Alana laid a hand on Sally’s arm. “I’ll manage the meals just fine, cousin. No need to fret yerself so.”
Sally gave her a rueful smile. “I am fretting, aren’t I? It’s not as if my parents hadn’t laid down provisions to last through the winter, even though at times, we eek out what we have with wild game. They expected me to be living with them still, so, in a way, you’re just taking my place.”
“Not that I can take their daughter’s place,” Alana said in a soothing voice. “But this experience will give yer family and me a chance to form the bonds of kinship that we’ve lacked all our lives.”
“You’re right.” Sally relaxed and breathed out a sigh.
“I promise ye, I will give yer mother the same loving care that ye would.”
Sally embraced Alana. “I can’t tell you how thankful I am that you’re doing this.” Taking a step back, she glanced at both women. “You two are such a godsend—the answer to prayers I didn’t know I needed to pray.”
Alana touched Sally’s shoulder. “Comforting, isn’t it? That the good Lord knows our needs before we do.”
Bridget didn’t have Alana’s unquestioning belief. After all, she was the one who often had to pinch and scrape for both of them. A sudden thought struck her. James had appeared at the train station at the very moment they arrived. Perhaps my sister is right. Something to ponder later.
“Now, back to bed with ye, Sally,” Alana said firmly. “We’ll see ourselves out.”
Sally released her cousin’s hand. “Thank you again.”
Alana pointed at the bed in a silent command.
“All right, all right,” Sally muttered in a mock grumble.
Alana picked up her satchel. She was also taking along the volume of Shakespeare, hoping to read to her aunt as she convalesced.
No sense sending the potatoes they’d stored in a corner of the loft. Surely, we’ll be reunited before spring planting. Bridget threaded her arm through the handle of the basket, lifted it, and turned.
Alana smiled a good-bye to Sally before following Bridget out the door.
The cold wind caught them first, but the freshness was welcome after the close air of the cabin. Bridget and Alana trudged through the snow on a path made wider by the recent comings and goings to and from the houses.
They reached the area between the barn and the big house to find the rented sleigh, a brown horse hitched to the front. The plan was for Harry to drive the sleigh to the O’Donnels and on the way home, drop off the conveyance at the livery, and ride horseback the rest of the way to the ranch.
Samantha came out of the house, carrying a crate that she gave to Harry.
Without a word, he stowed it on the front seat. He took the basket and satchel from the sisters and placed them on the floor in the back. “Mrs. Toffels heated the bricks.”
Samantha pulled a fur muff off her arm and handed it to Alana. “Borrow this for your journey, my dear.”
“Thank ye for yer kindness.” Alana stroked the fur then slipped the muff over one of her hands.
Samantha turned to Harry, ticking off her fingers as she talked. “Stop in town at the Camerons to warm up, heat the bricks again, and take along any medicine or instructions Dr. Cameron might want to give you.”
Mrs. Toffels bustled out from the side door of the house, her arms around a giant basket. “There are quart jars of chicken soup and beef stew in the crate. In here, you’ll find my Saskatoon preserves, a basket of eggs, several loaves of bread and butter, my elderberry cordial, and molasses cookies.
Harry inhaled a sharp breath, and then swallowed hard as if moved. “Much obliged, ma’am. On behalf of my wife and her family, I thank you.” He glanced at Mrs. Thompson. “I thank you both.” He shook his head. “I don’t know how we can ever repay you.”
“Nonsense, Harry.” Samantha smiled at him. “Sally is one of us now, and we take care of our own. There will be plenty of opportunities for turn and turn about.”
Alana moved to Bridget, extending her arms.
Bridget hugged her sister, holding her tight for an extra moment, her eyes stinging.
Alana clung to her, clearly just as reluctant to part. But she was the one to break away, kissing Bridget’s cheek and murmuring, “Go dtí le chéile againn arís.” She climbed into the sleigh.
Bridget tucked the bearskin around Alana. Her throat clogged on repeating the words of farewell, so she thought them instead. Until we meet again. Then she, too, kissed her sister’s cheek, and straightened.
From the corner of her eye, Bridget caught a movement and turned to see James heading their way, carrying a gunnysack. He had blood on his hands. “I thought Alana might want some extra meat to take with her, so I set snares for some rabbits. They’re dressed out. Haven’t had time to skin them. In this cold, they’ll keep just fine.”
“How kind, James!” Bridget exclaimed. “Ye must have been up before dawn to have caught these.” His thoughtfulness helped ease the heaviness in her chest. She wouldn’t have her sister by her side, but she was surrounded by good people—new friends. Her gaze lingered on James, and heat rose to her cheeks. Perhaps, a special new friend.
Although Alana appeared grateful and thanked James, Bridget noted no light in her eyes, as she’d seen before when her sister looked at Timkin.
Perhaps she truly isn’t interested in James.
But Bridget wasn’t so sure about James, who’d just given Alana a dimpled smile.
Harry climbed into the front seat, gathered the reins, and released the brake.
Her throat tight, Bridget waved good-bye. Shading her eyes with her hand, she watched the sleigh until the vehicle dwindled to a speck, and then passed out of sight. She inhaled a bracing breath, determined not to cry. Her new acquaintances didn’t deserve a moping newcomer in their midst. She plastered on a smile and turned to Samantha. “Would ye mind if I spent some time in the barn becoming acquainted with yer horses?” Shrugging, she gave a self-depreciating laugh. “I’m horse mad, ye see.”
Samantha’s eyes twinkled. “So am I. I’m going to check on Sally and see if she wants the broth Mrs. Toffels made. You go meet the horses. I promise you, there will be some that surprise you.”
Again, James’s smile showed his dimples. “I’ll join you after I’ve washed up, so I can show you around.”
Her spirits lifted, and Bridget wondered if the rise was due to the idea of horses, especially surprise horses, or James’s company. Probably both.
Bridget moved toward the barn, careful of her footing on the icy spots. She pushed open one of the great doors and stepped inside, pulling it shut behind her.
For a moment she closed her eyes, just taking in the scent of horses, hay, leather, and manure. Behind her lids, tears pricked her eyes, and she inhaled a deep breath, feeling a blissful sense of homecoming.
A horse nickered, and she heard the stomp of a shod hoof. Unable to bear the suspense any longer, she opened her eyes.
The squire’s barn had been several centuries old, the walls made of stone, the ceiling lower and the light dimmer than in this soaring wooden structure. The immense space seemed empty, with only a few horses poking their heads over the stall doors. Most of the cowboys must be out on the range.
Deuce worked with his back to her, mucking out a stall at the end of the aisle.
Bridget decided not to disturb him, instead wanting to explore a bit on her own before James caught up with her. Scanning the aisle of stalls, she recognized the sleek black head of the Thoroughbred and walked toward him, her gestures slow.
The horse eyed her with curiosity.
“Is buachaill álainn thú’,” she murmured, while rubbing his neck.
“Thunder doesn’t know Gaelic.” A man spoke from behind her.
Bridget turned to see Patrick Gallagher looming near. She’d been too engrossed in his stallion to notice his approach.
He wore a black shirt that enhanced his dark eyes and hair. His eyelashes were long. But the chiseled plan
es of his face and the square chin kept him from looking soft.
He’s attractive, indeed. She couldn’t help but respond to the sheer magnificence of the man and his horse.
“I don’t speak the language, either,” he admitted with a small shrug. “Too many generations away from the old country.”
“I told Thunder he was a beautiful boy,” Bridget explained.
“Aye, beautiful,” he said, staring into her eyes and dropped a hand on the stall door next to her.
She blushed and dropped her gaze. Uncomfortable with his closeness, she sidled to Thunder’s other side, putting the horse’s head between them. “Why a Thoroughbred here?” She rubbed Thunder’s nose.
“We have racing in Montana, you know. Even here in Sweetwater Springs. It might not be up to Irish standards, but we have our share of splendid winners.”
“The squire of our village was heavily into racing. From an early age, he allowed me to spend time at his stables helping out.”
“He must have trusted you, then.”
“Aye. He’s a dear man. ’Tis grateful, I am that he didn’t let the disapproval of his wife and son prohibit me from the place.” She patted Thunder’s muscled neck. “This one must be fast.”
“As the wind. Thompson has a mare who won the horse race here last August. He wants to breed her. I brought Thunder for Thompson to inspect and also so I could look over the mare. I plan to drop by the Carter and Sanders’ ranches as well. But Thompson and his missus have made me welcome, invited me to stay a while.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “I’ve taken them up on their invitation.”
* * *
Eager to find Bridget and spend some time together, James strode to the bunkhouse where, during the day, a kettle of warm water was kept on the back of the stove that heated the room. He stripped off his gloves and coat and unwound his scarf. He poured some water into the basin, washed, and shaved—something he hadn’t managed in the early morning darkness. Once he dried his hands and face, he donned his outerwear again and strode to the barn.
The sadness in her eyes as she’d watched Alana leave had made his belly tight, and James wanted to do something, anything, to bring a genuine smile back to Bridget’s face. And he knew just the trick—the Falabellas.
According to Samantha, the midget horses had worked miracles on her once-troubled adopted sons. Every man on the ranch loved the small creatures, even if a few grumbled about having nothing to do with such toys—although on several occasions, he’d caught one or the other of those same cowboys secretly slipping carrots or apple slices to a Falabella and even using baby talk. James snickered at the memories. He hadn’t said anything yet to the culprits. He was saving the revelations for a time when they’d have the most impact.
Now, James was certain the little ones would have a similar magical effect on Bridget. Just thinking of her reaction, he couldn’t help but grin.
Inside the barn, he saw Bridget talking to Patrick Gallagher while she stroked his horse, and James’s cheerful feelings gave way to jealousy. He stalked toward them, nodding at Gallagher but giving Bridget a warm grin. “Are you ready for your tour of the barn?”
“I am, indeed.”
Patrick frowned. “I’ll go lunge Thunder.”
Bridget cast the man a reluctant glance, as if wanting to see him work the horse. She gave a final pat to the stallion’s nose. “I’ll see ye again, sweet boy.” With a smile at Gallagher, she moved to James’s side.
“Come this way.” He led her to the middle of the barn. “I’m assuming you’d rather see the horses than the tack room or the hay loft.”
She nodded, a wide smile on her face.
“Wyatt had these doors shortened so the horses can see over them.” He gestured for her to look into a stall.
Bridget peeked over, and her eyes widened. “Oh.” She inhaled sharply in obvious delight at seeing the tiny black mare. “Why, I’ve never seen the like! Tell me, Jamie—” the nickname slipped out “—what is this dear wee creature? Surely not a pony. She’s too small.”
There’s the smile I was hoping for. He liked how Bridget called him Jamie, the word taking on a different cadence when uttered in a musical Irish accent. Although he might have to beat up a man who called him Jamie, the name coming from her seemed intimate. With a sense of longing, he wondered if he’d ever hear her whisper his name while they were together in the dark of the night.
James realized Bridget was waiting for his answer. “A Falabella. Her name’s Chita, and she belongs to Daniel. Mrs. Thompson brought them from Argentina.”
“Them? There are more?”
“Yes. And you’ll see more around town because we only kept one foal. Let me introduce you to each Falabella, then you can choose which to get acquainted with first. They’re all good-natured and very playful.” James took Bridget’s hand and led her down the row, hoping she wouldn’t pull away. He tried to act casual, but his heart thumped so loudly he heard the pulse beat in his ears. “The chestnut is Bonita, the brown mare is Pampita. Mariposa is the gray. The Falabella stallion is Chico.”
“Such darlings.” Her face glowed. “I’m in love already.”
So am I. He cleared his throat. “They do have that effect on people.” He stopped before the last shortened door. “This brown sweetie was born here. She belongs to Christine, who named her Tulip.”
“’Tis adorable, she is. I’ll start with her.”
“Go right ahead.” He opened the stall door and stood back.
Bridget took two steps inside and sank to her knees in the straw. Luckily, Deuce had already mucked out this stall.
At first, James thought to wander off and do some work, for there were always jobs around the barn. But he couldn’t tear himself away for long. Instead, he grabbed his bridle, a can of linseed oil, and a rag, and rubbed the leather while he leaned against the opposite stall and watched Bridget.
She never even noticed his regard, so absorbed in the Falabellas was she. She moved from stall to stall, spending about five minutes with each Falabella.
Right now, James could see by the way she smiled and caressed the horses, even kissing their noses, that no worries about her sister or her aunt crossed her mind. He wished he could make this time last—always keep her free from care. But at least she has a respite.
After about half an hour, he stirred from his spot and quietly called out. “Bridget, if you want to see the rest of the animals, we’d best be going.”
“Oh, goodness, yes.” She ran a hand over Mariposa’s gray back and stood. “Sally will be waking soon, and I should be back by then.”
He took her toward some of the other horses, pulling a carrot from his pocket when they reached Dusty and offering it to Bridget.
“Oh, thank ye for helping me keep my promise to him.”
Her grateful smile warmed James all the way to his toes. Who needs hot bricks when Bridget O’Donnell is around?
She held out the carrot, petting Dusty’s nose as the gelding happily crunched away.
James envied the horse her touch.
She tilted her head, closely examining the gelding, then stepped sideways to view one of the extra mounts, before sliding back to his side. “They’re different from our horses back home. I’m not talking about the Thoroughbreds, but our draught horses. Fine creatures, indeed. They’re short-legged and powerful. Deep of girth and strong of back and quarters. Light and fast on their feet for such heavy horses and—” she held up a finger and flicked it upward “—good jumpers.”
James liked the way Bridget’s eyes lit as she waxed eloquent. “What about their temperament?”
“Intelligent and gentle natured, reliable,” she said in a proud tone. “They’re bred for multiple jobs—to plow, sow, mow and reap, hunt, ride, and drive the family to church.”
He chuckled. “I guess that’s more than chasing and cutting cattle or riding into town.” He patted Dusty’s neck. “Although, as you saw, this one proved quite good at pulling the sleigh.”
<
br /> She stroked the gelding’s head. “Ye did a fine job, Dusty, me boyo,” she said thickening her accent.
They moved on to meet Samantha’s mare, Bianca, a wedding present from her husband. The black beauty had four white stockings and a blaze down her nose. The mare nickered and snuffled Bridget’s arm.
“Oh, my.” She rubbed Bianca’s nose. “What a lovely lady ye are.”
“She’s a sweet goer, a perfect mount for the missus.”
He gestured to a chestnut mare in the next stall. “And this is our speed demon, Miss Midnight, although we call her Missy unless we’re trying to intimidate or impress people.”
“I would love to see her race.”
“She is something.” James placed a hand on her arm to guide her toward the back door. “Let’s go see the old barn.” He took her out and through a covered breezeway built last fall. Amazing the changes the boss had made around the place for the pleasure and comfort of his bride.
This barn was constructed when the previous ranch owner lived in a log cabin. The structure was smaller than the first and housed the goats, pigs, and milk cows.
Half of the space was taken up by a fenced-in area spread with thick straw where the small herd of goats milled around. Some were black and others dun-colored.
Holding on to the top rail, she leaned over the enclosure. “Somehow, I never thought to find goats on a cattle ranch.”
“They’re relatively new. A lot of things changed around here when the boss got married.”
She chuckled and nodded.
The musical tone of her laughter caused a flutter in his belly.
“I imagine so.”
He wrenched his thoughts back to the topic. “Mrs. Toffels has the knack for making cheese, and we learned to like the taste.”
“I love goat cheese.”
“Jack and Tim had a goat when Samantha adopted them. Actually, the story is that they didn’t have the goat anymore. They’d been staying with Widow Murphy, and she kept the goat—claimed it was in payment for the boys’ care.”
A Valentine's Choice: A Montana Sky Series Holiday Novella (The Montana Sky Series) Page 5
