Montana Grit

by Ramona Flightner

  Helen’s jaw firmed, and any attempt at friendly persuasion disappeared. “I refuse to spend my life living with my mother as the hopeless spinster.” She bit her lip as though having revealed too much. “I will marry a man with high regard in this town, and I have chosen Mr. MacKinnon.”

  Leticia gripped her hands together in front of her. “It only works if he has chosen you too.”

  Helen shrugged. “He will. He must.” Her show of bravado cracked. “We were seen in the woods, and he must act honorably.”

  “Honor is ingrained in his very being. You never have to worry that he will be honorable,” Leticia said, a trace of bitterness in her voice. “If you will excuse me, I must join my daughter.” She stopped as Helen gripped her arm when she attempted to slip past her.

  “I have your word that you won’t attempt to come between us?” Helen released her at Leticia’s terse nod.

  Leticia entered the café and found it mostly empty. She and Hortence had arrived after the supper rush. Hortence sat at a table with Harold, laughing at a tall tale he told her. He motioned for Leticia to go into the kitchen.

  “You look ready for a fight,” Irene said as she worked at the large stove.

  “Did you know?” Leticia asked as she sat at the table and watched Irene cook. At Irene’s frown, she said, “That he’s been courting another?”

  Irene laughed and shook her head. “Hold that thought.” She sailed through the door, delivering plates of food before returning to sit with a sigh across from Leticia. “You must know better than to believe rumors. Especially when they come from the Jameson women.” Her eyes sparkled with merriment.

  Leticia failed to see any humor and slouched in her chair. “The last time I spoke with Alistair, he said he regretted ever knowing me. Ever courting me. That he could be married with children now if he hadn’t wasted his time on me.”

  Irene grabbed Leticia’s hand, stilling its tapping on the tabletop. “That’s his male pride and anger speaking.” She waited until Leticia nodded. “You know as well as I do that he hadn’t spoken more than a ‘Hello’ to Helen Jameson in years. He has no interest in her.”

  Leticia sniffed. “But he won’t want to ruin her reputation.”

  Irene huffed out a scoffing laugh. “He’s not. Her mother is. Focus your anger on the correct target.” Irene’s eyes glinted with ire. “That woman will destroy everything in her path in her quest for money.”

  “I think she seeks security in her old age.” Leticia blew her nose in her handkerchief.

  “Perhaps. Although I think control and manipulation play an equal part.” Harold entered with a new order so Irene rose to prepare another meal. “Don’t allow yourself to be tricked into doubting him now. Not without just cause.”

  Helen walked away from speaking with Leticia and came to an abrupt halt as she nearly ran into Warren Clark. She frowned as he blocked her path. “Mr. Clark,” she said in a deferential manner.

  He glowered at her, his blue eyes bright with a deeply hidden fury. “What are you playing at, Helen?” he whispered. His gaze roved over her demure outfit of a light-brown dress, a slightly darker shawl, with her wheat-colored hair pulled in a loose bun.

  “Unlike you, I have to find my way forward in life. It isn’t handed to me on a platter,” she snapped. “I’m doing what I must to survive.”

  “By destroying that woman’s faith in her man?” he whispered, his voice low as they stood in a deserted part of the boardwalk as most had ventured inside their homes for the evening.

  “He’s not her man any longer. He’s mine. Or he will be mine,” Helen said with a triumphant lift of her chin. However, her eyes shone with trepidation before she masked it with false jubilation. She faltered as she saw the moment’s worth of agony in his gaze before he glanced away.

  “I don’t think you know what you are doing, Helen. To them. To yourself.” His gaze bore into hers again, his blue eyes shining with intensity. “To me.”

  Her breath was shaky as she took a deep inhale. “You’re delusional if you believe I’d concern myself about you.” She pushed past him and strode for home.

  Warren raised a shaky hand and swiped at his brow as he watched Helen’s retreat.

  Cailean opened the door to the bedroom he shared with his wife and frowned. Rather than finding her in bed, she stood by the window, staring at the stars. “Why are you still awake?”

  “It’s Saturday evening. I don’t have to bake tomorrow, and I can sleep in,” she murmured, moaning with contentment as his arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her tight. “I wanted to wait for you before heading to bed.”

  “I know you are worried about Leticia and Alistair,” he said, falling silent when she spun in his arms and burrowed into his chest.

  “I am, but we must discuss something else.” She sighed as his hands caressed her back. “Please, don’t run away.”

  Any humor in his expression faded as he heard her plea. “I won’t run from you, love.” He cupped her cheeks as she tilted her face up to his. “You can tell me anything.” He frowned as he felt her shiver in his arms. “There’s no reason for fear.”

  He felt her take a deep breath. “There is. But I must overcome it.” She grasped his hand and kissed his palm. Then she lowered it over her belly. “I am with child.”

  “Belle?” he whispered, his eyes widening and mouth dropping open as he finally understood what she said. His hand caressed her stomach before he dropped to his knees, pulling her close. He kissed her belly, and she felt the moisture through her clothes.

  “Don’t cry, darling,” she whispered, threading her fingers through his hair.

  “When?” he asked as he pressed his head against her belly.

  “January or February. I’ve missed my second monthly,” she whispered.

  “Thank you,” he said, raising a wondrous, joyful gaze to meet hers. “Thank you, my Belle.” He rose in an instant, catching her as she stumbled from his sudden movement. He pulled her to him, kissing her deeply for a moment. “I feared we would never be given a second chance. Every month, I’ve prayed … I’ve prayed for you to tell me this news.”

  “Truly?” she whispered, her fingers stroking away his tears that continued to fall. Her joyous smile matched his.

  “Truly, my Belle. I worried I’d never have the chance to know such joy with you. To share this with you.” He pulled her close. “I won’t lie and say I’m not scared to my bones, because I am. After what happened last time, I will be filled with fear until you are well, holding our bairn in your arms. But I promise to be there for you. No matter what happens.”

  “Oh, Cailean,” she murmured, on her toes to kiss him again. “I have every hope that this time will be different. In fact, I know it will be. Because, this time, you will be beside me.”

  “Yes,” he said. “You must take care. I think you should give up the bakery.”

  She laughed as she shook her head. “Now you speak nonsense. Plenty of women work and are in expectation of such an event. No reason I can’t continue to do the work I love.”

  “They aren’t my wife,” he muttered. “At least consider cutting your hours or takin’ an extra day off if needed or hiring more help.”

  She sobered as she settled on her side in bed, facing him. She could not stop caressing his face, her fingers running through the day’s growth of whiskers. “The money from the bakery will also help pay off any arrears. I refuse to have debt play any part in our future.”

  Cailean raised and lowered his brows in an impish way a few times, easing her serious mood and causing her to laugh. He leaned into the palm she placed on his cheek. “As to that, Alistair and I had a very interesting offer today from Jack Renfrew.” When she shook her head in confusion, he said, “Trapper Renfrew.”

  “What could he want that would ease our debt concerns?”

  Cailean sobered. “The poor man’s dying. He’s terrified what will happen to his son, although he’s a man grown. John must be close to thirty.
”

  “He’s wise enough to fear prejudice.”

  “Aye, especially when word leaks out John has quite an inheritance.” Cailean met his wife’s concerned gaze. “Renfrow wants John to be a partner with us. Wants to buy him a share of the livery.”

  Annabelle sat up and shook her head. “No, it’s yours and Alistair’s. You’ve worked for it.”

  He ran a hand over her shoulder before kissing it. “Aye, we did. But John’s good with horses. He would be a real help.” Cailean shrugged. “And we’d pay off our arrears and have money to pay Warren and still have a little saved for our bairn. Without having to touch the bakery money.”

  “You’re too calm about allowing someone else into your partnership with Alistair. What don’t I understand?”

  “I love our partnership, our livery, aye, but, if I can help the family, help us, I’ll do it. I spoke with Warren, and he’ll write up a contract saying we each have a one-third ownership. It means the MacKinnons are still majority owners. And that two of the three must be in agreement before any major change can occur.”

  When he flushed and looked downward, she frowned. “What else is there?”

  “Jack was willing to pay an extraordinary amount for John to have a part of the livery. Warren and I spoke, and only half is truly warranted.” He took a deep breath. “With the excess money, we’ll establish a trust in the MacKinnon name, but with a codicil stating it’s truly for John.”

  He looked up and watched for his wife’s reaction. He furrowed his brows as she merely shrugged her agreement. “Why aren’t you angry?”

  “Why should I be?” She ran a finger over his ruffled brows and smiled at him.

  “I’m robbing you of riches.”

  She laughed and rolled her eyes. “They were never mine. Never ours.” She patted her belly as her eyes filled. “I’m so proud you’re my husband, that our baby will call you Father. That you will teach our baby what is right and wrong and honorable.”

  “Belle,” Cailean rasped, kissing her. “And you shall be the most wondrous mother.” He pulled her close. “When shall we tell the family?”

  “Not too soon. I want this to be our secret for a while.” She arched up to kiss him. “Besides, I fear Alistair would not welcome such news yet, and I would not want to cause him more pain.”

  Cailean tugged her into his arms. “I had hoped we’d have Alistair’s room for a nursery.”

  “Perhaps, … if he isn’t to use the house he built, we could buy it from him and live there.”

  Cailean relaxed with her settling along his side. “That’s a discussion for another day. For now, let me enjoy this wondrous news.” He sighed with contentment as she burrowed into his arms.

  The pine door of the Stumble-Out Saloon creaked as Alistair pushed it open. He paused as his eyes adjusted to the darkened interior. Wide pine plank floors creaked under his weight, and his gaze darted from the long bar along one wall to the gambling tables in the back. A crowd of men stood in the area in front of the bar, discussing politics, ranching, and mining. Lanterns hung along the walls, although long shadows and darkened corners were common. A miasma of smoke clung to the ceiling of the saloon, while the stench of unwashed men permeated the air. Curtains were drawn on the front windows, dimming any late-evening light. He frowned in confusion as he saw a few of the Boudoir whores draped over the laps of finely dressed men sitting at tables as they paused in their card play. He breathed a sigh of relief that Annabelle’s sister was not among the women present.

  He fought a glower and pasted on an impassive expression as he found Ewan at a table toward the rear of the saloon, focused on his hand as he matched wits with card sharks more skilled and with far fewer scruples than he had. Alistair shook off invitations to join tables and marched to his brother’s side. He clamped his jaw shut to prevent interfering in the game as he noted Leticia’s husband sitting across from Ewan.

  At the end of the hand of five-card stud, he watched Ewan lose hard-earned coin. Alistair leaned forward and murmured in his brother’s ear, “I must speak with ye now.”

  Ewan jerked, finally noting his brother’s presence. He flushed at the summons, as though treated like a recalcitrant child, but pushed away from the table and followed Alistair to the long bar that occupied most of one wall of the building, its mahogany finish dulled from smoke and infrequent polishing. Casks of whiskey stood to either side of the mirrored area behind the bar.

  After Alistair nodded to the barkeep for two whiskeys, he traced a groove in the wood before sipping at his drink. He feigned disinterest at his brother’s impatient huff as Ewan stood next to him.

  “What was so important that ye had to tear me away from my poker match?” Ewan whispered in his brother’s ear. He took a swig of the whiskey, hissing as it burned his throat.

  “Ye do ken that man sittin’ across from ye is Leticia’s husband?” At Ewan’s shrug of indifference, Alistair growled with frustration. “An’ that ye’re fundin’ whatever he has planned every time ye lose to him?”

  “It’s not like that, Al. I know I just lost, but I’ll earn it back again when I win.” His brown eyes shone with his sincere belief.

  “When was the last time ye won?” Alistair glared at a man over his brother’s shoulder to back away and give them privacy for their conversation. “When was the last time ye left here without beggaring yerself?” He swore as he saw the answer when Ewan remained mutinously quiet. “Cail is already in arrears after bringin’ ye and Sorcha over. There’s no more money if ye lose too much.”

  Ewan nodded. “I know. Cailean’s already done enough. I’d never ask for more from him.”

  “And yet ye expect me to step aside as ye allow yerself to be fleeced by a man who would steal away the one woman I’ve ever loved?”

  Ewan leaned forward until they were almost nose to nose. “It’s no’ as though ye want her. For, if ye did, ye would have done more than moon about yer bad fortune. Ye would have done somethin’ to ensure she stayed yers.”

  Alistair reared back as though his brother had punched him, his hand instinctively guarding his belly as though awaiting a second sucker punch. “I’m askin’ ye to no’ sit at a table with him again. I ken it’s too much to hope ye will no’ play again.” He shot back the rest of his drink and stormed past his brother.

  When he reached the front porch of the saloon, he paused. He had no wish to return to his brother’s home. He walked up the main street of town, his boot heels forming a resounding clunk on the boardwalk. When he reached the end of the boardwalk, he paused again before walking the short distance to the home he was to have shared with Leticia.

  When he arrived, he sighed and glared at the empty, darkened house. “Damn fool,” he muttered to himself. He jumped as a voice emerged from the shadows of the house.

  “Why are you a fool?”

  “Leticia? Where is Hortence? Why are ye here?”

  Her shrug was barely visible in the long shadows. She tugged a shawl around her shoulders as she remained hidden. “Hortence is spending the night with the Tompkinses. She fell asleep there, and I didn’t have the heart to wake her and force her back to the tiny room at the bakery.”

  Alistair frowned. “I ken there is more to that story than ye’re sayin’.”

  She laughed, but it was filled with despair rather than joy. “How dare you believe you have any right to know about my life? After you shut me out without ever letting me explain?”

  Alistair took a step before her but halted as she shifted away. “Lettie?” he whispered. “What are ye doin’ here?”

  “I wanted to remember the dream. One last time.” She swiped at her cheek before turning to look at the dormant house. “I needed to rid myself of the dream of what could have been.”

  “No, Lettie. Dream. Always dare to dream.”

  He saw the nearly imperceptible shaking of her head. “You have no right to say such things to me. Not now. Not after …” She sucked in a breath as she bit back impulsive word
s.

  He grabbed her as she spun to race past him. “Don’t go,” he whispered, his breath teasing a shiver from her as it blew against her neck. “Don’t do anythin’ rash.”

  She shook as she crumpled into his arms, her arms hanging at her sides rather than clasping him close. “Don’t ask me for promises.”

  He pushed at her until he held her head between his large palms, his thumbs tracing over her hairline. After a moment, where she refused to meet his gaze, he groaned and swooped forward, capturing her lips in a kiss. When she stiffened and then leaned into him, he groaned again and tugged her closer.

  The kiss deepened, and he walked her backward until they were hidden in the shadow of the house. She made a small thunk sound as she backed into a wall of the house, and he pressed against her. “Feel me,” he rasped. “Feel how much I want ye.”

  She kissed him with an intensity born of desperation and clasped him to her. She reached down to tug at her skirts, but his hands tangled with hers, dragging them away from her clothing. He held her hands pinned to the wall by her head, his kisses continuing to muddle her senses.

  Finally he raised his head. “No, Leticia. I willna dishonor either of us more than I have tonight.” He kissed her again. “I willna love ye as I want until ye are my wife.”

  “You still wish to wed me?” Her voice hitched as though fighting a sob or intense passion.

  He pulled her hands to his lips and kissed each one. “I should beg yer pardon for those wild and rash kisses but canna.” He backed up a step until a shaft of moonlight lit his face and allowed her to see his expression. “I canna lie to myself or to ye. Not any longer. I want ye. I’ll always want ye.” He released a hand and stroked it over her head, brushing at her silky hair. “Watchin’ ye and Hortence leave today was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I wanted to be with ye. Walkin’ beside ye. To have that right.” He kissed her forehead.

  “Even though I lied to you?” she whispered. “Even though I embarrassed you?”