Healing Montana Love: Bear Grass Springs, Book Eleven

by Flightner, Ramona

  “Dalton,” she whispered. “He’ll hurt Dalton.”

  “Damnation,” Shorty muttered, spinning his horse away from them, as he raced across the grange land, Dixon following him.

  “Short will marshal men to ride to the new homestead. Nothing will happen to Dalton,” Frederick said in a soothing voice. “Come. Let’s get you home, so Sorcha and Davina can spoil you.” He hefted her up, handing her to Slims.

  Charlotte shook the entire ride back, thankful they rode at a slow pace. Thankful for Slims’s strong arms around her. She was unable to hold on after her desperate ride on Brutus’s back.

  Davina stood on the front porch, her hand over her eyes, as she acted as sentry. “Charlotte!” she cried out, when she ran down the drive to meet them. “Slims, tell me she’s all right. She’s no’ hurt, aye?”

  Slims motioned for her to back up, as he handed Charlotte down to Frederick. “I can’t make promises. She’s shakin’ worse than a leaf before a fall storm, and she won’t talk. I think she’s in shock.”

  Sorcha raced from the house, her red-brown hair a tangle down her back. “Charlotte!” she cried out. “What did the man do to ye?”

  At the quiet words and the soft hands of Sorcha and Davina, Charlotte felt her overwhelming numbness evaporate. Deep sobs erupted, and she shook her head, unable to speak.

  “Give her space, love,” Frederick said. “Let’s get her comfortable. And then we must wait for Dalton to arrive.”

  “Dalton,” Charlotte gasped. “Please, let him be safe.”

  * * *

  Dalton rode back to the Henderson farmhouse in the late afternoon. He knew during these long summer days that he should work until the early evening. However, the lure of spending more time with Charlotte was too great to ignore. Especially now that she desired time with him. Now that she ached for his kisses, as he did hers, he found he could not resist her. Smiling like a lovesick fool, he whistled as he neared the barn. This is what was meant by a honeymoon, he thought. He gave thanks they hadn’t squandered all of their time alone.

  Although Frederick had sent out food for another two weeks, they were almost through those supplies. He knew they would need to return to the main ranch soon. Unable to fight the regret of leaving this small home, he wished he had such a space to return to. Nothing so big as this house, but a new home that would be just for the two of them and their new memories. He knew now that he could never fully ignore the memories of Mary dying in the cabin that sat empty. He did not need to hear the silent echoes of her agonizing screams. He wanted a fresh start. With a sigh, he understood he should be thankful he would have anything more than the tiny room in the bunkhouse for them.

  As his horse clopped into the drive, he frowned with disappointment. The previous days, Charlotte had been on the front porch, eagerly awaiting his arrival. Today she was nowhere to be found. He moved into the barn, tended to his horse, and walked toward the house. “Charlotte?” he called out. “Lottie?”

  The sound of a click echoed in the silent afternoon, and he stilled. Unless he was wrong, someone had just cocked a pistol. He scanned in front of him and didn’t see a threat. With slow, measured movements, he spun around, coming to a halt to find a man now seated on an overturned crate with a pistol held awkwardly in his left hand.

  Dalton held his hands up, having no desire to be shot so far from help. “My guess is that you’re Orville Coldwell.”

  The man sweated profusely, even though he sat in the building’s shade, his brown hair plastered to his head, as a small rivulet of sweat raced down one cheek. “Aren’t you the clever one?” he said in a mocking tone.

  That voice only distantly reminded Dalton of Warren Clark. This man retained much more of the upper-class accent than Warren had, and Orville looked uncomfortable without a waistcoat and a tie. Although he wore clothes that should have made him look like a hired hand, he was too refined to ever pass for cowboy. “What have you done to Lottie?”

  He sneered at Dalton. “Who’s to say I’ve done anything to her? You should know how your wife is, always eager for a little attention.”

  Dalton’s muscles tightened, but he attempted to appear relaxed in front of the man’s taunts. “Lottie!” he screamed. “Yell and tell me that you’re all right.”

  Orville chuckled. “You are a fool to worry about such an inferior woman.” The hand pointing the gun at Dalton tapped forward as though emphasizing his point. “I know my Adella informed you of the same. She warned you not to marry her.”

  “Why should I take advice from a woman who only wanted to use Charlotte as a broodmare?” Dalton continued to listen for any sign of his wife, as he inched toward the side of the house.

  Laughing, Orville rocked backward, gasping in pain at the movement. “Damnation,” he swore, as fresh sweat bloomed on his forehead. “You should know that’s all women are good for. Except mine. Can’t even give me a child.”

  Ignoring his talk about children, Dalton frowned, noticing that Orville’s right arm hung uselessly by his side. “Seems you had yourself an accident.”

  “I don’t need to have a conversation with you about a rogue horse,” Orville snapped, waving the gun around wildly.

  “Rogue horse,” Dalton whispered, his mind racing at the implications. “Brutus.”

  “Brutal is more like it,” Orville said.

  Dalton leaped to the side, landing on his stomach, as a shot flew wide. He jumped up and ran to the side of the house, listening intently as the man moaned about his arm. Walking with stealthy intent, Dalton circled the small house, picking up a large branch of wood. As he rounded the final wall, he saw Orville hunched forward, muttering to himself. If he approached the man, Dalton would be completely exposed.

  Indecision filled him, as he had no desire to be shot. However, he feared Charlotte was injured somewhere on the open prairie, and he had no idea how he would find her. He fought terror at the thought of her being anywhere near Brutus, but he feared she might have been.

  He heard a distant whistle and looked to the drive to see six men galloping toward the homestead. He waved his branch, hoping to earn their attention, but knew they couldn’t see him behind the house. “Men are coming, Orville. If you shoot at one of them, you’re dead. Put the gun down.”

  Orville looked over his shoulder, pointed the gun, and shot in his direction. Dalton ducked backward, swearing as the bullet ricocheted off the side of the house and nearly nicked him.

  “Idiot!” Dalton yelled. However, the gun firing had warned the approaching men. He looked around the house again, swearing, as he no longer saw Orville. Slipping around the side of the house, he inched his way toward the front of the house again. When he reached the front corner, he peered around the side, but Orville was nowhere in sight.

  Just then the men thundered in on horseback, pistols and rifles cocked. Dalton held up his hands. “Don’t shoot!” he called out.

  Shorty jumped down and raced to him. “What’s goin’ on, Dalt?”

  “That bastard Orville’s around here somewhere. Warren’s cousin. Shootin’ like a crazy man with his left hand. Hurt his right arm. Don’t know where he went.” His gaze was wild. “I don’t know where Lottie is. What he’s done to her. I fear she’s out on the range, injured and alone.”

  Shorty made a soothing noise as he watched other hands dismount and fan out to search the homestead. “Your wife’s back at the big house, and she’s traumatized after her ride across the prairie on Brutus’s back.” Shaking his head at Dalton, who wanted to ask him more questions, he said, “You can find out when you arrive. She was in shock but appeared otherwise well, when I left. For now, get your horse, and we’ll head home.”

  Dalton paused to stare at three of the hands, who had walked into the small farmhouse, searching for Orville. They came out with a shake of their heads. “Just some bread rising in the kitchen,” one of them said.

  Suddenly the barn door burst open, and Orville galloped out on Dalton’s horse, racing down the
drive.

  “He’s stealin’ my horse!” Dalton yelled, taking a step forward, but knowing he could do nothing.

  “Like hell he is,” Dixon said, rising up in his saddle and taking aim with his rifle. He shot once and gave a satisfied nod.

  They watched as Orville fell to the side, off the horse, crumpling to the ground.

  “Did you kill him?” Dalton asked, as he gaped at the younger man in wonder.

  “I doubt it,” Dixon said. “I aimed for his shoulder. Figured it was already so messed up that a bullet wouldn’t hurt it that much worse.”

  Shorty chuckled. “I doubt he’ll agree with your logic.” He watched as Dalton’s horse trotted into the yard. “Come on. Let’s get goin’. I’d imagine Miss Charlotte is gettin’ anxious to see her husband.”

  Dalton worked on his saddle, cinching the fastenings, before mounting to ride out with his friends. They trotted out of the yard, pausing where Orville had fallen on the drive. One of the men hopped down and pick up Orville’s gun. Another hoisted him onto the back of an unsaddled horse he’d brought from the barn, belly down, tying him in place.

  Dalton leaned over to gaze into Orville’s pain glazed, hate filled gaze. “There. Now you’ll have an idea of what my wife suffered.” He rose, urging his horse into a gallop as he raced toward Charlotte.

  Chapter 15

  Dalton burst into the big house, ignoring every mandate of keeping a moderated voice and to never make noise for fear of waking the twins. Let them howl, he thought as he bellowed, “Charlotte!” His boots clomped to a halt as he looked around, uncertain where to go. He wanted to see his wife and to see her now, but he felt awkward roaming through Boss’s home.

  “Dalton,” Sorcha called out, her head poking out of the downstairs bedroom that had been used as a sickroom in the past. “Come.”

  Dalton raced to her, barreling into the room. He fell to his knees at the sight of Charlotte unconscious on the bed, her chest slowly rising and falling in an even cadence. “Lottie.” He looked at Charlotte, his eyes rounded with horror. “Is she … is she dying?”

  “Nae,” Sorcha said, as she ran a hand down his arm. “She’s exhausted. Sleepin’ deeply. Sit by her, an’ be here when she wakes. She’ll recover, Dalton.” She slipped from the room, shutting the door behind her.

  Dalton collapsed onto the chair by Charlotte’s side, his head bowed, as a litany of jumbled-up words filled his mind. The one coherent thought was Please, recover. Please, come back to me. Over and over again, he said those words to himself. He kissed her hand, holding it to his lips, as tears silently fell, and he rocked forward and back.

  Finally he rose, kicked off his boots and socks, and gingerly crawled over her. “I need to hold you, my Lottie,” he whispered. “Sitting on a chair just isn’t close enough, my love.” He kissed her head as he eased it up, so he could slip his arm underneath and could settle her on his shoulder. “There, where you’re supposed to be. Snuggled up in my arms.” He kissed her head.

  Unable to cease talking to her, he rambled on and on. “I knew something was wrong the moment you weren’t on the front porch to welcome me. I know it’s silly, darlin’, but I’ve come to love that tradition. Having you wait on the front porch for me is something I look forward to. After a hard day’s work, seeing you makes it all worthwhile.” He sighed as he kissed her head. “I know you’ll have other more important things to do with your time than rush to greet me, but you’ll never know what it’s meant to me that you’re as eager to see me as I am to see you.”

  He ran his hands over her, caressing her, as she continued to sleep against him. He took solace in the constant beat of her heart and the steady rise and fall of her chest. Kissing her head, he willed her to wake. To kiss him back. To speak with him. In the deepest recesses of his heart, he yearned for her to confess her love for him. For he couldn’t fathom loving her as he did without her feeling the same.

  He sighed, his hold on her easing. “Ah, Lottie love, how did you steal my heart in such a short time?”

  “It wasn’t short,” she murmured.

  “Lottie!” he exclaimed, easing his shoulder out from under her, so she was on the pillow. “Please tell me. What I can do for you?”

  “Nothing,” she whispered, her eyes opening. “Nothing but continue to hold me. Talk with me. Reassure me that I’m not alone.”

  “No, darlin’, you aren’t alone. I promise you. You’ll never be alone. I’ll muck out stalls every day so you aren’t alone.”

  She huffed out an amused breath, turning her face into his neck. “Don’t be foolish,” she whispered. “I love how you smell. Of sweat and faded sandalwood and horses. All mine.”

  He groaned and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her even tighter to him. “Lottie, what happened? Why are you here? What was Orville doing at our … the homestead?”

  She moaned as she pushed away from him. “Oh, dizzy,” she breathed, holding a hand to her head as she rested against a pillow. Opening her eyes, she was filled with reassurance as she gazed upon her husband and raised a shaking hand to cup his jaw. “My muscles are worn out from clinging to Brutus. Regal. Whatever he’s called.”

  Dalton clamped his jaw, as he fought an overwhelming sense of impotent panic. “What happened?”

  Her hand dropped, resting on his chest. “I was sitting on the front porch. Singing. Dreaming. Thinking about Jessamine’s latest article.” She flushed. “The past few days, I’ve wandered to the front porch a bit earlier each day. Hoping you’d return a little earlier.” She flushed and ducked her head.

  He chuckled, his worries momentarily forgotten. “Good,” he murmured, as he ran his fingers through her silky hair. “I worried I was the only one acting like a lovesick calf.” His grin faded as he saw the echo of terror in her gaze. “Lottie, my love, what did he do to you?”

  Her eyes widened, and she grunted and groaned as she attempted to push herself up. However, her arms were too weak, and she collapsed on his chest with a whimper. “He didn’t hurt me. I swear.” She relaxed, as his strong arms wrapped around her. “He wanted to take me to Butte. Wanted the money he thought I had inherited from my father.”

  “What inheritance?”

  She smiled at the abject confusion in his gaze. “Jessamine wrote a foolish article about me, where a man claims my father was a famous botanist. That I had riches waiting for me, if only I were to claim them. None of it’s true.” She sighed. “But Orville thought it was and wanted the money. Somehow he thought he could force me to Butte to sign over my nonexistent inheritance to him.”

  Dalton shivered. “Don’t torment me with what he would have done to you once he realized you couldn’t give him what he wanted.”

  Her eyes widened, as though remembering the beating she’d already suffered at Orville’s hands. “Orville thought he had found the perfect horse to aid him.”

  Dalton shuddered, his hands running over her back, reassuring himself that she was alive and well in his arms. “God, Lottie. You’ll give me nightmares until I die. What did Brutus do?”

  “Once I’d been thrown up on the stallion’s back, he reared, jerking the rope from Orville’s hand. Regal kicked at Orville, knocking him to the ground and then raced away.” She spoke as though in a trance, as though it had occurred to someone else. “I held on for dear life. I knew if I fell, you’d never find me, that I’d be injured and alone on the rangeland, a prime target for coyotes or wolves.” She pressed her head against his chest to banish such imaginings. “Regal ran and ran and ran to the point I thought I couldn’t hold on anymore. But I did. I did.”

  He smiled at the pride in her voice. “Of course you did. You’re brave and strong and capable. Somehow that ornery horse knew to bring you here.” His hands clutched her. “I can’t bear to imagine what might have happened to you.”

  She pressed her face to his shoulder, her breath stuttering, as a few tears leaked out. Soon a torrent of emotions poured forth, and he held her as she sobbed. “I’m sorry.
I know I’m safe.”

  Dalton kissed her head again, breathing in her subtle lilac and soap scent. When he left the house this morning, he never would have thought he’d be on the verge of losing what he held most dear in this life. Not so soon again. “I don’t know what I would have done had I lost you, Lottie.” He ran his hand over her tearstained cheeks, gazing with an impassioned fervency into her eyes. “If you’d been on that prairie, I would have found you. Someway, somehow. I would have found you, my love.”

  She shivered, speaking in a quivering voice, “I’m thankful you didn’t need to.” She took a deep breath. “All I could think about, as I bounced along on Regal’s—Brutus’s—back, was you.” She stared, mesmerized, into his eyes. “I knew, if something happened, I would die with the greatest regret.” She gasped as his hands tightened at the mention of her dying.

  “I can’t lose you, Lottie,” he whispered.

  Her eyes filled, and she stroked a hand over his cheek. “I know. I feel the same about you. The thought Orville might have hurt you. That it would have been my fault.” Her mouth quivered. “It was a fear almost past bearing.”

  Dalton shook his head. “It would have been no one’s fault but his. He’s the lunatic.” After a long moment, he asked, “What would have been your regret?”

  Charlotte took a steadying breath. “I love you,” she said in a soft but confident voice. “So much. And I worried I’d never have the chance to tell you.”

  “Lottie,” he murmured, pulling her close and burying his head in the wild mass of her hair. “God, how I love you.”

  “I refused to believe fate would be so cruel to take me away from you before I could tell you.”

  Running his fingers over her cheeks, he shook his head. “I pray it won’t be so cruel as to take you from me now either. I need you, love.”

  She smiled radiantly. “As I need you.” She arched forward, kissing him. She sighed with pleasure, breaking the kiss and relaxing in his arms.