Beneath Montana's Sky: A Montana Sky Novella (The Montana Sky Series Book 0)

by Debra Holland

  The bridesmaids appeared, first Sylvia, then Elizabeth. Pamela had selected only two handmaidens to attend her. The young women walked up the aisle, beautiful in bluish-green gowns. But then Pamela appeared in the open doorway on the arm of her father.

  As he watched them move up the aisle toward him, John looked past the two ladies. He had eyes for no one but his bride. The delicate lace of her veil didn’t hide her shining brown eyes and tremulous smile. She walks in beauty…The lines of Byron’s poem floated through his mind.

  Love, rich and warm, filled him, and John eagerly reached for her hand, drawing her close. His gaze never left her face, nor hers his. Her father stepped away.

  Reverend Wallis beamed at them. “Dearly beloved. We are gathered here in the sight of God to unite this man and woman in holy matrimony.”

  In hushed voices, the two of them spoke their vows before God. John slipped a diamond ring on Pamela’s finger and heard the minster pronounced them man and wife. He placed a tender kiss on his bride’s lips—the first of many, he silently promised her.

  Carried down the aisle by the triumphant strains of Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March,” the new Mr. and Mrs. Carter walked into the sunshine, ready to begin their new life.

  CHAPTER NINE

  After the wedding festivities, hand-in-hand, John escorted Pamela to the guestroom. He brought her fingers to his lips, sending a shiver down her spine, then excused himself so she would have privacy to change.

  Instead of the regular oil lamps, long tapers on the dressing table and next to the bed cast a romantic glow around the room, and a fire burned in the fireplace. A vase of white roses perfumed the air. With a nervous shiver, Pamela glanced at the big bed with the elaborately carved headboard.

  Her maid, Jean, rustled forward. “Congratulations on your marriage, madam.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled at her maid. “And you too, Jean, on your approaching nuptials.”

  Pamela had asked Jean to move to Montana Territory with her, but the maid had chosen to remain and marry her childhood sweetheart instead. She hadn’t had time to find a new maid—one who could also do household tasks—so Elizabeth had taken on the job of finding one and sending her West.

  Jean removed the tiara and veil, then helped her out of the wedding gown. As lovely as the dress was, Pamela was glad to be free of the weighty material. Forty pounds of fabric and reinforcing garments was far too much to wear for hours.

  As soon as the corset was unlaced, Pamela inhaled the first full breath she’d had all day, then frowned at the deep gouges in the flesh of her waist and sides from the stays.

  She rubbed the grooves to no avail, before shrugging. John had promised to wait for intimacy, and while she was eager for his embraces, she wasn’t quite ready for complete surrender. Her husband wouldn’t see the marks tonight, and in the future, she wouldn’t wear her corset so tight.

  Jean slipped Pamela’s silk nightgown over her head, the material lighter than air, then helped her into a matching robe. She gestured for Pamela to sit in front of the dressing table and began to remove the hairpins from her heavy coif.

  A soft knock sounded at the door.

  At the sound, Pamela’s heart thudded. “Come in.” She turned toward the door.

  John entered, looking as resplendent as a Mandarin prince in a black silk dressing gown embroidered with red Chinese symbols.

  The sight drove away her nervousness. She raised her eyebrows.

  He pulled a comical expression. “A present from Great-aunt Hester.”

  Pamela giggled. “You look quite splendid.” She turned to her maid and smiled. “I can finish my hair. Thank you, Jean.”

  “Yes, madam.” The maid bobbed a curtsey before leaving.

  Pamela stared after her. “How strange to be called madam, not miss.” She pulled a hair pin out of the braided and curled mass.

  John walked over to stand behind her chair. “Good strange?” Watching her in the mirror, he placed his hands on her shoulders and began to knead the muscles.

  “Mmm, very good strange.”

  He hit the tight spots and pressed.

  She winced.

  John immediately lifted his hands.

  “No, no, don’t stop. It feels wonderful. I just didn’t realize how sore I was.”

  He resumed his massage of her shoulders and neck, his eyes on hers in the mirror.

  Even through the delicate fabric, she could feel the callouses on his hands from rough outdoor work. He’d told her so many stories, and she took pleasure in the image of him riding the range, lifting a stray calf, joining the men in the spring branding. Under his ministrations, she began to relax. As her muscles loosened, Pamela became aware of a headache, caused by the heavy mass of hair anchored by dozens of pins. She reached up and pulled out one.

  “Allow me to get the rest.” He felt for each pin, making the slow removal of every one a sensual gesture instead of an ordinary task.

  Her hair spilled over her shoulders and down her back. “What a relief. Half a dozen of those pins were stabbing my scalp all day.”

  He reached up and gently rubbed her head.

  The pressure of his fingers felt so marvelous that a moan of pleasure escaped her lips.

  “Why wear them then?” His brow wrinkled.

  “I usually don’t need so many. But I wanted my hair to be perfect, not have wild tendrils falling down.”

  He leaned over and dropped a kiss on the top of her head, fingered a loose strand near her ear. “I like your wild tendrils, and I don’t want my wife to have a sore head. In fact, I won’t mind if at home you just wear a braid down your back.”

  Pamela was about to protest the idea, but his fingers dug deeper into her scalp. The resulting pressure felt so blissful that all objections left her mind. She gave herself over to the pleasure of his touch.

  After John thoroughly massaged her head, he reached over and picked up her brush from the dressing table. In silence, he began to stroke the brush through her hair, gently tugging through any tangles.

  Pamela was mesmerized by the motion, so much more sensual than Jean’s practical strokes. Pleasure bubbled inside, and she wanted to purr like a cat.

  When he finished the first section, he ran his palm down the wavy fall. “Like silk,” he murmured, then resumed brushing. “One hundred.” John set the brush down on the dressing table, then blew out the candles.

  The room darkened, lit only by the bedside candle and the orange coals in the fireplace. For a moment, they stared at each other in the mirror, their features shadowed, allowing the energy of a connection to thrum between them.

  Taking her hand, John pulled her to her feet. He slid the robe off her shoulders and dropped it over the chair. “Into bed with you, dearest.”

  Feeling vulnerable, Pamela hastened to climb under the bedcovers.

  John blew out the final candle. The room was plunged into darkness with only the coals glowing in the fireplace.

  She heard the slither of his robe falling, but kept her gaze turned away. When John climbed into bed, she was relieved to feel the material of a night shirt brush her hand.

  “Come here, wife.” He gathered her to him, until she lay tucked against his side, her head resting on his shoulder. “Comfortable?”

  “Oh, yes.” She inhaled the man scent of him—her John—and entirely liked the strangeness of their embrace, her soft body cushioned next to his muscled one.

  “Good,” he murmured. “Relax now. We have plenty of time to know each other—the rest of our lives. Tonight is only the beginning.”

  Reassured by his words, Pamela snuggled closer. Greatly daring, she slipped her hand over his stomach.

  He lightly ran his fingers up her arm.

  Goosebumps feathered over her skin, and her breath hitched. He continued to stroke her with his fingertips, up and down her arms, sometimes straying down her back, or up to her face, across her cheeks and over her forehead.

  Never had she felt such touches. S
he sighed with pleasure and tilted her face to his.

  John rolled to his side, shifting her body to face him.

  She tilted up her face, expecting a kiss.

  His mouth descended, only to hover a hair’s breath away from her lips.

  She could have moved to meet him, but she didn’t, enjoying the feel of his breath on hers, the anticipation of the press of their lips together, of being so intimately close.

  After a long moment of stillness and silent connection, his lips brushed hers in the faintest of butterfly kisses.

  Pamela felt the winged fluttering course over her skin and deep into her core.

  With a slow slide of his fingers, he traced the curve of her cheek.

  She pressed a kiss into his palm.

  He ran his hand down her arm, then once again rolled onto his back, bringing her next to him.

  Pamela lay with her cheek pressed against his chest, heard the slow beat of his heart. Love for this man—her dear husband—filled her, and she sent up a little prayer of thankfulness to God for bringing them together.

  Soon, John’s breathing deepened, and his muscles slackened.

  She pressed a kiss to his chest, grateful for his care of her. After a few drowsy moments, Pamela followed her husband into sleep.

  * * *

  When Pamela awoke after a surprisingly sound rest, she was alone in the bed. But the dent in the pillow next to hers made her lips curl into a sensual smile, and she relived the cuddling with her husband. She stretched out her hand, admiring the sparkle of her diamond wedding ring, then pulled John’s pillow to her nose, inhaling his now-familiar scent. The crackle of paper made her reach to find a note.

  My dearest Pamela,

  This morning when I awoke, you were asleep, and I didn’t have the heart to wake you. Our journey to your new home begins today, and I hope you are as excited to get started as I am.

  Your husband,

  John

  After admiring his bold scrawl, Pamela pressed the note to her chest. My first love letter. I’ll save it forever.

  She threw back the covers and rang for her maid, then donned her robe and hurried down the hall to the bathroom.

  When she returned, Jean was in the room arranging a tray of tea and toast with a poached egg—Pamela’s usual morning breakfast.

  “Morning, Jean,” Pamela practically sang the words.

  “Morning, Miss Pamela, eh, I mean, Mrs. Carter.”

  Pamela smiled at the maid. “My new name takes some getting used to. I think with most brides, they have a long enough engagement to prepare themselves. I went from Miss Pamela Burke-Smythe to Mrs. John Carter in a week! And now, I have to ready myself to leave soon.”

  While Pamela ate, she listened as Jean gave her a running commentary on the last of the preparations, including the packing of her wedding gown into one of the trunks.

  Pamela finished and washed her hands. Then Jean helped her dress in a garnet traveling outfit.

  She and Elizabeth had chosen the traveling dress with narrow black-and-gold stripes running through the material and a small bustle behind. They’d allowed for an additional two inches of material in the waist so Pamela wouldn’t have to wear her corset too tightly laced. The dark fabric wouldn’t show any dirt encountered during the trip.

  Feeling almost pretty in the vibrant color, with the pink of excitement flushing her cheeks, Pamela set her new bonnet on her head and tied the garnet ribbons at a jaunty angle under her chin. She pulled on her gloves and slid the strings of her reticule over her wrist. Then she picked up her matching coat and draped the garment over her arm.

  Jean left the room and soon returned, carrying a covered basket. Smoky was inside, nestled into a soft blanket.

  The kitten let out a meow in protest.

  “It will be okay, baby.” Pamela had been keeping the basket in her room so the kitten could become familiar with it. But Smoky obviously didn’t like being closed in and carried. Hopefully, he’d soon settle down. She was bringing along a shallow box and a bag of sand for the kitten to use along the way.

  With one last approving look in the mirror, Pamela hurried out the door.

  * * *

  John waited impatiently in the entry for his bride with the four Burke-Smythe men—father and brothers—all ranged around him, eyeing him with expressions that told him as clearly as words, You’d better take good care of Pamela.

  Since he’d already vowed before God to love and cherish his bride, John had no idea what else he could do to ease their minds. But he figured another promise might not go amiss. “I will do my best to keep my wife safe and happy.”

  Newton Burke-Smythe, a graying masculine version of his daughter, dropped a hand on John’s shoulder. “I know that, son, else I wouldn’t have let you marry her. But my only daughter will be far away from us, and we’ll miss her.”

  “I hope you’ll visit.”

  With a quick nod, Ronald grinned at him. “If I can talk the wife into it.”

  “We’d like that.” His new sister-in-law had made her goodbyes the night before.

  Before any of them answered, footsteps on the stairs had them all glancing up to see Pamela, looking as fashionable as if she was going for a stroll around the city, walking down the steps, carrying a coat and a square covered basket. Her eyes sparkled, and she glowed with happiness.

  At the sight of her good spirits, her father and brothers relaxed their stiff postures.

  John couldn’t help a feeling of smugness.

  Newton stepped forward. “I don’t need ask if you are well. The pink in your cheeks right here—” he kissed her continental style “—tells me all I need to know.”

  Pamela’s color deepened, and she dipped her chin.

  Her brothers laughed.

  A mew from the basket made John’s good feelings flee. He had to repress a shake of his head. His wife’s determination to bring her kitten on their journey had caused their only premarital spat, if the mild disagreement could even be called that. Not that he didn’t want her to have a kitten. Goodness knows the barn could always use a cat to keep down the rodents, not to mention the occasional mouse that got into the house.

  But he knew traveling would be difficult enough without having to see to the needs of a kitten. He’d offered to buy her one in Sweetwater Springs. But when she’d challenged him, John realized he didn’t know where he’d actually obtain one. Not to mention that he couldn’t resist her pleading expression.

  Pamela shot a smile at John.

  I didn’t warn her how dirty this trip would be. I assumed she’d know to dress appropriately. Gripping the brim of his hat tighter, John hoped the upward turn of his lips hid his dismay.

  In that moment, he became aware of a canyon between himself and his bride. In spite of the stories he’d told her, he hadn’t prepared her enough, and his wife really had no idea of the kind of life she’d be living in Montana Territory. With a sense of shock, John realized he’d have to try to think ahead for what she’d require. Would he figure out when he needed to warn or guide her? Or would there be times when she couldn’t possibly know something important that he took for granted?

  Fear tightened his belly, and the weight of her dependency settled around his shoulders. What if I fail? He’d failed to protect his sister when some thinking on his part would have prevented the horrific accident that caused her death. In a few seconds, dozens of ways his bride could be hurt or killed raced through his mind. Pamela seemed to be a sensible woman, but Boston-sensible and Montana-sensible were two different things.

  John clenched his jaw. He’d given a lot of thought to providing for a wife, but he’d never realized that her very life might be in his hands. “Pamela, you need to go change clothes.” His concern made the words sound harsh. “The trip will take four days. We’ll be sleeping on the train. There’s no way you can possibly be comfortable in that contraption.” He waved at her bustle.

  Pamela frowned and glanced behind her as if she had no ide
a of what he meant. “It’s only a small one. Practical.”

  She has no idea about practical.

  “Trust me. You won’t want a bustle, my dear. We’ll be sleeping in our seats as best we can.” He gestured to her dress. “And the smoke and cinders will ruin whatever you wear.”

  Her brother Ronald gave her a compassionate smile. “Though you look a delight in that.”

  Her father stepped forward. “Your husband is correct, my dear.” He patted her shoulder. “I remember your mother’s complaints when we took that train trip to New York. Montana Territory is a much longer journey.”

  Her face paled.

  John motioned to the stairs. “Go change into something old and comfortable. Something you won’t mind throwing away later.”

  His wife ran a hand over her skirt, then glanced at him, eyes wide, brows pulled together. “But everyone will be at the station to see us off.” She flushed, a stricken look in her eyes. “I sound vain and silly, don’t I?”

  This time John’s smile was genuine. “You sound like a new bride who wants to show off her trousseau. Too bad everyone won’t see how pretty you look in that gown. But you’ll dazzle the inhabitants of Sweetwater Springs later.”

  Her expression changed from distress to pleasure. “Very well. I’ll put on one of my old dresses. I’d left them behind to go into the poor box.”

  John directed a pointed look at the coat she carried. “Do you have an old one, as well?”

  “You have that ratty thing you garden in when the weather’s cold,” Ronald teased.

  She wrinkled her nose at her brother before turning to John. “I suppose I’ll need a different bonnet, too.”

  “That’s quite a charming confection you’re wearing,” John said, softening his words with another smile. “But unless you want your new hat ruined…”