Montana Dawn

by Caroline Fyffe

  Luke cleared his throat. “If you say so.” There it was again. That tone. She watched as he made his way to the back of the wagon. “I’ll send some men back with horses. They’ll hitch up and dig you out of the mud. Pine Grove’s the next town on your route to Priest’s Crossing. We’re going there now. If you want, you can join our drive and travel with us.”

  She’d had a year of practice appeasing Samuel, and Faith knew when not to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.” She smiled, hoping to soften Luke up a little. “How long will it take us to reach Pine Grove?”

  “With the size of our herd, about a week. That is”—he settled his hat back on his head and turned to leave—“if the men don’t get jelly-brained over silly distractions. Colton!” he shouted. “Bring your ma a plate of food.” Then he climbed out of the wagon without giving her a chance to respond.

  Silly distractions? Was he referring to her? His attitude hurt. She picked up her daughter, who’d begun to cry, and patted her back. She wouldn’t distract his men, not on her life. She planned to stay as far away from them as possible.

  Faith lay back and closed her eyes. A week following Mr. McCutcheon’s herd would be dirty and slow, but maybe this was just the miracle she’d been praying for. It would be impossible for Ward to track them in a cattle drive.

  For the first time in weeks, Faith felt just maybe she could relax a little. The likelihood of actual escape from this nightmare was becoming a possibility. The chance of starting fresh, just her and the children. She’d yet find a place to settle and put down roots.

  The sun had moved from one side of the wagon to the other as morning passed into late afternoon. The baby still slept, so Faith quietly scooted away from her upon awakening, cautious not to wake her.

  She climbed out the back of the wagon, being careful this time to hang on tight. Colton sat around a small fire with two strangers, his small arms moving as he recounted a story.

  Both men stood as she approached, and one offered his seat on the log. He was a big man with dusty clothes. His face was kind and thoughtful. “Sit here, ma’am.” He gestured toward the log. When she was seated he continued. “My name’s Jonathan Burg. Luke sent Smokey and me to hitch you up and bring you over to our campsite. How soon can you be ready to go?”

  Faith hesitated. Was she supposed to just ride off with them without a by-your-leave? It went against everything she knew.

  As if he sensed her reluctance, the cowboy fetched his horse over to where she sat. “See here, that’s the McCutcheon brand.” He pointed to the horse’s muscular hip where a mark, a mountain enclosed within a heart, was easily identifiable. “You won’t find finer horseflesh in the country. The McCutcheons are good, honorable men, ma’am. Well respected. No one here is going to hurt you or the children.”

  It was just what she wanted. But was it true?

  The herd was enormous when they joined it. In every direction it stretched as far as the eye could see, a rippling brown-and-white wave of dusty, bawling cattle. From her bed in the wagon, Faith watched Colton up front, next to the wrangler named Smokey. The boy’s small hands gripped the seat tightly to keep from being tossed off, for the wagon bounced over rough, damp ground. The cowboy named John rode alongside.

  It was wonderful to see Colton so happy. The corners of Faith’s mouth curled up as she listened to his high-pitched voice. The conversation kept the two men chuckling.

  “How many are there?” Colton asked in excitement.

  “Better side of two thousand, I reckon.”

  Colton pinched his nose. “Whew. They sure smell awful.”

  Smokey grinned. He untied the bright red bandanna around his neck and handed it over. “Put this ’round your nose.”

  Faith closed her eyes and held the baby close. The men’s deep voices reminded her of Luke, and his image came unbidden into her thoughts. When she’d first seen him, half hidden in the darkness, she’d been petrified with fear. She’d expected cruelty akin to Samuel’s or Ward’s. But he’d been nothing like them, nothing of what she knew men to be. Snuggling deeper into her blanket she relished the warmth. She could almost feel his thumb softly caressing her hand.

  “Look!” Colton shouted. “A bull! He’s fatter than a ton a lard inna molasses can.”

  Faith opened her eyes in time to see Smokey send a long string of tobacco juice streaking from his mouth. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, removing a few stray drops that clung to his whiskers. It was all Faith could do not to gag.

  Colton, however, declared with boyish admiration, “I’d like to learn to spit like that. Will ya teach me? I never seen anyone who could spit so far!”

  In the late afternoon Luke gave direction to make camp and settle the cattle even though Faith’s wagon still hadn’t joined the drive. The warm temperatures, mixed with moisture from the storm the day before, made it muggy and hot. Now, an hour later, Luke watched the approach of Faith’s rickety wagon from the middle of the herd. He was looking for a heifer the men had reported had an infection, probably conjunctivitis. So far, all he’d found were unruly cattle, flies and cow pies.

  His oldest brother, Matt, whistled sharply, a signal they’d used since childhood, and pointed to the wagon. Luke waved back. Both Matt and Mark mounted up and rode over.

  “Here she comes,” Mark, the second oldest McCutcheon brother, drawled. “Can’t wait to see her. From Roady’s description, she’s a real beaut.”

  Luke sighed, resigned to the fact that he’d never hear the end of this. His brothers were champion teasers from way back. They wouldn’t forget this episode for years to come, him having delivered the baby of a woman on the road, all alone, and in a storm. It was the kind of fodder they lived for. “She’s comely. But I wouldn’t go so far to call her beautiful.” Not so, his conscience whispered.

  Matt winked at Mark. “We’ll be the judge of that.”

  “That’s enough,” Luke stressed a little too harshly. “She’s just lost her husband, and I don’t want you two embarrassing her.” Luke eyed them seriously, feeling the strain of his responsibilities, and walking a fine line. He was in charge of the family’s yearly cattle drive for the first time, and his brothers were respectful of that fact. But he had to be careful not to step on too many toes.

  “Damn it, Luke,” Mark snapped back. “Quit being so cross. The past two months have been long and dirty. Anything to take our minds off those surly bovines.”

  “Anything? I wonder if your wife would feel the same.”

  Instantly Luke was sorry. Mark’s face went dark. He spun his horse around and galloped off.

  “That was uncalled for.” Matt shook his head. “What’s gotten into you, anyway? You’re touchier than a cornered rattler.”

  Luke inhaled deeply, ignoring the comment. He was testy, and he knew it. Gazing at the nearing wagon wasn’t helping.

  What a difference a day made. How, exactly—and why—was this chance encounter with Faith and the birth of the baby girl occupying his every thought? Where the devil was the Luke McCutcheon of yesterday, the man focused only on getting this herd to its destination, the son proving to his father that he was up to the job? The half-breed proving to himself that his blood was the same as the other McCutcheon brothers. Maybe not exactly, but pretty damn close. As hard as he tried to convince himself something extraordinary hadn’t happened, his heart kept telling him different.

  “We’re nine days overdue as it is. Now, after this storm…I just don’t want to lose any more time over this woman.”

  It was horse manure, and Matt’s expression said he knew that, but the lines around Luke’s older brother’s eyes and mouth softened. He leaned close, eyes beseeching. “We’ve all got ghosts, Luke. But don’t go thinking you’re so different from the rest of us that you can walk around with a chip on your shoulder just begging for someone to knock it off.” He was using the brother-to-brother voice that Luke was intimately familiar with. Matt was the peacekeeper in th
e family, whereas Luke, or so everyone believed, looked for confrontation. “Frankly,” Matt continued, “we’re all gettin’ pretty damn sick of it.”

  Faith’s wagon had stopped, and men crowded anxiously around. Mark was already there, sitting his horse next to Roady.

  Luke snorted, feeling a sharp pang of jealousy, though he didn’t approve of the feeling. “Let’s get over there before they smother her with their curiosity. You’d think she was the only woman in the world to have a baby.” He rode toward the wagon.

  Pushing his way through the cluster, Luke could hear Colton’s high-pitched exclamations: the little scrapper wasn’t afraid of anything. Then, a soft sigh of appreciation rippled through the men, and it grew so quiet you could have heard an ant sneeze. The boy’s mother had appeared.

  Chapter Seven

  HOLDING her baby close, Faith stepped slowly from behind the canvas and carefully settled herself on the wagon seat. The men’s conversations hushed until all was completely quiet.

  Luke rode up alongside and pulled off his hat. All the other hands reached to do the same.

  “Mrs. Brown,” he said.

  “Mr. McCutcheon.” She nodded politely to him.

  A moment of uncomfortable silence passed until Matt rode up next to Luke and smiled at her, forcing Luke’s hand. Luke said, “This is my oldest brother, Matthew McCutcheon.”

  “I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance,” she offered.

  Matt’s smile grew broader as she looked his way. “The pleasure is all ours, Mrs. Brown.”

  Luke pointed to the right and then rested his palms on his saddle horn. “Mark, my second oldest brother, is over there next to Roady, who you’ve already met.”

  “Ma’am,” both men said in unison.

  In the soft evening light, Luke couldn’t help but notice both his brothers’ damp, hat-creased chestnut brown hair. Mindful that his own was raven black, he ran his fingers through it, then put his hat back on. “You’ve met John and Smokey. This is Chance, Bob, Uncle Pete, Earl and Ike. The old goat in back is Lucky, our cook.” Laughter trickled through the men. “Six more are out riding watch.”

  Faith’s eyes grew wider and her free hand came up to touch her child. She seemed a bit bewildered, but she nonetheless gifted them all with a beautiful smile.

  “Ma, did you see how many cattle they have?” Colton spoke up, breaking the awkward moment. He waved in the direction of the herd. “More than the stars in the sky!” The men chuckled good-heartedly again, clearly enjoying him.

  “I did,” she replied.

  Faith’s cheeks were now the color of their mother’s summer roses that would be in full bloom when they reached the ranch. Luke shifted his weight in his saddle, agitated more than he wanted to be by the men’s obvious approval. “All right, back to work!” he called. “John, take the wagon and settle it under those pine trees. Whatever Mrs. Brown needs, take care of it.”

  “Sure thing, boss.” The wrangler stepped forward and took the horses. “Hang on up there.”

  Faith bent over her sleeping infant, pretending to check her. Twelve men? And six more out with the herd. The thought was unsettling, to say the least.

  Daring a glance from the corner of her eye, she watched the men milling around, talking and laughing, apparently glad she and the children would be joining them for a short while. One man she hadn’t noticed before stood apart from the rest. Why hadn’t Luke introduced him? His pants were tucked into tall black boots, and his red vest hugged his upper body snugly. Long hair, unfettered by a hat, moved slightly with the breeze. He must have suffered some sort of horrible accident, because his left cheek was disfigured by a nasty scar. His expression frightened her, too. Their gazes locked, and he grinned in a nasty way.

  When the wagon was settled, Faith waited for an opportunity to talk with John, a man who looked to be her father’s age if he’d still been alive. “Mr. Burg,” she began, until she saw his beseeching expression. “John,” she corrected, “who was the gentleman over there? The one with the red vest?”

  “Red vest? I don’t recall seeing anyone wearing red, Mrs. Brown.” The cowboy securely locked the wagon’s hand brake and then carefully lifted her down.

  “You didn’t see him? Mr. McCutcheon failed to introduce him with the rest of the men.” She didn’t want to seem indelicate, but she needed to know whom she was up against if that vile look had been in fact directed at her. “An awful scar marred his left cheek.”

  John turned abruptly from unhitching the horses. “He ain’t no gentleman. You best stay clear of him.” His tone was upsetting.

  “Why? Who is he?”

  John draped a blanket over Faith’s shoulders. “His name’s Will Dickson. He works for the Broken T, another outfit a hundred miles southeast or so. He’s a bad hombre. Delivered a bull the McCutcheons are buying from his ranch and has been hanging around.”

  Faith scanned the campsite, finding Colton still busy in the wagon.

  “But don’t worry none,” John continued in a fatherly way. “Just you stay away from him, and with all of us here watching over you, he’s ’bout as dangerous as a bee in butter.”

  She ran her hands down the fabric of her old blue dress, thin from continual use, and hoped that were true.

  Chapter Eight

  CHIRPING crickets, hushed voices and the crackle of burning wood drifted over to Faith’s haven, where she was nestled beneath a grouping of ponderosa pines. A light breeze lifted her hem gently and rustled the leaves. Barely audible were the strains of a harmonica. The song being played suggested the musician was missing a sweetheart.

  Pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders, Faith sat gingerly on a blanket laid out on the grass, enjoying a moment of solitude. Colton was over with the men in camp and the baby dozed. The peace was heavenly.

  John completed all her camp chores with a minimum of effort and a smile on his face. He unhitched the horses and took them off somewhere to be with the others, she’d presumed. Whistling cheerfully, he’d gathered armfuls of wood needed for a fire, then worked diligently until he had a nice blaze burning. He even brought her a bucket of water from the chuck wagon.

  “Grub will be ready soon,” he’d told her before leaving. “Just listen for the bell.”

  She might hear the bell, but she had no intention of eating with all those men, regardless of their politeness. No, she’d fix something for herself here at her own wagon. There was flour for biscuits and a little apple cake left. She’d make do.

  The aroma of meat and something else—possibly gravy—drifted over on the breeze. Her mouth watered and her stomach rumbled loudly. She was starving. She’d never experienced anything like it before in her life. The baby was nursing now almost every hour on the hour. Thankfully, regardless of their scant rations of late, she seemed to have plenty of sustenance to satisfy her. For the time being.

  A bell clanged hollowly in camp, the racket going on for a full minute. Men materialized out of nowhere, ambling toward the chuck wagon. Clearly still curious, one by one they glanced in her direction.

  Faith set about gathering her cooking supplies, her stomach grumbling in protest all the while. Colton could eat with the men if he wanted, but she’d eat here. That was that. She’d be fine. It was for the best.

  After measuring a cup of flour into her bowl, she carefully poured some water into a small well she’d formed in the center.

  “Aren’t ya comin’ to dinner, ma’am?”

  Faith’s hands jerked, spilling water onto her skirt.

  “Sorry.” Smokey blushed sheepishly as she brushed the water off as best she could.

  “No harm done.” Faith forced a smile. “I’m just fixing some supper for myself. You go on back and eat before it’s all gone.”

  His look was one of sheer disbelief. “But Lucky will be awful disappointed if you don’t come and eat. He’s rustled up a fine supper with all the fixin’s just for you.”

  She glanced over at the chuck wagon. All
the men stared in her direction. No one was eating.

  “They aren’t waiting for me, are they?” she asked in alarm. Puffs of flour landed here and there as she mixed the batter vigorously, her gaze riveted on the other camp.

  “Of course they’re waiting.”

  She stopped mixing and looked up into Smokey’s face. “Tell them to start.”

  “Lucky won’t let ’em, ma’am.”

  Like it or not, she’d have to take supper with the cowboys. And, she’d best hurry. A passel of hungry, disgruntled men wasn’t her cup of tea.

  Luke sat apart from the rest of the men as the object of his frustration slowly made her way into camp. A braid as thick as his wrist hung down her back, swinging from side to side as she walked. A few maverick wisps of hair had pulled free from their bonds and danced freely in the breeze, caressing her pretty face. In her arms, nestled protectively against her chest, was the baby. Quiet. Sleeping. Wrapped snuggly in his shirt.

  He was about to get up when Matthew went forward and met Faith and Smokey. Luke’s brother usurped Smokey’s position and escorted the woman over to the chuck wagon, where Lucky was happy to take charge.

  The cook forked a thick slab of roast beef onto an enormous plate and ladled on a spoonful of potatoes. He smothered everything with thick brown gravy then added a cob of yellow corn and wedge of red cabbage. Finally, with practiced skill Luke recognized from years of friendship, Lucky squeezed two sourdough biscuits onto the rim of her plate and a heaping dollop of freshly churned butter.