by Vivi Holt
His brown eyes sparkled. “I was wondering … would it be all right if I came calling on you sometime?” His face flushed, and he pushed a stray strand of hair from his eyes.
“I‘d like that,” she whispered, and cleared her throat. “Yes, thank you.”
He smiled, and they stopped by the riverbank to stare out over the water. Ducks paddled by, their legs thrusting against the pull of the tide. One pushed its head beneath the surface for a few moments, leaving its tail protruding from the water. It fell back down, shaking droplets from its head and wagging its tail against the rippling surface.
Camilla heard the sound of a fiddle back at the picnic site and spun around with a clap of her hands. “Oh, I think the dancin’s startin’. Let’s go back, shall we?”
Winston drew a deep breath, his hands on his hips. “I suppose we should. Though I’m not much for dancing. Ma always said the Good Lord gave me two left feet, and I do believe she was right.”
“Never mind,” said Camilla, “it’ll be fun all the same.” They strode back to where the music wafted skyward in the field. Several young couples had formed into a pair of lines on the makeshift dance floor, and the rest of the group sat around watching happily, some clapping in time from their blankets as they finished eating.
Camilla paused, waiting for Winston to ask her to dance. She saw a droplet of sweat trickle down the side of his face. He removed his hat, threw it to the ground, then squinted at the sky for a moment. She frowned; was he going to ask her at all? Perhaps he was just taking his time?
Another voice interrupted her thoughts – not quite as deep as Winston’s and a mite rough around the edges. It caught them both by surprise. “Excuse me, Miss Camilla … would you care to dance?”
Her eyes flew wide and she spun around to find Sheriff Clifford Brentwood standing beside her with his ten-gallon hat in his hands. His blue eyes were warm and confident.
“Yes, of course,” said Camilla. She took his outstretched hand and followed him onto the patch of grass where a vigorous jig was reaching its conclusion. Only then did she turn to look over her shoulder at Winston.
He watched them with a look of surprise mixed with aggravation. She hoped he wouldn’t be upset with her. It was his fault, really – he’d taken so long asking her to dance, when there was obviously a lack of ladies available for the single men to partner with. No, he couldn’t be upset about that. And she’d dance with him next if he asked her, which she hoped he would.
It wasn’t that she disliked the sheriff, but he’d barely said a word to her since she’d arrived in Cutter’s Creek. She couldn’t bear being around men who didn’t speak much. Their silence always elicited from her a stumbling, foot-in-mouth approach to conversation in a fruitless attempt to fill it. It was most annoying.
The music started again, and Clifford raised his arms for the waltz. She followed his lead and found herself enjoying the dance more than she’d thought she would. The sheriff was a good dancer: confident, agile, and his eyes never left hers. They were blue and crystal-clear like the sky. His sandy blond hair was cut short, and he’d pressed his hat back down on his head. It threw a dark shadow over his face, giving him a mysterious, angular look. He smiled, and watched her closely, seeming not to feel at all uncomfortable with the silence between them.
“How‘ve you been, Sheriff?” asked Camilla, her cheeks warming under his gaze.
“I’m well, thank you, Cammie. And you? Are you enjoying being back with the Todds?”
“Yes, thank you. It feels a little like home.”
“Do you miss home?” He raised an eyebrow as he spoke.
She was surprised at the genuine concern in his voice. “I do. I don’t much miss the house – too small, cramped and cold. But I miss Mam and Da and the kids, and my friends in the village. Naught I can do about it, since it’s so far away. I suppose I’ll never go back.” Saying the words brought a tear to her eye, and she quickly released his hand to wipe it away.
“Homesickness never dulls, in my experience. But perhaps you’ll build enough happiness here to make the pain more bearable.”
She tilted her head to one side and listened intently. In all their time in Cutter’s Creek, she’d rarely heard the sheriff utter more than a few words at a time. She’d always assumed he was the unflappable type, strong and silent, without room in his life or patience for feelings . Maybe she was wrong about him. His words showed a great deal of insight, and she found herself suddenly curious about his past. “You’re not from this area?”
“No, my family are from Philadelphia. I grew up just outside the city on a horse farm, but decided to move west to become a sheriff when I was barely grown. I miss them still, though I didn’t think I would’ve at the time. Pa and I didn’t always get along, so I couldn’t wait to leave. Now, of course, I look back and wonder what I was thinking. But I’ve made a life for myself, so I shouldn’t complain. I’d like to go back sometime to visit – next year, perhaps.”
“Oh, I’m sure they’d be so glad to see you. I think you should go if you can. I wish I could go back to see my family. Perhaps I’ll get to one day …”
“They’ve built a railway across the whole country, didn’t you hear? You’ll be able to cross it in no time at all. Surely that’ll make it easier?”
“Yes, I do hope so.”
The music ended, and they stopped dancing to stand facing each other. He smiled at her, and her heart quickened. What was happening? A few moments earlier she hadn’t been able to think of anyone but Winston. Sheriff Brentwood had never shown any interest in her, and seemed happy to keep his distance from most people. But here he was, sharing details about his life with her in an open, warm way, as though it was the most natural thing in the world for him.
The fiddle player launched into the next song, and Clifford opened his mouth to say something. As quick as lightning, Winston was by her side, taking her petite hand into his large ones. “Will you give me the next dance, Cammie?” he asked, his eyes flashing at the sheriff.
Clifford dipped his hat and turned to walk away.
“Of course, Winston. That would be lovely.” Camilla was surprised to find herself disappointed. She’d been enjoying their conversation and wanted to keep it going. Nonetheless she raised her arms, laying one hand on his shoulder. The other he grasped firmly in his hand.
He looked almost panicked as he swung her around for the two-step. He took gigantic strides and pulled her around the dance floor like a rag doll. They almost ran into Abigail and Jasper, and Camilla called out an apology as he jolted her away. Sweat streamed down his face, and his eyes were wide and bright.
“It’s okay with me if you’d rather not dance,” gasped Camilla.
Just then, one of Winston’s heavy feet landed on top of hers. She fell to the ground with a cry, her ankle twisting sharply.
“Oh, dang it! I’m so sorry, Cammie.” He squatted beside her, and took her hand between his, patting it.
“Never mind, I’m sure it’ll be fine. It’s just my ankle – I believe I may have twisted it. I’ll see if I can stand … ouch! No, I can’t.”
“I’ll go get Sam and Estelle.” Winston leaped to his feet, his brow wrinkled in concern.
“Yes, that would be grand. Thank you.” Her ankle throbbed painfully, and she extended her legs out in front of her and pulled her skirts down over her knees. She felt ridiculous sitting there on the ground while the other couples thronged around asking if she was okay and whether they could help. The entire picnic had come to a standstill as folks stared and whispered. Her face flushed with embarrassment.
Sheriff Brentwood was beside her in a moment, and spoke quietly in her ear. “Put your arms around my neck.” He lifted her hands to place them firmly over his shoulders, and she linked them together behind his strong neck. He lifted her as though she were one of the leaves falling from the oak trees along the riverbank and held her in his arms – one behind her back, one to support the bend of her legs.
&nbs
p; “Oh! Thank you,” she said as he carried her quickly from the lawn and up the walking track toward the wagons.
By now, Sam, Estelle and Winston had spotted them and were hightailing up the hill behind them. Clifford didn’t say a word, just walked silently and smartly, his eyes on the trail ahead. His chest was hard, and she could feel the swell of his muscles firm against her. Her pulse raced and she felt light-headed. He was so masculine, so tough, so strong.
For that matter, he didn’t feel the need to chatter away about nothing like so many young men. But then, he wasn’t particularly young . She didn’t know exactly how old he was, but from what she’d heard he’d never married. She wondered what his story was. He was handsome and seemed kind and good – any woman would be glad to have him as her husband.
They reached the Todds’ wagon and he set her carefully on the wagon seat. “How’s the ankle?” he asked, his hands on his hips, his blue eyes regarding her.
“It’s throbbing, but I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“Well, you should try to stay off it as much as possible.”
“Thank you, Sheriff, I shall. And thanks for your help – I’m sure you didn’t need to carry me, but I appreciate it all the same.”
He removed his hat and scratched his head, squinting at her through narrowed eyes. “No problem, I’m happy to help. Say, I was wondering … no, hoping …”
“I don’t think that was really necessary!” Winston arrived, puffing, at the wagon. “I was taking care of Miss Brown, Sheriff Brentwood. I was fetching her aunt and uncle, and would have carried her to the wagon myself.”
“Oh – sorry, Winston. Didn’t mean to step on any toes — no pun intended of course. Good day.” He nodded at Camilla, tipped his hat to Sam and Estelle as they hurried past him toward her, and disappeared back down the hill toward the picnic.
Camilla watched him go and wondered what he’d been about to ask her.
“Are you all right, dear?” asked Estelle, gasping and red-faced from the exertion of the short climb.
“I’m fine, Estelle, really I am. Just a twisted ankle.”
“Well, wasn’t that kind of the sheriff to carry you all the way back to the wagon like that? Very chivalrous indeed.”
“Yes, sir,” added Sam with a smile. “And thank you, Winston, for your help as well. I guess we’d better get the young lady home so we can see what needs to be done with that ankle.”
Winston nodded, his face still thunderous. “Of course, I’m happy to help. I’ll see you soon, Cammie?”
“Yes, that sounds lovely. See you soon.”
Sam hitched the horse to the wagon, and they headed home as the noonday sun hovered above them in the wide blue Montana sky. A kestrel circled overhead. The clip-clop of hooves on the road mixed with the hum of insects and the call of a flock of ducks as they swooped in to settle on the wide, full river with a flutter of wings.
But Camilla’s mind was full of turbulent thoughts. Winston was handsome and strong, attractive and attentive. But Sheriff Brentwood was masculine and thoughtful beneath his hard surface. Just remembering the way he carried her back to the wagon sent a ripple of pleasure through her. Either one would no doubt make a good match, but which one did she prefer? It seemed that Winston intended to court her, but what about the sheriff?
Chapter Four
Winston Frank threw the bucket of slop into the trough and watched the shoats dive in snouts first, guzzling the food down as though it were their first meal in days. He smiled. They were growing quickly, gaining weight and size, and would be ready to move into the larger pen soon enough. Hogs were the livestock of the future according to his brother Justin, and they were both certain they’d make their fortunes on the backs of bacon and salt pork.
If only he was as certain about his future bride. He’d fixed his mind on marrying Camilla Brown when they’d driven the Bozeman Trail together three years earlier, but had to postpone courtship to get the ranch up and running. Now that the fifth litter of shoats had been weaned, he felt as though they were finally on their way. It was time to find himself a wife, and Camilla was at the top of his list.
He and Justin had left their family and friends behind in Cedar Falls, Virginia when Pa and Ma died of the measles. Uncle Trey tried to convince them to stay and take over Pa’s feed store, but there was nothing left there for them. Everywhere they went, something reminded them of happier times when they were a family. Everyone they came across asked them how they were doing, with that hangdog expression of pity that made his throat grow tight and his head spin. They couldn’t stay.
It was time for a new start, somewhere that didn’t make his heart ache the way home did, a place where opportunity was rife. They’d heard about Montana Territory from Stu Hampton, whose cousin had traveled west years earlier. It was the place for young, strong, determined men, and Winston and Justin were all of those.
Their dreams of setting up a hog ranch were slowly becoming reality. Justin was determined to remain single as long as he could, traveling to Bozeman and other nearby towns on occasion to have fun with the local girls, but never settling down with any of them. Winston, however, wanted a family of his own. He knew that God didn’t want him spending his time with a bevy of women only to leave them broken-hearted the way his brother did. He wanted one woman.
And that woman was Camilla.
She was so beautiful, she made his heart dance in his chest. Just being around her caused him to break out in a cold sweat. He never knew what she was thinking with that solemn face, always looking as though she was taking in everything going on around her but not revealing her own feelings or thoughts. Her freckled nose was so cute it drove him crazy, and it was all he could do not to run his fingers through her auburn curls.
And just when he thought it was all coming together the way he’d hoped, that blasted sheriff had to step in and make him look like a fool. He could have – should have – carried her to the wagon. But instead he’d been more concerned with the idea that her aunt and uncle would help settle her.
Well, never mind, it wasn’t too late. He just had to make sure that Camilla knew he was serious about her. He’d stop by the Todds’ tomorrow after he’d fed the hogs to take her riding in the buggy. He just hoped the sheriff didn’t beat him to it.
Chapter Five
The beat of hooves in the yard startled Charlotte from her semi-slumber in the rocking chair on the porch. Johnny, nestled on her chest, squirmed and squealed at the disruption. She shushed him and pushed her feet against the timber boards to set the chair rocking again as she raised a hand to shield her eyes from the setting afternoon sun, as the valley sunk into the shadows of the peaks.
She saw a young man on horseback approaching the house. He dismounted and retrieved something from a saddlebag, then jogged toward her with a faint smile. “I’m lookin’ for Charlotte Beaufort?”
“That would be me.”
“I have a telegram for ya, ma’am.” He handed her an envelope.
“Thank you.”
He nodded, hurried back to his horse, leaped into the saddle and headed back toward Cutter’s Creek.
Charlotte frowned. Who would send her a telegram? It had to be her parents – she couldn’t think of anyone else who would . She tore the envelope open and pulled a slip of paper from it:
CHARLOTTE:
YOUR MOTHER AND I WITH MARY ARE IN PROMONTORY CITY UTAH STOP. HEADING TO MONTANA TERRITORY TODAY STOP. WE WANTED TO SURPRISE YOU STOP. WILL SEE YOU IN A WEEK STOP.
FATHER
Charlotte’s hand flew to her mouth as she gasped. Her parents were in the New World? When had they arrived? Why hadn’t they told her they were coming to see her? How long would they be here? Where would they stay? And Mary was coming too? She felt her heart flutter, and her head grew light.
Johnny whimpered against her chest and his eyelids flickered, threatening to open. She drew a deep breath. She didn’t want to wake him – he’d finally gotten to sleep after hours of fussin
g, and the last thing she wanted right now was for him to wake up.
Of course they’d want to stay here – it was only right. She glanced around the property, noting the half-finished fencing, the flower beds filled with weeds, the faded timber siding of the small structure. With a sigh, she lay against the back of the chair and resumed the rhythmic rocking. Whatever state they found her home in, they’d just have to accept it. It’s not like she could do much about it in one week with a fussy toddler to tend to and another on the way.
But one question flew around inside her head and wouldn’t be quieted: why were they here? Were they simply coming to see her and meet their grandson, or was something else going on? She knew her parents too well to think they’d just show up unannounced for a friendly visit. Everything they did usually had some kind of ulterior motive. And it was just a matter of time before she found out what that motive was.
Chapter Six
Camilla held her hat with one hand and clung to the edge of the open-air buggy with the other as they jostled and bumped over the overgrown trail that fringed the Yellowstone River. The smell of fresh wet earth soaked the air, and everything sparkled after being washed clean with the torrential rain that had poured itself out over the valley for two full days. “Where are we going?” she asked, cringing as her rear landed hard on the seat due to a particularly deep pothole.
“Just a bit further. There’s a lovely spot down here – I thought we’d take a walk, and I packed a picnic for us as well.”
Winston steered the black mare deftly, with a smile on his face. He looked to be in his element, unlike when dancing. Camilla grimaced, remembering the way he’d pulled her around the dance floor before stepping on her foot. Her ankle was still sore, and she had to walk with the help of a stick Sam had whittled for her.
