by Karen Kirst
She braced her hand on his shoulder, and he easily lowered her to the ground.
Shuddering, she drew her arms against her chest. “Are you certain it’s gone? It touched her. It ran right across her leg.”
“This is Montana. The territory is crawling with critters. Surely you’ve seen a mouse before?”
“But that’s the fourth one I’ve seen today. What if Gracie had been bitten?”
He searched the child for any sign of injury. “She wasn’t, was she?”
“No. But she might have been.”
Sterling gave her waist a squeeze. “I’ve never had a problem before. I mean, maybe one or two, but not an army of rodents.”
“I didn’t say it was an army.”
“A platoon?”
“A squadron, at the very least.” A smile teased the edges of her mouth. “I believe they were organized.”
His hand settled on the flare of her hip, and his annoyance dissipated like morning mist. She smelled of lilacs and talcum powder, a uniquely feminine scent. His gaze slipped over the curve of her ear and the graceful arch of her neck.
“They’re probably coming in from the fields for winter,” she said. “I’m tired and not thinking straight, that’s all.”
His initial fear had set off something primal in his soul. He couldn’t blame Heather for being frightened when his own reaction had been exaggerated.
She stifled a yawn behind her fingers, her nostrils flaring.
He noted the lines of exhaustion etched around her mouth. “I thought I heard you up last night.”
“Gracie woke up, and I fetched a drink of water and put her back to bed.”
Hearing her name, Gracie increased the volume of her wails.
“Shh, shh, shh.” He jostled her, and she seemed to calm slightly. “It’s all right.” The child sniffled and tugged on his ear.
“She’s probably just getting settled in her new surroundings,” Sterling said. “She’ll sleep through the night once she’s used to the new place. We don’t know what kind of routine she had before she arrived here. She has to adjust to a new way of doing things.”
“It’s so frustrating. If only she could simply tell us what she wants.”
“She will, soon enough. I don’t have much experience with children, but from what I’ve seen, once they start talking, they don’t quit.”
Heather’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Considering how difficult it is to keep a classroom of students quiet, I’d say you’re correct.”
“She’ll be talking soon enough.”
“Come to think of it,” Heather said, “I don’t know if that’s such a good thing. She’ll simply wake up asking for a glass of water. What I need is sleep.”
His instincts warned him that Gracie was developing the habit of getting up at night, and the problem was bound to get worse before it got better. But since Heather was touchy about the child’s care, he kept his opinion to himself.
He understood Heather’s tendency to spoil the child. He knew he was biased, but Gracie was absolutely charming. Her enormous blue eyes were luminous, her cheeks plump. She had a natural curiosity and fascination with the world around her that made him feel like a kid again himself. She toddled around the house inspecting every surface, lingering over the carved wood of the sideboard and inspecting tasseled edges of the pillows on the settee. Nothing escaped her sharp notice.
Heather rubbed her forehead. “I’m normally not that skittish. I was surprised. That’s all.”
There was an unaffected charm about her that was more alluring than he could have ever imagined. They were dancing around each other in this new relationship, learning the steps as they went along. It wasn’t surprising that occasionally they might tread on one another’s toes.
“You’re allowed to be tired,” he said. “You’ve had plenty of changes recently.”
He’d actually enjoyed coming to the rescue, even though he hadn’t actually done anything. For a moment she’d needed him, and he’d enjoyed being helpful. She’d been adamant in proving that she didn’t need him. She’d been determined their presence wouldn’t disrupt his life.
No wonder she was skittish as a newborn foal around him. He’d been irritated at the walls she’d built around them instead of recognizing her honorable intentions. He ought to try a little harder. He ought to show her that he enjoyed the disruption.
The mice were probably coming in through the root cellar, attracted by the freshly stocked pantry. There were usually a couple of feral cats that hung around the barn, but they were too untamed to be indoors. The Hendersons kept a tame cat, and they might know where to find another.
“How would you feel about an animal indoors?” he asked.
“A dog? I thought Rocky stayed in the barn.”
“Not Rocky. A cat. To keep the mice away.”
“A cat would be nice, but I don’t know how you’ll find one around here that’s tame enough for the indoors.”
A knock sounded on the back door, and Sterling masked his annoyance at the interruption. He’d been making progress, and he was hungry for more. These opportunities to speak with Heather about a subject unrelated to the weather, the current meal or Gracie’s sleeping habits were rare.
Heather opened the door to find Otto on the other side, holding a large crate in his arms.
“You left something in the wagon on your trip from town,” the foreman said.
“I didn’t forget anything.” Heather stepped back and let him pass. “There must be a mistake.”
Otto winked and set the crate on the table. With a frown wrinkling her brow, Heather sifted through the packing and straw and exclaimed, “The blue dishes!”
She rose on her tiptoes and kissed Otto on the cheek. The older man’s face flamed.
“How did you know I wanted these?” she demanded, her voice breathless with excitement. “I never said.”
“Tom might have mentioned something about how you kept passing by the blue dishes.”
While Sterling was impressed with the thoughtful gift, he was also somewhat bewildered. “You could have bought dishes if you wanted them.”
He hadn’t mentioned a word about their finances, and his account at the mercantile was in good standing. Did she think she had to ask him for things?
“The dishes you have are fine,” she said. “I didn’t want to be wasteful.”
The way she was admiring the plate—as though it was fine bone china and not colored clay—didn’t make it seem as though the current dishes were “fine.” “You should make yourself at home. This is your house now.”
Otto glanced between the pair of them and frowned. “I was wondering if I could speak with you, Sterling.”
Heather lifted Gracie out of Sterling’s arms and into hers. “It’s bath time for us. Thank you for the plates, Otto. That was very thoughtful.”
She disappeared up the kitchen staircase, leaving Otto and Sterling alone.
“I’ll repay you,” Sterling said.
“No need.”
But something inside him didn’t feel right. Caring for Heather was his responsibility. Providing something as simple as new plates should fall on him. She’d left by the kitchen stairs, and the sight reminded him of the separation she’d put between them. She’d obviously been pinching pennies for the past several years, maybe even her whole life. He wanted her to feel comfortable; he didn’t want her worrying about money.
Who was he kidding? He was jealous. He wanted to be the one who made Heather smile.
Keeping a sharp eye out for rodents, he shook off his misgivings and led Otto into the dining room. He lit the kindling in the hearth. As he stirred the embers, Otto settled himself in one of the large leather chairs.
“Have you thought about what I said?” Otto asked
.
“About selling the ranch?”
“Yep.”
“I can’t.” Sterling dropped into the second chair. “Not without Dillon’s approval. He owns half.”
“He’ll listen to you. Besides, if that boy wanted a piece of this ranch, he’d be home by now. Ranching was never in Dillon’s blood. Your pa knew it, and Dillon knew it. Nothing is going to change anytime soon. I loved your pa like a brother, but he didn’t do right by you boys. I was with him until the end. You’ve seen the books. You know how he managed things near the end.”
Footsteps sounded overhead, warming his heart. He hadn’t realized how lonely he’d been until Heather and Gracie had arrived. Having them here redoubled his determination. He’d make the ranch a success. For Heather, for Gracie, and for their family.
“I’ve been over the books,” Sterling said.
Not as thoroughly as he’d like, but there wasn’t much else to do beyond move forward. Figuring out how the money had been spent didn’t raise the bank balance any.
“Then you know how bad off we are.”
Sterling grasped a poker and jabbed at a chunk of wood. “What went wrong?”
The enormous fireplace was covered in stones from the land surrounding the house. The decoration was one of the few rustic concessions his ma had allowed. He and Dillon had spent many a morning warming their feet on the hearth before doing chores, making plans for the future. How naive they’d been.
“A little bit of everything went wrong, I suppose,” Otto said. “Cattle prices fell. Your dad’s health was declining. He wasn’t making good decisions.” Otto’s voice took on a note of urgency. “I’m afraid if you don’t sell soon, you’ll lose everything. You’ve got a family to think about now.”
The responsibility weighed on Sterling. He’d waded into a quagmire of obligation, all right. “I know. You should have contacted me.”
He was proud of his new family, and he wanted Heather to be proud of him. He wanted to save the ranch and give her the future she deserved.
“You knew your pa,” Otto said.
“Yeah.” Sterling laced his fingers behind his head. He couldn’t blame Otto for not calling him home sooner. He’d known his pa well enough, as Otto pointed out. The old man had been stubborn. Too stubborn to ask for help, even as one bad decision after another had led to a shocking decline in the Blackwell fortune.
Otto extended his feet toward the blazing fire. “I love this land more than anything. I’ve known you since you were born. I wouldn’t be telling you these things unless I was certain. I don’t know where you’re getting the money to buy sheep and hire those new hands. Did the bank give you a mortgage or something?”
“You know how I feel about mortgages. Banking and ranching don’t mix.”
“True. Very true.”
Whatever their differences, his pa had always been a whip smart businessman. He’d guided the town through the rocky transition after the gold rush boom went bust. Over the years he’d seen his pa choose investments with exacting precision. He’d overseen the arrival of a grist mill, and he’d invested in the first newspaper press in Montana.
His pa’s success had been due to his cold calculations. He’d never let his emotions mix with his business, which was also part of the reason he’d been a demanding father.
Sterling made a sound of frustration. “What happened to him? What changed?”
“His health, mostly.” Otto rubbed a hand over his eyes, looking weary. “He stayed abed for days at a time. At first I thought he might have turned to drink, but I never saw any proof of that.”
“I never saw him take a drink in my life.”
His pa had never done anything that might alter his sharp mental skills. He always had to be the smartest guy in the room. There was nothing he loved better than being the only sober man in a room full of drunkards. He’d fleece them all in poker and come home whistling with his pockets full.
“You know I would have told you,” Otto said. “But he didn’t want me to. It felt wrong going behind his back after all the years we’d been together. When he passed, I felt like I’d lost my own brother.”
Keeping his gaze fixed forward, Sterling extended his arm and gave Otto’s shoulder a squeeze. “You understood him better than any of us.”
“Maybe I just wanted to believe he’d turn it around.” Otto had stood by the Blackwell Ranch, and Sterling owed it to the foreman to make his sacrifice worthwhile.
Otto heaved a sigh. “I don’t know how you’re managing, son, but I appreciated the payroll.”
“I had some money saved,” Sterling said. “Good thing too.”
“I didn’t know that.” Otto’s tone was chipper once more. “How long do you think it will last? Can we make it until spring?”
“As long as nothing goes wrong and the cattle prices hold.”
“You really think them sheep are going to pay off?”
“Come spring, they are. I spoke at length with a Scotsman near Great Falls. He owns the largest herd in the state. He says the climate in Montana is perfect for raising sheep. I’ve researched the price of wool, and tracked the market for the past year. The sheep are a sound investment.”
“I hope so. For all our sakes.”
Given the acrimony of his relationship with his pa over the years, it had occurred to Sterling that his pa might have left him the failing ranch on purpose—a last swipe at revenge before he died. His pa had even made a grab for the small inheritance Sterling and Dillon had received after their ma’s death. She’d known her husband too well, though. She’d had the lawyers draw up the paperwork so he couldn’t touch the money.
Yet revenge didn’t explain why his father had stayed in bed for days at time. His failing health had obviously affected his decisions for the worse.
As for the inheritance from his ma, the balance was untouched. And those funds were off-limits for now. Ranching was a dangerous business. If anything happened to him, that money was for Heather and Gracie.
“I’ve got five men on the payroll,” Sterling said heavily. “And I owe it to them to try. I owe it to you.”
“Don’t you worry about me, son. I love this land as much as you, maybe even more.” Otto chortled. “I’ve been living here as long as you, that’s for sure. But I’m getting old. I can’t do this kind of work forever.”
“You’re not even forty.”
“I’m nearly fifty. That’s near dead in cattle years.”
Sterling threw back his head and laughed. “You’re tougher than anybody I’ve ever met. You’re going to outlive us all.”
“Maybe so. Maybe so.” Otto’s expression sobered. “But you have to think about that little lady upstairs. This is a hard life. It’s harder when there’s no money for things like new curtains.”
“You noticed the new curtains?”
“I noticed. There’s something else. I didn’t want to tell you, but I think I ought to.”
Sterling’s attention sharpened. “Tell me what?”
“The talk in town is bad. People are saying all sorts of things about the new Mrs. Blackwell.”
Sterling clenched his jaw. “What kind of things?”
“Well, you know, that she trapped you for your money. That she was after the Blackwell Ranch, and it didn’t matter which brother she got. Had me a piece of pie at the Sweetwater Café. You hear all sorts of things from those ladies. I did what I could. You know me. I got ’em laughing with one of my stories. But you gotta know that it’s going to be difficult for Mrs. Blackwell. Think about Gracie. She’s the mail-order baby of Valentine. That talk is never going to die completely.”
Sterling had known there were going to be problems, but he assumed the gossip would soon fade away. It always did.
Otto stood. “I’m calling it a night. Think about wh
at I said.”
“I will.”
If those ladies in the café had seen his bank balance, they sure wouldn’t be calling Heather a gold digger. He’d make up the difference soon enough, though. He wasn’t giving up yet. The fire crackled, and the rush of water down the pipes sent warmth flowing through his chest.
He had a family. Nothing was more important than providing for Heather and Gracie. Heather might have gotten stuck with him, but he wouldn’t let her regret her decision. At least not in the financial department.
The foreman paused beside the bookcase. “Since when did you get new books?”
“They belong to the new Mrs. Blackwell.”
“You think she’d mind if I borrowed a couple?”
“Nah. Those are the books she lends to her students. Her prize books are upstairs.”
Otto flipped down a few spines, made his choices, and disappeared from the room. Sterling’s thoughts returned to their conversation. He’d never worried much about failing. He’d made plenty of mistakes over the years and gotten himself out of plenty of tight spots. But he didn’t have that luxury anymore. Having a family made him all the more determined to make a success of the ranch. There was only one hitch in his plans.
Dillon.
Sterling rested his elbows on his knees and cradled his head in his hands. Dillon would be in for a big surprise on his homecoming.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Heather woke with a start. For the fourth time that week, Gracie had awakened crying between three and four in the morning. She rolled over and clutched the pillow over her ears, willing the child into silence. Gracie’s wails only grew louder, penetrating the muffling cover. Heather gave up and reached for the lantern on her side table. Her fingers quivered with exhaustion, and it took her three tries to light the wick before trudging into the second chamber.
Gracie banged on the rungs of the cradle Sterling had discovered in the attic.
“Wa!” she demanded. “Wa!”
Her wild red curls were damp against her forehead, and her round face was red with anger. She’d pitched all of her blankets, pillows and even her stockings in a heap outside her crib. Her bare feet stomped on the mattress.
