"You'll like Dr. and Mrs. Cameron. They're good friends. Why if it wasn't for him, we wouldn't have our Lizzy."
"What!"
"I had a long, difficult labor." Pamela shuddered "She wasn't breathing properly when she was born."
Elizabeth pressed her hand in sympathy. "You never wrote me that. I wish I'd been with you."
"It was a frightening time. We'll always be grateful to Dr. Cameron. We still require his services more than I'd like. Lizzy's so frail, and she seems to catch any passing illness."
"I'm pleased you have him to help you," Elizabeth murmured. But within her chest, an insidious fear about Lizzy's frailty wrapped around her heart and squeezed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Pamela stood up from the bed, pulling Elizabeth with her. "Come on. It's almost time to eat."
"Good."
"I'll show you the downstairs. Did you know I've a music room?"
"You wrote about John surprising you with the piano on your first anniversary, so I brought some of my favorite music. I wasn't sure if you had some of the newer pieces."
"Oh, how wonderful. I'm sure I'll enjoy playing them. When I first came here John worried that I might miss my music," Pamela said as they walked downstairs. "I actually don't play much anymore, at least not every day like I used to. More in the winter. The winters here do tend to be fierce, and we spend a lot of time cooped up in the house. This winter, I'm going to start teaching Sara to play."
Pamela guided Elizabeth through the door and into the music room. The large room had simple wooden chairs scattered around a cherrywood piano. In addition to Pamela's piano, a violin rested in an open case on one of the chairs, next to a stand.
"Who plays the violin?"
"Nick does, although out here we call it a fiddle. Last winter he started teaching Mark." Pamela smiled and rolled her eyes. "You can imagine the screeching. We try to stay out of earshot."
Elizabeth gave her a mischievous smile. "I'll have to ask Mark to play for me."
"Believe me, you'll only ask once. However, you'll hear Nick and me play. We have musical evenings for the family and sometimes invite everyone else from the ranch."
"You invite everyone?" Elizabeth echoed. "You mean the ranch hands?"
"Yes," Pamela replied. "It started when we had Sunday prayer services. Much of the winter we can't make it into town to attend church, but we feel that it's important for everyone to observe the Lord's day. We have to set an example you know."
"I suppose you're right."
"So, Sunday mornings during the winter everyone gathers here. John reads the service out of the prayer book. I play the piano, and we sing hymns."
"I'd like to see John's attempt at being a minister."
Pamela laughed. "Actually, he does a good job. It's not too difficult when you don't have to preach a sermon."
The whole concept sounded strange to Elizabeth. However, she could see the importance of John and Pamela upholding civilized values in this wild place.
#
"We'll stop by the kitchen. I want to tell Annie you'll be joining us," Pamela said as the two walked downstairs and along the hall. "It's in here." She motioned to a partially opened door and stepped back to allow Elizabeth to precede her into the room.
A large table covered with a red-checked cloth and set with blue tin splatterware dominated the center of Pamela's big kitchen. Annie leaned over a monster black stove, stirring something in a huge pot. The smell of baking bread wafted from a brick oven set into one of the outside walls. A long-handled indoor pump meant Annie didn't have to carry water from the well outside.
Sunshine streamed through white-curtained windows and played across several colorful, braided rag rugs. A gray cat, curled up on a cushioned rocking chair, lifted his head, regarding Elizabeth with an unblinking yellow gaze.
"Meet Smoky, the terror of the kitchen," Pamela said. "He doesn't look like it right now, but he's a great mouser."
"Hello, Smoky." Elizabeth greeted the cat with a scratch behind his ear.
He yawned in reply, then gave his side a perfunctory lick. Seeming to change his mind abruptly, the cat stood and arched his back in a stretch, then jumped off the chair.
Elizabeth cocked her head at the thud of approaching footsteps.
"Unless you want to be knocked over by the stampede, we'd better go into the dining room," Pamela commented with a wry face. "Or, you can wait and meet the men?"
Elizabeth inwardly shuddered. "I definitely have no desire to be run over," she informed Pamela.
Nick bounded up the steps and through the partially open door.
"Too late." Pamela said. "Here's the first of the horde."
At the sight of the women, Nick smiled and swept off his hat. "Miz Carter, Miss Hamilton."
Pamela greeted Nick, but Elizabeth flushed and only nodded. She smoothed the front of her calico skirt, and her blush deepened. Why did this young cowboy make her feel so unsettled?
"This room's going to be very crowded in another minute," Pamela said, jerking Elizabeth from her musing. "Let's move into the dining room. Annie," she said to the cook, "do you need us to carry anything?"
"You could set out the biscuits." The cook picked up a towel and wrapped it around each end of a tin tray holding several dozen golden round biscuits. "Be careful, they hot," she said, thrusting the tray into Elizabeth's hands.
Startled at the unexpectedness of the hot tray in her possession, Elizabeth took a step backward and tripped over Smoky. Juggling to keep the tray from tipping, she started to fall.
Nick leaped to grab her, catching her arm, his fingers accidentally brushing her breast with one hand, while his other arm steadied her back. The tray banged into his side, knocking most of the biscuits to the floor.
Hot with mortification, Elizabeth murmured apologies. Trying to ignore Nick, she stooped to scoop up the biscuits. Nick leaned over to help her, and they bumped heads.
Elizabeth let go of one end of the tray to rub her head, causing the rest of the biscuits to slide toward the floor. In a vain attempt to save the remaining biscuits she grasped the tray, searing her palm.
Near tears from pain and embarrassment, she threw Pamela a mute glance of appeal.
"Beth, you're hurt!" Pamela rushed to her side.
Elizabeth turned her hand over to show her friend the red welts beginning to mar her skin.
Pamela pulled her over to the sink, thrusting Elizabeth's hand under the pump, and pushing the handle up and down. "We must cool your hand."
As the soothing water gushed out, behind her she could hear the sounds of Nick picking up the biscuits and setting them on the tray.
It all happened so fast," Pamela said with distress. "I feel horrible. Your first day here, and you're hurt."
Nick strode over to a shelf by the stove, grabbed a small brown crock, pulled off the top, and held it out to them. Pamela dabbed Elizabeth's palm dry, then dipped the cloth in the crock.
Elizabeth tried not to shiver from the touch of the cloth against her raw skin. Pamela gently slathered some salve over the burn. "Let me go get one of my clean old gloves to put over this."
Left alone with Nick and Annie, Elizabeth sat down on a chair and stared at the floor, trying to breath away the pain. Remembering the accidental intimacy when Nick touched her made her warm cheeks glow even hotter. Elizabeth glanced up at him from beneath lowered lashes, but could see only concern on his face.
Outside she could hear the sound of male voices. Oh, no. The ranch hands. Just what she needed to worsen the situation.
As if reading her thoughts, Nick spoke up. "I'll keep the men outside for another few minutes. Right now, you don't need a bunch of cowboys crowding the kitchen." He reached over and lightly touched her shoulder. "I'm real sorry about this, Miss Hamilton. I shouldn't have gotten in your way."
She looked up in astonishment. "Nick, this wasn't your fault. If you hadn't caught me, I'd have landed on the floor, probably broken something, and still been burne
d. I haven't thanked you, because I've been too mortified to speak."
Her words brought a flush to his face. He bent to pick up his hat from the floor. "I'm just sorry you're hurt." He headed toward the door. "I'll go head off those men."
Pamela hurried back into the kitchen, waving a glove. "Here's an old one. It's stretched out, as I've used it as a bandage before. Cooking does tend to cause cuts and burns."
Elizabeth had had enough of cooking for today. "Pamela, if you don't mind, in the future I'll stay away from your kitchen."
Her friend gave her an understanding smile. "I don't blame you. Let's go into the dining room so the men can eat."
#
After the meal, the children asked Elizabeth to accompany them to the barn. With Lizzy holding her unburned hand, and Mark and Sara leading the way, Elizabeth headed outside. As soon as the children stepped through the door, the two black and white dogs ran over.
"This is Shep." Mark patted the head of the larger one. "The other is Sally."
"Shep and Sally, I'm soo-o-o glad to meet you," Elizabeth teased with mock formality as she stooped to pat the dogs. "I regret I was rather preoccupied last night with greeting people, so we were not properly introduced. I hope you don't think me rude."
The dogs didn't seem to mind her breach of etiquette and with wagging tails and lolling tongues, trailed after them.
"You'll have to explain what each of these buildings are." She pointed at a small, whitewashed hut set on stilts. "What's that little one over there?"
"That's the henhouse," Mark said.
"Every day I collect the eggs from the chickens," Sara told her, a proud lilt in her voice. "Lizzy helps me. She knows how to be real careful."
Lizzy nodded in agreement.
"My favorite hen is Mrs. Pooch," Sara continued. "She sits on my lap and lets me pet her." She cast a triumphant glance at her brother. "She pecks at Mark."
"Who cares about an old hen," Mark grumbled. "I'd rather be with the horses."
"That's the men's bunkhouse." Sara pointed to a long, narrow building. "And over there's where the foreman, Carl, lives with his wife, Daisy. They have a little baby boy named Johnny."
Set back several hundred yards from the barn, a small house sat, dwarfed by its large porch. Two rocking chairs invited hard-working folk to sit and relax. Porches and rocking chairs seemed an inevitable part of homes in Montana. Rather charming....
By this time they'd reached the enormous whitewashed barn. The children led her past the entrance.
"Where are we going?" Elizabeth asked.
"To the corral," Sara said. "Nick's there working with Outlaw. He's wild."
"Outlaw?"
"His horse," Mark said. "He works with him every afternoon. Nick is probably having a hard time with him today. That stallion has been two weeks without exercise. No one else dared."
With a sideways skip, Sara scooted in front of Elizabeth. "He's a real outlaw."
"He is?"
"Bucked off anyone who tried to ride him. His bad owner whipped Outlaw." Sara's words tumbled out in a rush. She took backward bouncing steps to stay in front of Elizabeth. "Nick saw the whipping and got real mad. Know what he did?"
"What?"
Sara's gap-tooth grin flashed, and her eyes lit with pride. "He grabbed the whip and said he'd hit the man with it. Then he made the bad man sell him the horse."
"Good for Nick." Warmth and admiration filled her. Nick had seemed so quiet and shy. Evidently, there was more to him....
"It took Nick months of work before Outlaw trusted him." Mark said.
"You be careful though, Aunt Lizbeth," Sara warned. "Outlaw's still dangerous."
"We aren't supposed to go close to him unless Nick is with us," Mark added. "Nick's the only one he trusts."
Mark reached the edge of the barn first. He peeked around the corner, then waved his hand and motioned for the others to come forward.
Elizabeth stepped behind him, leaned over his head to peer around the corner, and caught her breath at the sight.
Nick stood in the center of a small corral, holding a long rope attached to the halter of a magnificent charcoal-gray stallion. The horse cantered in a circle around him, its long black mane and tail flowing behind. As they watched, Nick flicked the rope and uttered clicking sounds. With each one, Outlaw changed paces--the horse's movements so smooth there seemed to be no transition.
"Ow! Get off my foot." Sara elbowed her brother, causing Mark to stumble away from the shelter of the barn. He dance-stepped to get his footing. A tin pail clanged to the ground.
Outlaw reared up, its powerful muscles bunching. The rope pulled taut, yanking Nick forward. The horse backed away. Tossing its head, the stallion snorted, and banged against the wooden rails of the corral.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Elizabeth's heart thumped, and a jolt of fear jagged through her body. She gasped as Outlaw reared again, and she pulled the girls close.
Nick braced himself. He spoke in a soothing voice, his gloved hands on the rope. Elizabeth couldn't hear his words, but the horse seemed to respond. Tossing his head again, a wild look in his eye, Outlaw allowed Nick to take a step forward. Nick held out his hand, murmuring until Outlaw moved against him, permitting Nick to caress his nose.
The tension seemed to drain from the horse. His mouth opened and closed several times.
"That means he's all right," Sara whispered.
"What does?" Elizabeth whispered back. As Outlaw quieted, Elizabeth's own rapid heartbeat slowed, and she relaxed her grip on the girls.
"When he steps toward Nick and moves his mouth like that, he wants to know that he's safe."
Nick has such a calming touch---
"Nick'll be working for a few more minutes," Mark interrupted. "Wanna see the other horses?"
A strange reluctance to leave the sight of Nick and Outlaw almost rooted her to the ground. The bond between man and horse drew her. She took a breath. Who was she trying to fool? Nick drew her--his quiet masculinity, his thoughtfulness---
Lizzy tugged on her hand. "Foal," she said.
Elizabeth smiled down. "All right, darling. Let's go see the foal."
"A few horses and the milk cows are in the barn." Mark led the way toward the large double doorway. "Unless it's winter, the rest of the horses are out in the pasture."
They entered the barn. After the brightness outside, Elizabeth's eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the dim interior.
She grimaced at the redolent smell of horse, leather, dirt, and hay, but the odor wasn't too overwhelming. Curious horses gazed out of stalls along each side of the barn, some nickering as they walked past. Overhead, a loft held loose hay. A few wisps had floated down on the otherwise cleanly swept dirt floor.
The children led her past each stall until they reached the one holding Mark's chestnut-colored pony.
"This is Billy." Mark stroked the pony's head, allowing it to puff his palm.
Little Lizzy, who up to this time had stayed silent, tugged on Elizabeth's hand and pointed to the brown pony in the next stall. "Susie."
"Is that your pony, dear?"
Lizzy nodded.
"She's beautiful. I'd like to see you ride her. Maybe we can do that later."
Lizzy nodded again, but this time a smile lit her solemn little face.
Mark gestured toward a chestnut mare. "Come meet Mama's mare. Her name is Belle. Mama doesn't ride her very much. She's usually too busy."
Elizabeth stroked the sleek nose, and the horse blew soft breaths on her hand.
"She's looking for a carrot. Mama always brings her one," Mark said.
Sara impatiently pulled on Elizabeth's skirt. "Father's horse is black. He's named Midnight. You can see him later when Father brings him back to the barn."
Elizabeth looked down the row. "Where's Midas?"
"Out in the pasture," Mark said. "After the train ride, Nick wants him to enjoy some freedom. He'll probably work him later."
"He will?"
>
"Nick doesn't always ride with Father and the other men," Mark told her. "He's in charge of the horses. He spends a lot of his time schooling them. Everyone else works with the cattle."
"He also plays with us," Sara added. "He's our best friend."
"What do you mean, he plays with you?" Elizabeth asked, thinking Nick a strange type of playmate.
"He taught us to ride," Sara said with a proud tilt of her chin. "He teaches us about the plants and animals. He lets us help him with the horses."
Lizzy tugged at Elizabeth's hand.
Sara patted her sister on the head. "Lizzy loves to ride on his shoulders. I used, but I'm too big now."
"I should think so," Elizabeth murmured.
The children passed by the stalls of mares in foal without introducing them. They were anxious to see the filly. They'd just reached the newborn's stall when footsteps behind them warned of Nick's approach.
"You children think you can be quiet around the foal?" Nick asked with a quirked eyebrow.
Mark and Sara exchanged guilty looks. "Sorry about spooking Outlaw," Mark said, hanging his head.
Nick looked amused and ruffled Mark's hair. "No harm done."
Elizabeth glanced at Nick from under lowered lashes. His worn tan shirt clung to his muscled body, a few dirt streaks marring the fabric. He leaned against the stall, a casual pose that provoked a fluttering response in the vicinity of her stomach.
Uncomfortable, she dropped her gaze to study the newborn filly. The little chestnut foal, tugging busily at her mother's teat, ignored her admirers.
"She has a white star on her forehead," Sara pointed. "So, I've named her Star."
"She's a darling," Elizabeth said. "Can I touch her?"
"Yes, Miss Hamilton," Nick told her, opening the door to the stall. "But first come and meet her mama." He held up his hand to stop the children. "You three stay back, and let Miss Hamilton do this alone."
Wild Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series) Page 8
