Montana Cowboy Daddy

by Linda Ford

  Her smile returned, filling her eyes. “‘The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handywork.’”

  Surprise and something akin to pleasure jolted through him at her response. Who would have expected her to quote the same verse his grandfather often used?

  Mattie grinned up at Isabelle. “That’s the Bible verse Grandfather always says.” She turned to Dawson. “Isn’t it, Papa?”

  He nodded, too startled to speak.

  Mattie danced back to the wagon, and Dawson and Isabelle followed, side by side but not touching, though the breeze brushed her coat against his leg and brought to him the scent of something sweet and subtle. Not like the heavy perfumes Violet had preferred.

  There had to be some reason he kept aligning Violet and Isabelle in his thoughts. Perhaps a subconscious knowledge he needed to remember the similarities. Not that he would likely forget. Especially when he saw the way Mattie gazed admiringly at Isabelle as he helped the fine lady into the buggy and how she fingered the material of Isabelle’s coat as they sat side by side. Everything about her shouted city and money. He did not wish Mattie to learn to value those above the simpler things of ranch life. He shuddered. Being drawn by such attractions might lead her away from him.

  They continued passing houses. Not until they were almost abreast of the Garrisons’ house did he think he should have chosen a different street or even gone around the block. He gritted his teeth and hoped none of them looked out the window. Especially Betsy. Seemed that was too much to hope for, because even before he finished the thought, Betsy flew from the house, almost tripping over her skirts. “Dawson.” Her screech made the horse toss his head and whinny.

  “Papa, why did you come this way?” Mattie whispered her protest.

  “It’s the street out of town.” Though not an excuse for such forgetfulness.

  Betsy reached the side of the buggy and grabbed at it, leaving him no choice but to stop.

  “Whoa.” Anyone who knew him would hear the barely constrained impatience.

  Betsy batted her eyes and gave a wide, generous smile. “Hi, Dawson. Where ya goin’?”

  He smiled back, though it felt a whole lot more like a grimace. “Good day, Miss Garrison. It’s a beautiful Sunday, isn’t it?”

  Mattie drummed her hand on his arm.

  “What?” he asked her.

  She rocked her head back and forth, her eyes flashing a warning.

  He understood her concern. Betsy had managed to invite herself along on more than one occasion. And she always hung on to his arm and pushed Mattie away. “We’re going for a drive. If you’ll excuse us, we must be on our way.”

  Betsy pouted. Apparently someone had told her it was appealing.

  It was not.

  He waited for her to step back and not until she did could he fill his lungs. He half expected her to bolt to the buggy and push both Mattie and Isabelle into the back so she could crowd to his side.

  “That was Betsy Garrison,” Mattie informed Isabelle. “She likes my papa. But she doesn’t like me.”

  Isabelle’s look met his over his daughter’s head. Hers faintly accusing, as if demanding to know why he would encourage such an interest.

  “It’s entirely one-sided,” he murmured.

  She tipped her head fractionally and shifted her attention to Mattie, her expression softening as she squeezed the child’s shoulder.

  “I don’t understand why she wouldn’t like you. I do.” She spoke so softly he barely heard her words.

  “I like you, too.” Mattie rested her head against Isabelle’s arm.

  Dawson’s teeth creaked. How could he protect his little girl from this city woman who would admire everything she saw, weary of it and go back to the city leaving Mattie hurting? Why had he suggested an outing? Or, at least, why hadn’t he canceled it when he saw Isabelle would be the only one accompanying them?

  He wasn’t blind to how both he and Mattie could be hurt if he wasn’t extra cautious. Even now he could turn back and end this trip. But he knew he wouldn’t. And no amount of telling himself it was only for Mattie’s sake erased the truth that he did this willingly, albeit with fear and trembling. Surely he would pay a price, and so would his daughter.

  Chapter Six

  Isabelle couldn’t miss the tension in Dawson’s face as they proceeded down the street, but she could only guess its cause. Did he regret that she was the only one to join him and Mattie, or did he regret that she sat on the buggy seat and not this Betsy person? But Isabelle didn’t regret it after Mattie said Betsy didn’t like her. Surely that would be reason enough for Dawson not to consider such a relationship.

  The truth was, Isabelle didn’t know him sufficiently well to make that assumption, though everything she’d observed and her own reaction to the man suggested otherwise. But she knew better than to trust her heart when it came to men. Her experience with Jamieson and Andy had surely taught her that.

  She nudged the pussy-willow bouquet at her feet, where she’d put it for safekeeping until she returned home. He’d made it sound like she’d prefer the hothouse flowers that filled her cousin’s house on a regular basis, some sent by suitors and would-be suitors. What would he say if she told him he was mistaken? There was something touching about a man cutting a bouquet and handing it to her, even if it had been done only out of kindness.

  No one spoke as they left the town behind them. The trail led north. To the west she saw snowcapped mountains. “They look like jagged teeth,” she said, hoping to ease the tension that, she admitted, might exist only in her own mind.

  Mattie giggled. “I used to say I know why they’re called ‘peaks.’ It’s ’cause you can always see them peeking at you.”

  Isabelle chuckled. “That’s rather clever.” She had no intention of looking directly at Dawson but smiled down at Mattie. However, when she lifted her head, their gazes collided. She jerked her attention forward. He’d already made it clear he didn’t approve of her, but to see the message in his eyes again shattered any enjoyment of the afternoon. Not that she meant to let his opinion influence her. She would learn how to do something useful and beneficial while she was here and had the opportunity.

  “Know what else I said when I was little?” Mattie asked.

  “You’re still little,” Dawson teased, his tone making it clear how much he enjoyed his daughter.

  Mattie huffed up straight. “I’m old enough to go to school.”

  “Ah, yes. I’d forgotten you’re now an old lady.”

  “Papa!” With a toss of her head, she faced Isabelle. “Want to hear?”

  “I’d love to.” Her heart warmed at the way Dawson and Mattie teased without rancor.

  “I used to think my grandfather meant something to see when he said he found an Indian campsite. I ’member asking him where are the eyes. I figured it had to have eyes to have sight.” She covered a little giggle.

  Again Isabelle chuckled and met Dawson’s amused look over his daughter’s head.

  “She was so literal.”

  “What’s that mean?” Mattie demanded.

  Dawson considered his answer a moment. “It means you see things in black and white.”

  Mattie crossed her arms over her chest in a gesture that plainly spoke disbelief. “I do not. I like colors.” She waved her hand. “The blue sky. The dark green pine. The purple crocuses. Can we look for some?”

  “Don’t see why not, though I’ve not seen any yet.” Dawson kept his attention on the road ahead, but even so, Isabelle caught the hint of a smile on his face. He obviously enjoyed his little daughter.

  She forced her hands to remain folded neatly in her lap when she ached to twist them into a knot. How could she hope she might fit in this world?

  The ruts in the road led onward. The mountains stood solid and unmoving. Just as God remained faithful. She would trust Him to guide her to a satisfactory place.

  The road climbed upward. The trees crowded close, shuttering the sun s
o they only got flashes of it on their faces.

  “We’re almost there.” Mattie bounced up and down.

  Dawson pressed his hand to her knees. “Careful or you’ll fly away and then what will happen?”

  “Then you’ll catch me and bring me back.”

  Struck by the certainty in Mattie’s voice, Isabelle studied the eager child. How amazing to be so completely secure in her father’s love and care. She lifted her gaze to Dawson, her insides full of admiration and something more…something she couldn’t identify but that came from a distant, seldom-visited part of her heart and felt strangely like loneliness.

  “Stop, Papa.” Mattie’s sharp call drove everything else from Isabelle’s mind and she looked about, alert to whatever had made the child call out.

  Dawson pulled the wagon to a halt and grinned at Mattie. “You sure this is the place?”

  Obviously he wasn’t alarmed, so Isabelle relaxed.

  “This is it. Listen, Isabelle.” Mattie tipped her head, a rapt look on her face. “You can hear it.”

  Isabelle turned her attention to the sounds around her, uncertain what Mattie expected her to hear. Birdsong, the whisper of the breeze through the overhead branches and a distant sound of wind? No, not wind. A faint rumble. “Is that the sound of the waterfall?”

  Mattie grabbed Isabelle’s hand, her eyes wide with joy. “We always stop to listen before we get there.”

  Dawson regarded Isabelle with watchful interest. Did he wait for her response?

  Having no idea what he expected from her, she gave a mental shrug and turned her attention back to the child. “Are we still a long ways off?”

  “Almost there,” Mattie answered. “It’s real loud up close.”

  “Really? I can hardly wait.”

  “Let’s go, Papa.” The child leaned forward as if she could get to her destination faster that way.

  Dawson moved on without saying a word, but his look suggested disapproval. She could not think why. Did he want her to seem more excited? Did he think she found the activity boring? Beneath her? Or was it a special place that he only shared with her reluctantly?

  “One can never get tired of seeing nature’s beauty and power,” she said, hoping it would make him understand this outing was not beneath her and she enjoyed every minute.

  “The falls are considered to be magnificent.”

  She noticed he spoke from a neutral point of view. And wanting to know his opinion, she asked, “Have you seen them so often they’ve become commonplace?”

  “I don’t believe a person could ever become complacent in the face of such power and beauty. But I’ll let you judge for yourself.”

  The sound of rushing water grew louder as they climbed. They reached a small clearing and he pulled to a halt. “We walk from here. Mattie, wait for me,” Dawson called as Mattie jumped from the buggy. “It will still be icy and slippery in places.”

  “Show her from here.” Mattie rocked back and forth on her feet as she waited for Dawson to help Isabelle down.

  “I will.” He retained Isabelle’s hand. “The rocks can be slippery.”

  As if to prove him correct, one foot slid out from under her.

  His hand gripped hers. “Thank you,” she murmured, heat stinging her cheeks. Not, she realized with some dismay, because of the way she clung to his hand, but because of the way her heart rushed up her throat at the warmth and strength and solidness of his grasp. And the way the simple touch went beyond her hand to that lonely place behind her heart, behind doors that had been closed, locked and barred since… With a start, she realized it had been since the deaths of her parents.

  She righted herself. She would have pulled her hand away but had no desire to lose her footing again without him to rescue her. But with quiet determination she again closed and barred those inner doors. This was not the time or place, and he was certainly not the man to make her open them.

  Perhaps there would never be such a man. All the more reason to confine her enjoyment of this day to the thrills of nature and then return to town and resolutely set her face toward her goal.

  “Come on,” Mattie yelled, but when she would have rushed ahead, Dawson ordered her to his side.

  With an impatient sigh, as if adults took far too long to do anything, Mattie obeyed her father and took Dawson’s other hand.

  They navigated the few yards to a high point. Through the trees she glimpsed foaming white water below.

  “It isn’t the falls,” Mattie explained. “Just the crazy wild water after them. We have to go down that trail to see the falls.” But she waited as Isabelle studied the high cliffs facing them and the wild water.

  “It’s awe inspiring,” she said after a minute.

  Still holding both Isabelle’s and Mattie’s hands, Dawson indicated the trail they’d take. It wasn’t wide enough for the three of them to go abreast and he released them. Mattie would have rushed ahead but, again, Dawson stopped her.

  “I’ll lead the way,” he told her and set out with Mattie at his heels.

  Isabelle followed. The rocky path required them to concentrate on their footing. Several times Dawson reached back to help her over the rough terrain and she gladly accepted his assistance. In many places, where the sun didn’t reach through the branches, snow lingered and she shivered in the cold air.

  “Are you going to be warm enough?” Dawson asked.

  “I shall indeed.” She had no intention of turning back as the roar of water grew louder.

  “It’s just ahead.” Likely he meant to encourage her, though it wasn’t necessary. The growing sound of rushing water echoed in her heart, drawing her like a magnet.

  They stepped to a rock embankment. Dawson pointed to the right, though she needed no one to indicate where the falls were. The rumble of them drew her attention immediately.

  “We can get closer. Mattie, hold my hand.” Dawson took Isabelle’s, as well, though there was little danger of her falling from the flat, wide bank.

  The sound grew in intensity as they moved forward. The breeze brought a gentle mist that landed on her skin. She licked her lips and laughed.

  He looked at her, one eyebrow crooked in question.

  She only laughed again, overcome with the pleasure of the moment—surrounded by the extremes of nature shared with a man and child.

  At his continued study, she felt her enjoyment falter. Her smile slid from her face but he turned away and didn’t see. If he thought her silly or useless it didn’t matter. She hadn’t come here looking for a man. Nor a family to replace the one she’d lost almost a dozen years ago. Not that anything could substitute for the love she’d lost.

  Was a new love possible? A new family? One of her own?

  She dismissed the questions as soon as they surfaced. Easily dismissed them as they reached a spot directly adjacent to the falls. They stood almost eye level with the water pounding between rocky protrusions and feathering over the edges of others. It was a series of falls, one after another, cascading into each other in a mighty, roaring rush. In many places, winter ice clung to the rocks, creating unusual sculptures.

  “Amazing.” She could think of nothing else to say. And she could do nothing but stare and enjoy. Air released from her lungs in a great sigh as if she’d unconsciously held her breath for hours…days…months. How long had it been since she’d felt so free and at peace? Maybe never. At least, not as an adult.

  “Are you okay?” Dawson asked.

  She turned to face him, not caring that her expression probably revealed her pleasure. “Something about this place—” Words failed her and she rubbed her palm across her collarbone and rocked her head back and forth.

  Mattie pulled on Dawson’s arm, jerking him backward, stretching Isabelle’s arm. Was there really any need to be still holding hands? But when she tried to ease free, he tightened his grip. “Have you seen enough?”

  She wanted to say no. She would never see enough. But no doubt he expected her to say yes. Still she
hesitated, her gaze returning to the falls.

  Mattie left Dawson’s grip. “Don’t go too far,” he cautioned.

  She perched on a nearby rock, her knees drawn up and her chin resting on the backs of her hands.

  Dawson pulled gently on Isabelle’s arm, leading her forward. He released her at Mattie’s side and pointed to a spot by the girl.

  Isabelle sat on one side of Mattie, Dawson on the other, all three content to watch the roaring waters. The damp coldness of the rock seeped through Isabelle but she didn’t care.

  Mattie slipped to her feet and moved away a few feet to stare at the waters.

  Dawson touched Isabelle’s arm and pointed upward. A bald eagle soared overhead, riding the wind currents.

  Joy and something more—she knew not what to call it—flew from her, lifting skyward as if wanting to join the eagle’s flight.

  Mattie looked upward, too, then turned, her eyes sparkling and her mouth smiling. Then a look of surprise took over and she stared at Dawson, shifted her gaze to Isabelle and back to Dawson. Her face grew damp but not with the mist from the falls. Tears ran unchecked down her face.

  Dawson was on his feet, reaching for his daughter. “Mattie, what’s wrong?”

  She held up her hands and waved them back and forth before her as if to keep him away.

  How odd. From what Isabelle had observed, the child eagerly went to her father.

  “I remember this.” The words sobbed from Mattie’s throat.

  “You’ve been here many times.”

  “No, I remember coming with you and Mama. You sat with her on that rock.” A sob shook Mattie. “I was afraid.”

  Dawson took a step closer but stopped as she edged back.

  Isabelle held back a warning. If Mattie went too far, she would reach the edge with nothing but roaring water beneath her. Her heart stalled.

  “Why were you afraid?” Dawson’s soothing voice hopefully calmed the child.

  Mattie blinked and shifted away from her father. Her gaze found Isabelle and, with a cry, she raced to her.