Montana Untamed

by Ramona Flightner

  The inside of the barn was dark, although a patch of light shone at the far end. She used it like a beacon and made her way there. She tried not to jump as horses whinnied or snorted as she passed.

  “Damn it, Alistair. Leave me be!”

  She froze at Cailean’s wounded voice. She inched forward again and paused at the doorway. He sat hunched over his desk, studying something in front of him while he held a glass of whiskey in his hand. “I’m not Alistair.”

  He spun, sloshing whiskey onto his pants. “Belle,” he breathed. “What are you doing here?”

  “Happy Valentine’s Day,” she whispered. She placed the box on his desk and backed up. “I’m sorry I’m so late. I fell asleep after I closed the bakery today.” When he continued to stare at her as though she were an apparition, she flushed. “I brought you something.”

  He rose, ignoring the box, and dropped his whiskey glass to the floor. His hand shook as he raised it, tracing fingertips down her cheek. “You’re really here.”

  “Yes,” she whispered as her throat tightened from unshed tears. “I’m finally here.”

  He looked at the box and raised an eyebrow. At her nod, he opened the lid, stuttering out a breath as he beheld what was inside. He turned to face her. “Truly?”

  She nodded as a tear leaked out. “Yes.”

  He looked again at the cake in the box with white icing and piped words in pink that read: You hold my heart.

  She stammered when she spoke next. “I was afraid it was obvious … as the cake is in the shape of a heart.” She gasped as he spun to her and clasped her cheeks between his strong hands, holding her in place. “I love you, Cailean.”

  He swooped down and kissed her. He tasted of whiskey and desperation and her heart’s desire. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close. After a deep kiss, he pulled away. “I don’t understand. You said there was nothing I could do yesterday.”

  “I already loved you. What more could you do?” She stroked a hand over his stubbled jaw. “I was a fool. I was focused on my orders for today. And I didn’t want to ruin what I had planned for you today. I never meant to cause you pain.”

  She squealed as he pulled her tighter, nearly squeezing the air from her. “I thought I’d lost you. That you wanted a divorce.”

  “No. Never.” She pushed until he backed up enough for her to meet his eyes. “I won’t lie and say there won’t always be some hurt from what happened. I needed you, and you weren’t there.” She put her hand over his mouth to shush him. “However, since that moment, you’ve never let me down. You called the midwife on my behalf. You dared God and the devil himself to take me from you.” She met his chagrined gaze. “I remember that from my fever-induced haze.”

  She leaned forward and kissed him. “You stocked my woodpile. You brought me water in the dead of winter. You aided Fidelia, in every way I could have hoped you would.” She blinked away tears.

  “You love her, and her pain hurts you,” he said around her fingers. “I hate to see you hurt.”

  Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I’m sorry it took me so long to realize I was clinging to my fear with as much fervor as you had clung to yours. And I did as much damage.”

  “Don’t absolve me, Belle. I lost the chance to know the joy you felt at the dream of our bairn. To be there when you became ill.” He let out a stuttering breath. “If I hadn’t acted as I did, you may never have lost our bairn.”

  She tried to swallow a sob and lost. She buried her face in his shoulder, crying in his arms again. “I’m sorry. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry tonight.”

  “You’re so strong. So independent.” He kissed her head as her sobs abated. “I fear you don’t need me.”

  She leaned back in his arms and smiled as tears continued to course down her cheeks. “Of course I need you. Your strength gives me courage. Those few months of harmony were the best of my life. I knew you supported my work and that I could come home, every night, and you would listen and tease and support me. You’d ease my worries about those who aggravated me, helping me see the humor and joy in my day.” She looked into his eyes. “Every day with you, before it all changed, you brightened my life.”

  He made a sound of distress in his throat. “I hate that I ruined it. Give me a chance to make it right. Please tell me that this cake, this declaration, means you’re moving home.”

  She smiled. “Yes. I want to be with you. Forever.” She traced a finger down his chest before she blushed. “Before we leave the barn, I was hoping you’d live out a fantasy with me.”

  He stilled. “What is that?”

  She leaned forward and kissed him. “Make love with me in your barn.”

  He laughed and lifted her, carrying her through the door to an empty clean stall. He set her on her feet and held up a finger, asking her silently to wait, as he marched back into the office. He returned with a blanket that he set on the clean hay. “Everyone thinks hay is romantic. It itches like the devil.” He tugged her down with him, and they knelt in front of each other.

  He stared into her eyes, the shaft of light from the office illuminating half her face. He cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing over her soft skin. “I can’t believe you’re actually here with me.” He leaned forward and kissed her lips, gently curved up in a smile. “That you are brave enough to forgive me.”

  She did not allow him to deepen the kiss before pulling back. “I may have moments of weakness. I will need you to work through them with me.”

  “Aye. I understand those well enough. Mine almost cost us our marriage.” He swooped down and kissed her again, deepening the kiss. He eased her backward, leaning over her with his weight on his knees and elbows. He groaned as she arched up into his touch. “I never thought you’d let me touch you again.”

  “I’ve missed you.” She gasped as he traced fingers over her corset-covered breast. “I’ve missed this.” She held his worried gaze.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered.

  “I spoke with the midwife today. She came in for cookies, and there was a lull in customers.” She gasped as he eased her dress open, his kisses following her parted dress. “There should be no reason we can’t enjoy each other.”

  He leaned back, and his grin was visible in the office light. “Is that what you call making love now?”

  She giggled before tugging his shirt free and easing it off his head. She kissed his shoulder and chest. She smiled as his breath hitched at her soft touches. “I love that you react to me as I do to you.”

  He tugged pins from her hair, loosening it so that it poured over her shoulder. “Until the day I die, I’ll want you.” He kissed her deeply. “My Belle.” They freed each other of their clothes, rediscovering their passion and love.

  A while later he smiled as he felt her stir in his arms. She kissed his shoulder before placing her head over his heart. “I love you, Belle. You an’ no other.”

  Her breath hitched at his words. “I understand if you still love Maggie.”

  He kissed her head. “A part of me will always love her. But she’s gone. You’re my wife. My future. You’ll be the mother of my bairns.” He moved so that a shaft of office light lit her face. “Saying I love you doesn’t seem enough.”

  She sighed as she arched up to kiss him. “You’ve shown me your love too, Cailean.” She smiled as she pulled a piece of hay from his hair and then giggled when his stomach growled.

  “I didn’t eat dinner,” he said as he nipped at her lips. He stilled as he stared at her. “Is the cake chocolate?” At her nod, he gave a small whoop of joy. He tugged on his pants, wrapped her in the blanket, and carried her into his office.

  “I hate destroying your work of art.” He stared at the cake reverently.

  “There’s nothing that a baker likes more than to know that others find her food delicious.” She kissed him and smiled as he forgot about the cake and focused on her. When she broke the kiss, she whispered, “And you were smart enough to marry the b
aker. I can bake you cakes anytime you want.”

  He laughed and pulled her close. After a moment, when his stomach had growled again, she wriggled out of his hold and reached around him. She pulled two forks out of a small envelope attached to the side of the box. “I hoped we’d have a reason to eat this privately.”

  He gave her a quick kiss before grabbing a fork and spearing it into the cake. He groaned with pleasure after the first bite. “Heaven,” he said between mouthfuls.

  She laughed and took a bite. She nodded. “Not bad. I might add a bit more vanilla next time.”

  After he had devoured one-third of the cake, he groaned and dropped his fork. “I couldn’t eat another bite, even if I wanted to.” He traced a finger from her hairline to her jaw. “I should get you to bed. You’ve had a long day and your only day off is tomorrow.”

  She smiled mischievously at him. “No, it isn’t. Tomorrow is Sunday and my normal day off, and I’ve given myself Monday off, too.”

  His grin broadened. “Then it will be like two Sunday mornings for us,” he whispered. “Finally.”

  “Finally.” She squealed as he picked her up, wrapped only in a blanket, and carried her through the barn, across the yard to the house, and then upstairs to their bedroom where he deposited her in the center of their bed. “That was scandalous.”

  “Forgive me if I embarrassed you.” His gaze was unrepentant as it beheld her, covered in an old blanket from the barn, on their bed. “Let me love you again,” he whispered.

  “Yes,” she gasped, arching up to meet his kiss as his callused palms roamed over her.

  In between kisses he whispered, “For so long I’ve dreamed of you in our bed again.” He pulled her tight, holding her close. “Please don’t leave me again.”

  She shuddered. “I won’t, love.”

  He inched away until he could meet her gaze. “And I promise to never treat you like I did last summer and fall, which forced you to leave me.” His eyes lit with joy as she nodded her understanding.

  She tugged him down to her. “Join me in bed, husband.”

  He sighed. “With pleasure, my wife.” He kissed her neck. “My Belle.”

  Chapter 14

  The following morning, Annabelle crept into Fidelia’s room. She smiled at Sorcha as she slipped out to grant the sisters privacy. Annabelle grabbed her sister’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Dee, I hope you can hear me. I hope you know how much I love you and that I’ll always help you in any way I can.”

  Fidelia cracked her eyes open, the brilliant blue dulled by pain. “Where have you been?”

  “I was busy with orders for Valentine’s Day. And then, when I arrived last night, you were asleep. I spoke with Cailean.” Her blush intensified at the knowing look in her sister’s eyes.

  “You reconciled with him. You have the look of a satisfied woman.” She groaned as she attempted to shift in the bed.

  “Yes. We forgave each other.” She pushed back her sister’s hair, frowning at the pain she saw in her sister’s gaze. “What can I do?”

  “You’ve done all you can. You’ve allowed me a respite from my life. It’s a wonderful gift.”

  When it seemed she was slipping into sleep again, Annabelle squeezed her sister’s hand. “I don’t want it to be a respite, Dee. I want you to leave the Boudoir and never return.”

  Fidelia closed her eyes in resignation. “It’s the only work available for a woman like me. I refuse to live on charity.”

  Annabelle made a sound of distress as she glared at her sister. “Fidelia, you don’t have to live on charity. You have a bank account with enough money to survive for years if you are frugal. Why won’t you consider a new life?”

  “I will never take his money. I’ve told you that. I’d rather see it rot in the bank than ever touch it.” She glared at her sister.

  Annabelle huffed out a frustrated breath. “You know as well as I do that allowing your family to aid you is not charity. I want to help you, Dee. You must learn to accept help—as I have.” She fought tears. “I can’t bear the thought of you returning there. Of that man having the chance to hurt you again.”

  Fidelia grimaced as she moved. “My choices—and my mistakes—are mine to make, Anna.” She opened her eyes and glared at her sister. “Just because you aided me doesn’t give you the right to believe you can make decisions for me.”

  Annabelle swiped at her cheek as a tear fell. “I don’t mean to act like Father.” She reached forward and touched her fingers to her sister’s arm. “Do you know what it was like, being summoned to the Boudoir in the dead of night? Arriving and not knowing if you’d still be alive? And then finding you unconscious in that tiny room, barely breathing?” She shook her head. “I refuse to feel guilty for wanting to protect you, Dee.”

  She blanched as Fidelia muttered, “You’re six years too late.”

  “I see.” Annabelle sat stiffly in her chair, her hand folded on her lap. “No matter what I do, no matter how much I show you that I care, you’ll never forgive me.” She sniffled as Fidelia’s silence was her answer. “You should know, Dee, whatever you believe to be true, know that I love you. And I won’t be truly happy until you are free of the Boudoir.”

  She rose and stumbled out, walking downstairs to the kitchen. She bumped into Sorcha as she moved toward the stove. Sorcha pushed her to the table, and she sat. She barely noticed when Sorcha placed a cup of coffee in front of her.

  “What’s the matter, Annabelle?” Sorcha asked. She sat across from her and sipped from her cup of coffee.

  “Nothing I do will ever make amends for what I did—or failed to do—for Fidelia in the past.” She shared a tortured look with Sorcha. “It doesn’t matter what I do now. All that counts is what I didn’t do.”

  Sorcha made a disapproving sound in her throat. “She’s in pain. She’s embarrassed. She’ll come around.”

  Annabelle rubbed at her face. “I don’t believe she will. And I can do nothing about it. She told me once how she didn’t know what she would do if she couldn’t feed her resentments. I never understood the strength of that conviction until now.”

  Sorcha’s fingers thrummed on the table as she stared out the window, lost in thought. Light snow showers had begun to fall, and a gentle wind blew the snow outside.

  “What is it, Sorcha?”

  “If that is what happens when ye cling to what ye perceive to have been done against ye …” She shook her head as her gaze remained distant. “I dinna want to be like her.”

  Annabelle focused on her sister-in-law as she attempted to ignore her nagging concerns about her sister. “What happened to you, Sorcha?”

  “Nothing happened to me,” she whispered. “Except my mum wasna Cailean’s mum. Or Alistair’s or Ewan’s.” She flicked a glance through her lowered lashes to gauge Annabelle’s reaction. When she saw that Annabelle was not repulsed by the revelation, Sorcha relaxed. “My father had an affair. An’ I was the result.”

  “But you were raised with your brothers?” Annabelle asked. “How wonderful to have still known family. You weren’t cast away and forced to live without knowing your father’s love. Your brothers’ love.”

  Sorcha shrugged. “My mother … my brothers’ mother always resented me. I never understood why.”

  Annabelle nodded as she thought through conversations with Sorcha and Cailean. “This is why you were so hard on my sister. Because you feared you would be considered like her?”

  Sorcha nodded, her gaze drenched with tears. “I was no better than the likes of Mrs. Jameson. I’m sorry, Anna. But I was so ashamed.”

  Annabelle gripped her sister-in-law’s hand. “Rather than focusing on your differences with your brothers, I’d rejoice in how you are alike.” She smiled as she met Sorcha’s dazed gaze. “And give thanks that they’ve never seen you as anything but their little sister.”

  Sorcha smiled. “I’ve acted like my mother … my adopted mother. Allowing bitterness and prejudice to guide me. I dinna want to b
e like her.”

  “What was your mother like?”

  Sorcha shrugged. “I dinna ken. She died when I was a bairn, after my birth.” Sorcha’s gaze sought Annabelle’s, as though reminding herself how close her sister-in-law had come to death due to a pregnancy. “Cailean told me how she lit up a room by entering it.”

  Annabelle smiled. “What a wonderful way to remember a person.” She squeezed Sorcha’s hand. “You do that too, when you aren’t glowering at your brothers.”

  Sorcha laughed, as Annabelle had hoped she would. “What will ye do for yer sister?”

  Annabelle gazed out the window, frowning to see that the snow was thickening. “I don’t know. There isn’t much more I can do to show her I care. If this isn’t enough, then I can’t force her to change the way she perceives me.” Annabelle took a deep breath. “I must continue to hope that her future will not always be overshadowed by her past.”

  Annabelle approached Cailean’s home, her home she reminded herself, pausing to maneuver around a snow pile before walking up the two front steps. Late afternoon sunlight glinted off the fresh snow, enhancing the brilliant blue of the sky above. She came to an abrupt halt when Mrs. Jameson stepped in front of her, bristling with indignant outrage.

  “I never thought such a thing would come to pass in this town,” Mrs. Jameson said, her voice carrying on the slight breeze.

  Annabelle straightened her shoulders to further perfect her posture and attempted an impersonal smile for Mrs. Jameson. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Harboring whores outside of their accepted den of depravity. The upstanding citizens of this fine town tolerate their presence because we know we will not have the misfortune of mingling with them. Now. Now!” Her voice rose to a shriek. “Now, to know that to visit the livery, we are aiding a man in his illicit pursuit of pleasure.” She shuddered. “Is such vice to be borne in our town?”

  Annabelle leaned toward Mrs. Jameson, her chest heaving with her anger. “You consider yourself charitable?” She scoffed as Mrs. Jameson preened at the term. “If I bought you a dictionary, you wouldn’t be able to find the term. You’re heartless and mean and spiteful. You live off of others’ misfortunes in an attempt to feel significant.”