Montana Untamed (Bear Grass Springs, Book One): Bear Grass Springs, Book One

by Ramona Flightner

  She rummaged in the icebox, frowning to find little besides butter and milk inside. “What are you to eat for dinner tonight?” she asked as she turned away from the barren icebox.

  He shrugged. “I hope Sorcha’s at the Merc and the butcher’s now. Her cooking’s improved and so has our appetites.” His stomach growled again.

  “Please, eat,” Annabelle said.

  He sat at the table with a glass of milk and his slices of buttered bread.

  “I would offer to start preparations, but I can conjure up nothing with what is at hand other than the bread and butter you now eat.” She sighed, leaning against the counter.

  “Why are you here?” He furrowed his brow as his gaze dropped momentarily to her curves, poorly concealed in a plain light-green dress with no adornment. Rather than hide her lush figure, it enhanced it. He shook his head and focused on the plate in front of him, his ears reddening.

  She turned, rummaging for an apron, and tied that around her waist before she sat across from him.

  “If you believe an apron will save you from a man’s gaze, you’re a fool,” he muttered.

  “I beg your pardon?” Annabelle asked.

  “I meant no offense,” he said with a shrug.

  “I don’t go around staring at men who I find attractive,” she sputtered. “There’s no reason men can’t control their gazes as I’m expected to control mine.”

  He opened and closed his mouth a few times, finally opting to drain his glass of milk. “You’re right in principle, but you must know that’s not how things are.” He grinned as she shook her head in consternation. “I hear your bakery continues to be a roaring success.”

  She nodded. “I almost have too much work.” She attempted and failed to hide a triumphant smile. They sat in companionable silence for a moment. “Why don’t you have an accent like your siblings?” She flushed as the question burst from her as though out of her control.

  He laughed. “In my mind, I think like a Scotsman. Like a Highlander. But I found that, when I emigrated, I was accorded more respect—and fewer tried to fleece me—when I sounded more like a typical American. Now it’s second nature.” He shrugged. “My accent tends to reappear when I’m angry.”

  “I doubt I’ll ever talk like the locals.” Her shoulders stooped as though crestfallen.

  “Why would you want to? You’ve a lovely accent.” He smiled at her. “And in Bear Grass Springs, it’s all yours.” He rose, depositing his dish in the sink. He turned to face the doorway as the front door slammed shut. “Hello, Sorcha. You’ve kept Miss Evans waiting.”

  Sorcha entered, her basket nearly overflowing. She smiled appreciatively as Cailean grabbed the basket and set it on the table. “I was waylaid by that horrible Mrs. Jameson. She attempted to ascertain why Alistair and Leticia have yet to set the date.” She shuddered. “I can’t stand that woman.” She focused on Annabelle. “Did Cailean tell you my cooking is becoming edible?”

  “Aye, she’s finally learning to use the stove.” He grunted as Sorcha elbowed him in his side. He nodded to them and departed out the back door to return to the livery.

  “Why was he here?” Sorcha demanded after he left, spinning to glare at Annabelle.

  Annabelle scrubbed at her forehead. “He answered the door. He told me that he forgot to eat lunch, and so he ate a snack of buttered bread while I waited for you.”

  “I don’t need your help anymore. I know how to use the oven. I can cook all I need.” She thrust her shoulders back, her glare transforming into a glower. “I’d think you’d know Cailean wouldn’t want anything to do with a woman like you.”

  “A woman like me? A successful businesswoman who knows how to cook?” Annabelle smiled as she met Sorcha’s frown. “A woman able to care for herself without relying on her brothers? Is that what you mean?”

  “Get out,” Sorcha hissed. “Ye are no’ wanted or needed here. I’ll never understand why Cailean asked ye to come here.”

  Annabelle opened her mouth to correct Sorcha and then shook her head. “Good luck with dinner. I hope your brothers don’t end up at the café, looking for a decent meal.” She spun on her heel, slamming the front door behind her.

  Chapter 5

  Leticia studied Annabelle. “What’s got you so riled?” Leticia swiped at her sweaty brow and continued to wash a pan in the sink. An early warm spell had hit on the first Friday in June, and the front and rear windows were open to allow any cooling breeze to enter the confined kitchen space as the large ovens overheated the room.

  “Sorcha MacKinnon is the rudest person I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.”

  Leticia laughed. “She goes out of her way to make enemies rather than friends. What did she say to you?”

  “Ewan MacKinnon begged me to teach her to cook. It seems the brothers were near starving. I helped her almost a week ago, teaching her how to use the gorgeous stove her eldest brother bought her.” She glared at the baking supplies set out in front of her. “Yesterday I returned to help her, in the free time I don’t have.”

  “And she was rude again?” Leticia asked, biting her lip to prevent from laughing.

  “There is no word to describe the insolence of that woman!” She stopped and took a deep, calming breath. “Can you believe she accused me of attempting to entrap her eldest brother, when all he did was answer the door?” She sighed. “I admit I was in the kitchen with him as he ate a snack while I waited for her.”

  Leticia’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “You must guard against such gossip. You never know what he could be accused of doing in the kitchen.” She burst out laughing as Annabelle blushed. “Did you set Sorcha straight that Ewan, not Cailean, had arranged for you to help her?”

  “Of course not. After she declared she was competent and needed no further help, why should I correct her misconception?” Annabelle sighed. “I resent how she judges me without knowing me.”

  Leticia nodded, sobering. “Alistair is frustrated with her too. Something happened in Scotland, but he won’t say what.” She met Annabelle’s questioning gaze. “I suspect he knows.”

  “She should be thankful for discreet brothers. If that Mrs. Jameson were to catch wind of any hint of scandal …” Annabelle shuddered. “I swear, she visits the bakery most days just to ensure I’m still open and to see if there is anything to report to her friends.”

  A few minutes later, as Leticia wiped dry the pans on the drying rack, she asked, “What are you wearing to the event?”

  Annabelle looked at her friend with confusion. “What event?”

  Leticia rolled her eyes. “The event celebrating the town’s founding. Tonight. You can’t have forgotten about it as that’s all anyone has talked about for weeks.”

  “Oh, I’m not going. I’m too tired, and I have to bake tomorrow.”

  Leticia glared at Annabelle, muttering about hardheaded women before entering the storefront to attend customers. When she returned to the kitchen area, Annabelle was occupied, measuring flour and sugar, so Leticia remained quiet so as not to interrupt her count. When Annabelle mixed her ingredients, Leticia began her persuasion campaign. “It would appear snobbish to the townsfolk if you didn’t attend the celebration.”

  “They’ll understand. They’d rather have their breads, cakes, and cookies for Saturday than my presence tonight.”

  “How can you say such a thing?” Leticia held her hands on her hips as she glared at Annabelle. “You’re new to this town, and you are denying them the chance to show you their hospitality. It’s rude.”

  “I don’t want to appear rude. However, I’ve never been one to enjoy such festivities.”

  “Why? I’d think you’d enjoy dancing.” She smiled as her friend flushed. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? You do enjoy dancing, but you were told you shouldn’t.” At Annabelle’s nod, Leticia smiled. “Well, no one here will be upset that the pretty single baker has an inclination to dance. There aren’t enough women here, and most men spend the evening on
the side of the dance floor, dreaming of holding a woman in his arms, if only for a dance.”

  “I’m not attending to fulfill some man’s dream.” She clapped a hand over her mouth as Leticia chortled. “That didn’t come out right.”

  “No, but maybe you should attend so you could fulfill your own.” She met her friend’s hesitant gaze. “You’ve lived long enough under the expectations of others. Now’s the time to determine what it is you want.”

  Annabelle rapped the wooden spoon on the bowl. “Did it ever occur to you that I am doing what I want? That this bakery is my dream?” She swiped the back of her hand over her forehead, smudging it with flour. “I don’t need anything else.”

  Leticia sighed. “I can see that you wish that were true. But even you hear the lie in your words.” She met Annabelle’s glare. “If you decide to come, you’ll hear the music start around five.”

  Annabelle muttered about interfering friends and then turned her back to focus on baking.

  That evening, Annabelle ran a hand over her light-blue calico dress before ensuring her hair was in place. She huffed out a breath as her nerves nearly failed her before she straightened her shoulders and marched into her kitchen, picking up the basket of cookies she had made for the town dance and celebration. After pocketing the bakery key, she walked with measured steps toward the sounds of the festivities in a field by the schoolhouse.

  “Annabelle!” Leticia called out. “It’s wonderful you arrived.” She beamed at her friend, and Annabelle relaxed at the warm welcome. Handing over her basket to a gaggle of women intent on presenting all food in an equally favorable manner, Annabelle slipped to the side, hoping to remain an observant wallflower as she stood against the wall of a barn on the property.

  She stood, watching Leticia laugh and joke with the women behind the food tables. A low voice caused her to jump.

  “I thought ye’d join Leticia. Ye are our town baker.”

  She turned to meet Alistair’s teasing, curious gaze. “I’ll let you in on a secret. I tire of being around food.” Her ease disappeared as she watched the women. “Besides, most of them tolerate me at best.”

  “Tolerance is always a good place to start,” he murmured. “And now I’ll let ye in on a secret. They set the food out in two rows, one in front of the other. The edible food is in front. Only those who are truly daring or don’t ken any better will eat food from the back row.”

  He raised his eyebrows as Annabelle stifled a giggle. His glance roved from Leticia talking with the town’s womenfolk to the play area in front of the school where many of the children gathered. He seemed to relax when he saw Hortence running around, playing tag with her friends.

  “You’re wonderful with Hortence.”

  His startled gaze returned to her. “Of course.” He studied her a moment. “Are ye glad to finally have some festivities in this town, Miss Evans?”

  Annabelle forced a smile as she bit back a grimace. “I’m so very … delighted.” His bark of laughter sparked a few curious glances, and she blushed.

  “Never take up poker, Miss Evans. Ye’d lose all ye own.” He shook his head. “Why wouldn’t ye want to celebrate the town’s founding?”

  She shrugged before nodding her thanks to a man who approached and offered her a glass of punch. After he wandered away, and she had taken the requisite sip, she sighed. “I prefer to live a quiet life.”

  “Ye mean, hidden away in yer bakery, yer only contact with others when ye sell ’em yer goods an’ take their coins?” He shook his head. “Which ye rarely even do as ye have Leticia runnin’ interference on that. I don’t see playin’ with flour and sugar satisfyin’ ye for long.”

  She stiffened next to him, any sense of ease disappearing. “What gives you the right to contemplate my life?”

  He sighed. “Ye’ve made a friend of Leticia. She’ll be my wife. No’ as soon as I’d like, but she will be.” He shared an intense look with Annabelle. “I care for those close to me and mine, Miss Evans.”

  Annabelle shook her head in confusion before smiling at another man and turning him down for a dance as the fiddlers began to play. “I don’t understand.”

  “With Leticia and Hortence spendin’ so much time at yer place, I’ve been keepin’ an eye out for ye too. I’ve listened to her stories about ye. And I’ve come to my own conclusions.”

  Annabelle rolled her eyes. “And by your extraordinary deductive abilities you’ve decided I’m not content? That I’ll become wild someday?”

  He frowned at her words and shook his head. He glared as another man approached, and the man slunk away before he asked Annabelle to dance. “Nae. That’s no’ what I’m sayin’.” His accent thickened as he became more agitated. “Since ye arrived in town and met Cail in the Merc, ye’ve lived a buttoned-up life, afeared ye’ll put a foot out of step, an’ be forced to live a life like yer sister.” His gaze roved over her. “Ye’ve squashed out any chance for joy.”

  She vibrated with fury next to him. “You have no right to stand here and pass judgment. You who can’t even convince the woman you want to marry you.” She hissed as she saw him flinch at her words. “I beg your pardon. That was uncalled for.”

  Alistair fisted his hand and rapped it against his thigh a few times. “What ye said was no less true than what I said.” He sighed before half smiling. “Ye wouldna have felt a need to act like a cornered cat if my words were no’ part true.”

  Annabelle forced a smile as Irene and Harold approached them. Irene was called away to the food tables, and Harold ambled over, his eyes gleaming with interest as he noted the tension between Annabelle and Alistair. Although he stood at least half a foot taller than his wife, he was still inches shorter than Alistair. Harold’s eyes seemed to twinkle with constant mischief. Annabelle found her smile became genuine as he joined them.

  “I’ve always wondered why the town goes about celebrating such a day. And in such a fashion. Never seemed like there was much to celebrate.” Harold took a sip of his punch and sighed in contentment.

  Alistair frowned as he tasted it. “Sickly sweet.”

  “Why shouldn’t a town celebrate its beginning?” Annabelle asked, ignoring Alistair and the sweet punch.

  “Well, any excuse for a party is a good one. An end to winter or beginning of summer celebration would make as much sense. Or a lilac party.” He swept his hand out to the end-of-season lilac bouquets on each table. “But to celebrate those two ornery ba … men seems sacrilegious.”

  Alistair sighed. “Since yer near burstin’ with the need, tell us about ’em.” He hooked one foot across the other and leaned against the wall of the barn.

  Harold raised his cup to Alistair as though he were astute and then grinned at Annabelle. “I had the misfortune of meeting them both when their paddleboat came into Fort Benton. I’d hoped the Indians had gotten them. Or their own stupidity.” He smiled apologetically at Annabelle’s shocked gasp. “Mr. Bachman was a miserly, miserable man. A visionary with no grace, charm, or charisma. He could have found the way to the Promised Land, and I would have given any excuse not to travel there with him.” Harold chuckled. “His partner, Mr. Erickson, was a snake-oil peddler. I always patted my pocket to ensure my billfold was still inside as I feared I’d been swindled of it by his smooth talking.”

  “Sounds as though Mr. Bachman didn’t need charisma if he had Mr. Erickson,” Alistair said, his curiosity piqued against his better wishes.

  Harold cackled out a gleeful laugh as Irene joined them. “Oh, they hated each other. Yet they needed each other to survive as Mr. Erickson had no head for business or ideas but could peddle what was put in front of him.”

  Irene sighed. “I was always thankful I had no daughters. That man was too charming for his own good. Then, one day, I heard they’d bought a wagon, and were headed out of town.”

  “No easy feat when you have to climb those bluffs and venture into the scrub grass.” Harold rubbed at his head.

  “Imagine our surpris
e to realize we’d settled in the town they’d founded,” Irene said with a wide smile. “Seems they wanted the notoriety of a mining town, with plenty of men to swindle.”

  “It’s why they had to leave Fort Benton. Too many men had lost too much money to them, and they knew they had to move on.”

  “Then why is the town called Bear Grass Springs rather than named after them?” Annabelle asked.

  “Well, the name changed not long after their demise. Bachson doesn’t slide off the tongue as easily.”

  Alistair chuckled as he looked at Harold, appearing to bite back words as Annabelle was enthralled by the tale.

  “If rumor is correct, and I fear they are when it comes to those two, they planted the fine metal that was ‘discovered,’ then yelled for all and sundry of the discovery of gold and silver in the creek.” Irene nodded toward the placid waterway, weaving its way in the distance through the meadow.

  “Their dumb luck was that actual silver was to be found up in the hills.” Harold shook his head in wonder.

  “What happened to them?” Alistair asked.

  “Got so drunk they could barely tell up from down and then started a pissing match.” Harold grunted as Irene dug her elbow into his side. “Beg your pardon, Miss Evans. Shot each other in a duel. Rumor has it that Bachman got it right through the temple. Erickson lay on the ground as he bled to death from his wounds.”

  “Too stupid and too drunk to have a doctor around.” Irene shook her head. “An’ the few scraggly whores who remained in town didn’t care to look after either of them.”

  Harold sighed and nodded as he looked over the prosperous town. “That’s who we celebrate today.” He raised his cup. “Never met a worse pair in my life, and that’s saying something.” He called out a greeting to an acquaintance, and Irene moved with him to meet friends and neighbors.