A Valentine's Choice: A Montana Sky Series Holiday Novella (The Montana Sky Series) (9 page)

“My place is about the size of the Thompson’s here, in a snug green valley with lush grazing.” He tilted his head in the direction of Samantha’s home. “My house is perhaps a little narrower. Bigger porch. It’s painted blue instead of white.”

“Blue?” Bridget queried, intrigued, and wished she could see the place.

“I’m partial to blue. It’s sort of…” He looked around as if seeking something with the color he wanted. “Dark blue. With white trim.”

“Sounds attractive.”

“Matching stables and a small barn for the other livestock—pigs, cows. No goats, though.”

She laughed. “Ye might need to acquire some.” Thunder seemed quite taken with the goats, but Patrick had shown silent, although clear, disapproval about the way the twins’ goats visited the horses, often remaining in their stalls to keep them company.

Patrick scowled. “If Thunder becomes attached to one, he’ll pine when we leave. Luckily, the boys have been changing up the goats, so no one single animal is left with him. But, it’s only a matter of time. Of course, I can offer to buy the creature, but those twins obviously love their goats.”

Pain in either choice.
Bridget thought it best to return to their previous topic. “That’s a lot of blue.”

He looked deep into her eyes. “I’m partial to blue,” he repeated.

“So am I,” she whispered, drawn by the intensity in his gaze.

He leaned toward her.

He’s going to kiss me.
Uncomfortable, Bridget rattled out some more words and took a half-step backwards. “But a house isn’t what’s important to me. The potatoes are what matters.”
Security matters.

Patrick pulled back, an expression of annoyance crossing his face. “Those potatoes again. Do you realize the backbreaking amount of labor you’ll do to dig raw land? It’s not like working your garden at home that’s been shoveled over and over again through what…hundreds of years?”

Well no, I haven’t thought of that.
Although daunted by the idea, Bridget raised her chin, determined not to let Patrick know he’d shaken her.

CHAPTER SIX

Sunday morning saw the Thompson family as well as Bridget, Patrick, and Mrs. Toffels squeezed into their regular pew near the front of the Sweetwater Springs church.

Toward the back, James sat between Buck and Deuce, his attention centered on Bridget far more than on the sermon preached by Reverend Norton. She wore her best dress, the one that made her eyes so blue. But he figured she could be in rags and appear just as pretty. He planned to do some courting after the service.

The Thompson hands who’d chosen to attend the service sat among a group of cowboys from other ranches. Their boss wasn’t a stickler about church attendance for his men. When the work permitted, he left the choice up to them, but other ranch owners weren’t so lenient.

Winter light streamed through the side windows but provided no warmth. The heat from the stove in the front corner of the church didn’t reach the entire room, so the cowboys kept their coats on. Reverend Norton, preaching in front of the altar, probably was the warmest person in the building.

With dismay, James noticed several other men casting surreptitious glances Bridget’s way. A cowboy from the Carter ranch nudged the man next to him, pointing her out with a lift of his chin. An unmarried woman, newly come to town, always provoked male interest. And a
pretty
miss was a treat to behold.

Before the service, he’d kept his eye on Banker Livingston who, rumor had it, was in search of a wife. James had seen the man glance at Bridget and then dismiss her, probably because she wasn’t wearing highfalutin’ clothing.
More fool he
.

Livingston’s focus on status and outward appearance could cause the man to end up married to a well-bred, beautiful shrew, who’d make him miserable for the rest of his days. But with the handsome, wealthy banker out of the way, James could keep a dogged watch on any other man sniffing around Bridget and prepare to cut him out.

After the service ended, the congregation milled around outside, but not for long, for the temperature was too cold, unlike in summer when the close of the service heralded the start of a lively social hour.

James tried to move to Bridget’s side, but stopped when he saw Samantha introducing her to the Carters and the Sanders—two prominent ranching families.

After a few minutes, the crowd dispersed—some to head home and others to visit the mercantile, which only opened for an hour after the service.

The hands all traipsed behind the Thompson family to the mercantile—not that the cowboys tended to buy much. Most of them—at least, the ones who’d attended church today—were a thrifty, temperate bunch—rarely even visiting the saloon. But Deuce had a sweet tooth and wanted some candy, and Sid needed more tobacco. James went along because of Bridget, even if Gallagher—the lucky dog—was the one escorting her.

Crossing the street, Buck nudged him. “Better look sharp or Miss Bridget will be swept right out from under your nose, and maybe Gallagher’s as well.”

James shot his friend a sharp look. “We have the advantage. Except for times like this—” he swept his arm to indicate the whole town “—she’s on
our
territory.”

“You’re right about that. Guess the race is between you and Gallagher then. My money’s on you, boy.” He gave a wide grin. “So don’t let me down!”

Let him down?
“What?”

Buck’s expression was smug. “We have a wager. Each man chipped in four bits.”

James groaned. But what could he do? With cowboys, bettin’ was inevitable.

The mercantile was crowded with churchgoers taking advantage of their trip into town. The customers knew they couldn’t linger to gossip like they might on another day.

James roamed the periphery of the store, touching a finger to his hat to acknowledge the women and exchanging greetings with those he knew. Two ample-bodied ladies caused him to swerve wide to go around them, and he ended up near the front counter, where a row of Valentine’s cards propped up in a cardboard holder caught his eye.

They seemed to be frivolous, probably expensive, bits of colorful paper. He doubted the practical, hard-working people of Sweetwater Springs would go for such nonsense. But he couldn’t help another look at the hearts and the lace, and noticed the wistful glances women gave the cards, even one lady old enough to be his grandmother.
Maybe womenfolk put higher store in such things than I do.

With a sudden flash of brilliance, an idea came to him.
I’ll return and buy a card for Bridget!
There was no way he’d choose one now with what seemed like the whole town looking on. Besides, he wanted to take his time and make the perfect choice.

Anticipation filled him at the thought of purchasing a card, presenting it to Bridget, and asking her to marry him.
What a perfect way to propose!

James carried the secret excitement with him during the trip home.

Samantha drove the wagon with her children in the back and Mrs. Toffels and Bridget on the seat beside her. Even seeing the way Patrick rode close to Bridget didn’t dampen James’s enthusiasm.

* * *

In spite of James’s wish to return to town for the card, he and the other ranch hands had themselves two miserable days. A panther had spooked the herd, driving the cattle toward land made marshy by the melting snow and pocked with pits.

In the frigid cold from first light until dark, the men—even Wyatt, Gallagher, and the three older boys—wrestled filthy cows out of holes that held the animals as though they were caught in quagmires filled with glue instead of mud. They saved most of the cattle, but each one they lost hurt—even though they tried to tough out the pain.

They returned late to the ranch and saw to the needs of their horses. Then with stiff, aching muscles, they moved like elderly men into the big house and tracked dirt all over Mrs. Toffels’s clean kitchen. After, hurriedly washing up, they gobbled down the enormous and filling meal she’d kept warm for them and returned to the bunkhouse to fall into bed, only to repeat the whole wretched process the next morning.

Wyatt sent off Buck, his best hunter, to track down and kill the panther, but the man lost the big cat’s trail, only to pick up the spore near dusk on the second day and make his shot. With the cougar dispatched, the cowboys were able to drive the cattle to firmer ground, where, hopefully, they’d stay.

For two full days, James hadn’t caught sight of Bridget, barely even thought of her except when they rode by the O’Hanlon cabin, and then he always said a prayer that all this would be over before Valentine’s Day. At night in his bunk, he tried to picture her face, but he was too sore and exhausted to see more than a rosy smile before he dropped into deep sleep.

On Wednesday, Wyatt decreed a day of rest. With only the most necessary chores to attend to—mucking out stalls and feeding and watering the livestock—James approached the boss for permission to ride into town.

Wyatt stared at him for a minute. The man’s face was drawn, with lines of fatigue around his eyes. “Can’t you wait until Sunday?”

James fought back a grimace. “Tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day.”

Humor sparked in Wyatt’s eyes, and he looked more like himself. “Ah…I’d forgotten.”

“You’re newly married.” James pointed out the obvious.

Wyatt tapped his chest. “Yes, but I’m not fool enough to leave Valentine’s trinkets until the last minute.”

James made a mental note to learn from the man’s example—if, that is, he was lucky enough to spend his life with a certain lady.

“Check with Mrs. Toffels before you leave to see if she needs anything. Our devouring horde may have cleaned out her cupboards.”

“Will do.” He gave the boss a two-fingered salute and loped to the kitchen. The sooner he started out, the sooner he’d be back.

* * *

During the two days the men had been working on the range long into the evening, both Bridget and Sally moped. Well, they moped on the inside. Bridget covered her feelings with cheerful conversations. And since Sally was equally pleasant, Bridget could only conclude her cousin felt the same pang over the men’s absence—or rather, her husband’s absence.

On Monday, Sally napped, giving Bridget time to play with the Falabellas and the goats and keep Thunder company. Patrick wouldn’t risk the valuable Thoroughbred out on the range and had borrowed one of Wyatt’s mounts, so he could ride out and help the men save the floundering cattle. She wished for the chance to exercise the stallion but didn’t dare do so without permission.

The first night when Harry finally came home, he was so filthy, except for his face and hands, that he wouldn’t let Sally near him until he’d stripped off his clothes and donned a nightshirt.

Bridget played least-in-sight, hiding in the loft until the couple was in bed. For the first time, she felt like she was imposing, for the newlyweds didn’t have privacy and a chance to spend any time alone. Not that it mattered, for judging from the ragged snores, Harry was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Bridget spent Tuesday helping Samantha and Mrs. Toffels wash the men’s mucky clothing, an arduous job given how dirty the water turned, and how often they had to empty the big wash bucket and fill it up again.

Bridget gave thanks for the indoor plumbing. Back home she’d had to haul water for twenty feet from an outdoor pump.

When they’d finished the washing and hung everything outside on the clotheslines, they tackled the ironing from the washing Mrs. Toffels and Samantha had done the previous day. Then as evening approached, they brought in the wash, frozen but no longer dripping, and hung the clothes on lines strung across the cellar. By the end of the day, Bridget’s arms and back ached, but she’d enjoyed spending time with the two women. Their light-hearted conversation had made the hard work easier.

On Wednesday, Bridget couldn’t wait to see James and Patrick and hear the stories of what they’d been through. The night before, Harry had told them about Wyatt decreeing a lenient workday, and, thus, all of them had slept in later than usual. In the morning, Bridget dressed and left the house, pointedly telling the couple, who were still in bed, that she’d be in the barn for most of the day and would see them at the big house when it was time for supper.

Once in the barn, Bridget looked for Dusty, expecting to see the Appaloosa in his stall and hoping she’d see James, as well. But neither was around.

Deuce and some of the other men were raking out stalls. Before she could ask about James, she saw the boy straighten, moving as if his body ached and leaning on the rake.

“If you’re looking for James, he’s gone to town.”

“Oh.” She tried to hide her disappointment.

Deuce shrugged and gave her a tired upward turn of his mouth before bending back to his task.

She glanced at the other men, who moved equally as slow and smelled of liniment. “Would ye like some help with the stalls?”

This time, Deuce’s grin reached his eyes. “Mighty kind of you to offer.” He jerked his head at the others. “But I have plenty of help today.”

With a nod and a smile, Bridget walked away. She didn’t want the men to know she was miffed with James for leaving without seeing her.
Surely, he could have delayed for a few minutes.