“It’s been empty ever since?” I ask, trying to add the years in my head. “Such good land? Fifty-four years?” It doesn’t make sense.
Kat and the others exchange looks. After fighting each other to tell the story, they all suddenly choose to remain silent, shifting in their chairs, intent on finishing their pie. Doc removes his glasses and polishes the lenses with his cloth napkin. Mr. Fitch looks into the next room, as if he’s searching for an excuse to remove himself from the scene. The sheriff stares at me as if he wants to warn me about something.
What are you not telling us about the Fortner place? When is Kat’s husband coming home? The line of questions I want to ask is long, but Kat suggests we move to the piano room, so we do what we all do best. We follow her lead.
We move out of the dining room, as Henry weaves among the guests. Ducking behind legs and shooting a pretend gun, he launches a full attack against invisible villains. Kat snags him when he darts behind her. Then she plants a kiss on his curl-topped head. “Time for bed.”
Tugging his grandfather’s hand, Henry chirps, “Come with me, Grampy.”
“I’ll meet you there,” Mr. Fitch promises, “as soon as you brush your teeth.”
Henry bounds from the room at a gallop. The rest of us follow Kat and gather around a grand piano. I rub my hands along its intricate oak carvings and wonder how in the world they’ve managed to move it here.
Kat slides out the wooden bench, tucks her soft silver dress beneath her. The men give her their full attention as she strikes a few basic chords and clears her throat. “It’s a little out of tune,” she says, a suggestion to us all not to expect much. I already know enough about Kat to bet she’ll exceed all expectations. “Sing it with me, boys.” She smiles. Instantly, the men transform from rugged mountain ranchers to rosy-cheeked choristers. “Would it be wrong to kiss, seeing I feel like this?” She flirts with them all.
I can’t help smiling as Bump exposes his playful side. It’s nice to see him relax and have fun again. He’s been working so hard since we moved to the ranch. Bump turns and sings the second verse to me, pulling me to his side. Kat watches and I catch a certain flash of her eye. It must be hard for her, without a husband. But surely she can’t be envious of me. The look leaves me unsettled.
Kat’s father’s voice brews loud and strong above the crowd, while her uncle’s attempts fall short. The minister and the doctor provide harmony, and Bump’s perfect pitch mixes with Kat’s to create a stunning performance.
“Millie, you’re next,” Kat says as the song ends.
I don’t know how to play. Or sing. I smile and shrug off the offer. “I can’t possibly follow that performance.” Everyone seems to agree.
“Daddy?” Kat tilts her head to urge her father to take a seat at the ivory keys.
Mr. Fitch shakes his head and holds his hands in the air. “I’ve got a little ranger waiting for me.” With that, he excuses himself from the party.
“Kenneth?” Kat shifts the proposition to my husband.
Without hesitation, Bump slides into position. “I’m better on guitar,” he warns. Then he bangs out a rapid ragtime, bringing the room to life. Everyone claps along to the peppy rhythm. I slip onto the bench and sit next to Bump as he plays. When he strikes the final note, I kiss him on the cheek and say, “I didn’t know you could play piano!”
He waves off the praise and says, “Mama took us to church every Sunday. We all learned music there.”
“‘Maple Leaf Rag’?” Kat asks, as if she doesn’t believe he learned this song in church.
“We broke lots of rules.”
Everyone laughs.
“Nothing more heavenly than Joplin.” Kat bats her eyes. “Can you play ‘Bethena’?”
“Not sure.” Bump shrugs. “How’s it go?”
Kat slides next to Bump and begins to tap out the melody. I stand to make room, but Bump stays seated. Soon, he takes over, playing by ear. This song is different from Joplin’s sprightly ragtimes. A sad, lonesome tone. By the time the song is done, the mood of the entire room has dropped. Kat looks over at Bump and smiles. “I have to admit, Kenneth. You surprise me.”
“Never underestimate a southern boy,” he says, and Kat’s laughter rises louder than the rest.
“We’ve had a wonderful time tonight, Kat. But we’d better get going.” I pull Bump’s arm and begin my round of good-byes.
“So soon?” Kat argues.
I give Bump a gentle nudge and hope he gets the hint.
“Millie’s right,” he says, wrapping his arm around me. “I sent word to a new ranch hand. He’s likely to show up in the mornin’.”
This is news to me.
“That right?” Sheriff Halpin prompts Bump for more information. I look to him for answers as well.
“Yep. Met a fella who seems awful desperate for a job. I sure can use the help.”
He says “I” instead of “we,” as if I haven’t been at his side clearing brush, repairing stalls, and running fence lines from the start. Not to mention all the work I’ve done in the house. And in the yard. I hold my hands up to show the sheriff my blisters and calluses. “Here I was thinking he had help all this time.” More laughter.
“No doubt,” Bump corrects himself. “Millie’s been workin’ nonstop, but fall will be here before we know it, and we gotta pick up the pace.”
The sheriff grunts. “What’s his name? This fella?”
“Fortner,” Bump says. “Same family who started the place, I assume. I don’t think you care for him much, though. We met him in your store.”
The room grows quiet. I look at each person for a clue, but no one says a word.
“Somethin’ we should know about him?” Bump asks, saying “we” again, as if he’s finally remembering that it’s the two of us here against a whole new world of strangers.
The sheriff pulls a toothpick from his vest and pops it into his mouth. Tells Kat, “Better pour me a double.”
Reverend Baker frowns.
Doc speaks up. “You sure about that, Sheriff?”
I get the feeling it’s not the sheriff’s first dive into a double, but he chews on his toothpick and says, “The day that murderer leaves town will be the day I step away from the drink. Until then, don’t lecture me about right and wrong.”
“Murderer?” My stomach spins again.
“That’s right,” Sheriff Halpin says.
Doc Henley interrupts. “Now, hold up just a minute, Halpin. There’s no need to get this nice young couple all worked up about nothing.”
“I sure don’t consider it nothing,” the sheriff argues louder this time. “He murdered a woman, for God’s sake.” His face grows red with anger.
“No one knows for sure what happened,” the reverend says to Bump and me, quietly, as if he’s trying to tame the tempers in the room.
“‘Course we do,” Sheriff Halpin snaps. “Where’s my drink?”
Kat hurries to pour the bourbon, and the glass hits the bottle with a loud clink.
“If Fortner’s a danger, I sure don’t want him at the ranch,” Bump says, his brow wrinkled.
“Exactly how I feel about my town,” the sheriff answers. Sweat builds around his hairline.
“He’s not leaving,” Doc says.
“He will if I have my say.” Halpin squeezes his hand together until his knuckles crack. His face is reddening, and I sense his rage is about to explode.
Kat hands her uncle a drink just in time. “Here you go.” She smiles at him, trying to ease the tension. “Sorry it took me so long.”
The rest of us are speechless. Sheriff Halpin empties the glass in one long drink before setting it down hard on the piano. The strings vibrate.
“If you know what’s good for you”—the sheriff looks Bump in the eye—“you won’t let that man anywhere near your place.
Trust me. He’s trouble.”
We let the warning sink in, and the stress finally defeats me. My stomach roils in revolt. With only a matter of seconds to escape, I whisper, “Excuse me” and dart for the front door. I end the evening bent in the yard, sick again.
Bump finds me in the dark under the trees. The others stand huddled in the doorway, watching. Somewhere nearby, a skunk has sprayed, and the pungent odor is nearly more than I can stand.
“Let’s get out of here,” I murmur.
As we walk to the truck. I wave back to our hosts and offer, “Thanks. It was lovely.” Then, I fall against the seat. I’ve never been more embarrassed.
As Bump moves to the driver’s side, Kat calls out, “Be careful!” The foyer light makes her hair glow, and the silhouette of her perfect figure is outlined beneath her dress as she waves good-bye. Bump gets into the truck, cranks the engine, and starts to laugh.
“I’m so ashamed.”
“Nothing to worry about, Millie. You couldn’t help it.”
“Please don’t,” I say, slouching against the window.
“Don’t what?”
I don’t mean to sound snide, but there’s a snap in my voice when I say, “Talk like I’m your child.”
Bump says nothing, and we drive all the way home in silence. In bed, he reaches for me. I pull away and leave a cold, empty space between us all night.
Chapter 10
“No!” I yell. “Never again!” Then I wake at the same moment I have every time I’ve dreamed this dream. Covered in sweat. Breathing fast. But silenced, still.
“Nightmares again?” Bump comes into our bedroom carrying a bundle of yellow wildflowers. It’s barely past dawn.
“Unfortunately,” I say, rolling out of bed to accept Bump’s gift, trying to forge past the fear. “These are beautiful. What are they?”
“Heck if I know.” Bump passes them to me. “From out back.”
“They smell like mustard,” I tell him, surprised somehow by the rich, woodsy smell. It triggers hunger. Lately, I’ve been working so hard, I’m always hungry.
“I can’t smell ’em at all.”
“Here.” I pinch the delicate fibers to release the fragrance. “Now can you smell it?”
He nods. “You have one heck of an amazin’ schnozzle, my dear.” He talks as if he’s on the radio, making me laugh.
“What’s the occasion?” I leave bed to place the flowers in water.
“Sorry I made us late last night,” Bump says.
A man who says he’s sorry? Who brings me wildflowers? Who wakes me with a kiss? I smile and say, “Tell you what. If you can forgive my bad cooking, then I’ll forgive your tardiness. Deal?”
Bump laughs and says, “Yeah, about that. I didn’t mean—”
I cut him off before he makes excuses for telling Kat she served him the best meal he’d had in weeks. Then I repeat myself. “Deal?”
“Deal.”
“Now, how about some leftover oatmeal?” We both laugh as I try to poke the brick of day-old slop, which has hardened to stone. “Breakfast in town?” I suggest.
“I reckon so,” Bump answers. “It’s time we stock up on supplies anyway, and we do need to find some hens.”
“Thank you.” I kiss him.
“Gosh, all I had to say was I’m takin’ you to town?”
“See?” I tease him. “I’m not as complicated as I seem.”
“The most complicated person I’ve ever known.” He’s probably being honest.
Bump tosses the oatmeal out the door, pot and all, just to make me laugh. It nearly hits Fortner, who is standing in our front yard. His black horse is tethered to the porch. Last night’s warnings ring loud. This is the “bad man” Henry was hoping to avoid during our trail ride and the “murderer” Sheriff Halpin got all worked up about at the party. I know only enough to think him dangerous. Realizing I’m still wearing my thin cotton nightgown, I step out of view.
“Mornin’,” Bump says, walking to Fortner for a handshake.
Fortner looks at me. I blush, showing my face from behind the door. “We’re about to go into town,” I tell him, hoping he gets the hint and leaves. “We’re desperate to find something to eat.” I point to the pot of oatmeal in the yard and laugh, nervously.
“I cook,” Fortner says.
Bump raises his eyebrows at me. He likes to eat breakfast as soon as he wakes up, and he’s already been out picking flowers with an empty stomach. Fortner lifts the pot and eyes the oatmeal.
“Can’t seem to adjust to the high altitude,” I explain. “I burn most everything.”
Fortner chose the perfect weapon to break down any hesitation Bump might have about hiring him. Food.
“Tell you what,” Bump says. “I do owe my wife a trip into town this morning, but if you’re eager to work, I can get you started on a job and join you when we get back. Sound reasonable?”
Fortner smiles, revealing a tamer spirit beneath his wild exterior. “Sure.”
“Know how to prep a smokehouse?”
“Consider it done.”
“Need anything from town while we’re goin’?” Bump offers.
“Not a thing. I’ll move my teepee down from the woods, if that’s okay. Pitch it near the river there.” Fortner points to an area not far from our house, and I’m surprised when Bump answers, “Sure. Maybe we can work out some kind of room in the barn before winter hits.”
“Not a problem,” Fortner says. “I haven’t slept inside in years.”
Just like that, Bump’s hired a suspected murderer to help us on the ranch and given him permission to move his teepee within sight of our bedroom window. I’m still standing half-naked behind the front door, as if my concerns don’t matter one bit. Closing the door, I move to dress. I’ll have Bump’s undivided attention during the drive into Lewiston. It’ll be a good chance to tell him how I feel.
As Bump drives us off our ranch, I take in the landscape with wonder. Except for last night’s dinner party, I haven’t left the property since arriving in Lewiston a month ago. The road curves along vertical walls, with deep plummets dealt to anyone who misses a turn. It’s a slow route, and even though we are less than ten miles from Lewiston, the ride takes more than twenty minutes by truck. The vehicle sputters up each peak, nearly running out of speed before we reach the rise, and by then Bump is already having to shift to low gear before we crest and begin the steep decline. I’m betting when winter hits, we’ll be socked in for months. I can’t even imagine managing these roads in ice and snow.
Only a few ranches are scattered between ours and the town, the nearest being the Fitch place. Despite the risks, Bump doesn’t watch the road. Instead, he scans the valleys and the peaks for elk, deer, and sheep. I watch for lions. And fires.
“Gonna be a hot day,” Bump says. It’s barely nine in the morning, and he’s already lowering his window. Spring in Colorado has brought a wild mix of hot, sunny days, and cold, windy snowfall, but we’re finally hitting summer now. This week has been nice and warm, even though the higher peaks are still dusted with snow.
“Think we should talk about you hiring a murderer?” I start the conversation from the far end of the seat and leave my window up.
Bump looks as if he wasn’t expecting this. “You worried?”
“Of course I’m worried. Aren’t you?” Bump’s trusting nature is what first made me fall in love with him, but it can also be infuriating at times.
“I don’t know yet,” Bump says. “The reverend didn’t seem too concerned. Doc neither. From what I can tell, the sheriff’s the only one who thinks he’s any danger.”
“He’s the sheriff, Bump. Maybe we should take his warnings seriously.” I try to keep my voice calm. I sure don’t want to reach those annoying pitches that Janine hits when she’s trying to argue her opinion.
“Seems like a good-enough guy to me. I’ve seen much worse come through the rodeo.”
I shrug. He may have a point, but I don’t want to be around anyone who might be a danger.
“Maybe we should give him a chance,” Bump adds. “Sometimes that’s all a man needs.”
I let this sink in for a while before responding. “You really think it’s safe?” I wish he could say more to convince me.
“I don’t know. But I promise, Millie. I won’t let nobody hurt you.”
I look out the window and say nothing.
“Millie.” Bump calls for me to look at him. When I do, he says again, “I promise.”
We ride for miles without talking, both of us taking in the new surroundings. The clean, thin air smells of evergreens, and even with the heat, there is a crispness to the day. It’s not soggy and moist, like back home. In every direction, the mountains surround us, blocking out the past. I feel worlds away from Mississippi, as if that life belonged to someone else, perhaps a story I read in a book. A distant, fading memory. But still, I cower in fear when a man like Fortner poses a possible threat. No matter how many times I tell myself I am strong, brave, in control, it only takes a moment to be dragged back into weakness.
Bump finally breaks the silence when he slows the truck and points to a wild herd perched on the steep, rocky rise. “Bighorn.”
I roll down the window for a better look. I’m mesmerized by the massive size of the sheep. The rams’ horns are each as wide as my thigh. “How do they climb that?” I ask, impressed they can navigate the rough, vertical terrain.
The road, too, is rural and rugged. Bump finds a flat area and stops the truck to watch the sheep. It’s rare to have quiet, still moments like this with him, whole segments of time when he isn’t being fully active. He pulls my hand into his and whispers, “We’re gonna be okay here, Millie.”
I want so desperately to seize this moment, to convince him I can help make things okay. Be the wife he deserves, and not a damaged child he has to protect. Call me Kat, I think to myself, remembering Camille’s transformation when she said, Call me Ann. I mimic Kat as I move, slowly, into Bump and pretend I am a confident woman who can charm the toughest mountain man. I kiss Bump without thought of any of the men who have hurt me. I don’t yield to him as I usually do. Instead, I am the one in charge. I deliver a kiss so intense, it excites Bump. We nearly forget we’re in public when a horn sounds behind us. A long blue Oldsmobile Club Coupe swerves to avoid colliding into our parked farm truck.
When Mountains Move Page 8
