Montana Courage (McCutcheon Family Series Book 9)

by Caroline Fyffe

  Blowing out her own candle, she set the candleholder on the table at the foot of the stairs. Hurrying to the iron stove, she spread her hands before the blessed heat. Would she ever feel warm again?

  The front window was dark. Across the street in Berta May’s shop, a small light flickered.

  At the sound of footsteps, she turned. Mr. Petty advanced with an armful of wood from the kitchen hallway.

  Now the burst of cold air on the stairs made sense. It wasn’t a ghost, but their guardian seeing to their needs. She smiled.

  Mr. Petty stopped momentarily when he saw her, and then resumed his approach. Without a word, he hunkered down and rolled the logs from his arms on top of the stack alongside the wall. Stepping to the stove, he grasped the handle, opening the door to the fire within. Once that was done, he glanced over his shoulder and caught her gaze.

  “Couldn’t sleep?”

  His deep voice brought a new, different type of awareness to her nerves.

  She shook her head. “No. And I couldn’t get my fire restarted.”

  “Best not to let it burn down completely.”

  Feeling self-conscious, she lowered herself into one of the French needlepoint chairs that someone had brought close to the heat. “I know. I dozed off while thinking I should add a new log.” She ran her palms over the soft fur of her cape. “Don’t you ever sleep, Mr. Petty? Whenever I’m down here, I see you’re here too. Loading wood, tending the lanterns, checking outside.”

  “I’m used to working, I guess. Riding for the McCutcheons means we take night shifts several times a week when the weather permits. This is no different.”

  She felt her eyes go wide. Night shifts in the wilderness? “Really? Why?”

  A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Keep watch for wolves, bears, rustlers, or other dangers to the cattle. Settling a herd before they spook or stampede is best.”

  “All night?”

  Once he had the fire built to his liking, he stood, then sat opposite her in the matching chair. He crossed his arms and hugged his chest. “You bet. The night passes quickly when you have things to do.”

  “Don’t you get tired? How do you stay awake?”

  He glanced away.

  “Mr. Petty?”

  “Singing to the cattle.”

  A warm glow started in Poppy’s heart. She imagined Mr. Petty riding through a large herd of cattle, relaxed in his saddle, singing low. If his singing voice was anything like his speaking voice, she knew the sound would be beautiful.

  “Will you sing a cattle lullaby now? I’d love to hear one, and maybe I’ll get sleepy.”

  He tugged his gaze from the stove’s closed door to her face, a silly grin pulling his lips. “I surely won’t. Cattle are my usual audience, or the boys in the bunkhouse.”

  Sadness settled inside. “What will happen to the cattle, Mr. Petty? Nobody ever really says. All this snow? And cold? I don’t like to think about how they must be suffering.”

  Any teasing that had been in his face vanished. “No, I don’t like to think of ’em either. I hate to say it, but I fear a great many will die. Not so much from the snow, but the frozen layer of ice above the grass, or what’s left of it.” His brows lowered over his troubled eyes. “This year, a good many days of below zero occurred before the storm hit.”

  He tented his fingers and brought them to his face, resting his whiskered chin on his thumbs, his fingers touching his lips. After a moment, he reached forward and held a hand toward the heat. Quiet descended like a thick blanket.

  The reality was awful. She’d hand-fed some cows on Kathryn’s farm, the ones they kept to milk. She’d been enchanted by their large brown eyes and sticky nostrils. They were sweet. They’d be safe in her sister’s barn.

  “We’ll hope and pray for the best,” he said low, barely over the crackle of the wood he’d added a few minutes before. “The outcome is out of our hands.”

  Without anything to say that might help, Poppy nodded. “I’m putting on some water for tea. Can I make you a cup, Mr. Petty?”

  He glanced up, his face still troubled. “I’d like that. Thank you.”

  Between her shivers, she smiled. “Very well, I’ll be back in a few minutes. Please save my seat from the crowd.”

  A smile appeared on his face.

  Poppy went to the stairs, relit her candle, and started for the kitchen. She was glad she’d decided to come downstairs tonight.

  She was beginning to enjoy Mr. Petty’s company very much. He wasn’t condescending like Oscar. And he didn’t want anything in return. He seemed to put stock in the things she had to say.

  Was she changing? Or were the others around her changing?

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Without giving it much thought, Shad followed Miss Ford into the kitchen. She smiled when she saw him, and then went about as if she’d been working there for years. Amazed at how well the socialite had adapted to the rustic conditions of the snowed-in hotel, he worked to keep a smile from his lips, knowing she wouldn’t like him thinking of her domestic skills.

  Having already stoked the kitchen oven a little over an hour ago, he guessed the water in the kettle was hot. As much as he’d like to carve large strips of meat from the ham they’d eaten last night and add several scoops of cold beans, he knew he couldn’t.

  Hopefully, the weather would break soon. Then he could get out and restock their shelves from others who had food to share. If he had to, he’d make a trip to the ranch for supplies. Until then, they all had to play by his rules—including him.

  Finished with her preparations, Miss Ford handed him a warm mug.

  “Thank you,” he said, looking at the tan-colored water and wondering why women cottoned to it so much. He’d much rather pull out Abe’s flask and take a swig to warm his belly, but wanting and doing were two different things.

  “You’re welcome.” She gripped the warm cup in her hands. “This feels so good. I’ve never experienced such c-cold.” Her last word stuttered out from her shaking jaw.

  Shad didn’t miss how her gaze darted away from his as soon as he looked at her. He remembered her from Virginia and how arrogant she’d been, how she’d treated the servants as pets, and him, as well. Apparently, she didn’t remember the incident, for she’d never said a thing.

  “How is Fancy Aubrey getting along upstairs?” Miss Ford asked. “I never see her. I wouldn’t mind if she came down and ate with us. Plus, doing so would save Hildy from carrying a tray to the third floor.”

  He took her measure for several moments. Was she being sincere? Why would she care? “The scene your friend made when she arrived is the reason. She’s biding her time in privacy. She has some pride too.”

  Miss Ford took a sip of tea. “Oscar should have held his tongue.” She looked directly at him. “And I’m sure she does have pride. She’s very beautiful.”

  “Nobody would dispute that,” he said, holding her gaze.

  Miss Ford set her mug on the counter and traced the rim with her fingertip. “I’m worried about the Sanger family,” she said, her brows pulling together in the middle. “Why won’t they come out of their room? Their behavior is odd. Mr. Sanger won’t say a thing, and just watches me if I go in to read to the children or take them their tray. April and May are so adorable and sweet. And July.” She shook her head and laughed softly. “That boy has stolen my heart. The things he comes up with are astonishing. I’ll miss them when we finally get out of this mess.”

  Shad was amazed at the tenderness and passion brimming in Miss Ford’s eyes. “I know what you mean,” he replied quietly. “Their mother never says a word and practically ignores the children. Nothing we can do about the situation now but keep an eye on them. I’ve had my doubts for a while about Mr. Sanger.”

  Miss Ford’s chin jerked up, and her mouth opened. “You think he’s dangerous?”

  “Don’t know. I’ve mentioned it to Brandon. He’ll send some telegrams.”

  “Sheriff Crawford? Do you
think Mr. Sanger is an outlaw?”

  Shad didn’t miss the waver in her voice. “You don’t have anything to fear. I won’t let anything happen to you. Or the others. You’re safe.”

  She released a deep breath and picked up her tea. The alarm left her eyes at his declaration.

  Suddenly, he had the urge to take her in his arms. Despite her heavy cape, the kitchen stove, and the warm cup between her palms, the girl was still shivering. The temptation was too great. He set his cup on the counter and opened his arms.

  “Come here. You’re cold. Let me warm you up just for a moment.”

  Miss Ford’s eyes widened, but she didn’t say no. Her gaze went from his face to his chest, and then back up to his eyes. The candle on the opposite shelf flickered as she set her cup on the counter.

  Slowly, as if weighing her actions very carefully, she inched forward in the quiet of the room, shadowy and dark. He wrapped her in his arms, his chin resting above her head. Her warmth was heavenly, but so were her curves beneath her fur cape. He imagined the thumping of her heart as she wrapped her arms around his middle and placed her cheek upon his chest.

  Should he say something? Should she? For some peculiar reason, his heart was pounding as if he’d just sprinted up a steep hill.

  “You’re warm,” he whispered low. “I didn’t expect that.”

  She nodded. “You are too.”

  Her whispery voice sent a tickle around his chest. She wasn’t judging him as a cowboy right now, but as a man. The thought brought him a measure of well-being.

  A few feet away, scraping sounded on the back door. Poppy pulled back and looked up into his face. “What was that?”

  Being he always wore his gun on his hip, Shad was fairly confident they weren’t in much danger. He gently set her away, pulled his Colt, and moved to the door. He twisted the lock and inched the door open.

  “H-help . . .”

  Shad jerked the door wide to a flurry of wind and snow.

  Hunched over and barely able to stand on his own two feet was Harold, who lived in a small cabin behind the hotel. He made a living by mopping the businesses around town.

  Shad had thought Harold had been staying with the Herricks above the leather shop since the onslaught of the storm. Grasping the young fellow under the arms, Shad dragged him inside.

  “Who is it?” Miss Ford asked, crowding in. She unwrapped her cape and slung it around Harold’s body.

  Shad hurried into the restaurant and brought in a chair, setting it next to the warmth of the stove.

  “Thank y-y-you,” the boy stuttered through his clenched jaw.

  “What were you doing out there this time of the night?”

  “I’ve been staying with Trent and his pa for the past few days. Why I decided to go home today was stupid, but I did. Took me hours to dig myself back into my cabin, but the place was freezing and I couldn’t warm up even after I changed my clothes. I only got one coat so I kept it on, even though it was wet. After shivering for hours, I finally realized that if I didn’t get into this hotel tonight and warm up, I’d be dead. Didn’t expect ta find the door locked.”

  Shad removed Miss Ford’s cape, then stripped off Harold’s wet coat, replacing the cape even though she was shivering like a windblown leaf. “Lichtenstein had a break-in and was robbed. Since then, we’ve been locking the doors.”

  “Yeah, I heard about that. That’s why I went home. Herricks’ food was getting pretty sparse. They was good to take me in, but I didn’t want to be a burden.” The boy practically hugged the stove.

  The time was nearing five o’clock, and Cook would be up soon. He’d been serving biscuits with a small scoop of oatmeal, which was getting smaller and smaller each day.

  Shad went to his room, stripped the blanket off his bed, and brought it to Harold, giving Miss Ford back her cape.

  “Have you met Miss Ford, Harold?” Shad asked. “She’s Kathryn Preece’s sister from Boston.”

  “No. But I’ve seen her from afar.” He shyly ducked his head. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, miss. If you need any cleaning done, don’t be afraid to ask.”

  “Thank you,” she responded without missing a beat, as if she met strange wet boys every day at four thirty in the morning. “Please, take this. It’ll warm your insides.” She offered him her cup.

  He greedily gulped down the warm tea and didn’t come up until the whole cup was drained. “Any more where that came from?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm.

  Miss Ford handed him Shad’s cup. “I’ll make some more right now. In a bit, we’ll have breakfast.” She sneaked a quick glance at Shad.

  Was she as disappointed as he was that they’d been interrupted? The way her gaze warmed, he thought perhaps she was.

  “And I’m sure you’re very hungry,” she said softly, still holding his gaze.

  “I admit that I am. But so is everyone else. Do you think I could stay here for a few days? I have some food to share. I can retrieve it now, if you want.”

  “There’s plenty of room for you,” Shad replied. They wouldn’t turn anyone away. Everyone was welcome, as far as he was concerned.

  Cook stumbled into the kitchen, wiping a hand over his sleepy face. His eyes lit with pleasure when he saw Harold. “I’ve been worried about you, boy. When did you show up?”

  “Just a few minutes ago. If Shad hadn’t unlocked that door, I would have froze to death on your doorstep.”

  “That’s a good point,” Miss Ford said, searching his face. “Maybe we should leave the doors unlocked for whoever else might need to get inside.”

  Shad nodded. I should have thought of that before. “I agree. From now on, front and back doors are to stay unlocked. I’d rather tangle with a thief than let one of our friends die. Cook, you’ll have to start sleeping in here to keep the food safe. And I’m always in the lobby.”

  Cook began banging around, putting on a pot of coffee and gathering snow to melt for the oatmeal.

  Shad turned to Miss Ford. “You warm enough to make it back to your room? Sleepy yet?”

  “Actually, I am now.”

  Her smile was doing funny things to his insides. Seemed they had a secret they shared.

  “Do you need me to walk you up?”

  “Heavens, no,” she said on a soft laugh. “You get this poor boy settled in a room. That will make me the happiest.”

  “Fine, then.” He wanted to thank her for the conversation, but that might sound stupid. “Good night, Miss Ford. We’ll save your breakfast for when you awaken.” Now he was sounding like some nursemaid, the kind of person she was used to.

  She glanced back as she left the room. “I appreciate that, Mr. Petty, and for the fine conversation we shared.”

  Shad felt the questioning looks of Cook and Harold. Let them wonder; he had no explanations to give.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  That night, when Roady skipped supper and sent Francis with a message that he’d eat in the bunkhouse with the men, Sally tried not to take the news to heart. He was working through the problem in his mind, the way he always did. When he finally came in, they would discuss the situation and make a plan.

  In her chair by the window, Claire worked on a piece of cross-stitch. Flood read an outdated newspaper he’d pulled from a wicker basket next to the fireplace. Sally sat across from Hickory at a small table, the chessboard between them forgotten.

  “Your move, Miss Sally,” the boy said softly.

  The atmosphere in the room was strained, as if everyone had picked up on her disquiet.

  “Oh.” Sally reached forward to move her knight. She didn’t miss Flood’s fretful glance to the dark window. He wasn’t worrying about Roady, but his cattle and stock.

  Claire got up and crossed the room to his chair, setting her hand on her husband’s shoulder. Both their faces were drawn with grief.

  “Nothing more we can do,” he said low.

  Sally waited. It wasn’t her place to ask, but sin
ce yesterday, the tension had grown. Roady had told her the cattle, as well as any stock left out of shelter, were in peril.

  Claire massaged her husband’s large shoulders. “Sending that herd to Miles City was a wise decision. At least those cattle won’t suffer.”

  He reached up and laid his hand on hers, his mouth pinched tight.

  The anguish on both their faces made Sally want to cry. With the way it felt inside, she couldn’t imagine trying to stay alive out in such a storm.

  “Will the snow stop soon?” Hickory asked after moving his rook and taking one of her pawns.

  Flood reached for his pipe when his wife went back to her chair. “I wish I knew the answer to that, son. Only the Good Lord knows.” He struck a match and held it to the tobacco, puffing a few times before smoke came out with his breath. He shook out the match and set it in a small copper ashtray.

  The front door opened, and Roady stepped inside. He glanced around the room as he went about stripping off his snow-covered coat and removing his boots.

  “Sorry I missed supper,” he said, avoiding Sally’s gaze. “Sometimes a lot of problems get solved around the bunkhouse supper table. I needed to stay. Francis said he gave you my message.” His expression said nothing along those lines had been accomplished.

  Sally stood and went to his side.

  “He did, and we understand,” Flood responded. “No need to fret. Right now, the ranch takes priority over sensibilities. I’m sure your pretty wife didn’t mind at all.”

  “Of course I didn’t,” Sally hurried to respond. She wanted to help Roady with his layers, but no task was left to do.

  He looked down into her face and then around the room. The buffeting of the wind had turned his cheeks to leather, and his teeth still chattered from the walk from the bunkhouse. “You don’t mind if I turn in right away? Didn’t seem like today would ever end.”

  “I’d expect nothing less,” Claire said. She stood and smoothed her skirt.

  Sally laid her hand on Roady’s arm. She missed their easy manner, and had been pining for him for hours. “I asked Esperanza to warm water for a bath and light the stove in the bathing room. I can have it ready in moments, if you’d like.”