  “I called you here for a reason. We have no way of knowing how long this storm will last. Could be a day, or it could be a week—or longer. That being said, someone broke into Lichtenstein’s last night and made off with much of the supplies he keeps back for the lean months.”

  A soft gasp sounded, followed by several concerned murmurs.

  “We’ll have to conserve our resources. That means everything. Beginning with the lamp oil. You’ll notice only one lamp is burning in here now. Miss Hallsey, how are we situated with candles?”

  Hildy straightened when he singled her out. “Plenty to last months.”

  “Good. Everyone is to switch to those. We’ll allow one lamp to burn in the lobby at all times, and one lamp in here when we take our one meal. Other than that, use candles in your rooms and for going up and down the stairs. But be careful.”

  “Oh my,” the elderly Bonnie Grant said to her husband, so loudly everyone heard. “This visit started
off nice, but now I’m scared.”

  Her husband reached over and took her hand. “No need to fret. We’ve been through hard times before—many, if my memory serves me correctly. We’ll be just fine.”

  Shad sent her a calming smile. “Your husband is right, ma’am. Nothing to worry about.” She reminded him of his grandma, who had raised him and his brothers. “No need to fret.” Yet. “If we conserve, we’ll be fine. Food was also stolen from the mercantile. Staples, canned goods, jarred fruits and vegetables. Dried hams. All the things that make surviving through a harsh winter possible.”

  “Does Brandon have any clues as to who may have done it?” Lenore asked.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “We’ll watch to see who’s staying fat while the rest of us wither away. If this snow keeps up, we’ll be in trouble.” Lenore’s eyes were hard and angry.

  “That’s why I called this meeting. The hotel restaurant is shutting down on a demand basis, and food will be rationed. A noon meal will be the only one served, then a light snack in the morning and again before bed. The pantry has flour and shortening, so bread shouldn’t be too much of a problem. We have ten adults to feed and three children.” At Bonnie Grant’s distressed look, he felt compelled to add, “But if the weather clears up, I’ll be able to check around town for provisions others may have to share. All is not lost, not in the least. And there’s hunting too . . .”

  “So knowing all this that you just dropped into our laps, you still brought in another mouth to feed?” Scott blurted. “And a saloon girl, at that. I say we send her back to the Hitching Post. I’m sure Abe can support her better than we can.”

  The old couple were looking around with interest, as were Lenore and Cook—the few people who didn’t know that Fancy was upstairs.

  “Saloon girl?” somebody mumbled. “Where is she?”

  “Yes, a saloon girl.” Shad straightened and glanced around at the confused looks. “Fancy Aubrey is upstairs. The Hitching Post is poorly insulated and cold. Only one woodstove heats the whole building. Every room here in the hotel has a fireplace. I’m sure none of you, with the exception of Scott, would deny her.”

  “Oh no, we would not, Mr. Petty,” Mrs. Grant called out, frowning at Scott. “We’re all God’s children. A lady of the night upstairs is the least of our worries.”

  Rubbing the smile off his face, Shad glanced around the room with an affirmative nod, liking the spunky old woman more and more. “Good. I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

  Everyone besides Scott was smiling. Shad hadn’t meant to paint such a rosy picture. He’d spoken with Cook privately, and the cupboards were pretty much picked clean already. The already frail children came to mind. He’d make sure they had something in their stomachs, even if he gave them his own portion.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  A little after three in the afternoon, the ranch house door opened and Roady stepped inside, stamping off the snow. The grounds outside were blanketed in soft white drifts, the dark trees sugared with ice crystals. The scene was peaceful and clean, just like the images Sally had admired in paintings in St. Louis. The snow, almost three feet deep, dumped into the door, and Roady pushed it out with his boots.

  Filled with relief, Sally rushed to his side, helping him out of his heavy, sodden clothes.

  His lips were blue and his teeth chattering. “I’m fine, darlin’. No need to fret. We go through this every year. Only now that I’m married, I get to stay in the big house with you instead of the bunkhouse with the men.” He winked.

  Her heart warmed. After a day of worry, Roady was back, and the situation was as if nothing had happened. “You don’t fool me. I know you’d much rather be in the bunkhouse with the men. You’re not one to crave luxuries. You like hot grub, a fire, and the camaraderie.”

  He turned and pulled her into his arms, her growing tummy intimately cradled between them. “But I crave you, and here you are. I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

  Roady’s lips found hers for a freezing kiss that made her shiver. Enjoying the feel of being in his arms, cold or not, she didn’t pull away as she gazed up into his eyes. She brushed some snowflakes from his eyebrows and a frozen drop from his cheek.

  “I know, darlin’; I’m a mess. But it couldn’t be helped.” He chuckled. “Actually, the snow’s so dry it’s gettin’ blown away by the wind. And that’s a blessing. Keeps it from piling up too high.”

  “Dry?”

  “Because of the cold temperature. If it were warmer, the snow would be wet and sticky.” He tweaked her nose playfully. “You have a lot to learn. Anyway, what have you been doing to pass the day?”

  “A little of this and a little of that. Hickory’s been beating me at checkers.”

  “Sounds invigorating.”

  “Not as invigorating as your day.”

  He chuckled. “I would hope not.”

  They glanced toward the doorway at the sound of footsteps.

  “Here you are,” Flood McCutcheon said as he came into the room. He hunkered down to stoke the fire. “’Bout time you got back. I could feel Sally’s anxiety growing as the hours passed. And you’re just in time for an early supper.”

  Sally smiled and gave a small laugh. She liked Flood very much.

  “Good. I’m hungry.”

  “What’s the news?” Flood asked, turning away from the flames and standing.

  “Everyone’s tucked up tight. Luke went home after we moved the horses. That was about two o’clock. Smokey, Francis, and Shad haven’t made it back from town.”

  Claire McCutcheon came down the staircase with Hickory on her heels. “What’s this?”

  “Roady was just saying the three men that we sent to Y Knot have yet to return.” Her husband rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “But that was about the time the snow started dumping.”

  “That’s right,” Roady agreed.

  Claire’s brow drew down and she glanced at the darkened window. “Anything to be concerned about?”

  Roady crossed the room to the fireplace. “I don’t think so. If they can’t get back, they’ll hole up someplace. Most likely in town.”

  “I see.” She patted Hickory’s back when the child stopped by her side. “Who?”

  “Francis, Smokey, and Shad.”

  Esperanza came into the dining room, her hands full of a heavy cast-iron pot. She set the container onto a trivet, a secretive smile on her face.

  “Tortilla soup, Esperanza?” Flood asked, a quiet awe to his voice. “You know I love that on snowy days.”

  “Sí,” she said and hurried away. “I will bring the tortillas. Sit, or they won’t be hot.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Roady replied playfully, escorting Sally to the table.

  Now that he’d returned safe and sound, she could relax. The afternoon had passed slowly as she contemplated all the things that might happen out there in that storm. Roady was home and they could eat in peace.

  “Thank you, Esperanza,” Claire replied, pulling out one of the large dining room chairs for Hickory. “The soup smells delicious. Flood was telling me he hoped you remembered your tradition for the first big snow of the year.”

  Sally sat beside Hickory, and Roady took the seat on her other side. Flood was at the head, as usual, with his wife to his right.

  All quieted as Flood bowed his head, and everyone followed suit.

  “Thank you, Lord, for this food, this family, and your blessings.” He paused, his worried gaze tracking to the dark window. “And we ask a special blessing for all the animals left out in the cold.” He cleared his throat. “And the men we still have in Y Knot. Amen.”

  “Amen,” they echoed softly.

  Sally didn’t miss the quaver in his voice. Why did Western men shelter their women? They were more worried than they were letting on. She glanced at Roady, who wore the same troubled expression.

  With a cloth protecting his hand from the heat, Flood lifted the heavy lid and set it to the side. He fill
ed his wife’s bowl first with two scoops as Esperanza appeared with a large plate of tortillas, covered with a napkin.

  The unopened letter upstairs strayed into Sally’s thoughts.

  “Something wrong, sweetheart?” Roady whispered close as he reached for the bowl being passed his way. “You look troubled.”

  “No,” she whispered back, forcing a smile. “Not now that you’re home, nothing worries me.”

  At least, I hope that’s the case. I better not go looking for trouble. As soon as supper is over, I’m going up to open the letter and face whatever news it brings.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  A quiet knocking on Margaret’s bedroom door brought her out of a restless sleep. She couldn’t see past her drawn curtains, but something inside told her the snow was still falling, as it had been when she’d finally blown out her lantern at eleven o’clock last night. Something about the quiet, and the peace.

  “Mrs. Seymour? Margaret? You awake?”

  Chance.

  “One moment,” she called and sat up in bed.

  The air was bitterly cold. As quickly as she could, she lit her lantern, and then pulled on her wrap over her heavy wool nightgown and socks. Chance had never woken her before. She rose at her own time—early, yes, but never as early as him.

  Please don’t let this be about Evelyn. But why else would Chance wake me up at, she glanced at her watch, four o’clock in the morning? Something must be wrong.

  She opened the door to Evelyn’s tall husband waiting by the kitchen table, a lantern’s golden glow making it possible to see. His hair was mussed from sleep, but he was fully clothed.

  “What is it, Chance? Is Evelyn feeling all right?”

  “Yes. She’s still asleep. Andy was just here. Said there’s been an abundance of wolves prowling around the barn all night.”

  Her shoulders sagged with relief. Even in the wan light, she could see the concern in Chance’s eyes.