Montana Sky: In His Corner (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Entertainers of The West Book 6)

by Linda Carroll-Bradd

  “What with having the power of Hercules in your arms, the strength of Atlas in your shoulders, and the speed of Mercury in your legs, how can your feet possibly touch the same ground the rest of us mere mortals walk upon?” She did her best to hide a smile.

  His eyes widened. “What?”

  A giggle escaped, and she clamped a hand over her mouth. “Mister Percival Lyle has quite the knack with fancy words.”

  His shoulders hunched. “Oh, the interview.”

  “Interview? He asked questions that provided answers like that?” Now she was the one with the widened gaze. “He juxtaposed Greek gods with battlefield strategists.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Pick up a copy of today’s Herald and see for yourself.” She had been entertained enough that she’d read the article twice. Angling her head, she narrowed her gaze as if appraising a piece of art. “He did a fair job of sketching your likeness. I do believe the swelling is much improved. Turn your head, please.” Without thinking, she reached to cup his chin and move his face from one side to the other, evaluating the injuries. The heat from his body branded her hand, and she fought to maintain a clinical touch. Pressing a fingertip just under his eyes, she gauged the depth of the indentation. Less than an eighth of an inch. She made a mental note.

  His skin flushed. “Thank you, Odette, for the medicines. I’ve never healed this fast.” He grinned. “My manager joked that with a good supply, he could schedule our exhibitions closer together.”

  She stiffened and stared. “I hope you don’t think that was my intention. I never meant to hasten the next beating. I wished only to ease your pain.” Her heart ached at the prospect of what her concoctions could enable.

  “Isn’t his response what you wanted? That he noticed the difference and so he wants the product for his own use?”

  Her thoughts raced. Could she have found the correct recipe with such a simple combination of herbs? “Let me sketch the changes.” Flustered at the possibilities, she turned to a new page in her journal. Over the next few moments, the gentle sounds of the woods—rustling leaves, scraping branches, and the pounding of a woodpecker—filled the air as her pencil scratched across the paper. What a shame she lacked colored wax crayons that could capture the clear blue of Viktor’s eyes. She held the journal next to his face to make sure the drawing was accurate. “There, that’s done.”

  “Do you mind if I play?” He reached for his instrument.

  “Not at all. I’ll just finish jotting down my observations.” She wrote the clinical details of the sizes and shadings of the remaining bruises.

  Viktor laid the instrument across his knees and drew the bow over the strings.

  Once the melody wrapped around her head, Odette couldn’t focus on science. Instead, she closed her eyes and imagined the sweet notes taking her away to a fancy ballroom glowing with electric lights over a crowd of well-dressed dancers. On a singular occasion last year, she’d been a member of a similar crowd and that memory had served her well in lonely hours. But Viktor’s music was lovelier, possibly because she knew the intimate thoughts of this musician. The notes he played echoed the words he’d written and served as another way to express what lived in his heart. Knowing those feelings caused her to fall a little in love with the author.

  The last note lingered then faded to silence.

  With a sigh, she opened her eyes and met his watchful gaze. “That song was lovely. What is the title?”

  He shrugged. “Doesn’t have one yet. I probably couldn’t duplicate it. I play what I feel in the moment.”

  “Amazing.” Seeing the tips of his ears redden, she smiled. “I wish I had your talent.”

  “I wish I knew more about herbs so I could get back to full strength faster.”

  His statement sent her thoughts back to the discovery she’d made. Specifically, to the uneven lines of writing. “I have a question about something I saw in your notebook.”

  He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “You must know, I never meant my poetry to be seen by others. Some are not finished.”

  Knowing the importance of what she was about to say, she angled her body to face him. “Oh, no. The poems were enjoyable…at least the ones written in English I could understand.”

  He leaned into the space separating them. “I’m honored you liked them.”

  After taking a deep breath, she rested a hand on the log. “I noticed your handwriting didn’t stay in a straight line. It wandered below or floated above. Are you having blurred vision?”

  His body went rigid, and he narrowed his gaze. “That was before. Sometime last year.”

  Why would he lie? She’s seen an entry from August of this year with that symptom. “Have you consulted with an eye doctor?”

  “Enough.”

  His harsh tone made her jump. She dug her fingers into her skirts to keep from reaching out a consoling hand.

  “Occasional blurry vision happens to all boxers.” With jerky moves, he replaced the instrument and bow then snapped the latches closed and stood. “Meeting my obligations is more important than perfect vision.” He walked several feet away before turning back. “I’ll tell my manager the fee is two dollars for each medicine. Good day.”

  Odette’s thoughts warred between the generous amount he quoted and the fact she’d somehow intruded too far into his personal life. How had he misconstrued her good intentions?

  When he disappeared, she realized that their time together, although short, was becoming essential in her life. Would his wounded pride prevent him from returning tomorrow?

  Chapter Five

  Clouds hung low and gray over the valley on Friday as Viktor walked toward the meadow. Dew drops still clung to the base of the prairie grass, wetting his boots and trouser hems.

  The way they’d parted at their last two meetings churned his gut. He wanted to bring Odette into his confidence and share the reasons why he had to fight. But two factors stopped him. Fyodor had ingrained in him the need for secrecy about the match that went bad. But mostly, selfishness overrode his need to be open. Too much, he liked the anticipation that shone in her eyes when they greeted one another and the sweet smiles she turned his way. Would she act the same toward him if she knew he was responsible for a man’s death?

  Their relationship couldn’t continue past Monday, when his private car would be hitched to the back of the Northern Pacific train heading southeast toward Butte and Bozeman. So, he might as well enjoy what time they did have together. Conversation with her never bored him.

  The tinkling of glass jars rattling together preceded her arrival. Victor turned and watched as Odette walked the last few feet through the blanket of fallen leaves. Her hair hung loose, just the way he preferred. Scant rainfall from the previous night deadened any rustling sounds.

  Suddenly, at the sight of her pretty face, he didn’t know what to say. The first few minutes passed in the exchange of money for the jars of medicine. Then they sat so she could check his face and record the changes.

  After closing her journal, she stared into the distance.

  He ran his hands over his thighs. “What is going on in your head?”

  “The injuries are almost totally healed. What about your ribs?”

  He twisted his shoulders to demonstrate how far he could move free of pain. “About ninety percent.”

  She bit her lower lip and glanced from under wrinkled brows. “Then why do you want to put your body through another week of recuperation? Not to mention having to endure the beating that will cause the new injuries.”

  Irritation stiffened his posture, and he forced himself to take a deep breath. “Because boxing is how I make my living.” Explaining that he was trained for nothing else would serve no purpose.

  Odette jumped to a stand and stomped a few feet away. “I hate how your job endangers your eyesight and has the potential to affect the rest of your life.”

  He rose and walked to where she stood, kicking the toe of a bo
ot into the ground. Being more forward than he’d ever been, he rested his hands at her waist and held her still, relishing the body heat that bled through her clothes.

  Gasping, she jerked up her head and stared.

  “Odette, let me explain. I am careful and protect that side of my head. Besides, O’Leary and I have several well-rehearsed routines.”

  “Meaning you know what to expect?” Her eyes widened.

  “Within reasonable limits. Every stance isn’t exact, nor does every swing or jab hit the same way every time. The spectators still get a good show, but as competitors, we reduce the danger to our physical health.” He smiled and tapped a finger on the tip of her nose. “After all, I’m in the entertainment business. What’s most important is the audience getting their monies’ worth.”

  Relaxing her stance, she trailed a finger along his shoulder. “So then, how did O’Leary inflict those injuries?”

  “I later found out he’d spent an hour or two at a bar that afternoon. Said he didn’t want to be rude by refusing the well wishes of his fans.” Being this close and smelling her violet scent made his blood pound in his veins. “I had a different subject in mind for our time together. As I’ve played my gudok, I’ve watched you tap your foot and sway your body to the songs. Today, I request one dance.”

  Her brows furrowed, and she glanced around them. “Here? How can you play and dance at the same time?”

  “I’ll hum.” Stepping back, he unbuttoned his jacket and laid it over the log.

  Smiling, she unwrapped her cloak and set it on his jacket.

  Extending his arms in her direction, he claimed her small hand and held their entwined fingers away from their bodies. He placed his other hand on her trim waist, restrained only by the construction of the royal blue dress she wore. His mother’s favorite waltz by Johann Strauss filled his thoughts, and he hummed the first notes to The Blue Danube. Sliding his feet in sodden leaves pulled at the three-count waltz steps until their sweeping steps and wide turns flattened a sizable circle. Nature’s dance floor. Odette was so petite that he added a couple of lifts in appropriate places and received the reward of a saucy grin as she landed, her long hair floating around her shoulders.

  The moment and the setting cast a magical spell. The next tune he hummed came like when he played—from deep inside where he wanted to share the feelings of his soul. Odette stayed in step, her smiling face tilted upward so her gaze remained connected with his. The image was like one he’d had while sleeping, and he carried out his dreaming action. He stopped, leaned down, and pressed his lips to hers, savoring the tiny gasp as his gesture surprised her. But within a moment, she responded in kind, moving her mouth as if tasting him. His heart swelled with their connection, and he cupped a hand at the back of her hair to hold her close. As he swayed them from side to side, he registered the silky feel of her hair and the satisfying way her curves pressed against his front. When his chest ached from lack of breath, he straightened, breaking them apart, and danced them in a slow circle, not wanting to disturb the mood with words.

  Thundering hoof beats caught him off guard, and he stumbled to a stop.

  Two youths—one of medium size and the other broader and taller—galloped in between the trees, whooping challenges at each other. About twenty feet away, they reined in their horses, pointed at the couple, and then sped off toward the creek, laughing.

  Under his breath, he cursed in Russian. His body tensed. “Uh, sorry. Seems we’ve been discovered.” He stepped away and ran a hand over his chin. “What do teen boys care about this sort…”—he waved a hand between them—“of thing? Maybe they won’t say anything about what they saw.”

  Her fingers trembled against her lips. “I don’t mind.” She glanced around, her eyes glassy. “But I should be going. They might return. Actually, they might know my cousins.” She grabbed her cloak and whirled it over her shoulders. Then she stepped close and rested a hand on his arm. “Please think about what I asked.” Odette scurried across the meadow, leaves scattering in her wake.

  Not likely. He’d much rather think about that knockout kiss.

  **

  When Odette arrived home, out of breath and with hair trailing from the knot holding the top part of her hair, she found Aunt Iola in an absolute tizzy.

  The older woman limped around the kitchen, muttering.

  Lettie perched on a chair, wide-eyed, watching her mother’s ineffectual movements.

  Odette scanned the counter and table. Potatoes filled a bowl with a half peeled one on the counter. Greens sat in the dry sink. The air held the scent of cooking meat. “Well, something’s happening for supper.” Lettie was smart to stay out of her mother’s way. Iola usually commanded the cooking like an exacting ship’s captain.

  “Oh, Odette, you’re here.” Iola slumped into a chair and lifted her leg to rest her injured ankle on the seat of another. “Your uncle just breezed through here informing me to expect three guests for the evening meal. Three! And I can barely get around.”

  Iola’d been moving pretty well when Odette first spied her, but she hesitated to add any tension. “I smell a roast, correct?” Odette crossed to the wall hooks and lifted down an apron.

  “Lucky I had one in the icebox. I’d planned pork chops but had enough for only the family.”

  As she finished tying the strings into a bow, Odette glanced at the clock and winced. Uncle Karl like his supper served at five thirty on the dot and roasts usually took longer than the time remaining. “Lettie, grab a knife and start on those potatoes. Remember, scrape away from yourself. A few peels won’t hurt anyone.” She reached into the cupboard for the big soup kettle and pumped in several inches of water. “Aunt, I’m doing something I learned from a neighbor who calls this finished dish pot-au-feu. We’ll use the method as a shortcut to boil the meat and vegetables for part of the cooking time, and then return them to the roasting pan to finish.” Thankfully, they’d baked bread yesterday so she didn’t have to fuss with that task.

  “I appreciate the help, Odette. I was a mite overwhelmed.”

  “How did this sudden change of plans come about?” She rinsed the greens then carried them to the table to inspect before setting them in a pan of water.

  “Karl was conducting his research on establishing a freight line between here and Meadowlark where my brother Hiram’s ranch is. He met a new prospect today. And like he often does when he meets a frequent traveler, he invites them home so he can extract what he needs in the comfort of our parlor.” She leaned a forearm on the table. “Have you met any from the Quaid side of the family?”

  Odette looked up from her task and shook her head. “Only heard Mother’s stories. From what I remember, didn’t Uncle Hiram move west before I was even born?”

  A laugh erupted, and Iola’s eyes sparkled. “That he did. Well, now that I’ve got back my wind, I’ll peel apples for a cobbler.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Lettie, go to the cellar and bring back a dozen.”

  Like a well-oiled machine, the three females worked together and all the food was ready when Karl arrived.

  Odette noticed her younger cousins, Ronan and Doyle, slipped inside only a few minutes before their father. Fitting nine around the kitchen table would be a squeeze, even with the added leaf.

  “Iola, dear, come meet our guests.”

  At her husband’s beckon, Iola raised her eyebrows and glanced at the kitchen.

  “Go on.” Odette waved a hand. “I’ll just slice the bread and set it out then I’ll be right in.” The task done, she gave a final survey of the laden table, patted her upswept hair, and then stepped into the living room. Her breath caught in her throat. Across the room stood Viktor with a short, pudgy man in an expensive suit and a broad, auburn-haired fellow.

  “Ah, here’s my niece, Odette Hildebrand. Our guests are in town for the exhibition match tomorrow night.” As he swept a hand toward the men, he beamed. “Viktor Andrusha, Fyodor Stanislav, and Shane O’Leary.”

  “Gentlem
en, welcome.” She gave what she hoped was a polite smile to all three as her thoughts whirled. Should she reveal she’d encountered Viktor in the mercantile? Would anyone know of that incident? Deciding she wanted to see how he’d react, she stepped forward to join the circle of adults. “Mister Andrusha and I spoke but only briefly in Cobbs’ store. He helped me by reaching down an item.”

  “I well remember, miss.” His eyes glinted, highlighted by the blue in his tailored shirt.

  As she waited for her aunt’s next instruction, Odette stole sideways glances at Viktor, who wore a suit jacket and a string tie. His close-cropped hair was slicked down from a center part, instead of tousled like usual.

  “Please, gentlemen, come through to the kitchen.” Iola stepped aside and waved in the direction they should go. “Sit anywhere along either side.”

  Karl stood at the head of the table to carve the roast. He set thick slabs on plates that went to the guests first and cut thinner slices for the rest of the family.

  Dishes and bowls circled the table, and everyone focused on the delicious food. For several quiet minutes, the only noises were forks against porcelain and people chewing.

  Odette ended up on the opposite side of the table and the far end from Viktor’s spot. She noticed the boxers passed along the bread plate without taking a slice, although she could have sworn Mister O’Leary lifted it toward his nose for a long sniff. She popped a bite of beef in her mouth and savored the deep-rich gravy with a hint of coffee—her secret basting ingredient.

  “Right fine meal, ma’am.” Mister Stanislav slathered butter on his second slice of bread. “If you boys eat good like this, you’ll grow up to be big like my boxers here.” A glob of butter clung to his mustache as he spoke.

  Viktor shot him a sideways glance then looked down at his almost-empty plate.

  The manager’s comment opened the conversation. Ronan and Doyle, agog at the athletes sharing their meal. peppered them with questions

  Content to just listen, she realized that her uncle was almost as big a boxing fan as his sons. He knew statistics of the major competitions over the past several years. He even shared about a match he’d attended of John L. Sullivan’s Grand Tour in Boston. His voice turned disgusted when he spoke of the opponent Alf Greenfield’s method of eluding the champ. She enjoyed learning this aspect of her uncle’s interests and finished her meal amidst the sounds of excited banter and laughter.