Montana Sky: Nolan's Vow (Kindle Worlds) (Grooms with Honor Book 0)

by Linda K. Hubalek

  Text copyright ©2017 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Debra Holland. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Montana Sky remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Debra Holland, or their affiliates or licensors.

  For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds

  A Word from Debra Holland

  Welcome to Montana Sky World, where authors write books set in my 1880s “world” of Sweetwater Springs and Morgan’s Crossing, Montana. Aside from providing the backdrop and setting and townsfolk, I haven’t contributed to the stories in any way. The authors bring their own unique vision and imagination to the KW books, sometimes tying them into their own series.

  Nolan’s Vow is written by Linda K. Hubalek and starts her new Grooms with Honor series.

  Years ago, I read several of Linda’s historical fiction books in her Butter in the Well series, based on the woman who homesteaded Linda’s family farm. Linda’s books bring that time period vividly to life, and I still remember scenes from Butter in the Well.

  I hope you enjoy reading Nolan’s Vow.

  Debra Holland, New York Times bestselling author

  Chapter 1

  Sweetwater Springs, Montana Territory

  December 1885

  “You going to wait on us or not?”

  Nolan Clancy glanced at the recent irate customer in this little café. The man wasn’t the first to throw a question at the harried waitress. He’d only seen her from the back of her faded black dress as she rushed between the dining room and the kitchen.

  It was a small building with less than two dozen tables to seat customers, and it was full with the travelers who had disembarked the train for food.

  “Come on, lady! Get out here and take our order. Can’t you understand English?”

  “Stupid half-breed,” grumbled the man’s companion at the table.

  One more remark like that and Nolan would introduce himself to the men, and not with a polite handshake.

  “She seems to be alone back there in the kitchen, Ronald. Maybe we should have something other than a ham sandwich?” Nolan tensed at the man’s words and their meaning. Good grief! Besides the room being full where all could hear his remark, he was being just plain crude.

  “Shut up, Griffin. I’m hungry for food, not a squaw.”

  Nolan reached to his right side and flicked open the flap on his holster, making his Remington Army revolver ready to use if need be. He’d already taken off his hat, dress gloves and blue cavalry greatcoat when he entered the building, hanging them on an available hook on the side wall.

  He was officially out of the army as of a few days ago, but maybe still dressed as a soldier would help curb the attitudes of these yahoos.

  The café door opened again, letting in cold air and a swirl of snow as more people walked in, hoping they’d found a place to eat. Unfortunately, the train was full of passengers trapped in a little Montana Territory town, and many had ventured off the train for food and a warmer place to wait out the delay.

  The door opened again as a couple left, unwilling to wait any longer for service. Was there another café in town though?

  When Nolan stepped off the train, all he saw was a single street with a scattering of snow-covered false-front buildings, with empty lots between them. Houses were sparse, situated on either side of the main street. The dwellings ranged from log cabins, wood-framed homes, to a few tents. The town was situated between the mountains and the prairie so it had a smattering of pines, firs, and deciduous trees, which hadn’t been cut down yet for building sites. And everything was covered with a thick layer of snow.

  I wonder if we have snow at home yet. Kansas had cold weather and snow in winter, but it didn’t start as early or last as long as the Montana Territory winters.

  The kitchen door swung open, with the waitress balancing a tray of stacked empty cups on one hand, while carrying a full enamel pot of coffee with her other. Did she have every cup in the café on one tray? Nolan jumped to his feet and came to her aid as the tray started to wobble.

  “Here, let me help you, Ma’am. I’ll take the tray and set it down for you.”

  Her eyes flashed from the tray to his face and her shoulder dipped as he took the tray with both hands. Nolan was glad she grabbed the pot handle with both hands because he was afraid that was the next thing heading for the floor.

  “Seems like you were surprised with a sudden full café. Do you have any help?” She looked at him questionably. Maybe the woman didn’t understand English.

  The woman’s light blue eyes were a contrast to her golden skin but Nolan liked the combination, along with her shiny coal black hair pulled back in a braided bun at the nape of her neck.

  “Ma’am? May I help you serve your customers?” Nolan said slowly, hoping she knew some words other than her own language.

  “Why? Are you an Army cook?” The woman answered in clear English.

  “No, ma’am, I’m Nolan Clancy, just out of the military and heading home. Seems like we’re stuck in your little village for a while so I’d be glad to serve or cook if you need help.”

  “Oh, I don’t know…”

  “I grew up in my grandparent’s café, so I can do anything related to making and serving food...except make a decent pie.” Nolan smiled when his words relaxed her shoulders.

  “I’d really appreciate that. My boss slipped on a patch of ice this morning and is back in bed, so...” She stopped and covered her mouth like she’d said too much.

  “Quit flirting and let the woman get our meals out, Soldier!”

  Nolan took the coffee pot from the woman and set it on the side table beside the tray of cups, and then turned to face the crowded room.

  “Help yourself to the coffee while we dish up and serve the meal then,” Nolan announced while first waving at the table, then at the kitchen door. “After you, Ma’am, I think you have a bunch of hungry customers to feed.”

  Nolan looked around the kitchen as he unbuttoned his fatigue blouse. He’d be plenty warm working in his vest and shirt.

  “What’s your name, Ma’am?”

  “Miss Holly Brandt, sir. Thank you for your help,” she said politely but looked like she was ready to bolt back into the dining room instead of staying by herself with him.

  “Well, Miss Brandt, I’m pleased to meet you and glad to be of service. When I was growing up, our town preacher drilled in us boys to always help a woman in need, be it to cross the street or defend her life.” Nolan looked around where to put his discarded clothing, then draped it across the back of a chair next to the side table.

  “What’s on your menu today, Miss Brandt?”

  “Um, I just made a single pot of stew because we hardly have more than eight to ten people on a bad winter day, and it’s easy to keep warm while customers wander in. I never expected the train to have problems and travelers venturing off to eat here.”

  “You have canned meat and vegetables in your pantry?” Nolan asked as he eyed the pot on the stove, and then the closed door, which probably led to the storage room.

  “Yes, we grew a garden and canned quite a bit for the winter months. Why?”

  “Perfect. We’ll serve Clancy Stew then. Please put two more pots on the stove to warm them up while I get the supplies I need.”

  Nolan knew Miss Brandt was staring at his back when he opened the pantry door, but he was almost excited thi
nking of making his grandfather’s secret stew. He grabbed several varieties of canned vegetables and two jars of canned meat to make an armful of supplies.

  “What are you making?”

  “More stew. I assumed you started this pot hours ago.”

  “Yes, early this morning, before I baked the bread and pies I thought I needed for the day. But I don’t have enough to feed everyone in the packed dining room, let alone if more people wander in next.”

  “Not a problem with my grandfather’s recipe. One pot of his stew could feed ten to sixty people.”

  “How?”

  Nolan was already popping the seals on the glass jar lids he had lined up on the side table while he spoke. “Could you hand me a long wooden spoon, please?

  “Thank you,” Nolan said as he held one open jar of meat over one pot, then proceeded to spoon the contents into a heating pan.

  “Grandpa would heat various canned vegetables, and canned beef if need be, and then mix it with the original batch of stew to make it stretch.”

  “It makes sense, but it wouldn’t taste or look the same as the original stew.”

  “Didn’t matter to Grandpa’s customers. They all knew it would taste good.”

  Nolan noticed the loaves of bread on the worktable and nodded his head toward it as he continued to fill the two pots with the canned goods.

  “Were sandwiches an option for today’s meal?”

  “Yes, made with ham and cheese. Should I start making some sandwiches?”

  Nolan thought a minute before answering. What else did his grandparent’s serve on “stretch the stew” days?

  “Slice the bread loaves, then cut the slices into diagonal halves. We’ll single layer them on a baking sheet, then put slices of cheese on top, and heat them in the oven until it melts. We’ll put two half slices on the plate with a bowl of stew.”

  A man pushed open the kitchen door. “Do you have more coffee made?” he asked.

  Nolan lifted the second pot off the stove and carried it to the door to exchange with the man.

  “Thanks for helping out. We’ll have food out pretty soon.”

  Nolan turned back to Miss Brandt. “What kind of pie did you make for dessert today?”

  “All I made is three cherry pies, so that won’t be enough.”

  “But you have more fruit in the pantry, so we can whip up Grandma’s ‘Berry Crumble’. And do have any cream?”

  “Yes, but it’s not whipped.”

  “Well, we may or may not have the cream whipped depending on our time. Let’s get the main meal out first.”

  ***

  Holly was stunned when Mr. Clancy took over the kitchen, but he soon proved he knew what he was doing. Mrs. Randolph always did the cooking, and Holly took care of the prep work and customers. When her employer slipped on the ice patch this morning on the way to the outhouse, Holly assured the older woman she could handle the usual slow day in the café. Never did she expect to feed sixty people instead of the twenty or so regular customers she expected.

  She was also surprised when the man called out to the men hassling her. She’d heard derogatory comments her whole life because of her parentage, but few people, other than her father, stood up to her hecklers.

  Holly grew up on posts while her father was an interpreter and scout for the Army. Because Holly’s mother was Cheyenne, her father could speak that language, and several other Indian languages, so his service was in demand on the western frontier.

  Mr. Clancy was in his mid-to late twenties, although it was hard to tell with his boyish grin. His brown hair, on the long side, had lighter streaks of gold in it, showing the effects of being in the sun most of the year. Apparently, he wasn’t in the habit of shaving daily because he had a week’s worth of stubble on his face. Or maybe he hadn’t shaved since leaving the service. What she liked the most was the look of trust she saw in his sparkling gray eyes.

  She felt at ease around him, probably because he was a former soldier and wearing the army clothes she’d always seen her father wearing.

  “Okay, we’re ready to serve. Let’s feed your hungry customers.” Mr. Clancy lifted the heavy tray of plates easily and backed into the dining room. Holly carried two more plates and put them in front of customers before picking up and distributing plates from Mr. Clancy’s tray.

  “Today’s specials for all of you are Clancy Stew, cheese wedges, and berry crumble for dessert.” Mr. Clancy announced, therefore not giving anyone a chance to ask for something different.

  They turned to get the next plates when someone called out to question, “What if I want more stew? Not sure this will be enough to fill me up.”

  “Each extra bowl of stew is ten cents. We have plenty so eat up and enjoy.”

  Holly gulped down a protest thinking of how far they’d stretched the stew so far, but Mr. Clancy thought they’d have enough.

  By the time they served forty meals, four men were holding up their bowls for a refill.

  “That’s good stew. I want another.” The man who had given her a hard time was now asking for more? What will he say when the first bowl won’t taste like the second?

  “Coming right up, sir, then we’ll start handing out desserts next. Anyone need more coffee?”

  Several cups went up in the air indicating they wanted refills.

  “Miss Brandt will be happy to pour more coffee while I refill the stew bowls,” Mr. Clancy called out, as if he was running the place, which he was today.

  “Don’t forget to leave a tip for your waitress, besides for your extra bowls of stew.” Holly heard Mr. Clancy say under his breath while clearing tables.

  “Why?” the man questioned him.

  “Because it was a good meal, good service and she had to put up with your rude comments.”

  “But she’s a….”

  Mr. Clancy cut him off with hard stare and cold reply. “She deserves your respect because she’s a woman. Weren’t you ever taught manners?”

  “We can go outside and I’ll teach you some manners, Soldier.”

  “Come on, Griffin. Just shut up and pay up. We had a good meal. Let’s go see if the train is leaving this afternoon.”

  Holly watched from the kitchen door as Mr. Clancy collected money from the last two—and worst—customers, and walked them out of the café. She knew the soldier could take care of himself, but she’d thought about pulling Mrs. Randolph’s shotgun out of its hiding place just in case.

  Holly went back into the kitchen and poured hot water over the soap shavings she’d added to the washbasin. The worst thing about many customers was it left her with a lot of dishes to wash. But Mrs. Randolph would be so happy to see the cash this large group brought in today. Holly knew money was a concern for the widow, and she was happy she would help the kind woman who had taken her in after her father died a year ago.

  Mr. Clancy carried a loaded tray of dirty dishes into the kitchen and set it down on the side table.

  “Now I remember the worst job I had to do in my grandparent’s café.”

  Holly looked over her shoulder as she lowered the first handful of silverware into the hot water. “Let me guess. Washing dishes?”

  “Yes, you know what washing dishes can do to your hands. Now imagine how a teenage boy might be razzed for having ‘dishpan hands’. The skin on my hands was always red, cracked, and sore.”

  “You could have rubbed some salve on them after washing dishes,” Holly pointed out.

  “Nah, then I would have been accused of having pretty girl hands,” he teased back.

  Holly stopped to look up at Mr. Clancy, and was caught off guard by his pleasing grin.

  “Well, washing dishes is part of my job, so your hands are safe today, Mr. Clancy.”

  “I thank you for that, but I’ll be glad to dry the dishes for you,” he offered.

  “Don’t you need to check on the train? You don’t want to miss it leaving.”

  “One of the customers in here heard it might not leave
until tomorrow.”

  “Oh dear. That means I could have another full café for supper tonight and tomorrow’s breakfast.” Holly pursed her lips, embarrassed she’d said that aloud.

  “Hinting you could use some help for the next few meals, Miss Brandt?”

  “No, just thinking of something I could stretch like your grandfather’s stew,” she bantered back, waiting for the smile she knew would follow.

  “Chili can be stretched by adding more beans, but you have to plan ahead and have the beans soaked the night before.”

  “Or chicken and dumplings could be stretched. I can make more dumplings and add more canned chicken if need be,” Holly felt good with her answer.

  “Make plenty of quick biscuits too, and what you don’t use tonight you can serve in the morning.”

  “What about serving biscuits for breakfast?” They both turned around when they heard Mrs. Randolph speak behind them.

  “Why did you come downstairs when your side is so sore, Myrtle?” Holly quickly dried her hands on a towel and helped the older woman sit down on a chair in the kitchen.

  “It was so noisy down here I figured you had quite a few people for lunch, and would need help cleaning up,” Myrtle said while carefully sitting down with Holly’s help. “And who is this soldier helping you in my kitchen? Hello, son, I’m the widow Myrtle Randolph.”

  “Nolan Clancy at your service, Ma’am,” the man said as he shook Myrtle’s hand. “Miss Brandt served fifty-seven plates for lunch today and I volunteered to help with the dishes as part of my pay.”

  “Oh dear. You still haven’t eaten your meal,” Holly exclaimed, feeling her face blush, thinking of her taking advantage of the stranger’s help, and then not feeding him.

  “Holly, please dish up some leftovers then so we can all eat,” Myrtle instructed her.

  Holly hated for Myrtle to come downstairs, yet she felt more at ease than being with the soldier by herself. He might have been polite at first, but maybe it was a ploy to get her alone.

  “Where you been stationed, Mr. Clancy?” Myrtle asked the question Holly hadn’t had time to ask yet. Holly listened to the two converse while bringing their filled bowls to the table.