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

by Debra Holland

  Another man walked by with the trunk containing her hat boxes. The load was light enough to carry by himself. “Filled in the worst of the potholes, too. Although that will probably change with the next big storm.”

  Beans nodded. “Two whole days it took us. Yes, ma’am, it did. But ain’t nothing gunna scratch this pretty carriage of yours.”

  The man deposited the trunk on the back of the coach.

  “Where’s Nick?” she asked.

  John glanced around as if looking for the boy. Then cocked an eyebrow at Beans. “He stayed back. He’s getting Samson all gussied up.”

  John motioned for her to get inside the coach.

  “Let’s wait just a few minutes ’til that’s loaded.” Pamela pointed with her chin to the wagon. “We’ve been sitting for days.”

  He nodded his agreement.

  When the last box was deposited in the wagon, and everything was lashed tight, John helped her into the coach.

  Pamela, basket in hand, slid across the smooth black seats, inhaling the smell of new leather. When John didn’t immediately follow her, she leaned forward to peek out the open door.

  Her husband stood in quiet-voiced conversation with Digger, the driver. He’d retrieved the carpetbag and held the handle in one hand.

  On her side of the coach, she glanced out the window at the men.

  “Ain’t never seen the boss so angry before,” Shoah marveled, checking that a line around the boxes was tight. “Not even when Frank and Beans lost that twenty head of cattle cuz they rode on by the entrance to the ravine where they’d gotten trapped.”

  John walked over to the coach, thrust the carpet bag on the opposite seat, and climbed inside, shutting the door after him.

  Pamela pulled off her hat and tossed it on the other seat. She opened the lid of the basket and took out the kitten, setting him on her lap.

  Smoky dug his claws into her dusty gown, then jumped down to the floor and proceeded to explore.

  John reached his arm around Pamela’s shoulders and pulled her close. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am about…”

  “It’s all right, John.”

  He shook his head. “I could have strangled each and every one of them.”

  “I suppose they were excited. But wasn’t shooting like that dangerous? If the bullets go up, they must come down.”

  “I’ve never heard of anyone being hurt that way. But that doesn’t mean it can’t happen. Waste of bullets, too, and I supply those to them.”

  With a tired sigh, she leaned her head against him.

  “Just in case they haven’t learned their lesson, I’ll have a talk with them, lay down the law. No treating guns like fireworks. No shooting one unless there’s danger, you’re hunting, or you’re needing an emergency signal.” His body tensed. “And if any man jack of them ever fools around like they did today, he’s fired. I don’t care how long he’s worked for me. I won’t tolerate that kind of stupidity.” He stopped and took a deep breath, his smile strained. “Guess I’ll climb down off my soapbox now.”

  Smoky stretched and hooked his claws into John’s ankle, looked up at him, and mewed..

  He reached down and lifted the kitten into his lap.

  “Why, John,” she teased. “I believe you two are becoming attached.”

  Giving her a sideways look, he grinned. “I reckon.” He ruffled the soft gray fur with his big hand. “If you care for it, I’m bound to.”

  “Him,” she corrected with a saucy smile. “Care for him.”

  “Yep. Guess I’m glad you brought him along after all.”

  Although tempted to make a smug retort, Pamela decided not to rub in her victory. Instead she leaned back, perfectly content to rest in John’s arms, watching the scenery—trees mostly, with occasional glimpses of the sky—pass outside the windows.

  Sometimes they spoke, but mostly they remained silent.

  Pamela wasn’t sure how long they’d driven—an hour, maybe two, before the vehicle, which had been steadily climbing, slowed, and then rolled to a stop. She looked a question at him.

  “I want to stretch our legs and show you the view of our valley. It’s a tradition when we bring someone special to the ranch for the first time.” He set the kitten on the seat opposite them and opened the door. He stepped out, then helped her to the ground and started to release her.

  Pamela squeezed his hand and didn’t let go.

  John’s quick smile told her he approved. He led her to a lookout and waved an arm in a sweeping motion. “Our valley.”

  “Really?” Delighted, she leaned forward to take in the view. Grasslands studded with cattle surrounded a big white house, outbuildings, a barn, and two smaller homes. She studied the house. From this distance, it looked large and comfortable, two-story, as John had described, with a porch across the front. She relaxed at the sight.

  The distant mountains still held snow on their peaks. Stark blue sky stretched over the land, with several puffy white clouds floating by. Our valley, she echoed.

  Inhaling a deep breath of crisp air, she leaned against him. “‘And I all the while bask in Heaven’s blue smile.’”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “You have me there.”

  “Percy Bysshe Shelley. ‘The Cloud.’ It’s in one of the volumes you bought.”

  Sliding an arm around her waist, he pressed a kiss to her head. “Come, Mrs. Carter. Let’s go home.”

  * * *

  Nick laid on his bed and stared at the bunkhouse ceiling, one hand petting the dog lying on the floor next to him. He should have gone with the other hands to welcome John home and meet the new Mrs. Carter. But, as much as he looked forward to John’s return, he just couldn’t bring himself to do so.

  After the band of cowboys had set off without him, Nick came to regret his decision. He could almost see his ma—clear as day—standing at the foot of his bed, giving him a tongue-lashing about his manners.

  “I cannot believe you’re doing a layabout, Nicholas Sanders.”

  “I didn’t want to go,” he sullenly answered.

  “It’s not a matter of what you want. It’s a matter of what’s right. I didn’t raise you to forget your manners the minute I’m gone.”

  Did he imagine the soft caress across his forehead?

  “You’d have grown and gone your own way at some point, my son. But you will always have some part of me and some part of your father inside you. And that includes your manners.”

  The mental conversation—whether with himself or with a ghost—seemed equally crazy. He sat up, feeling a little foolish, but also having his first sense of comfort since the deaths of his family.

  Bandit jumped to her feet and wagged her tail. Earlier, the dog had made it clear by her nudging of his arm and leg that she was puzzled when he came inside and laid down in the middle of the day. She obviously wanted to return to a normal routine.

  Normal routine used to mean attending school. Nick shied away from the thought. Now it meant working with the horses. But he’d just finished grooming John’s gelding, Samson, until the chestnut coat gleamed in the sunshine. Yesterday, he’d braided the horse’s white mane and tail, and today when he’d released the plaits, the long hair waved prettier than a girl’s.

  Not that the gelding’s appearance would deflect John’s frustration when he learned the horse had thrush because Shoah was too lazy to clean the hooves properly. And they all were too busy with their own mounts to see that Samson had enough exercise. If Nick hadn’t ridden the gelding out last week, he might not have caught the infection in time. But he’d trimmed the frog, scrubbed the entire foot with a stiff brush and warm water, and packed the hoof with iodine-soaked cotton rags. Now, the thrush was clearing up.

  Outside the bunkhouse, Nick set his hat on his head and headed for the barn. Over the last few days, a steady stream of crates from Boston had arrived and were piled on the porch. He was pretty sure John’s wife would want to get into some of them right away, and for that, they’d need a crowba
r. With Bandit at his heels, he fetched one from the workbench in the barn and headed for the ranch house, wondering which of the crates to open first.

  But he didn’t have a chance to do much thinking on the matter before the sound of wagon wheels and horses’ hooves caught his attention.

  Bandit raced off, barking.

  He set down the crowbar on the porch and hot-footed it after his dog.

  The new coach rolled to a stop between the barn and the house. Nick’s stomach gave a little dip of excitement. He really had missed John and looked forward to seeing him.

  Nick waved to the driver, wondering where the men were. He ran over to the door of the carriage and opened it.

  John stepped out. “Nick, my boy.” His godfather gave him an unexpected quick hug. “What a sight for sore eyes you are.” He turned to reach back inside. “Come, my dear, and meet our Nick.” He helped a woman climb out of the carriage.

  Howls came from the basket in her arms.

  Bandit danced around the woman, anxious to get close to the cat.

  John ignored the dog. “This is Pamela,” he said to Nick before glancing down at her. “My wife,” he said with a proud smile.

  Nick didn’t know what he expected the new Mrs. Carter to look like. Perhaps something like his own mother with a slender figure and blue-green eyes. John’s wife was about Ma’s height and definitely female. But there the resemblance ended. For one thing, she wasn’t as pretty as his ma. She had a nice face, though. Her cheeks were plump and brown strands of her hair had fallen from a high knot, like she’d just woken up. Not like his mother’s smooth wings of dark hair pulled back into a braided bun.

  Her clothes were dirty and rumpled, but her tired brown eyes brightened when she saw him. “Goodness, Nick.” She shifted the basket and stretched out her hand to him. “John has told me so much about you, I feel as if I know you already.” She spoke with a clipped accent, different than the slower Western speech.

  He nodded, liking that she was glad to meet him but not at all sure about what to do with her flow of words.

  “I understand you’re thirteen.”

  “Fourteen,” Nick corrected, knowing he sounded surly. No one on the ranch had remembered his birthday, which took place a few days after the funeral. In fact, he’d done his best to bury any knowledge of the day, for it hurt too much that his family wasn’t there to celebrate with him like they always had.

  “Damn.” John took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair, shorter than before. “I plumb forgot your birthday.”

  Nick shrugged, but he kept an eye on the new missus to see how she’d react to the curse word. Ma never let Pa, or Nick—or any of the men, for that matter—curse around her, threatening them all with a mouth full of soap.

  John shot an apologetic glance at his wife. “Forgive me, Pamela, for my language.”

  Raising a staying hand, she smiled. “I have three brothers. My ears aren’t going to melt if I hear a bad word or two. Though, I’d appreciate if the men of the place—” her gaze touched on Nick “—didn’t make a habit of it.”

  Nick felt a smidge of pride at being counted as one of the men.

  John laid a hand on Nick’s shoulder and squeezed. “Your ma was the one who always remembered everyone’s birthdays. Baked a cake for the special day. Guess none of the rest of us has turned older since she passed. I’m sorry I didn’t remember, Nick.”

  His throat tight, Nick didn’t know how to respond.

  “I can take on Dora’s responsibility,” Pamela said in a cheerful tone. “I’ll make a list of everyone’s birthdays and mark them on the calendar.” She touched Nick’s arm in sympathy. “I’m not much of a cook, but I do know how to bake a fine cake. What’s your favorite flavor?”

  John laughed. “Out here, any cake is a treat.”

  “But everyone has a favorite.” Her eyes smiled at Nick. “Well?”

  “Chocolate, ma’am.” The words surprised him by tumbling out of his mouth.

  “Chocolate, it is,” she said gaily. “Good thing I brought cocoa powder with me.”

  John winked at Nick before turning to his wife. “You practically brought all of Boston with you.”

  “Oh, you.” Pamela playfully elbowed his side. “Just you wait. You’ll enjoy some of my unexpected treats. Of course, we have a big surprise in store.” She gave her husband an imploring look. “Can we please do that today?”

  John smiled, his eyes twinkling. “Tonight after supper.”

  Nick stared in shock. He hadn’t seen his godfather look so happy in a long while, not since… He shut away the thought, feeling half resentful, half glad someone was feeling better even if he wasn’t.

  Truth was, John had tried hard all along to be supportive of Nick, even though he could tell the man had his own struggles with grief. If Miz Carter could bring his godfather some ease, who was he to deny the man some comfort?

  He tilted his head toward the bunkhouse. “I moved out.” Warmth heated the back of his neck. “You all need your privacy.”

  “Oh, no, Nick. You don’t have to do that,” Pamela protested with a shake of her head that sent her hair flying. “Please don’t leave on my account. I would love the company, being in a new home and all.”

  “Already done, ma’am.” He set his jaw into what Ma had always called his mule look.

  She studied him for a moment, compassion in her eyes. “Very well. But if you should change your mind, you are welcome to return and live with us.”

  Her soft-spoken words thawed his frozen insides just a trickle. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said. But Nick knew he wouldn’t avail himself of her offer. He was pretty much done with family life.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Pamela told herself not to be hurt by Nick’s decision. But she couldn’t help feeling rejected by the boy she wanted to mother. Give him time, she told herself. He just met you.

  Nick certainly had beautiful eyes—green with a blue rim around the iris. He had regular features and the kind of fair skin that freckled before tanning, and brown hair that waved to his shoulders.

  Pamela made a mental note to offer haircuts to all the men. She wondered if her husband had worn his hair longer before his Boston trip. If he had, Hester would have seen to his grooming upon his arrival.

  The black-and-white dog rose on her hind legs to sniff the basket. She had a black band around her eyes, which looked like a mask.

  “Down, Bandit.” Nick grabbed for her shoulders. “Sorry, ma’am. She’s just curious.”

  “Bandit. An appropriate name.” Pamela smiled at Nick. “I have my kitten in the basket. Let’s have these two get acquainted, shall we?” She crouched and eased back the lid, although not enough that Smoky would panic and escape.

  The kitten blinked in the bright sunlight, then saw the dog. He hissed and arched his back.

  Bandit started to thrust her nose inside the basket.

  “No, girl.” Nick pulled the dog back a few inches. “That critter may be tiny, but he has claws.”

  Pamela stroked the kitten’s head. “Smoky, meet Bandit.”

  Bandit sniffed and strained to get closer.

  Pamela gave the two animals another minute before she stood with Smoky and looked around. She took in the big house with the dormers and broad porch. A stately old oak spread thick limbs and shaded the area. She thought she could see a fenced garden toward the side. “Everything’s so peaceful.”

  John gave a wry twist of his mouth. “That’s only because the men aren’t here yet. I told them to ride with the wagon. In a few minutes, they’ll be here cutting up your peace.”

  By his gruff tone, she could tell he was still upset with them.

  He glanced at Nick. “Darn fools. Rode into town, hoopin’, hollarin’, and shootin’. Scared Mrs. Carter half to death. Probably the rest of the townsfolk as well. I don’t doubt the sheriff will be riding out with a reprimand.”

  Nick shook his head. “I know they were excited. Didn’t have any idea they�
��d act up though.” He glanced at Pamela, his eyes solemn. “I’m sorry that happened to you, ma’am. Not a good welcome to Sweetwater Springs.”

  A surprised look came over John’s face. Wide-eyed, he stared at the boy and shook his head.

  With a small smile playing about his mouth, John reached for Pamela’s hand. “Why don’t you leave Smoky with Nick for now? I’d like to show you around.”

  Pamela handed over the basket and then took her husband’s hand.

  John led her away, stopping under the shade of the tree. He glanced behind him, apparently checking to see if the boy was out of earshot, then looked down at her. “Not even here a few minutes, and you’ve already worked a miracle.”

  His voice sounded thick with emotion but she wasn’t sure why. “Nick?”

  “That boy actually had a conversation. He spoke a month’s worth of words in five minutes and without first being asked a question.” John took her other hand and turned her to face him. “Pamela, words aren’t adequate to explain what I feel…” He paused, swallowed, and seemed to consider. “Lighter, somehow?”

  “Hopeful?”

  “Yes.” He gave their joined hands a little shake. “In Boston, I had hopeful thoughts of how you being here could make a difference. But now I have hopeful feelings.”

  Her eyes misted, and her heart swelled with love. “I have hopeful feelings, too, John.” She faltered. “You don’t mind about Nick living in the bunkhouse?”

  “I do mind, and I know Dora would have not approved. But I can’t have him living alone in their cottage yonder.” He gestured to a small house a distance away. “And, as he informed us, he’s fourteen. Almost a man. I think I need to respect his choice and hope when he’s more comfortable with you that he’ll return to us.”

  After squeezing her hands, he tilted his head toward the house. “Let’s go inside.”

  Up close, Pamela could see the clapboard was in need of whitewashing. In front, weeds sprouted in the flowerbeds bordering the porch. What she could see of the wooden deck not covered from the boxes they’d sent from Boston was scuffed, with only remnants left of the original gray paint. Of the two rockers, one had a frayed cane seat. The windows looked dull and dirty, and the flower boxes in front of them were empty.