Wild Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series)

by Debra Holland

  Elizabeth tilted her head in puzzlement.

  "The hammer should always be sitting on an empty chamber to prevent an accident." He held out his hand. "Let me show you how to reload."

  Elizabeth placed the Colt in his palm.

  Slowly Nick pulled the hammer back until she heard a click. "Now it's half-cocked. Swing this loading gate out, reach under the barrel and press this rod to eject the empty cartridge, then rotate the cylinder. Eject all of them first." He demonstrated and glanced over at her.

  She nodded in understanding.

  "Then, slide in a fresh cartridge, and once again rotate the cylinder." He loaded four more cartridges and handed the Colt back to her.

  Elizabeth fired five more times, exhilaration building within her at each shot. She managed to hit the target at least half the time. But in the end, exhaustion dropped over her, which was strange considering how little physical energy she'd expended.

  "Why don't you take a turn now," she suggested. "I want to see an expert in action."

  A flush climbed his cheeks, but he took the Colt from her, reloaded and stepped over to the steer. With an effortless lift of his arm, he rapidly shot five rounds dead center into the heart area. He lowered the gun, turned, and, lifting an eyebrow, waited for her reaction.

  Impressed by his quiet confidence, Elizabeth mirrored his raised eyebrow. "You make it look so easy."

  Nick laughed. Been shootin' since I was Mark's age."

  She teased back. "That's not so long ago."

  "A man grows up fast in these parts. When you need to survive," he spun the words into a drawl, "you learn to hit what ya aim for."

  Nick’s right. He has grown up fast. In spite of his age, he doesn’t seem younger than me. Elizabeth shook her head, unable to explain her connection with this man. As she continued to stand there, gazing into his eyes, the feeling deepened. This close, she could see a gray ring circling the green irises. So that’s why his eyes sometimes look blue.

  "Elizabeth." She barely heard Pamela. "Elizabeth!" Pamela called again.

  Reluctantly, she broke eye contact.

  "Are you finished?" Pamela said. "I'm ready to go back to the house."

  "I'm ready, too." She tossed the words at Pamela before smiling at Nick. "Thank you for the lesson. It was quite an experience."

  He touched his hat. "My pleasure. But first we need to reload the gun. Remember how?" He handed the Colt to her.

  This time as she loaded the gun, her fingers moved with more sureness, although nowhere near as smooth as Nick's.

  He grinned and nodded.

  A flush of happiness warmed her cheeks, then rolled all the way down to her toes. With a final smile at him, she turned and strolled over to Pamela, resisting the urge to dance on tiptoe like a little girl.

  "Well, how'd it go?" Pamela asked.

  Her body still tingling, Elizabeth touched a finger to the corner of her mouth. "It was interesting.... I might even be willing to try again."

  Pamela, you don’t know how interesting.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The last note of the hymn trailed away, and Mr. Norton intoned the final blessing that concluded the church service. Through lowered eyelashes, Elizabeth glanced sideways at Mr. Livingston, sitting in the same pew as last Sunday.

  She'd been disappointed when, in spite of his invitation to drive her to the ranch, Mr. Livingston had not taken a seat next to her. Then she'd realized changing his place might be making a declaration of his intentions. She wasn't sure either of them felt ready for that kind of public scrutiny. Perhaps in a few weeks....

  This Sunday, Elizabeth was more relaxed. Once outside the church, she greeted and exchanged a few words with the people she knew. Anticipation over Mr. Livingston still bubbled within her, but she'd gotten over the shock of his appearance and felt more secure about his courtship of her.

  A tug on her pink silk dress caused her to look down to see Sara and Lizzy, in identical blue flower-sprigged calico dresses, vying for her attention. Lizzy clutched a fold of Elizabeth's skirt in her hand.

  "Aunt Elizabeth, will you sit between us on the way home?" Sara asked, giving Elizabeth the gap-toothed grin that tugged at her heart.

  Elizabeth dropped a kiss on Sara's forehead and stooped to give Lizzy a hug. "Oh, my dears, I'd love to. However, Mr. Livingston is coming to dinner. I'm riding home with him."

  Both girls stuck out their lower lips in disappointment. "I can tell you're sisters," she said, touching Lizzy's mouth. "You even pout the same." She reached over to pull gently on Sara's braid. Elizabeth's necklace swung out almost hitting Sara in the nose. The child's gaze fastened on the locket.

  "Here." Impulsively, Elizabeth raised the necklace over her head and dropped the chain around Sara's neck. "You can wear this home. That way, it's almost like I'm with you."

  Sara's eyes widened. She reverently cupped the locket in her palm.

  As if she'd never seen the necklace before, Lizzy stood on tiptoe to examine it.

  "Let your sister wear it halfway home."

  "Yes, Aunt Elizabeth."

  Elizabeth patted Lizzy's head. "After we eat, we'll have some music. I'll let you choose the first two songs. One for each of you."

  Their faces brightened.

  Sara grinned. "I'm going to pick a not Sunday song."

  "Little imp." Elizabeth gave Sara's braid another tug. "Good thing Reverend Norton won't be there." She smoothed brown wispy bangs back from Lizzy's delicate face. "What about you, little bird? Do you have a song you want me to play?"

  The child nodded.

  A male voice behind her said, "I hope I get to pick a song, too."

  At the sound of Mr. Livingston's voice, Elizabeth straightened, feeling a flush rising in her cheeks. "Of course, Mr. Livingston," she said. "However, I've promised the girls the first two choices, so you'll have to go third."

  "I'd be happy to allow two such lovely little ladies to precede me." He gave them a playful bow.

  Sara giggled and clapped a hand over her mouth. Pulling Lizzy like a caboose behind her, she skipped over toward her parents.

  "Well, Mr. Livingston, I can see you're quickly going to become a favorite with those two," Elizabeth said.

  He reached over to pull her hand gently through the crook of his arm, placing it on the sleeve of his brown wool jacket. "It's their Aunt Elizabeth with whom I intend to become a favorite," he said, smiling down at her while he led her in the direction of his buggy.

  Warmth swelled within her heart and expanded throughout her body. Surely the glow radiated from her face, apparent for him to see.

  His smile intensified. Stopping before the buggy, he studied her face, his brown eyes warm. He brought her hand to his lips.

  Elizabeth thought she might faint from joy.

  He helped her onto the seat of the buggy, then walked around and climbed up beside her. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a pair of brown leather driving gloves, then tugged them on. He released the brake and flicked the reins. For the first few minutes, they remained silent while he drove through the town.

  Elizabeth admired his handling of the reins. Her artist's eye was always quick to catch the shape of a person's hands, and she wished he hadn't put gloves on so she could study his. She longed to compare them with her memory of Richard's. Underneath the leather, it seemed he had narrow hands with long fingers. With an inner shiver, she wondered what they'd feel like on her skin.

  "Miss Hamilton." His quiet voice interrupted her thoughts.

  She blushed, glad that his concentration had to remain on his driving. "Yes, Mr. Livingston."

  "I'd very much appreciate it if you'd call me Caleb."

  Yes, things were progressing quite nicely. "I'd like that, Caleb."

  He gave her a quick smile. "May I call you Elizabeth?"

  "Certainly, Caleb."

  He relaxed back against the black leather seat. "Do you think you'll make a long visit with the Carters?"

  "They've exte
nded an invitation to make my home with them. So far everything's been wonderful, but I'm not sure yet just what I'll do."

  "I've been wondering what brought such a refined lady out to the wild, uncivilized west."

  "It's a rather long story."

  He smiled down at her and slowed the pace of the horses. "We have plenty of time."

  She related the details of her brother's unexpected marriage. The serious expression in his eyes during his quick, sideways glances at her told her how attentively he listened. She tried to keep a light tone of voice, but some of her feelings must have seeped through.

  "You've had a difficult time. Your brother's behavior sounds very selfish."

  "I don't think he meant to be. He thought it would be good for me to have a sister-in-law."

  Caleb transferred the reins to one hand and with the other reached out to clasp hers. "Your brother's a cad." He squeezed her hand before taking back the reins into both his hands.

  "Thank you, Caleb." Tears rose in her eyes, and she blinked them back. She felt protected and cherished, just like when Richard used to stand up to Laurence on her behalf. She wished her brother could hear Caleb's words. Not that anything would change.

  Companionable silence prevailed while Caleb guided the horses through the pass.

  "It's a beautiful sight, isn't it?" Elizabeth asked, looking down at the ranch spread out below them.

  "It's a prosperous ranch, the best in these parts, but perhaps not the best setting for a lady like you."

  His words made her a little uncomfortable. After all, Pamela was a lady, and this was her home. And so far Elizabeth had enjoyed her stay at the ranch. Still, good thing Caleb didn't know about the shooting practice she'd had this week. He might not approve. "I've been happier here the last few weeks than I've been since Laurence married."

  "I'm sorry you've had to suffer through the difficult circumstances that caused you to come to Montana; however, I'm pleased you're here, Elizabeth. You deserve to be happy." Again, he shifted the reins back into one hand, and reaching for her hand, he lifted it to his lips. He brushed her palm with his finger, sending her into a blissful daze.

  #

  Nick strolled out of the barn just as John and Pamela pulled up in the buggy. Where's Elizabeth? He automatically went to stand by the nearest horse, held the harness and stroked its neck while John dismounted.

  "The mare foaled yet?" John asked.

  "Not yet. Probably be a few more hours 'til she's ready."

  John grunted and walked around to help Pamela down.

  Pamela smoothed her green silk skirt and smiled at Nick. "I'm glad most of the foals are born. You've been missing too much church."

  "Only two more to go. And it'll be several weeks before that gray mare foals."

  "You'll join us for Sunday dinner?"

  Before he could nod an affirmative, Pamela continued, "Mr. Livingston's driving out with Elizabeth."

  Nick shuddered at the thought of another meal with the banker. And with him courting Elizabeth.... He shook his head. "I should stay with the mare."

  Pamela's brown eyes held understanding. "Soon you'll not have those mares for an excuse," she said in a voice only Nick could hear.

  In the distance, Nick saw Livingston's buggy and nodded in that direction. "Company's comin'."

  "Goodness, I'd better warn Annie they're here." Pamela lifted her skirt a few inches off the ground and sailed toward the house.

  John had climbed back into the buggy. Nick stepped out of the way then followed, intending to help unharness the horse.

  Thoughts whirled around in Nick's head, and his stomach knotted. He'd promised himself he'd fight for Elizabeth, yet at the first chance he'd gone and backed down.

  Chicken. He was worse than the rooster that kept running away from Sara's hen, Mrs. Pooch.

  Nick Sanders, he sternly told himself in a mental voice that sounded like his mother's. You march right into that house and tell Miz Carter you’re coming to dinner. Then you hightail it to the bunkhouse to wash up and change into something decent!

  The decision made, he relaxed. Turning, he glanced into the birthing stall. The mare lay on her side in the straw, panting, the whites of her eyes straining. All thoughts of courtship fled. He unlatched the door and slid inside. Kneeling down, he ran his hands over her sweating side. "What's wrong, girl?" he murmured. Underneath his probing fingers, he could feel her strain.

  John stopped at the stall. "How's she doing?"

  Nick rolled up his right shirtsleeve, held the mare's tail aside, and continued his manual examination. "Foal's breech," he said without looking up.

  "You'll need help."

  "You've got company. Get one of the men."

  "All right, but send him to the house if you need me."

  He heard John's quick footsteps recede, and he became lost in the battle to save the mare and foal.

  #

  Nick walked slowly from the barn feeling exhausted but content. It had been a struggle, but both mare and foal were doing fine. His peacefulness fled at the sight of Caleb Livingston's buggy. Oh, no. He'd completely forgotten about dinner. Glancing down at his blue denim work shirt and pants covered in muck and blood, he shook his head in disgust.

  Piano music floated on the air. Elizabeth’s music. He recognized the piece by Liszt. If he'd been in the room, he'd have had another chance to play for her. He hadn't forgotten the connection they'd experienced the night of the party when he'd performed "Lizzy's Theme."

  He'd finished the piece he'd composed for Elizabeth, but hadn't made the opportunity to play for her. Nor did he want to debut that music in front of Livingston. That music belonged to Elizabeth alone.

  Glancing around to make sure no one saw him, he headed in the direction of the house. Outside the music room, he leaned back against the house where he could hear every delicate note.

  A sigh squeezed up from his midsection. He slid down the wall until he sat on the ground, his hands on his knees. He closed his eyes and pictured Elizabeth bent over the keyboard, blue eyes intent on her music, blond tendrils curling around her face.

  Then he imagined Livingston hovering over her.

  Nick clenched his fist. The man would probably listen attentively, thinking what an asset Elizabeth would be as his wife. Livingston could be entertained by her fine playing whenever he wanted. Then when he had guests, they'd admire the banker even more because of his lovely, talented wife.

  He brushed a straw off his pants, inhaled a deep breath and vowed. I’m out here now, Livingston, because I had a job to do. But I promise you, I won’t always be the mucked-up cowboy on the outside of her life.

  #

  I’m pleased you’re here, Elizabeth.

  As she blissfully drifted through the rest of Caleb's visit, his words echoed in her mind. The flow of the day washed over her and carried her along. Cocooned in joy, she floated through the meal and the music afterward. Even bidding Caleb good night didn't settle her down to earth, for she was lost in the rosy glow of their future together.

  Later that night, Elizabeth sat in dreamy contentment in front of her dressing table, brushing out her hair and humming "Lizzy's Theme." A shaft of moonlight peeking through the gap in her curtains made her stand and move to the window. She leaned against the wall and slowly stroked the brush through her hair, gazing out into the night.

  A movement below caught her attention, and she leaned forward to make it out. A shadowy male outline walked toward one of the horse pastures, the one with the large odd-shaped rock in the middle.

  Nick. She recognized his walk.

  As she realized she'd missed him, her humming ceased. Only then did she realize she'd been humming Nick's music. The lack of his presence had been the only prick in her happiness. Where had he been? How strange that he'd stayed out of sight. Even stranger was how much it mattered to her.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Sara burst into the parlor, Mark following on her heels. "Mama, Mama, the saskatoons
are ripe! May we go pick them?"

  "The birds are already at them," Mark added. "We'd better hurry if we want any."

  "That berry patch is so big, there'll still be plenty for us," Pamela said.

  "What are saskatoons?" Elizabeth asked.

  "Similar to blueberries, except smaller and redder." Pamela smiled at Elizabeth. "A delicious purple berry. Picking berries is always an occasion. We take a picnic lunch and enough pails and baskets to ensure we have plenty of fruit for jam and pie."

  "I love saskatoons," Sara said, rubbing her stomach in anticipation.

  "And I love saskatoon pie!" Mark said.

  "You'll come, won't you, Aunt Elizabeth?" Sara begged. "Please, please."

  Elizabeth hadn't even thought about offering to help pick berries, but capitulated at the pleading look on Sara's face, and the eager way Mark rocked forward on his toes while he awaited her answer. "Of course I will."

  Pamela's brown eyes twinkled with mischief. "Then you'd better put on your oldest dress and your straw hat. Unless you want to borrow one of my sunbonnets."

  Elizabeth knew her friend was teasing, but pretended to be shocked. "Pamela, don't tell me that you actually have a sunbonnet?"

  "No, of course not. That's one unfashionable item I haven't yet succumbed to wearing." She ruffled her daughter's bangs. "But Sara has one she never wears."

  Sara crinkled her nose and shook her head.

  Her mother shrugged. "As you've noticed, she prefers her Stetson."

  Sara nodded vigorously, her braids bouncing on her shoulders.

  "Lizzy has several sunbonnets because she can't take the sun. And they're more practical than the straw hats, although she has those as well as a Stetson." She turned her attention to her son. "You'll need your hat too, Mark. And run and tell Annie to pack a lunch for us." She looked at her daughter. "Go find Dawn. She'll have to keep an eye on Lizzy. It'll be too hot for her to go with us."