Debra Holland

by Stormy Montana Sky

  The Thompson and Rodriguez families, including the odd assortment of boys and Thompson’s daughter, Christine, were all going to be one big happy household come Monday next. A wedding would be held at Wyatt Thompson’s house and attended by their special friends.

  Maybe David will be talking by then. Ant allowed himself to hope. He set the brake, gave the reins to Harriet, and jumped down.

  Wyatt Thompson, followed by another man, came out of the house and walked over to the horses to lift his daughter off her mount. She gave him a hug, handed over the reins to the other man, who must be one of Thompson’s hands, and scampered over to join the boys.

  Thompson strode over to Samantha who greeted her betrothed with a smile that made her pretty face glow. He put his hands on her waist, and they exchanged a few words before she dismounted, sliding into his arms.

  It was obvious to Ant that if the two had been alone, Thompson would have kissed her. He looked away, uncomfortable with their restrained passion.

  Once Thompson released Samantha, she hurried over to Harriet’s side. “Wyatt’s going to see to the horses. Let’s go see if we can pry David away from that colt.” She gave Ant a wry glance. I have to warn you, the Falabellas are hard to part with.”

  They walked to the gate of the corral. Samantha pushed it open, and then closed it behind them. Daniel ran over to them. “Ma! Ma! David’s fallen in love with Pampita’s baby.”

  Samantha gave him an, “I told you so” glance over her shoulder.

  Ant walked over to where David sat next to the tiny gray foal, engrossed with petting it and ignoring everyone around him. He squatted next to his nephew.

  David looked up at him, his face alight with pleasure. He smiled, his brown eyes clear and alert.

  Ant took a quick inhale of joy. This was the nephew he remembered. “Davy boy,” he murmured. He ran his hand over the foal, instead of sweeping David into a bear hug like he longed to. Slow and steady. “What have we here?”

  David looked as if he might say something, and Ant held his breath, hoping. Then his eyes shadowed.

  Although disappointed, Ant could sense David’s struggle. Slow and steady, he reminded himself again. Rather than push to see if he could help David force the words out, Ant turned his attention to the foal. The colt stood no higher than his knees. It looked at him with wise brown eyes, as if the baby horse knew it was here to help David. Then the look disappeared, and the foal butted his head against Ant’s thigh.

  Captivated, Ant scratched the foal’s head as he would a dog’s, then brushed his hand down the black mane, untangling some knotted strands.

  All this time, David didn’t stop petting the horse.

  “What do you think, Davy boy? Think we can see if Mrs. Rodriguez might sell this little guy to us?”

  David’s eyes widened, and he nodded vigorously.

  Ant laughed. This time he did let himself touch the boy, rubbing his head with affection. “Let’s go ask her.”

  David dropped a kiss on the horse’s forehead and jumped to his feet.

  A little creaky from squatting, Ant straightened to his full height. When he looked for Harriet, he saw her watching them, unshed tears making her gray eyes bright. Her lip trembled.

  Ant wanted to lean over and kiss her. Instead, he gave her a look that asked if she’d seen David’s reaction to the horse.

  “I saw him! Oh, Ant, how wonderful!”

  Samantha must have also watched them. She reached over and squeezed Harriet’s hand, then walked over to stand in front of David. She reached out and brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. “You’re in luck,” she told the boy. “That colt is my last unsold foal. But…” her tone turned serious as she stared into the boy’s eyes. “I don’t let my foals go to anyone who won’t love them and take good care of them. So before I sell him to your uncle, I’ll need your solemn promise that the foal will be in good hands.”

  David wiggled with excitement and gave her an eager nod.

  Samantha laughed. “I’m going to want to use him for stud when he’s older. Is that all right?” She gave Ant a questioning glance.

  He’d give her anything if he could keep the foal for David.

  She looked down at David. “He won’t be ready to leave his mama for a while. But you can come visit whenever you want. He’s about ready to learn to accept a halter and be led around. We’ll work on those things when you’re here.”

  Daniel jumped up, pumping his fist in the air. “Yes!” He clapped David on the back then danced around him and the foal.

  Daniel gave him a grave smile.

  Christine walked over and patted David’s shoulder. “We’ll both have Falabella foals.” She pointed to a brown one. “That one’s mine. I named her Anastasia.”

  Anastasia, eh. Ant made sure not to laugh. He looked down at his nephew. “Guess we’re going to have to do some hard thinking to come up with a name for your horse that’s as fancy as Anastasia.” But even as he teased David, his spirits drooped. He and David wouldn’t be able to decide on a name together—no back and forth conversation for them. Not until his nephew was talking again.

  How long will that take?

  What if David’s never able to call his Falabella by name?

  * * *

  Humming under her breath, Harriet almost danced into the Cobbs kitchen. She inhaled the mouth-watering aroma of fried chicken, and then stopped abruptly when she saw the Cobbs sitting at the table eating supper. An empty place setting was laid out for her.

  They looked up, giving her identical glares.

  Mrs. Cobb set down her fork. “Where have you been, Miss Stanton?”

  Harriet’s high spirits deflated. “After riding to the Swensens, Mr. Gordon and I drove to the Rodriguez ranch to pick up David.”

  “You’ve kept us waiting to eat. We didn’t know where you were and finally gave up. That’s not very thoughtful of you.”

  Harriet’s temper flared, but she struggled to hold onto it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” I’ve had to apologize too many times to them. I’m so glad I won’t have to any more.

  Mrs. Cobb folded her napkin into a neat square, then stood up, walked to the stove and began to dish up Harriet’s food.

  Harriet washed her hands and sat down.

  Mrs. Cobb placed the plate in front of her, and they all ate in silence.

  Although Harriet was anxious to break her news to the Cobbs, she wanted to enjoy her meal first. The conversation wouldn’t be pleasant. She just knew it. Although maybe they’ll be as glad to be rid of me as I am to leave.

  Once she had finished supper, including the molasses cookies Mrs. Cobb had made for dessert, Harriet set down her utensils. “Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Cobb.”

  The woman nodded, her heavy features still pinched in disapproval.

  In for a penny, in for a pound. “I have some news for you. Mr. Gordon has decided to stay in town with his nephew. He’s going to open a newspaper and printing office.”

  Mr. Cobb sat back in his chair, but left both hands gripping the edge of the table. “That’s good news, indeed. We’ll be able to advertise our specials. Bring more people into the store.” He nodded several times, obviously thinking. “Could advertise new merchandise, too.”

  Mrs. Cobb’s tight features smoothed out. She patted her husband’s hand, a rare gesture of affection. “You know how much you enjoy reading the paper, Isaiah. Now you’ll have a local one as well.”

  Harriet tossed out her next tidbit. “Mr. Gordon has also bought Abe Maguire’s home.”

  Mr. Cobb rubbed his chin. “The man must have some money. Good thing he’s throwing it around our town. He’ll need quite a lot from the mercantile.”

  Glad that the first part of her news had smoothed her path, Harriet figured she’d better share the rest while they were in a good mood. “There’s more. Obviously David is going to need extra care and tutoring to help him recover from his ordeal. Mr. Gordon has hired me to be David’s governess.�
�� She rushed out the hard part. “I’m to live with them. I’ll have my own room, so I’ll be moving out three days hence.” She braced herself for their reaction.

  Mrs. Cobb shot upright in her chair. “Miss Stanton! You cannot live with an unmarried man without a chaperone. Tell her, Isaiah.”

  The man’s red nose twitched, although he didn’t say anything.

  “Governesses do so all the time,” Harriet said calmly, even though she could feel her stomach tighten.

  “In big houses with other female servants.”

  “Not always.”

  “You’ll be ruined.”

  “Mrs. Cobb! I’m not going to live in sin with Mr. Gordon. I will be his employee working with his nephew.”

  “Your reputation will be ruined. You won’t be allowed to teach school.”

  That threat was a blow that shook Harriet’s confidence in her decision. Could that really be true? No.

  As Mrs. Cobb harangued her, Harriet allowed the words to slide around her. She waited for Mrs. Cobb to take a breath so she could flee to her room. All the time, she clung to the fact that she knew a governess was a respectable occupation. Surely the town leaders would agree.

  * * *

  The next afternoon, Ant walked up the brick pathway to the imposing three-story brick mansion, the nicest home he’d seen in the town, his steps dragging. Cobb, with a disapproving voice and look of malicious glee, had brought him the news that the civic leaders wanted to meet with Ant to discuss Miss Stanton. Ant had almost refused before realizing that he didn’t want to cause Harriet any trouble. He’d better see what the men wanted. But I don’t have to like it.

  Before he could knock on the carved door, surrounded by stained glass windows, it was opened by a woman in a lavender gown, whom he hadn’t met before. She waved him in. “I’m Edith Grayson, Caleb Livingston’s sister.” She gave him an appraising look. “His widowed sister.”

  Now that she mentioned it, Ant could see the relationship. Both siblings stood tall and dark. Edith’s beauty reminded him of Isabella—similar long-lashed, big brown eyes and brown hair, although Bella’s had been sable. Edith had a kissable mouth and curvy figure. His interest quickened, mostly because she was beautiful and the kind of woman he was attracted to. But he remembered Harriet’s story about Edith’s actions against Samantha Rodriguez’s twins, and the woman lost much of her appeal.

  With a jolt of awareness, Ant realized in the past week he hadn’t given a thought to his former love, when before this week, he hadn’t gone a day without thinking of her since she’d died. Maybe after all these years he’d finally been freed of Bella’s ghost. If he could go one week without remembering—without nightmares—maybe she’d stop haunting him forever.

  Ant introduced himself to the widow and was rewarded with a flirtatious smile, which did little to attract him.

  She held out a hand for his hat and hung it on a hat rack in the foyer.

  Ant ran his palm over his head, smoothing his hair. He followed Edith down the hall, barely noticing the black and white tiled floor, sweeping stairway, and carved woodwork, in his focus on her backside, swaying under the small bustle of her dress. She had a nice backside, although not as nice as Harriet’s.

  She gestured with a graceful, white hand to the open doorway. “The others are in there.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Grayson,” he said gravely. He walked into the room with an odd feeling of going to his fate.

  Reverend Norton greeted him from the comfort of a blue wing chair. Rancher Wyatt Thompson and Caleb Livingston, both tall men, although shorter than half a head to Ant, stood near the fireplace. They nodded a greeting. Merchant Cobb grunted from where he was seated on a settee.

  Ant had previously met Livingston when he’d gone to the bank to arrange for a transfer of his assets and to discuss his plans with the man. At the time, they had been all business, but now, seeing the banker in his domestic realm, Ant wondered why Livingston remained unmarried. Remarkable given his dark good looks and his wealth.

  A woman, wearing the black uniform and white apron of a servant, with her gray hair pulled back tightly, brought in a tray of coffee steaming from cups. The aroma was a welcomed scent. All the men took one. Cobb added cream and sugar, while the rest took theirs black. They held the saucers, blew on the brew in their cups, and took careful sips, the mood tense.

  Ant looked around, noticing the high ceilings, the tall brick fireplace with an elaborately carved mantel, and polished woodwork that gleamed from the sunlight streaming through the lace-framed windows. He couldn’t help contrasting the room with the “parlor” of the log house he’d be living in from now on. The comparison wasn’t favorable, and his spirits settled lower. He tried to shrug away the thoughts. He’d never been a man who cared much where he lived—provided the ceilings were high enough.

  Ant sipped his coffee, sizing up the other men, planning his strategy.

  Cobb’s bulbous nose twitched. “Who else is coming? I have to get back to the store.”

  Reverend Norton gave him a reproving glance. “We’re waiting for Carter and Sanders. Doc Cameron’s been called out to a birthing. But he gave me his opinion already.”

  Livingston scowled. “Since when did Sanders become a town leader?”

  Thompson raised his eyebrows. “You mean besides the fact that he married the wealthiest, most beautiful woman—next to my bride-to-be, of course—ever to step foot in this town?”

  Cobb cackled. “Stole her right out from under your nose, Livingston.”

  The banker shot him a glance of dislike.

  So the Boston beauty, Elizabeth Sanders, was the reason Livingston was still a bachelor. Ant wondered if the two men hated one another and whether the banker had any interest in Harriet. It could hurt his chances of getting a governess for David.

  At that moment John Carter entered the room, followed by the man in question, Nick Sanders.

  They all nodded hello before Livingston waved toward a doorway, pointedly changing the subject. “I thought it might be easier for us all to sit in the dining room. Mrs. Graves has made cookies and lemonade for anyone who wants something cold to drink.”

  As they walked across the room, Carter ambled next to the banker. “You still have much ice, Livingston? We ran out Sunday. Used the last of it to make ice cream. After Lizzie’s brush with influenza, I had the men cut more blocks last winter. Consequently, we used more ice and ran out at about the same time as before.”

  The banker shrugged. “I don’t know. I leave that kind of thing to Mrs. Graves.”

  Carter turned to Ant. “How’s that nephew of yours?”

  “Adjusting. Slow going.”

  Carter clapped a brief sympathetic hand on his shoulder, but didn’t say anything. The gesture was unexpectedly warming, and Ant hoped the rancher would aid his cause.

  A large table, of a size Ant hadn’t seen since he’d left New York, dominated the room. A portrait of a couple in old-fashioned clothes hung above the ornate fireplace. The man had the chiseled Livingston features. Father? No the clothes were too old-fashioned. “Your grandfather?” Ant asked the banker.

  “Yes, he founded the family business in Boston.”

  A big blue-and-white platter of sugar cookies sitting on the table drew his attention. Ant hadn’t had sugar cookies in ages, but his stomach felt too tight to eat. “Those cookies look good. Maybe I could take one home for David?”

  Reverend Norton leaned over and pushed the plate closer to Ant. “Go ahead. The boy’s too skinny. Probably has a sweet tooth.”

  Nick swiped a cookie. “Doesn’t everybody?”

  A rumble of laughter went around the room.

  Livingston went to take the chair at the head of the table. Carter and Norton took a seat on either side of him. Thompson sat next to the minister, and Cobb slouched beside him. Sanders dropped into the chair next to Carter, leaving Ant to slid into the seat at his right, setting down his empty coffee cup and saucer.

  Ant took
some time to assess the men, all of whom he’d met before. Never had to face a moral committee before. Don’t like that I do now. If he hadn’t already bought the house and paid the architect to start work on the office building, he’d take David and leave.

  Livingston picked up the pitcher of lemonade and poured a glass for himself. “Do you know why you’re here?” he asked Ant, his tone pompous. He handed the pitcher to Reverend Norton, then took two cookies and set them on a plate in front of him.

  “You summoned me.” Ant allowed some of his resentment to edge his voice. To cool his temper, he picked up the pitcher, tipped a flow of lemonade into a glass, and took a long draught of the sweet concoction. He nodded approval to his host.

  Wyatt Thompson poured himself some lemonade, “First of all, Gordon, we’re meeting here because of who you asked to be a governess to David,” he said, his gray eyes steady. “If you’d chosen another woman, it would be none of our business.”

  Reverend Norton cleared his throat.

  With an apologetic glance at the minister, Thompson continued, “Except for the good preacher here. But because Miss Stanton is the schoolteacher and paid by the town, some people...” he gave Cobb a pointed look “feel they have to bring up the issue.”

  Carter segued in. “And others of us are concerned about Miss Stanton’s well-being. She’s a valued member of our community, and we care about her.” He took a sip of his coffee.

  Ant sent a glare at the men assembled around the table. “This conversation does no service to Miss Stanton’s strength of character, which I’ve seen plenty of in my few days here. You, who’ve known her longer, should know her better.”

  The men exchanged glances, but for the life of him, Ant couldn’t figure out what the looks meant. A hum of energy filled the room, making him uneasy. What’s going on here?

  Thompson nodded in agreement to Ant’s statement. “Personally, I think this meeting is a waste of time. I’d rather be spending time with my beautiful bride-to-be. This is all a tempest in a teapot. I trust Miss Stanton’s good sense. And—” he slanted a glance at Sanders “—Miss Stanton’s partiality for another is well-known.”