Substitute Montana Bride: Bear Grass Springs, Book Thirteen

by Flightner, Ramona

  “Two of us?” Jane asked, with a mischievous gleam in her gaze. “How is Miss Damon faring, after her unfortunate incident?”

  “She’s improving,” he muttered. He glowered, as he saw Ben and Jane share a glance. It was one of those speaking glances he’d seen married couples share, where words weren’t needed, yet everything they wanted to express was imparted.

  “Seems she was a bit addle-headed on Saturday to wander so far from town,” Ben murmured. He sat beside Jane again, with her curled against his side.

  “She wasn’t addle-headed,” Tobias snapped. “Mrs. Jameson filled her head with lies. Well, truths about me but spun them in the worst possible light.” He rubbed at his brow. “I sometimes wish I’d continued to live like a hermit.”

  Jane laughed, the warm sound washing over him, like a soft summer breeze, bringing as much joy. “No you don’t, Father. You were miserable. Watching you right now, you’re frustrated and annoyed but not miserable.”

  He smiled wryly at his daughter. “How did you become so perceptive?”

  Ben squeezed his wife’s shoulders. “She always was.”

  “Aye,” Tobias murmured, a word he’d picked up from the MacKinnons. “I want to see Harold and Irene. I plan to travel to the ranch tomorrow, after I do a batch of deliveries.”

  Jane looked at her husband and shook her head. “I wish I could go with you, but we’re busy at the bakery. We can keep an eye on the store, and I know Peter will too.”

  “Thank you,” he murmured. “I need a little time away to think.”

  Jane stared at him, with understanding. “Perhaps a little time will also bring her clarity too.”

  Chapter 11

  Tobias turned down the drive to the ranch, focusing on the crisp air, the sound of the bells on the sleigh, the low cloud bank hugging the mountains in the distance. Anything but the heartache shrouding him. The ranch house in the distance acted like a beacon, and he focused on it and the welcome he hoped he would receive. Although he’d been to the ranch a few times in the past six months, he always fought a kernel of fear that his recent acceptance into the family would be revoked.

  When he brought the team of horses to a halt near the barn, he hopped down and nodded to Dalton. “Can you care for them and then ask others to help bring in the supplies I brought from town?”

  “Sure thing,” the loyal ranch hand said. “Dix!” he hollered, calling out to the youngest ranch hand to live on the ranch year-round, Dixon.

  Tobias ignored them, as he turned to look over the rangeland, now covered in snow. Tufts of grass sprouted out of the snow, where the wind had blown the snow low, while deep drifts covered other areas. He took a deep breath, as the sight over the range to the mountains always meant home and settled an instinctual restlessness in his spirit.

  “Tobias!” Frederick called out. “Uncle, are you well?” He slapped a hand on his shoulder and peered into his eyes with concern. “Is everyone well in town?”

  Tobias stared at his youngest nephew, tall and strong, his black hair blowing in the breeze. “Freddie,” he whispered. He closed his eyes, as shame and a deep hopelessness filled him. “I’m lost, and I needed to come home.”

  Frederick yanked him close, patting him on his back. “You’re home, Uncle, and I know my grandparents will be delighted to see you. As will Sorcha and our wee beasts.” He released his uncle. “Everyone is well? Even that teacher?”

  “Yes, everyone is well. You’re a good man, Freddie. I couldn’t be prouder of you.” He met his nephew’s gaze and nodded. “Forgive me for being a sentimental old fool.”

  “No,” Frederick rasped. “Forgive me for ever believing you didn’t care.” He gripped his shoulder and pulled Tobias toward the house. “Come inside and warm up. There’s always coffee, and, now that Grandma Irene is here, there’s always something delicious to nibble on.” He gave his uncle a warning glance. “Don’t repeat that, or Sorcha will be irate.”

  Tobias chuckled and walked toward the house with Frederick, a small piece of his fragmented heart healing at his nephew’s ready welcome. When he pushed open the kitchen door, it was as though he had stepped back in time to the years before he had been banished.

  Harold sat at the kitchen table, spinning a yarn, while Irene cooked at the stove, and the ranch hand Shorty sipped a cup of coffee. Sorcha, Frederick’s wife, entered, carrying one of the twins, while the other toddled in after her. They all smiled at Tobias as he entered, but Harold continued on with his tale, accepting Tobias’s arrival as though it were commonplace.

  For Tobias, it remained exceptional to be so readily accepted at the ranch and into the family. He didn’t know if he would ever take it for granted again.

  When Irene pulled him in for a long embrace, he clung to her. “Aunt,” he whispered. “I’ve missed you.”

  She backed away, ignoring her family members, gently maneuvering them to the end of the kitchen table to have a more private conversation. “My boy,” she murmured, her soft palms patting his cheek. “What’s happened?”

  “She doesn’t want me,” he said, as a tear fell. “Not yet.”

  Irene sighed and urged him to sit at the table, as she set a cup of coffee and a piece of cake in front of him. “Eat. You’re too thin by half.” She waited until he’d taken a bite and a sip of coffee. “Now tell me about this nonsense. Shorty and Slims entertained us the past few days about finding the woman in the snow, and now you say she doesn’t want you?”

  Tobias stared at her in wonder. “How did you discern this without me saying anything?”

  Irene smiled, as she patted his hand. “Harold may believe he’s the clever one of the two of us, but I knew from the moment the school board chose a more ‘seasoned’ teacher that she would give you a run for your money. Then, when Jessamine wrote us a letter about you two acting like her and Ewan, I knew which way the wind blew.” She sobered. “What happened, Tobias?”

  “She listened to gossip and feared I would act like I did in the past. She believed others over me.” He sighed and closed his eyes. “I can’t blame her. I’m guilty of much worse in my past.”

  “There has to be more than that,” Irene said, her hand squeezing his.

  “She’s terrified of losing her reputation and being destitute again.” He looked at his aunt. “Vera’s had to survive on her own for too long, without the support and love of family.”

  Staring at him with sorrow and regret, Irene murmured, “Like you.”

  Tobias let out a shuddering breath. “Yes, like me. Although I have you again. Something she doesn’t.”

  Irene sat in quiet contemplation for long minutes, while Tobias ate his cake and sipped his coffee. He recalled moments like this with his aunt and knew better than to interrupt her. She puzzled through problems and shared her nuggets of wisdom in her own time.

  “I wonder how much worse it would be to never have known a family’s devotion, rather than to have it denied you, after experiencing it for so long. Which causes greater suffering? Would you cling to the dream of what could be, afraid reality would never match your hope?” Irene asked.

  Tobias sat in stunned silence, as he gazed at his aunt. “I don’t know, Aunt Irene,” he breathed.

  “You’ve known, since you were a boy, what it is to be cherished. And you knew, for too long, what it meant to be a pariah among those who should have adored you.” Her eyes glowed with sadness. “Your Alvira has known none of that. I wonder if I wouldn’t cling to a dream too. I’d be terrified reality would never match my imaginings.”

  “Why?” Tobias whispered.

  Irene sighed. “You see us. Our family. We have our squabbles and arguments, but we like and love each other. For too many, family is a duty and a yoke around their necks, preventing them from living the life they desired. You see the despair daily in your store.” At his nod, she gave him a gentle smile. “I’d wager that Alvira has never seen a happy loving family. Her reality is harsh. You can’t fault your Alvira for being cautious, T
obias.”

  “No,” he whispered. “I wished she were as mad for me as I am for her.”

  Irene nodded. “You don’t want a relationship any other way, my boy. A one-sided love always leads to true misery.”

  * * *

  Two days later, Alvira walked to the Merc after school. She smiled at the growing number of townsfolk she recognized, feeling more and more settled in her new home. When she arrived at the Merc, she twisted the handle to enter, banging into the door when it failed to open. She turned the doorknob again, glaring at it, as the door remained locked.

  Peering inside, she noted the darkened interior. Where had Tobias gone? Was he ill? She turned to stare up and down the busy main street of town, blushing as she saw a few men loitering outside the Watering Hole Saloon, gazing at her with blatant interest. She moved away from the door, bumping into a woman in her haste. “I beg your pardon,” she murmured.

  “Miss Damon,” Jane said, with a friendly smile. “Are you well?” She peered at the older woman, her gaze filled with concern. “Come with me to the café. Peter always has something scrumptious to eat, and Philomena makes a delicious coffee that rivals Annabelle’s.” She winked at her, leading Alvira away from the Merc, as she escorted her past the leering men to the café.

  Once they had entered, she steered her to the kitchen, rather than having her settle in the main dining room. “Oh, I have no desire to impose,” Alvira stammered, sitting on the bench at the kitchen table.

  Philomena smiled at her, one hand rubbing her very pregnant belly. “If you’re a friend of Jane’s, you’re no imposition. Are you running away from Mr. Atkins again?” She sat with a sigh and arched her back. When her husband Peter entered, he immediately moved to her and massaged her back. “Oh, that feels marvelous.”

  Alvira sat in awkward silence, watching the couple interact. “I’m sorry to interrupt again. I fear I always arrive unexpectedly.”

  “Yes,” Peter said, with an intense stare, his gaze momentarily focused on her, rather than his wife. “What’s happened this time? I know Atkins is still interested, although he seems to have cooled in his pursuit, since my uncle has been in your favor.”

  She flushed and shrugged. “Your uncle and I are … friendly, I suppose. We’ve spoken frequently.”

  Peter shared a quick glance with Jane and raised an eyebrow. “Sort her out, would you? I have to return to customers.” He crouched in front of his wife. “Mena, return home. Rest. The stew is made, and I can serve everything.”

  She smiled at him, kissing him on his cheek. “I’ll go to your grandparents’ cabin for a quick nap, before the evening rush.”

  “Jane, watch the café a moment, while I walk Mena home?” Peter asked, as he helped Philomena down the back steps.

  Alvira watched as Jane hopped up and stood near the connecting door, watching to ensure no one left without paying for their meal. However, it seemed most of the customers lingered over coffee or enjoyed swapping tall tales. Few had a desire to be outdoors in early December.

  Focusing on the kitchen, Alvira stared around the small but efficient workspace, the large stove pumping out heat. On a cold day, it was welcome, but she knew it must be stifling in summer. Two pots bubbled on top of the stove, while cakes and bread were on a small side table, waiting to be sliced for customers. She imagined those baked goods came from Annabelle’s bakery. The sink was fairly full with dishes, and Alvira realized that Philomena must not have the energy as before, due to the impending birth of her child.

  “What will they do when they have a baby?” Alvira blurted out.

  Jane shrugged, her hand on her lower belly, as a proud smile flirted with her mouth. “Close the café or see if someone in the family can lend a hand.” She stared at Alvira. “The problem is that few of us can cook as well as Philomena. And hardly anyone can rival Aunt Irene.”

  After Peter returned and began circulating again among the café patrons, Jane focused solely on Alvira. “Why were you distressed to find the Merc closed?”

  Alvira flushed. She paused her instinctual prevarication, resting her hands on the table. “I need to speak with your father. Is he ill?”

  Jane shook her head, turning to share a long look with Peter, who had just reentered the kitchen. “No, but he’s not in town. He needed time away.”

  Alvira paled, any hope in her gaze dulling at Jane’s words. “Away. I see.” She pressed her hands flat on the table to rise. “Forgive me for bothering you.”

  “Sit, Miss Damon,” Peter said in his low commanding voice. The door to the café swung shut, granting them privacy from any interested guests, and he joined her at the table. Nodding his thanks to Jane, as she poured them all a cup of coffee, he took a long sip, as he continued to stare at Alvira. “What did you do to Uncle to hurt him?”

  Alvira gaped at Peter and then at Jane, who continued to stand a little behind her cousin. “Hurt him? I …” Her breath caught, and she closed her eyes. “I was honest, as was he, and he left.”

  Peter fisted his palm and stared at the scarred tabletop. “I know what it is to be heartsick, ma’am. I experienced enough of it with Mena, due to my own idiocy. Uncle’s heartsore, where he’d been filled with hope for the first time since I was a boy. What did you do?”

  Alvira stared from Peter to Jane and then focused on her hands. “How did you forgive him?” she asked.

  Jane gasped, striding the few steps to the table, as she gaped down at Alvira. “My father would never have played you false! How dare you believe horrible gossips over him.”

  Sitting in stunned silence, she watched Peter nod his agreement. “This is what I need to know. He has played you both false. Treated you terribly. How did you ever forgive him?”

  “Answer me,” Jane said in a low harsh voice. “Has he treated you false?”

  Alvira closed her eyes. “No,” she whispered, her voice little more than a plaintive wail. “But why wouldn’t he in the future?”

  Peter swore and tapped his fingers on the table. “That’s the crux of it, isn’t it? You don’t trust him.” He stared deeply into her eyes, when she gazed at him in defeat. “Without trust, there is nothing to build a future on, Miss Damon.”

  “Do you want a future with him?” Jane demanded.

  Alvira took a deep breath, burying her emotions deep. “What I need is to speak with your father. Your uncle.” She gazed at them with an unwavering determination.

  Jane sat with a thud, her vivacity suddenly gone. “How could he have chosen you?” she whispered, her gaze filled with bewilderment, ignoring Alvira’s flinch. “He needs a warm, passionate, daring woman. A woman unafraid of the townsfolk’s comments, as they fling his past misdeeds about in an attempt to sow discord. A woman so confident in him and his love, so unwavering in it, that nothing could change her mind. Not a woman clinging to God-knows-what.” She frowned as she stared at Alvira. “Your reputation? Your fears? Your past humiliations?” Jane shook her head in disappointment. “Don’t you dream, Miss Damon?”

  “Of course I dream!” Alvira snapped, her voice raspy and her breath a painful pant, as she battled tears. Jane had cut her to the quick in only a few sentences.

  “Jane,” Peter admonished in a soft voice, his astute gaze noting Alvira’s distress. “There’s every chance Miss Damon is the woman you imagine for your father, but she only shows that side to him.” He raised a brow, daring his cousin to argue. “Some did learn discretion.”

  Jane reached forward, gripping Alvira’s hand. Alvira yearned to race from the room, but knew she didn’t yet have the strength to rise. She wished she could spurn the younger woman’s touch, but she didn’t. Everything Jane and Peter said came from a place of concern and love for Tobias. From concern for family. Instinctively she understood that. Alvira had longed for family for so long, and she envied what these two so readily offered.

  “My father treated me horribly before he knew who I was,” Jane said in a low voice. “When he discovered I was his daughter, he cried
with joy. And then with shame. I had a choice, as you do, Alvira. To trust. To have faith in another. Or to cling to fear. I chose to believe in my father, and every day I speak with him, hear his advice, or see his eyes light with joy at the mere sight of me, I’m glad I was brave. My life has been so much richer because he is in it.”

  Peter nodded. “Uncle isn’t the man Mrs. Jameson describes. Not anymore.” He stared at Alvira. “He hurt my family, but I’ve come to realize that my mother, Katrina, was the person who did the most damage. She used Tobias, as she used everyone who crossed her path. Mother lured him away from Jane’s mother, Ada, the woman he truly loved, because Mother couldn’t abide any man adoring another more than her. My mother wreaks havoc, as some women do.”

  Alvira nodded, staring at the scarred table, as the silence filled the room. “Thank you for your counsel,” she whispered. “I’m hopeful we will have a reason to meet again soon.” She rose, stumbling out the back door of the kitchen, yearning for the courage to reach for her dreams.

  * * *

  Tobias stepped out onto the porch of the big ranch house, sipping a cup of coffee, as he stared at the mountains in the distance. This morning, it was as though the wispy-thin clouds flirted with the mountain peaks, the way a veil fluttered over a bride’s hair. He sighed, wishing he pined for something other than the impossible.

  “Thinking too much again,” Harold said to Tobias, as he poked his head out the rear kitchen door. “Come in where it’s warm. I’m too old to sit outside and let my bones freeze.”

  Tobias smiled, returning to the warmth of the kitchen. Although it had been filled with ranch hands and the family when he had walked through it only moments before, the kitchen was now empty, except for Harold. Tobias sighed, as he realized how hungry he was, and he’d missed breakfast.

  “Your food’s in the warming oven,” Harold said, with a wave in the stove’s direction, as he sat with an appreciative groan. “Ireney wasn’t sure when you’d want to eat. Thought you seemed bilious, when you wandered outside.”