by Karen Kirst
“What can I do?” Her stomach sank. “You know our circumstances. I don’t have any influence over him.”
She’d kept her distance from Sterling, letting him grow accustomed to the idea of having a wife and child underfoot. They’d barely moved beyond superficial cordialities. Near as she could tell, they had about as much in common as chalk and cheese.
“A pretty girl always has influence over a man.” Otto’s smile returned. “Now enough of this sad talk. You’ve got shopping to do, and I’m going to visit the Sweetwater Café. I’ve got me a hankering for some pie.”
He assisted Heather from the buckboard, his jolly mood firmly back in place. He reached for Gracie and gave her nose an affectionate tweak before heading for the café.
An uneasy thought struck her. Was she making excuses and keeping Sterling apart from Gracie to protect the child, or to protect herself? She’d filtered his actions through her own prejudices, without considering that she might be reading his actions all wrong.
Lost in thought, Heather wandered into the mercantile. She inhaled the familiar scents of starch and coffee mingling with the pungent odor of pickling. The store was crowded, and Gracie was unusually subdued with all the extra people around. Heather lingered over a set of sturdy blue enamel plates before deciding against purchasing them. Though the dishes in the house were chipped and mismatched, they were also serviceable. Given Otto’s speech, she would stick with the necessities. Plates didn’t need to be pretty.
Food and staples were the first order of business. Woodley had provided her with enough supplies to get her through the week. There was a milking cow and a chicken coop, along with a side of beef hanging in the barn. Having those staples near meant everything else could be stretched. Mostly she needed pantry items like flour and sugar for bread. She had the winter to think about and plan for.
If there was one thing she did well, it was stretch a dollar. Living on a teacher’s salary had honed her thrift skills. Sterling would never find anything to complain about in that regard. She stocked up on enough food stores for her and Gracie, and added a little extra for breakfast, the only meal Sterling occasionally ate in the main house. Her only splurge was a set of brightly painted blocks with letters and numbers decorating the sides for Gracie.
The store was crowded, and several people stopped and fussed over Gracie, offering her greetings and attention. Gracie proved charming, softening even most the jaded bystander. The knots in Heather’s stomach eased a bit. She figured in a few years, by the time Gracie went to school, the oddity of her sudden arrival would have worn off. The town was too small for her to escape her reputation completely, but everyone in a small town needed a bit of notoriety.
As the clerk rang up Heather’s purchases, she held the blocks aside.
“Don’t you want the blocks, Miss O’Connor?” Tom, the store owner’s son, inquired.
“Me block!” Gracie reached for one. “Me.”
“I’ll pay for these separately,” Heather said.
“Sure thing, Miss O’Connor.” The clerk was a former student of hers, and he quickly amended, “I mean Mrs. Blackwell.”
Heather started. Sooner or later she’d have to grow accustomed to the new name. “How is Mrs. Lane faring?”
Tom grimaced. “She’s meaner than you.”
Heather tamped down a spark of guilt. She took the teaching of her students seriously, and giving up the job had been more difficult than she’d thought. The clerk gathered her blocks into the wooden crate with the rest of her purchases, and she gazed wistfully one last time at the blue plates.
Tom followed her gaze. “That’s a real good price for those. I’ve seen them cost double that amount in Butte.”
“Maybe next time.”
She lingered over a few more shared pleasantries with Tom before stepping into the afternoon chill once more. Keeping watch on Gracie while maneuvering the box proved challenging. She should have asked Tom for help. The child had an alarming tendency to scoot away when Heather’s attention was distracted. Even if only for a moment. Outside, she hoisted the box into the back of the wagon and retrieved Gracie from her perch on the bench. After dealing with the child and the groceries, she was ready for a little rest to recover her breath.
She sauntered down the street and enjoyed the familiar sights and sounds. She missed the hustle and bustle of living in town and was in no particular hurry to return to the isolated ranch. She was still growing accustomed to the solitude there. The new millinery shop was open, and she slipped inside for a bit of warmth.
Two dozen hats were perched on velvet pillow displays like colorful birds with their feathers and fripperies. Lengths of ribbon in every size and color dangled from racks hooked to the ceiling, and baskets filled with additional adornments lined the counter. The air smelled of fresh paint and sawdust from the new shelves.
Another of her former students, Rachel MacPherson, fussed over a display. Rachel was taller than average and thin, with perfectly straight dark hair and bangs that formed a neat line across her forehead. She wore a striped dress in shades of pink and red, with a small bustle and a sash tied around her waist. The bonnet she’d chosen to wear was stunning, if a little garish for Heather’s taste, featuring an entire bouquet of silk flowers in shades of red and pink lining the brim. A thick, pink satin bow was tied neatly beneath her pert chin.
She caught sight of Heather and her face lit up. “Miss O’Connor!”
“It’s Mrs. Blackwell now,” Heather corrected. The two exchanged a brief hug. “And this is Gracie.”
Rachel’s eyes grew as round as wagon wheels. “So it’s true? This is the mail-order baby? I thought Tom was pulling my leg.”
She studied the child, her gaze curious and intent. The novelty hadn’t yet worn off regarding the town’s mail-order baby, and Heather resigned herself to the attention Gracie drew wherever they went. Eventually folks would find another distraction. She simply had to bear the curiosity until that happened.
“It’s true,” Heather said. “This is the mail-order baby who arrived in the post.”
Rachel took a step nearer. “Mrs. Dawson said she looked just like you, but I don’t think so. I don’t think she looks like Mr. Blackwell either. Mrs. Carlyle said she thinks the baby is from one of the ladies who lives on Venus Alley in Butte. What’s Venus Alley?”
Heather’s cheeks flamed. She had a pretty fair idea of the type of women who lived there, and the subject wasn’t fit for her students—or even former students. “Never mind.”
“That’s what I thought.” Rachel nodded sagely. “Mrs. Forester says that one of them ladies probably heard about how rich Mr. Blackwell was and wanted her baby to grow up in a fancy house. Mind you, Mrs. Forester wasn’t gossiping. You just hear things in a shop this small, even if you’re trying not to listen.”
“Don’t worry, I understand. Gracie’s circumstances are quite unusual. There’s bound to be speculation.”
The thought of the ladies who lived on Venus Alley in Butte had crossed Heather’s mind, as well. The gold rush had brought plenty of sinning. There were charities that assisted the fallen women, but the demand always seemed to outstretch the resources. She wasn’t entirely naive, and she’d considered Sterling might be the father. But that explanation still didn’t account for her being listed as the mother.
Rachel adjusted the bow tied beneath her ear. “Is the Blackwell house fancy? I wonder if Dillon will come home now that his pa is dead? Those Blackwell men are as handsome as the day is long.”
Rachel was quite a bit younger than Dillon, but Heather sensed a familiar infatuation. The young store clerk was clearly edging for details.
“The Blackwell house is fancy, that’s for certain,” Heather prevaricated. Dillon hadn’t sent word, and she’d caught Sterling muttering about the lack of contact more than once.
“Then you’ve seen the water closet?” Rachel asked with hushed awe. “Ma says folks got no business putting a backhouse in the bathroom, but I hate going out in the winter.”
“It’s actually quite fascinating. One of these days I’ll have the students by and show them how the plumbing works. There’s no reason I can’t host a party or two for my former students.”
Rachel’s eyes lit up at the thought. “I’ve never seen the inside of the Blackwell house. Ma said when Mrs. Blackwell was alive, she’d have parties and she’d hire a cook from Butte to do all the cooking. Can you imagine? Having a party and hiring a cook? What an expense. But I guess if you have a water closet, it’s not a stretch to hire a cook. I’d sure like to hire someone to do the washing.”
Rachel had always been chatty, and Heather listened with half an ear. The shop was warm and cozy and Otto had urged her to take her time. She lingered over a bonnet. She needed to replace the one Gracie had smashed.
Rachel saw her interest and lifted the brim from its velvet display pillow. “This one is perfect for you. I can hold Gracie if you’d like to try it on.”
Gracie was growing accustomed to strangers, and accepted the handover with little fuss. Rachel’s own elaborate hat was a wonderful distraction for the child.
Heather fastened the ribbons beneath her chin and studied her reflection in the looking glass hanging on the wall. A tidbit from Rachel’s past suddenly sprang to mind.
“Didn’t your dad work on the Blackwell Ranch?”
“Pa helped cut cattle every spring. Except for last spring. Mr. Blackwell was real sick by then. He stayed at the house and gave directions. Otto was mostly running the place by then. Pa figures that Mr. Blackwell was fixing to sell the place since he let the ranch hands go and sold off most of the stock. I guess he must have died before he could. Pa said he was mad at Sterling and Dillon for leaving. He said they didn’t deserve the ranch if they didn’t put their blood and sweat into running the place. That bonnet looks real pretty on you.”
“Thank you,” Heather said, her cheeks burning. Rachel’s chatter was proving more personal than she’d anticipated. “Can you box it for me?”
Sterling had already confessed that the brothers had a strained relationship with their pa. Dillon’s absence from the funeral made more sense when she considered the things she’d heard about the late Mr. Blackwell. Their pa had been well admired in town, but he’d also been feared.
“I’ll fetch a box,” Rachel said. “You want me to bill the Blackwell Ranch?”
“I’ll pay for it now, thank you.”
Blue plates might be an extravagance, but a good bonnet on a ranch was a necessity. A flush of guilt crept up her neck. A simpler, less expensive bonnet would protect her head from the sun just as well. Perhaps better. Yet she’d already committed to buying the hat, and didn’t want to disappoint Rachel.
Rachel’s expression grew earnest. “I don’t think you’re lying about Gracie not being your daughter, ma’am. I think someone wanted that baby to live in a big, fancy house, and that person found the richest man in town and someone with red hair to match the baby and make it all look right.”
Heather was saved from answering when Rachel handed Gracie back and disappeared into the back room to fetch a hatbox. Upon her return, they promised to meet for coffee sometime in the future, then Heather stepped outside to fetch Otto.
A big fancy house and red hair to match. For all her chatter, Rachel’s musings were sound. Heather’s red hair had caused her plenty of trouble over the years. The idea that someone might have picked her simply because her hair matched Gracie’s wasn’t exactly far-fetched in light of everything else that had happened.
Her nose ached with the chill, and she held Gracie closer and picked up her step. Otto was holding court at the Sweetwater Café. Mrs. Dawson and the coffee ladies were laughing at something he’d said when Heather nudged the door open with her elbow, Gracie perched on her hip.
Otto caught sight of her and leaped to his feet. “Finished already? I wasn’t expecting you this soon. I’ve never known a lady to finish shopping when there was still money left to spend. Want some pie?”
The table had gone chillingly quiet upon her entrance, raising gooseflesh on Heather’s arms. Given the chill in the room, she decided to forgo the pie.
“No thank you,” she said. “We should be returning home. Gracie is getting tired.”
Someone tittered. Heather ignored the sound. Instead, she plastered a serene smile on her face and greeted each lady in turn before leaving with Otto.
When they were loaded into the wagon with their purchases stowed in the back, Otto cast her a glance. “Don’t worry about them ladies,” he said, his face grim. “They got nothing better to do than gossip. They’ll find something else to talk about soon enough. Mark my words. Gossip is like fresh cream—if you leave it out long enough, it spoils.”
“Don’t worry about me, Otto. I’m made of sterner stuff.”
Heather made a mental note to visit Irene soon. Her assistance with Gracie during those first few days had been invaluable. Having lived in Valentine her whole life, she might have some advice on how to proceed. Because Gracie’s future depended on how Heather handled the initial gossip.
Her earlier flash of insight nagged at her. She’d been making assumptions about Sterling’s actions based on her own fears. Were the ladies in town doing the same? Folks were protective of their community, and Gracie’s sudden appearance had been quite a shock. Given that she and Sterling had been suspicious of each other in the beginning, the skepticism of the town was reasonable. Except none of that insight gave her any ideas on how to move forward.
Winning over Sterling was going to be difficult enough—how was she ever going to win over the entire town?
CHAPTER SIX
“Did you hear something?” Sterling quirked his head to the side.
Price stilled. “I didn’t hear anything.”
Around them the sheep grazed, nudging through the layer of light snow with their hooves. He and Price were inspecting the new herd, and Sterling was pleased with the stock. Prices of beef had dipped, but the price of wool was on the rise. The sheep took up less grazing land, and their income was renewable without relying on offspring each year. He’d spent months traveling around Montana studying different ranching techniques and new sources of income. The wool was cheaper to ship, another cost improvement that helped his bottom line.
Unlike in Colorado where sheep wars were wreaking havoc over grazing rights, the land in the Montana Territory offered plenty of natural boundaries.
One of the sheep bleated mournfully. Sterling straightened and arched his back. “You sure you didn’t hear that?”
“What did it sound like?”
“A cat screeching.”
“A mountain lion?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” A chill went down his spine. Mountain lions were bad news for sheep. “Rocky would have sniffed out a mountain lion, and he’s not paying any mind.”
The dog nipped at the sheep’s heels, preventing them from straying too far. The animal had excellent instincts, and Sterling enjoyed watching him work. He’d lower his snout and sniff around the edges of the herd, ever alert for strays or danger. He’d rooted out a snake den the day before. Thankfully the reptiles had been dormant for winter. Sterling and Joe had cleared out the nest.
Rocky barked, and he patted the dog on the head. The collie was smart and capable. Otto had thought him a fool for paying for a dog, but this dog came with training, and training had value. The animal had good instincts, as well.
“I didn’t hear anything.” Price rolled his eyes. “You’ve been itching to go back to the house all afternoon. Just go. I’ll put the herd back in the pasture.”
The sky was overcast, and the air had a snap that portended snow.
It was time to round up the few hundred cattle he still had left before the winter snow trapped them in the foothills.
“All right.” Sterling swiped the back of his hand across his forehead. “Take them to the south pasture.”
An uneasy sensation snatched hold of him. He hiked the trail from the barn to the house, his steps quicker than normal. Halfway up the trail, a terrified screech echoed from the house. His heart racing, he broke into a run and threw open the back door to the kitchen. Heather was standing on a chair with a sobbing Gracie clutched in her arms.
“What is it?” he demanded. “What’s happened?”
“A mouse!”
The air whooshed from his lungs. “A mouse?”
“The fourth one I’ve seen today. It ran across Gracie’s leg while she was sitting on the carpet.”
“All right.” His senses remained sharp because of the latent fear pulsing through his veins. He struggled to comprehend the much smaller threat than he’d anticipated from her frightened shout. “Take it easy. Where did it go?”
“Over there!” She pointed in the direction of the pantry. “It’s probably in the woodpile.”
He made a show of searching the pantry, though he knew the mouse was long gone. The animal had scurried back through whatever crack or hole it had discovered. His heartbeat had returned to a somewhat normal pace, and exasperation took its place. He’d envisioned a catastrophe, not a varmint. His irrational anger sprang from his fear, and he took a few deep breaths.
Gracie continued to wail. Surely she’d been more surprised than hurt by the incident.
He reached for the child, and Heather reluctantly handed her over. Gracie wrapped her tiny arms around his neck and sniffled. With his free hand, he caught Heather around the waist.
“It’s safe,” he assured her. “You can come down now.”
