Sorcha laughed, pouring a tiny amount of tea into Charlotte’s cup to warm it. “Oh, ye dinna ken men.” She shrugged. “Although I dinna ken any woman who can say she truly understands them. But, with three brothers, I have an idea, aye?” She sobered. “My eldest brother, Cailean, is a fine man. He lost his wife and child, the way Dalton lost his Mary, an’ it took Cail years to overcome the pain. He nearly lost his chance with Annabelle due to the fear of feelin’ such pain again.” Sorcha shrugged. “I’ve come to understand the greatest mistake I’ve ever made is to believe men do no’ feel as much as we do. For they do. Their burden is they’re no’ good at expressin’ it. An’ they bluster an’ act like fools with their friends rather than talk.”
“Truly talk,” Charlotte whispered.
“Aye,” Davina said. “Come. Have a scone and some tea.”
Sorcha cocked her head to one side and rose. “The wee beasts are awake.” She scurried away inside to her twin children.
“Should we go?” Charlotte asked Davina.
“Nae, she’ll bring them here, an’ we can continue to enjoy our afternoon on the porch. We’ve earned a break from our hard work.” Davina paused. “In all this, I assumed ye care for Dalton. Am I right?” When Charlotte nodded but flushed and ducked her head again, Davina whispered, “Why are ye embarrassed?”
“I’m ashamed,” she whispered. “I allowed myself to be wooed by an unworthy man. I hurt others with my desperation.”
Davina stroked a hand down the younger woman’s arm. “We all make mistakes. An’ I ken well enough the desire to be loved. To feel cherished. ’Tis a rare woman who could ignore that yearning.”
“Why don’t you despise me?” Charlotte rubbed at her cheeks, as she gazed at Davina in fascination.
Davina swiped at a strand of hair as blond as a sunbeam. “I did. Ye ken I did. My love for my husband, our faith in each other, proved stronger than any feeling I could have for ye. An’ I dinna say that to be cruel.” She sighed as she stared at the rolling hills in the distance dotted with cattle. “I learned—with the help of good friends, family, and the love of a remarkable man—that I dinna need to be anything other than who I am to be worthy of love.”
Charlotte stared at her in dumbfounded silence. “That’s impossible. What we can do for others proves our worth.”
Davina shook her head, her eyes shadowed by memories from her past. “Nae,” she whispered. “I dinna agree. For too long, I tried to be what Da wished me to be. Biddable. Meek. I married a man who I didna love and was miserable.”
Charlotte frowned at her. “You were brave enough to travel here alone.”
Smiling, Davina nodded. “Aye. Brave and dumb enough no’ to ken the danger of travelin’ alone as a woman. I was lucky to always find chivalrous men who’d look out for me, an’ I arrived unscathed.” Her smile glowed brighter. “An’ then I met Slims.”
Nibbling at a scone, Charlotte whispered, as though she were admitting to robbing a bank, “I’ve never been brave.” She flinched when Davina snorted and rolled her eyes. “Don’t mock me.”
“I will when ye’re actin’ like an eejit an’ spoutin’ utter nonsense.” Davina looked to the noise at the door and Sorcha holding a wriggling child in each arm. After taking little Mairi in her arms and settling her on her lap, Davina said in a bemused voice to her cousin, “She doesna believe she’s brave.”
Sorcha frowned as she stared at Charlotte, before chuckling. “Ye’ve an odd notion about yerself, Charlotte.” Sorcha patted at little Harold’s bum, as he rested against her chest. He always had a much harder time waking up than his sister. “Ye showed yer bravery when ye arrived here in February. Ye’ve shown it every day since ye demanded ye earn yer keep, rather than hidin’ away in yer room.” Sorcha was the picture of a contented woman, with a child on her shoulder, her eyes glowing with a deep joy. She softened her voice, as she gazed at the younger woman. “I dinna ken what it would feel like to suffer the betrayal ye did, but I hope ye ken the mistakes of the past, and the treachery of others, doesna preclude ye from finding yer own joy in the future.”
“With Dalton,” Charlotte whispered. When Davina and Sorcha nodded, Charlotte settled into her chair. “I don’t know what to do. He … he opens up, and then he turns cold.”
“He’s afraid, aye?” Sorcha murmured, kissing Harold’s head, as he made a sound of distress. “I ken a little about his life afore he lived on the ranch, an’ it was a tryin’ period.” She shook her head, smiling wryly. “An’, no, I willna tell ye what I ken. Ye need to learn all ye can from the man himself.”
“Come. Drink more tea and have another scone. Relax an’ enjoy the time when ye are no’ so busy with all the men around. Too soon ye’ll be worked off yer feet again,” Davina said.
Charlotte relaxed into the chair, relishing her time with these generous women, as she suddenly realized she had friends.
Chapter 6
Charlotte sat in the kitchen that evening, nursing another cup of tea. The cool evening prevented her from sitting on the bunkhouse porch, and she had no desire to interrupt Dalton as he sat in introspective solitude in the main room of the bunkhouse. Too soon the men would return, and the room would be full of their chatter as they laughed, played poker, and told tall tales.
She smiled as she considered the conversation with Davina and Sorcha. After they had stopped pestering her about Dalton, Charlotte had enjoyed every moment with them. Their kinship and deep affection for each other had rubbed off on her, and any hesitation Charlotte had felt at being in their company had quickly faded. She had relished the sharing of worries and secrets, as they sipped too-strong cold tea, and she listened to them tell her fantastical tales about life on the Isle of Skye. Charlotte knew she’d never travel farther than Helena or Butte, if she were fortunate, but she enjoyed learning about the world.
Closing her eyes, she tried to envision what the glen where Sorcha and the MacKinnons were from was like, with the sea forming a harbor and the mountains in the background. According to Davina and Sorcha, faeries enjoyed playing with mere mortals and too often caused mischief in their lives. Sorcha didn’t claim to have met one, although she seemed disgruntled to have been denied such an experience.
“What delights you?” Dalton murmured in a soft voice that felt like a caress.
Her eyes flew open, as she met his tender gaze. He stood, leaning against the doorjamb, with his arms crossed against his chest. Her breath caught at the depth of emotion in his gaze and her reaction to it. “Delight?” she asked, flummoxed. Her hands shook, as she attempted to raise her mug, so she lowered it again. “I was thinking about stories Miss Sorcha and Miss Davina told me. About their lives in Scotland.”
He smiled. “I sat with Miss Sorcha after she broke her leg, when she was forced to spend the winter at the ranch with a bunch of hired hands for company. She told the best tales.” His voice dropped to a near whisper. “I was worried about you today.”
“Worried?” she asked, flushing as she realized she could barely string together a full sentence when he stared at her as he did.
“Aye,” he murmured, as he pushed away from the doorway to walk with measured steps in her direction. “I came out of the barn and couldn’t find you. Couldn’t hear you singin’.” He sat near her at the kitchen table, his hand reaching out so their fingers touched. “I ran around like a madman, lookin’ for you.”
“You did?” Her eyebrows rose, and she couldn’t conceal the flash of delight in her eyes at his admission.
“Felt like a fool when I heard the three of you laughin’ on the back porch.”
Charlotte suddenly felt like a young woman with no sordid past and with a bright future. She dropped her chin, smiled at him, and flicked her gaze at him. “You should have joined us.”
He chuckled, his fingers now gripping hers. “No one wanted a stinky ranch hand ruining the ladies’ tea party.”
“I wouldn’t have mind.” Her breaths came faster than usual, as though she had run from the big hous
e, and she dropped her gaze, yanking her hand from his. “Forgive me. I can’t imagine what you think of me.”
“Charlotte?” He rested a hand on her arm to prevent her from bolting away from him. “What happened? I never would have flirted with you if I thought you weren’t enjoying it.”
Her breaths came out now in rapid succession, as though fighting panic rather than an overwhelming desire. She gasped, heaving in huge mouthfuls of air, but her alarm appeared to be increasing rather than abating. Her dulled gaze did not focus on him when he spoke.
“Dammit,” he muttered. He stood, pulling her into his arms with a groan. He carried her through the silent bunkhouse to her nearby room, ducking under the low doorframe. He barely spared a glance at the Spartan room, with only a cot, a bureau, and a chair in a corner. After settling her on the cot, he released her, easing away.
“No,” she gasped, “hold me.” Tears leaked from her eyes, while her hands clutched at his gray cambric shirt. When he stared at her with hands fisted at his sides, sobs burst forth, and she rolled to her side, facing away from him. “Go!” she gasped through her tears.
“Dammit,” he muttered again. After kicking off his boots, Dalton eased onto the bed, spooning her all along her back. He wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her back tightly to his front, while his other hand rubbed her head. “You’re all right, darlin’. Shh, love, don’t cry so. You’re not alone.”
Heaving out a huge breath, Charlotte said in a stuttering gasp, “You didn’t leave.”
“Of course not.”
“You’re here because you felt a sense of duty.”
He chuckled, his arm tightening around her waist. “I’m here because I hate to see you sad. I know you need to cry, Lottie, for you’ve suffered too much to keep it all inside. But you shouldn’t have to cry alone. Not unless you want to.”
“I deserve to be alone.”
He sighed, his breath ruffling her fine red-blond hair. “What a bunch of horse dung. You don’t deserve any such thing, darlin’. Except to be cherished and to be cared for.”
She wriggled in his arms, until she had turned and could face him, her face splotchy from her grief. “I don’t understand you. You want nothing to do with me.”
“Ah, Lottie,” he said with a tender smile, his hand swiping at her cheeks to smooth away the residual wetness on her cheeks. “You know that’s not true. You know I want you.” He stared deeply into her eyes. “But I should never have you.”
“I don’t understand.” Two more tears tracked down her cheeks. “I understand your hesitancy because of who I am.”
He tilted his head to the side, as though considering her words. “Who you are? Do you mean a beautiful, intelligent, brave, and kind woman? Is that what you mean? Or are you clinging to the lies spouted at you by that treacherous woman in Butte?”
Charlotte ducked her head. “I feel such guilt, such shame.” When Dalton was patient, gifting her with his silence, rather than peppering her with questions or empty platitudes, she spoke in a halting voice. “I should have known better. I should have rebuffed that man’s overtures.” She sniffled. “And I should have known better than to chase him to Butte.”
“How should you have known better, Lottie?” He cupped her cheek, his callused fingers stroking her silken skin. “You were desperate, and you wanted him to help you. You believed him to be a man of honor. And no man with an ounce of honor should have loved you and left you, like he did. Or thrown you to the wolves, like he did.” He traced a finger over her eyebrows. “Proves he’s the fool. And he will have his reckoning. I promise.”
Her eyes filled with tears at his passionate vow, although none fell. “How can you be so good?” she whispered. “I brought my own pain on myself. I have no one but myself to blame.”
“Ah, love, we all make mistakes in life. Some are costly. Others aren’t. But all take a toll on our souls.” His blue-eyed gaze bored into hers with a fiery intensity. “Why do you talk of me leaving? Why do you talk of your shame?”
Her lips quivered, as though attempting to hold back her words before she blurted out, “What must you think of me? A woman who throws her affection around so easily that—”
Dalton pressed his fingers to her lips and shook his head, silencing whatever nonsense she would have spouted. “No, Lottie. Don’t speak poisonous lies to me. Don’t lie to yourself.” He took a deep breath, gazing deeply into her eyes. “You are not a woman who throws her affection around. If you were, you would have found any one of the hands acceptable as a protector during your time on the ranch.”
She shook her head at the notion. “Never,” she said around his fingers.
His eyes gleamed at her response. “Exactly. That’s not the woman you are. You aren’t calculating and conniving. Even in February, when you tried to trick Slims into marrying you, that was out of a desperate desire to survive.” He smiled ruefully. “And we all know Warren was the one to come up with the plan. He’s the conniving one.”
She frowned. “I’d call him protective more than conniving.”
Dalton ran the back of his fingers over her cheek, his brows furrowed, as he stared at her in confusion. “I don’t understand his role in all this.”
Charlotte shrugged. “One day you will.” A few tears coursed down her cheek. “It won’t matter. I have to find someone to marry me. To protect me. I discussed it today with Sorcha and Davina. It’s the only way to keep me safe from Mrs. Coldwell.”
A wry smile bloomed as he cupped her cheek. “Is that your idea of a marriage proposal?” He chuckled when she stiffened in his arms, then struggled to push herself over him to crawl from her cot. “No, Lottie, don’t,” he gasped. “Stay, please.”
She shook and wrapped her arms around herself as best she could. “Why are you mocking me?”
“I’m not mocking you,” he whispered, tenderness and a deep affection in his voice. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers, as he closed his eyes. “Can you imagine the panic I felt today, when I thought something had happened to you?”
He opened his eyes, his gaze unmasked. “Every conceivable injury you could have suffered ran through my mind.” He flushed and shook his head. “I realized something very important, Lottie.” At her frown, his thumb played over the wrinkles in her brow. “I realized, by denying what we have out of fear of what might never happen, I was already living through my worst fear again. I was already losing you.” He swallowed, speaking in a low voice. “And I can’t do that. I can’t lose you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Marry me,” he whispered. “Let me protect you, honor you, treasure you.” When she stared at him in dumbfounded wonder, he breathed, “Please.”
Her sherry-colored eyes shone with astonishment, as her hand rose to clasp the side of his head. “Yes. Yes!” She gasped as he swooped forward, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss.
His hands sank into her lustrous hair, slipping pins from their moorings as the strands tumbled free. His hands held her head tightly, anchoring her in place for his deeply drugging kisses. He swallowed her gasp as he deepened their kiss, growling with pleasure as she pressed tighter into his embrace.
“We must stop,” he breathed, peppering kisses over her brow, nose, cheeks, and chin. “I never want you to doubt how much I respect you. We have plenty of time for passion, darlin’.”
She wriggled against him. “I wish the time was now,” she murmured, earning a chuckle from him. She rested her head on his chest, curling against him with a contented sigh.
He ran his fingers over her back, closing his eyes, as he rested his head on the lumpy pillow. “This has to be the most uncomfortable cot I’ve ever had the misfortune of laying on.”
She giggled. “I’m so tired at night after a hard day of work that I don’t notice.”
His hold on her tightened, and he murmured, “I promise we’ll have more comfortable accommodations in our home.”
She propped her head on her hands and
peered at him intently. “We won’t live here?”
“Hell no,” he said and then flushed for swearing in front of her. “Pardon me.” When she stroked a hand down his cheek, as though in forgiveness, he moved his head into her soft touch. “I want a home for the two of us. A place that is ours.” His gaze clouded. “I fear the only cabin left is the one I shared with Mary.”
“Will that be a problem?” she whispered.
“No,” he said. “I swear it won’t.” He kissed her fingers and smiled. “Come. I promise I won’t lead you down the road to temptation, but my cot’s more comfortable.” He winked at her, as she gaped at him in confusion. “Sleep in my arms tonight, darlin’. The men will be back tomorrow, and then I’ll have to wait until our weddin’ afore I can do more than steal a kiss.”
With wide luminous eyes, she nodded. “Yes,” she breathed. “I’d like that.” She paused, as though gathering her courage. “I’ve never slept in a man’s arms before.”
He winked at her. “The first of many new adventures for us.”
* * *
Dalton jerked awake, his dreams of holding his wife, Mary, melding with the present contentment of cradling a woman in his arms. Shaking his head, he gazed down at Charlotte, snuggled against his chest, sighing with delight. “It wasn’t a dream,” he whispered, running his fingertips over her brow.
In the faint dawn’s light, her hair appeared darker, more red than blond. Any worry she carried seemed momentarily forgotten, as her expression was peaceful. Her soft breath tickled the sensitive skin of his neck. He gazed at her a long moment, imprinting the moment in his memory.
Closing his eyes, he sighed with a soul-deep contentment. He had learned to accept these perfect moments of peace and to treasure them. For he never knew when he would be gifted with another. He prayed his life with Lottie would be filled with such moments, but he knew there were no guarantees. Too much remained that he did not know and did not understand.
When she stiffened, he slitted his eyes open to gaze at her. “Hello, love,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head. “No need to panic. No one is here but you and me.”
Healing Montana Love: Bear Grass Springs, Book Eleven Page 6