by Vivi Holt
Her head no longer ached. She raised a hand and fingered the lump – it was hard and pained her to touch it. How had she gotten it? Falling, likely. She wasn’t very good on her feet these days, given the size of her stomach. She stared down at her waist, her eyes wide. She had no idea how she’d gotten pregnant either. Something inside of her said she wasn’t married. But then… how? How could she know, when she still couldn’t find anything in the depths of her mind to tell her own name?
She sighed and ran a finger over the shining wood of the mantle. It was a beautiful fixture – though everything about this house was stunning. And the people were warm and friendly. Ost had brought her there, said it was home and these people were family, even if they didn’t look much like him. Still, in the time she and Ost had spent together traveling to Bozeman, she’d come to trust and rely on him. She felt safe, and didn’t want to leave.
She’d been terrified when Ost showed up at the cabin that night. She didn’t remember finding it, only thinking it would be a good place to shelter. She’d been trying to come up with some way to start a fire, looking at creek stones, when she saw his horse coming along the bank. She’d dropped the stones, picked up her skirts and ran into the cabin, hoping he’d pass by. When he didn’t, she’d wrapped herself into the smallest ball she could and rocked gently back and forth with her eyes shut. If she couldn’t see him, nothing bad would happen. At least, that’s what kept running through her tired mind.
He must only be a few years older than her, but he seemed wise beyond his years. Just being around him made her feel secure, as though nothing bad could happen to her. She knew he intended to leave her at the ranch – he’d told her so – and at first she’d fought the idea. But now she felt that same security around the rest of them as well. He trusted them, so she would too.
She could see his concern for her, but didn’t know what to tell him. She’d be all right? She didn’t know that – didn’t know anything. She only wished she could remember something, anything, because in the back of her mind there was a nagging feeling that she had a family as well — not a husband, but still, a family. A good, loving family, and wherever they were was home to her –
– In her mind’s eye she saw a man leering at her and he lunged toward her, his stained teeth bared. Her spine tingled and she shook her head. Who was the man in her thoughts, and why did his image make her break into a cold sweat?
Tears sprang to her eyes and she hung her head a moment, then jabbed them dry with a closed fist. There was no use crying over it. But she couldn’t even picture her family. And if she was pregnant, alone and lost in the middle of Montana Territory, what had become of them? Perhaps she didn’t want to remember after all.
3
The familiar sounds of the bunkhouse rousing the next morning brought a smile to Ost’s face. He’d missed the rowdy camaraderie of the cowpunchers and had to chuckle when Coop teased Cookie over the pancakes he was frying. “Get yer hands outta there!” cried Cookie, slapping at Coop with his spatula.
“Come on, Cookie, let me have a nibble. I’m starved.”
“I’m gettin’ ya a stack and I’m almost done. Hold yer horses.”
As Ost set his feet on the ground and yawned, a few newer members of the team meandered out to the main room, stopped to wash up in the washbowl, then waited in line to collect their pancakes. They, along with the new group coming out from Bozeman, would help with harvesting and anything else that needed doing around the place in the coming weeks. Ost ran his hands through his hair and joined the line. Finally, Cookie was done, everyone was fed and they headed out in ones and twos to attend to their morning chores.
Ost had been at Paradise Ranch for two days now, and knew he had to get back to Bozeman as soon as he could or he’d lose both his jobs. It had taken all his powers of persuasion to convince his boss at the brewery to let him stay after he’d been missing so long. Asking for extra days off didn’t put him in Jacob’s favor, so he’d have to return and work even harder to make up for it.
He headed over to the ranch house and peeped in the kitchen door, knocking gently on the door frame. “Good morning.”
“Hungry?” Angela laughed, pivoting to catch his eye. She, Genny and Hannah were side by side, making breakfast and talking up a storm. He grinned at the sight. Angela had flour on the tip of her nose and her apron was covered with it. Her smile widened and she set a hand on one hip. He’d already begun to call her Angela in his thoughts, though he hadn’t talked to her about the revelation and what Dan and Claudine knew of her folks. That was something he should remedy soon.
He shook his head. “Nope. Just ate Cookie’s pancakes and I’m full.”
She wandered over to greet him and untied her apron, hanging it on a nail by the back door. “We’re making pancakes too.”
“Smells fine,” he said. She drew closer and he fought the urge to take her in his arms. Instead, he used his finger to wipe the flour from her nose.
With a frown, she peered at his finger, then laughed and dashed her sleeve across her face. “I’m covered head to toe, aren’t I?”
He nodded and grinned.
“I have a feeling I’ve always been a mess in the kitchen. I just wish I could remember for certain.”
“I like mess. It makes life interesting.”
Her eyes darkened and she giggled. “Is that so?”
She was flirting with him, something she hadn’t done before, and he liked it. It confused him a bit, given her condition and the likelihood that she was married to some poor sap who was out searching the wilderness for his wife at that very moment. He ducked his head. “Well, I’m heading out.”
“Back to Bozeman?” she asked, her eyes wide.
He nodded. “I have to get to work. They’ll fire me if I take much longer.”
She smiled. “When will you be back?”
He shook his head. “Not sure.”
“Well, don’t take too long. I’ll miss you.”
He blinked. “I’ll come back as soon as I get a chance.” She laid a hand on his arm and a spark of heat radiated from her fingers throughout his body. He took a quick breath. “You take care now.”
She nodded. “I will.”
Ost turned and walked away, his thoughts in a whirl and his arm still tingling from her touch. He shouldn’t feel what he was feeling for her, and certainly couldn’t expect her to feel the same way for him – she was having another man’s child. Likely married to the fellow. He didn’t know the man, but was angry at him nonetheless, just for marrying the one woman Ost knew was perfect for him.
“You’re finally back, ja?” asked Jacob Schmidt, co-owner of the Stock and Barrel brewery and bar. His Bavarian accent softened his words, but his tone was brusque.
“I’m back. I’m sorry, Mr. Schmidt – I’ll work hard to make up for it. But there was something I had to take care of … someone, actually. So thank you for letting me do that.”
Mr. Schmidt harrumphed and set his mop on the floor, leaning the handle against the bar’s dark wooden wall. “Ve’ll see. You’ve not been here long enough to be gallivanting all over the countryside vhenever you choose …”
“You knew when you hired me I’d be called away for deputy work on occasion.”
Jacob’s eyes narrowed. “I did. But vhen the sheriff came by here looking for you, I figured you hadn’t been called avay for deputy vork.”
Ost knew he had a point. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I went after the cattle rustlers without the sheriff’s approval. I won’t do it again.”
“I hope not. That’s a foolish thing to do, young Hank. You’ll get yourself killed. Your job is to learn from the sheriff, not go off on your own to take on the outlaws by yourself.”
“I know.” Ost hung his head, but he could read between the brewer’s words – the man had been worried. It brought a faint smile to his face.
“You can start by mopping this floor. It should shine vhen you’re done. The bar opens in half an hour.”
“Yessir.” Ost reached for the mop and watched his boss leave through the back door. He’d be in the brewery until the bar opened, then would check on how Ost was doing until things got busy before joining him to serve patrons during the evening. In the meantime, he’d be helping out around the brewery and managing the books.
Jacob’s partner Charles Webber was a quiet, studious man, kindly and gentle. His pale, bespectacled face rarely made it from the brewery to the bar. He kept himself hidden away with Tad Wicker, their brew master, working on just the right combination of hops and grains and perfecting temperatures and flavors. He’d hardly spoken a word to Ost since he started there.
The bar did a brisk business and had ever since the two Bavarians, Schmidt and Webber, traveled to remote Bozeman and opened up three years earlier. Even though it wasn’t officially a city, it was a growing hamlet, and Ost knew it wouldn’t be long before the streets were bustling with newcomers and enterprise. For now, only two things seemed to be in plentiful supply in Bozeman – alcoholic beverages and women of ill repute. And both did a bountiful trade.
Ost pushed the mop over the floor, then dipped it in the bucket of sudsy water, dragged it free and slapped it onto the floorboards again. Soon the inside was done, and as he moved out to the covered porch he could hear Bozeman Creek below the brewery. The stream lapped at its shores and hurried over and around stones and smooth rocks, bubbling and chuckling happily. The sound soothed him and he smiled.
In his short time at the brewery, he’d already grown fond of the place, though he wasn’t much of a drinker himself. Charles took the fresh creek water and turned it into what was generally considered the best beer in Bozeman and its surrounds.
As he finished the mopping, his thoughts turned to Rose … Angela. He shook his head – he’d have to get used to calling her an entirely different name. As soon as he was done at the brewery, he’d head over to see the sheriff and let him know about the developments in Angela’s case. He’d come to the Stock and Barrel first for fear he’d be fired if he didn’t. He took the bucket of dirty water outside and threw it onto the garden beds that lined the entryway, then returned inside to put away the mop and bucket behind the bar.
He wiped his hands on his apron and began straightening chairs just as the first customers arrived. He frowned. The serious drinkers usually showed up early, but he hadn’t seen this group before – three men, all with thick beards and dressed like cowpunchers. But something about them was different – they wore their chaps with a swagger, and one man, the tallest of the group glanced around furtively as he chewed on a thick wad of tobacco.
“Beer over here,” he called, raising a finger to Ost.
“Yes, sir,” he replied. He poured three beers into tall mugs and carried them over to the table in the corner where the men sat. One of the men had his boots propped on it. “Here you go. Anything else I can get you?”
The tall one, shook his head but didn’t reply. The others were deep in whispered conversation, gesturing wildly. He wasn’t sure what they were talking about, but it sounded like it had something to do with a cattle drive. He wondered which ranch they worked – he knew most of the cowpunchers around Bozeman and hadn’t seen these men before. Though there was always new blood streaming into the territory looking for work.
Back behind the bar, he polished glasses and watched the men out of the corner of his eye. There was something familiar about the tall fellow, like he’d seen him somewhere before, but couldn’t place where. Soon the bar filled up with regulars and he forgot all about the strangers. Miners, cowpunchers on leave, carpenters and builders all came in for a drink or two after a hard day’s work developing the territory and turning Bozeman into the city it longed to be.
Jacob emerged from the brewery and pitched in, and before long they both had their hands full serving the crowd. Word had spread around town that the Stock and Barrel was the watering hole of the moment, and every man in town and outside it wanted to be there. He knew they longed for a few dancers and saloon girls to occupy them as well, but Jacob and Charles had a strict policy against that. Theirs was a place where beer could be savored and appreciated, nothing more and nothing less.
The crowd seemed to admire their restraint or at least tolerate it, coming back time and again for more of that very beer. The only entertainment was a man called Pers, who played the accordion and sang his heart out on the covered porch.
“Did you see that group of drunkards against the vall?” asked Jacob as he poured beer into a half-dozen empty mugs while Ost washed more. He tipped his head toward the strangers who’d come in first.
“I saw them. What about it?”
“They’ve had enough. It might be time they moved on.”
Ost nodded. “Yes, sir.” He headed over to confront the group. “Excuse me.” But they didn’t hear him over the noise of the bar and the heated argument two of them were still having. “Excuse me!” he shouted.
The tall man took him in with narrowed eyes. “Whatcha want?”
“You’re cut off. The boss says no more for you. Sorry.”
“Izzat so?” The man stood and crossed his arms. “An’ who’s gonna stop us gettin’ more?”
“Come on, Kip,” said one of the other men. “Let’s get outta here. The Lucky Roan’s open and ya know Bill’ll serve us, no problem.” He and the third man shuffled Kip outside, his gaze still fixed on Ost as though he’d made an enemy for life. And the man still rang a bell in his memory. Where had he seen Kip before?
He hurried back to the bar and resumed washing glasses. “Who was that?” he asked Jacob.
Jacob, wiping down the bar, scowled. “Kip Weaver and Mark Jackson. I don’t know who the other one vas.”
“They were talking about a cattle drive – do you know who they work for?”
“They’re no cowboys. I’ve seen them vith a thug called Yannick Berger. The lot of them are nothing but trouble and I don’t like it vhen they come in, not one bit. They alvays end up in a fight vith someone.”
“Well, not tonight.”
Jacob grunted.
“Do you know where I could find Yannick Berger?”
“Why?” asked Jacob, eyes narrowed on Ost.
“I just think I’ve seen Kip somewhere before, and I have a feeling he might know something about that cattle rustling case I’ve been working on. So I can report it to Sheriff Stanton,” he added hastily.
“Vell, you keep yourself safe,” replied Jacob as he headed off to take more orders. “Those men can’t be trusted.”
Ost served customers and washed and polished glasses all night. When the place finally closed, he wiped everything down, packed it all away and locked the place up while Jacob went back to lock up the brewery. His thoughts still hung on the group of men Jacob had said worked for Yannick Berger. He’d never heard of the man, though likely the sheriff had. He’d talk to him about it tomorrow when he went to see him. He couldn’t be certain, but he had a feeling the men were involved in the thievery in some way.
Only when Ost was mopping the floor quietly on his own did it come to him. That dark clearing in the middle of the night in the southern end of Paradise Valley … that cowboy settling a small herd of cattle down. Ost had seen his silhouette in the moonlight and it looked remarkably like Kip Weaver’s – tall, square jaw, thick beard, full eyebrows. Excitement buzzed in his chest – he might have his first real lead.
Angela kneeled on the hard ground and grimaced, shifting her weight from one knee to the other. She pushed her soiled bodice into the soapy water and scrubbed it against the washboard.
Angela. She mulled over the name as the sudsy water soaked her hands. Angela – it didn’t sound familiar to her yet. Claudine had called her that the day she’d arrived at Paradise Ranch, and it had taken her a moment to realize who she was calling. She couldn’t say for sure that it was her real name. Perhaps it was true what Dan and Claudine had said, but she had no way of knowing. She just had to take it on fait
h.
She sighed and scrubbed a skirt up and down the washboard. Ost had been gone for two days, and already she missed him. She hadn’t known him long enough to miss him, had she? Perhaps it was that he was the only person she’d known longer than a week – at least the only one she could remember.
She pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, dripping suds on the ground. Her knees and back ached, and her stomach seemed to have expanded at an alarming rate over the past few days. She felt heavy and clumsy. Maybe she shouldn’t be washing her clothes on her knees, but she hadn’t been able to find a stool to sit on. She still wasn’t sure of her way around the ranch, but she didn’t like to be an inconvenience and was doing her best to stay out of everyone’s way.
“Are you comfortable doing your wash that way?” asked a soft voice behind her.
She craned her neck to see Sarah Hanover, one of the ranch hands’ wives, standing behind her, a baby on one hip and two toddlers running around her legs. With a warm smile, she stepped closer to Angela and her eyes narrowed. “That has to hurt.”
Angela nodded and whimpered, “I think I’m stuck.”
Sarah laughed and set the baby on the ground. The child reached for a stalk of grass with a giggle of glee as Sarah offered Angela both hands and pulled to her feet.
The blood returned to Angela’s legs with a prickly rush. “Ugh! Thank you. I should never have done that – once I was down there, I couldn’t get back up again.”
Sarah set her hands on her hips and tipped her head to one side. “I remember it well. In fact, I’m not far off going through it all over again.” She put a hand gently on her stomach, which swelled gently against the fabric of her skirts.
Angela’s eyes widened. “Another one?”
