Montana Grit

by Ramona Flightner

  She held out her arm as though to help him peruse her with more ease. “As you can see, I am a woman. All my family members were in newspapers before me. I’ve learned the trade from the best. There can be no better profession for me than to follow in my family’s footsteps.”

  Alistair nodded. “Aye, learning a trade early is important. But how do ye expect to learn what ye need to from the men in this town? They’ll never open up the way ye’ll want them to.”

  J.P. shook her head. “Men always believe that. However, what men don’t like to admit is that they enjoy gossip as much as or more than women. And they love to tell stories as much as women. It’s a matter of finding a way to entice them to speak.”

  Leticia bit her lip. “You’ll ruin your reputation if you go into the saloons.”

  J.P. rolled her eyes. “Do you believe I was a hard-hitting reporter in Saint Louis and New York City without venturing into unsavory establishments?” She laughed. Her gaze focused on Leticia. “I wouldn’t mind speaking about an acquaintance we share in Saint Louis.”

  Leticia paled, and her hand gripped Alistair’s arm. “I have nothing to speak with a reporter about.” She looked over at Annabelle. “If you will excuse us? Our sister-in-law would like us to cut the cake.”

  She tugged Alistair alongside her. Before they reached Annabelle and the three-tiered cake, he pulled her to a stop. “What has ye worried?”

  “I don’t want a reporter digging around into my life.” She shook her head as she saw J.P. watching them with intense concentration. She pasted on a smile and watched as Alistair nodded his understanding. She walked with him to the small round table with the cake on it.

  Alistair smiled at his sister-in-law. “I assume the middle layer is chocolate?” He saw her flush, as Cailean’s favorite flavor was chocolate.

  “Yes, although one is waiting for us at home in case the townsfolk gobble this one up,” she whispered.

  “Lucky Cailean,” Alistair murmured.

  “There’s one for you too,” Annabelle breathed. “I didn’t want to disappoint Hortence. Not a second time.” She smiled at the emotion glinting in Alistair’s eyes. “Be happy,” she murmured to them before she called for the crowd’s attention. After a short speech and a few catcalls, Alistair cut a sliver of cake and handed it to Leticia. She did the same for him, and they ate their cake as the town applauded.

  He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “I think the town is delighted for us.”

  She giggled. “Either that or they are ecstatic they can finally eat another of Annabelle’s cakes.”

  He laughed and swung her into his arms as the music sounded. “Dance with me,” he whispered, although they were already twirling around a small space, cleared by the townsfolk as they lined up for cake.

  “Always,” she whispered.

  Sorcha danced with one of the men from Frederick Tompkins’s ranch. The ranch hand maintained a respectful distance from her, although his hand around her waist was tighter than it needed to be. She squirmed, but it only made his hold on her tighten.

  “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am,” he said. “I’m not so good at dancin’, and I fear, if I were to let go at all, you’d spin away from me like one of those little toys children play with.” He shared a chagrined smile with her as she relaxed and laughed.

  “I have no desire to be a spinnin’ top!” She followed his lead and belatedly realized he danced with galloping steps rather than smooth, gliding movements.

  “I don’t have a chance to dance much, and I couldn’t pass up a chance with a pretty girl like you.” He blushed.

  “What’s it like working on the ranch?” she asked. “I didn’t expect Mr. Tompkins’s men to be here today.”

  “Not all of us could come of course. Some had to stay behind to work the ranch. But he’s a fair man. He likes to give us a chance to go to town every once in a while.” He nodded at his boss who stood tall, talking with his grandparents. Sorcha followed his gaze and bit back a smile as she saw Irene brush at the black hair falling into her grandson’s eyes.

  The music came to an end, and the ranch hand led her to the side of the small dance floor. He bowed, and she laughed at his chivalry. “Thank you, Mr. Dixon.” She declined three other men’s requests for a dance and moved to the refreshment stand.

  She made a face as she took a sip of the punch and set it aside. After taking a gulp of water, she wandered the room. She stilled when she heard a woman whispering in a carrying voice about Leticia. The woman faced the other way and was so intent on her conversation that she failed to notice those around her.

  “I tell you, Myrtle, that woman should be in the Boudoir. We shouldn’t be forced to stand here as though we are delighted that she tricked a man like Alistair MacKinnon. She is a deceitful slut.”

  The woman named Myrtle patted the other woman on her arm as though in consolation. “There is such a lack of morals in a town like ours. What can we hope for when men are so readily taken in by any pretty face?” She sniffed in disdain as she looked at the happy couple enjoying another dance. “Shameful. Dancing more than once together. They set a horrible example for the youth of this town.”

  “To think she was a teacher!” The first woman shuddered. “To think she had the responsibility of instructing my precious granddaughter. As though a woman like her understands the principles of right and wrong. I hate to think what my grandchild learned from such a woman.”

  Sorcha took a deep breath and finally spoke. “I think yer granddaughter learned more about kindness, forgiveness, and decency from Leticia than she could ever have hoped to learn at home from two bitter women like yerselves.” She met their appalled expressions with one of absolute derision and ire. “Ye do no’ have the right to speak Leticia’s name, never mind discuss her.”

  Sorcha leaned forward, cutting off their protests. “One day ye’ll be thankful for what she did for this town. For how well she taught yer children. For her ability to care for all the children, independent of their parents’ standing in town.” She raised her chin. “I couldna be more proud to call her sister-in-law.”

  She pushed past the women and marched toward Harold and Irene. She ignored their grandson, who watched her with annoyance as she approached.

  “Always a pleasure to see you, Sorcha,” Irene murmured. “I’m not certain you’ve met our grandson, Frederick Tompkins.” She beamed at her grandson and gripped his arm with pride. “We convinced him to come into town today for the celebration.”

  Sorcha met his appraising stare. “I’d begun to think ye more myth than reality, the way ye slipped in and out of town without ever bein’ seen.”

  He chuckled. “I see no point wasting time on pleasantries with those who will have no influence on my life. Or the running of the ranch.”

  Sorcha raised an eyebrow and met Harold’s delighted gaze before she glared at Frederick. “Ye certainly didna learn charm from yer grandparents.”

  Frederick stared at her, his blues eyes a flinty steel. “I learned all I needed to from them.”

  Irene grasped Sorcha’s hand as Sorcha braced for a scathing comeback for Frederick. “Ignore this latest battle you could begin. I want to hear what happened with those two old biddies.” Irene nodded in the direction of the two women Sorcha had upbraided. They had their heads together and whispered fervently as they glared ferociously at Sorcha.

  “I heard them speakin’ ill of Leticia. I advised them that they should be thankful for one such as Leticia and that one day they will be grateful she taught their children.”

  Irene sniffed with disgust and met the women’s glare. “There are none blinder than those who will not see.”

  Sorcha tilted her head. “Is that from the Bible?”

  Irene waved her hand. “Something I heard from the preacher. I swear, if he did any worse a job, we’d all kill each other and be done with it.” She smiled as Frederick choked on a laugh. Irene looped her arm through Frederick’s and led him toward Alistair and Letic
ia who now stood on the other side of the dance floor.

  Sorcha stood next to Harold and watched the thinning crowd. “Now that the cake’s served, many will leave.”

  “Oh, plenty are hopeful of a dance with a lovely woman, like yourself,” Harold teased. “Frederick’s men have spoken of little else since they arrived around noontime for a quick feed before the festivities began.”

  Sorcha shook her head. “I’ve danced with almost all of them. I don’t have the energy to dance with many more,” she protested as she shook her head again as another man motioned for her to join him on the floor.

  “I noticed you haven’t danced with Frederick yet.” Harold took a sip of punch and smiled with pleasure.

  “How is it ye drink that sickly sweet stuff and seem satisfied? The rest of us detest it.” She huffed out a breath as he answered only with a mysterious smile. “I should think yer grandson wouldna need to dance with the likes of me. I’m one of those uninteresting people who adds little to his life or the running of his ranch.”

  Harold guffawed. “Don’t get yer knickers in a knot. He’s cantankerous at best on a good day. He has his reasons. As do most men. I think your opinion of him might change if you were to know him better.”

  Sorcha sniffed. “That’s as likely as snow in August,” she snapped.

  Harold laughed. “Well, that has come to pass, so we’ll see.”

  Warren pushed away from the wall he had been holding up and stood in line for cake behind Helen Jameson. He inhaled, breathing in her subtle gardenia scent. “Why do you allow him to speak to you as he does?” He frowned as she froze at the sound of his voice.

  “I’ve asked you to cease speaking with me. It seems such a simple request,” she snapped, although her voice was so low, he barely heard it.

  He spoke into her ear. “The simple requests are often the most difficult to grant.”

  “He is my brother. He is allowed certain liberties in his treatment of me that others aren’t.”

  “That’s horse dung, and you know it.” He saw a faint blush emerge on the skin of her nape. “It should mean that he treats you with even greater respect so that you understand the dignity and esteem you should receive from any man.”

  She huffed out a snort. “That’s rich, coming from you.” She stepped forward and accepted her plate of cake before hurrying to her mother’s side.

  Warren nodded his thanks for his slice and then joined Cailean and Ewan. He took a bite of the white cake and closed his eyes with appreciation. “Glorious,” he murmured.

  “Aye, it is,” Cailean said. He smiled at his friend. “It’s why I got two tiny pieces, one white and one chocolate. Come by the house tonight, and you can have a chocolate piece.”

  Warren stared at the quickly diminishing cake. “There won’t be any left.”

  Ewan laughed with satisfaction. “’Tis wonderful to have the baker as a sister-in-law. We have a cake waiting for us at home.” He nudged his brother with his elbow. “And it’s chocolate, as the baker’s partial to this man.”

  “Lucky man,” Warren said with a chuckle.

  “What did Helen say that put you in a sour mood?” Cailean asked in a low voice. “Seems she wasn’t too pleased to have to speak with you.”

  Warren shook his head in frustration. “She allows her brother to treat her abominably, and I asked her why. She had no good defense.”

  Ewan shrugged. “Sometimes those who are meant to protect us treat us terribly. We dinna ken any better, because that’s how it’s always been. Ye have to learn yer worth by how others treat ye.”

  Cailean nodded. “Aye, and, if you’re someone like Helen, the town only reinforces what she’s learned because they treat her as badly as her mother.”

  “As her brother,” Warren muttered.

  Ewan sighed. “Aye. We saw it with Sorcha. She had to learn that love was stronger than anger and disappointment.”

  Warren frowned at that statement, but the brothers remained silent.

  Cailean looked at Warren. “Don’t treat Helen like she’s on trial, Warren. Or make her feel like the town lawyer is speaking with her.” He met his friend’s shuttered gaze. “I believe she’s a woman who needs a friend.”

  Warren grunted his agreement. “Where is Bears?”

  “He refused to come, and he’s watching the livery for us, although he knows we’ve left it for hours in the past.” Cailean rolled his eyes. “It would have been good to have him here, but he’s his own man. He can decide what he wants to do.”

  Warren nodded. “Coming to a town affair, even if to honor a MacKinnon, would be overwhelming.” He took a bite of cake. “Where will he sleep when the weather turns to winter?”

  Cailean looked to Ewan, and he nodded so Cailean continued. “For now, he’s sleepin’ on a cot in the tack room. But we do not want a stove or a flame in the barn.” He shrugged. “Too great a risk for fire. So Ewan will build him a small place near the paddock.”

  Warren smiled. “Excellent. Jack would be pleased.” He glanced around the room and focused on the reporter slinking through the crowd and nodded in her direction. “The fact she’s here alone makes her rather remarkable.”

  He and Cailean laughed as Ewan sputtered about the new reporter and left to find another glass of beer.

  Warren raised an eyebrow as he saw Ewan and J.P. glaring at each other again. “I shouldn’t think he’d want the attention of such a reporter. She has a hell of a reputation.”

  Cailean groaned and then frowned. “Then why’d she come to Bear Grass Springs?”

  Warren nodded at his friend. “That’s the question that was never satisfactorily answered.” He slapped Cailean on the shoulder as he snuck one last look in Helen’s direction. “I’ll see you tonight at your house. I’ll slip out to work on a few things before I come by for cake.”

  Leticia excused herself from a few of the mothers wishing her well as she saw Hortence speaking with two unknown men. As she approached, she frowned because one man moved to keep Hortence separated from her. “Hello,” she said in a friendly voice. “I hope you are enjoying the celebration.”

  One man—wearing only a single layer of dust, as compared to his companion with multiple layers, but with a thick brown beard and hair past his collar—eyed her appreciatively. “We are, Mrs. MacKinnon. Or should we say, Mrs. Fry?” He smiled when he saw her stiffen.

  “Mama, these men want to know about the bad man,” Hortence said. Her voice quivered, and she darted around them, evading their grasps until she was at her mother’s side.

  “I see,” Leticia murmured. “Go find Papa,” Leticia said to her daughter as she continued to watch the two men. She heard Hortence scamper away and saw their frustration as Hortence eluded them. “If you thought to use my daughter in some way, you were delusional.”

  “We want answers, missus,” demanded the other man, shorter and stockier than the first. “Where is your husband?”

  “Here,” Alistair said in a deep, authoritative voice. He rested a hand on Leticia’s shoulder and met their glowers. “If ye mean her former husband, Mr. Fry, we last saw him in Helena a few weeks ago. He was most interested in evading those from the Mitchell gang.”

  The men nodded. “You’ve had no contact with him?” the first man asked.

  “None,” Leticia said. “I avoided contact with him for nearly seven years. I never wanted to see him again. Why would I seek him out now that we are divorced and I’ve married a good man?”

  They studied her closely as though looking for any signs of prevarication before relaxing as though finally believing her. “Thank you, ma’am. It seems our journey is not complete.” They nodded to her and to Alistair before slipping from the Hall.

  Leticia leaned into her husband’s strong arms. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “Ye know I’ll support ye in any way I can. Always.” He kissed her head. “Ye dinna have to fear him anymore. He has enough problems without time to bother ye again.”

  She
laughed. “You don’t have to sound so gleeful about it!”

  “I canna help it. I’m here, with my wife in my arms, our daughter nearby, at our wedding reception. Life doesna get much better than this.”

  Alistair carried a sleeping Hortence against his shoulder as he and Leticia walked home. Although late for Hortence, she had been asleep at the reception for the past two hours. Few lights shone in businesses, other than the saloons and the Boudoir. A multitude of stars lit the sky, and a soft breeze blew, bringing the scent of fresh pine trees and clearing away any stench of the town. He followed Leticia as she opened the door and walked upstairs to set Hortence on her bed. “Should we change her into her nightclothes?” He ran a hand over Hortence’s head, slipping his fingers into her loosened braids and freeing her hair.

  “Yes,” Leticia whispered. She reached under her daughter’s pillow and pulled out her nightshirt. Alistair moved aside, slipping off Hortence’s shoes as Leticia tugged off her party dress. Soon Hortence was tucked under her covers. First Leticia and then Alistair kissed their daughter on her forehead before they left.

  “Come, love,” Alistair murmured as he drew Leticia behind him. “Come frolic with yer husband.” He kissed her in the hallway, swallowing her chuckle.

  She pushed him, backing him into their room and shutting the door until he knocked into the bed and sat down. “Shall I undress you as I did Hortence?” She smiled with wicked intent as his eyes gleamed with love and passion. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she whispered as she clambered up, sitting astride his lap as she tugged at his tie. She pulled it loose, tossing it to the floor. At the first hint of flesh, she dropped her face, inhaling his musky scent. “I love how you smell.”

  “How odd. I stink of sweat and horse and leather.” He raised a hand to tangle in her hair. “God, Lettie,” he rasped as she rained kisses over his bared skin, “how I love ye.”