He rose to greet and to serve more customers, his mind filled with their conversation and with thoughts of Philomena. He couldn’t wait for everyone in his family to know her and to come to adore her, as he did.
Two days before the wedding, Frederick poked his head into the MacKinnon’s livery, stilling when he saw Slims working at the far end of the barn. Frederick took a deep breath, doffing his hat, as he walked inside. “Slims,” he said in a soft yet commanding voice. He saw the older man’s head jerk up at his voice, and he stilled at the pain evident in his expression. “Slims,” he said again.
“You’re here for the wedding. Whatever horses you have that need tending to, I’ll get to them.” Slims turned away, moving toward the tack room.
“Slims, wait!” Frederick called out, rushing inside, as his friend, mentor, and foreman ignored him.
“You ain’t my boss anymore. I don’t have to do what you want.” Slims entered the tack room, the sound of metal hitting wood as he swore.
Frederick walked to the door, stilling when he saw Slims leaning against the makeshift counter, gripping it so tight his fingers were white. “Slims,” he said again.
“You sure do remember my name,” he said, tilting his head enough to glare at Frederick. “Peter send you here to grovel?”
“No.” He closed his eyes and opened his mouth, but no words emerged. Finally he looked at his foreman and spoke in a soft voice. “I’m sorry. I made a horrible mistake. I know you’d never betray me. I know it, Slims.”
Spinning to face the man who had followed him around the ranch with hero worship, Slims glared down at him. “How? How are you so sure now, when you had no trouble firing me that day?” He shook his head. “You wouldn’t even imagine that I was innocent.”
Frederick closed his eyes, his jaw clenched against a deep emotion. “None of us are innocent against the games my mother plays. I’ve realized we all react as she hopes, to bring pain and misery to each other, making us complicit.” At Slims’s grunt, Frederick looked at his friend. “I was wrong, and I’m sorry. I need you at the ranch. Not because things are falling apart, although nothing runs as smoothly as when you are there. But because I rely on your wise counsel. Your friendship.”
He sighed when Slims continued to stare at him with an implacable anger. “Dalton’s tried to take your place, but he’s not you, Slims. I don’t trust him the way I do you. To put me in my place when I’m wrong. To coax me when I’m stubborn and refusing to change.”
Frederick paled at the ongoing silence. “Nothing I say will make a difference, will it? I’m too late.” He ran a hand through his hair and turned to leave. “Remember, Slims. No matter what I said that day, the ranch is your home. I want you there. Come back.” He shook his head and cleared his throat, before he put his hat back on and took a few steps away.
“Peter hasn’t shown you the letter?” Slims asked, stilling Frederick’s retreat.
“What letter?” Frederick asked, as he turned to face his foreman. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” After a second, the confusion in his gaze lifted. “You kept a letter that she sent?” At Slims’s nod, Frederick asked, “Why did you interfere?”
Slims sighed, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “I’ve never met a woman less suited to ranch life than your mother. Nor a woman who so enjoyed sharing her emotions with others. If she was happy, the entire world should know such joy. If she was miserable, well, we should suffer along with her.” He shook his head. “Wretched woman.”
“What did the letter say?” Frederick whispered.
“I ain’t going to tell you the particulars, but she was broke and wanted to be allowed to come home. She was angry that you’d ignored her all those years and felt that you’d been uncharitable toward her.”
Frederick leaned against a stall door. “All this time, you were protecting my brothers and me.”
Slims nodded. “As were your grandparents. We had no illusion about who she was or what she might try to do.”
Frederick nodded and pushed away from the stall. “Thank you for telling me. I … understand now.” He kept his head ducked, yelping when Slims gripped his shoulders and yanked him to face him.
“What is it you understand, Fred?” Slims asked, as he leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with anger and concern.
“I’ve been a fool.” He looked into Slims’s gaze, momentarily overcome by so many memories with him. Slims teaching him about horses. Slims helping him through his first hangover. Slims encouraging him as Frederick took over the running of the ranch, when his brothers left. Slims had been as much of a father to him as anyone. “I understand why you wouldn’t want to come back. I betrayed your trust.”
“You idiot,” Slims growled, pulling him in for a bone-jarring hug. “Aye, you hurt me and Davina, but I’ll forgive you.” He released Frederick, looking into his tormented gaze. “For it’s like what Peter said to me. We’re family, and we forgive each other.”
Frederick nodded. “Aye, we’re family, Slims. And I’m so glad we are.”
Slims gripped his shoulders tight. “Don’t allow your mother to ruin what you have. Not with your brothers. Or Sorcha. Or your grandparents.” He paused. “Or with me.”
Frederick swiped at his cheek. “Thank you, Slims. I’ve felt lost at the ranch without you.”
Slims stood tall, his chest full at the words and at the dawning realization that he could return home. He cleared his throat and spoke in a low voice. “I know you’re the little brother but protect Peter from her.”
Frederick froze, standing tall. “Peter? Why?”
Slims grimaced, before he said, “Of any of you boys, she’s always resented him the most. I fear for what she’ll try to do to him.”
Chapter 10
Frederick eased into the café, freezing when he saw his eldest brother deep in conversation with a customer, before Peter tossed his head back to laugh at something the man said. Watching in awe, Frederick saw Peter’s natural way with charming the customers, chatting for a few moments with one, longer with another, as he moved around, filling coffee cups or clearing plates. Never had Frederick seen Peter speak so much, nor had Frederick sensed the contentedness that Peter exuded.
With a shake of his head, Frederick muttered, “But Peter’s a cowboy.” His perplexed gaze met his brother’s, and he moved into the café to shake hands and to greet a few of the customers. After a few minutes, he entered the kitchen, smiling with relief to see his grandmother there. “Grandmother,” he murmured, kissing her on her forehead.
“Frederick!” she said, with a wide smile. “I thought you’d be with Sorcha this morning.”
He waved in the direction of the bakery. “Oh, she wanted a chat with the ladies and didn’t want me around. They shooed me out with only a sweet roll to bide me over.”
“Incorrigible,” Irene said, as she swiped a hand over his black hair. “Sit. Eat up.” She set a plate of bacon, eggs, potatoes, and toast in front of him.
Breathing in deeply, he let out a sigh of pleasure. “The best part is I know it will taste as delicious as it smells.” He gobbled up large mouthfuls, before nodding in the direction of the connecting door. “Peter’s taken to the role.” He yelped, ducking to avoid a tap to his head, as Irene glared at him.
“Peter might have seemed content as a cowboy, Freddie, but he’s found his future here. Be pleased for him.”
Setting down his fork, he motioned for his grandmother to sit across from him, smiling his thanks when she poured him more coffee before joining him. “I wish I’d known how unhappy he was. I could have left the ranch.”
Irene grabbed his hand and shook her head. “Now don’t go making problems where there are none. Sometimes we don’t figure out what we want and need until it’s right before us. Besides, Peter wouldn’t have wanted you in Texas to flirt with Philomena. And you wouldn’t have wanted him here to court your Sorcha.”
Huffing out a breath, Frederick shook his head. “No, you’re righ
t, Gram. Things turn out as they are meant to.” His eyes glowed with regret. “I hate thinking he wasn’t happy.”
She squeezed his hand. “He’s happy because he’s marrying Philomena, and they will work here together, as your grandfather and I did. There’s nothing he wants more.”
Nodding, Frederick murmured, “To build a life with the woman he loves.” He looked at his grandmother. “It’s what we all want.”
She rose, moving around the table to kiss his head. “Yes. And, if you are fortunate, you have a long life together with children and grandchildren, so you are never bored. Now finish up. I’m certain there is much to do today before the wedding tomorrow.”
He ate a few more mouthfuls and then blurted out, “If you mean me making up with Slims, I already did that.”
Irene dropped the spatula and spun to face Frederick. “You did? When?” She held a hand to her heart, as her eyes rounded with hope and a hint of trepidation.
“When we arrived in town yesterday. I … I couldn’t wait to speak with him, Gram. To ask for his forgiveness.” Rubbing at his head, he shrugged, before whispering in a perplexed, wavering voice, “He forgave me.” He stared at her, his gaze filled with wonder and surprise.
“Of course he did. He loves you like you were his son. You’ve always been his favorite, Freddie.”
“There will be harmony at the wedding, Gram,” he said in a low voice, smiling, as she began to hum her favorite songs. He sat for long minutes in the café kitchen, relaxed and happy, before he rose to visit his grandfather.
That afternoon, Philomena knew the café was closing early for a large family gathering for her and Peter. They would have the celebration at the café, as it was the best place to accommodate all of them to have a dinner together. Philomena cast a glance in the mirror, smoothing her hair in its tidy bun, wishing she had taken the time to do a more elaborate hairdo. With a last glance, she swiped a hand down her pale-green skirts and walked toward the café.
She knew she was early, but she hoped to have a moment with Peter and his brother. Pausing at her name, she turned to smile impersonally at a woman walking with an overflowing basket of cookies. “Miss Fitch!” the short black-haired woman called out. “Oh, it’s wonderful to see you. I just left the bakery, and my sister-in-law Sorcha had hoped you’d go by to speak with her.”
Philomena bit her lip. “Mrs. MacKinnon,” she said, “I fear I don’t have the time. I must speak with my fiancé and his brother.”
“Oh, that’s perfect. And call me Annabelle. They’re both with Sorcha, acting as though they’re helping to bring the rest of the items to the café.” She lowered her voice and smiled in a conspiratorial manner. “I think they’re glad I left, so they can snack on the cake that fell apart.” She winked at Philomena. “I’ll see you later tonight!”
Philomena watched the town’s baker bustle away, before Philomena walked in the direction of the bakery. The front door was locked with the Closed sign prominently displayed, so she moved to the rear door. At her soft knock, it almost instantly opened. “Peter,” she breathed.
He bent, kissing her softly. When she giggled, he frowned. “I’d hope you’d feel passion, not amusement at my kisses,” he whispered for her ears only.
“You taste and smell of pilfered cake,” she teased, her finger swiping away a few crumbs from his cheek.
Peter laughed, ushering her inside. “Fred and I are enjoying a well-deserved snack.” He motioned for her to join them at the butcher block countertop, where he, Frederick, and Sorcha sat on stools, devouring a cake.
“Is it a vanilla cake?” Philomena asked, smiling her thanks as Sorcha hopped up to find her a fork. She took a small bite and closed her eyes with delight. “Lemon,” she breathed. “Oh, heavenly.”
“’Tis Dee’s favorite,” Sorcha said. “’Tis a shame it fell apart, although Anna made another for tomorrow.”
“Aye,” Frederick said, as he gobbled up another bite. “And we really should have brought this one to her.”
Peter and Sorcha snickered at him and shook their heads. “Nay,” Sorcha said, as she took another bite, motioning Philomena to join them. “If there’s one thing there is never enough of, ’tis Annabelle’s cakes.” She smirked at Philomena. “Ye’d better be a bit more aggressive, or ye’ll never survive with the lot of us.”
Giggling, Philomena took a huge bite, laughing as half of it fell to her palm. “Annabelle doesn’t mind?” she asked.
“No,” Frederick said. “She’s generous, and she’ll make Dee her own cake.” He smiled with contentment. “We’re lucky Dee gave her permission to make this cake for others and not just for her.”
After a few more big bites, Philomena set down her fork. “What do you mean?” she asked, as she tapped her tines on the platter.
“Well, Anna’s canny, aye?” Sorcha said. “She kens if chocolate or vanilla is yer favorite cake an’ makes it for ye. But, since they were girls, she kent lemon was Fidelia’s favorite. And she never made a lemon cake until Dee married Bears.”
“When you marry, you get a special cake from Anna,” Frederick said. “One that’s for after the ceremony and the party because she knows you won’t have eaten much, with all the visiting that occurs.”
“Will we have cake tonight?” Philomena asked, giggling as Sorcha knocked her shoulder against hers and called her a “wee glutton.”
“Nae,” Sorcha said. “Cookies but no cake. The cake is for tomorrow, aye?” She watched as her husband and Peter ate a few more bites, nearly finishing the cake.
Philomena looked at the three of them and took a deep breath. “Now that you are all contented after eating cake, I must discuss something with you before the wedding.” She saw Peter stiffen, and she smiled encouragingly at him. “I spoke with your grandmother recently …”
Before she could finish her sentence, Frederick’s fork rattled to the countertop, and he gasped out, “She’s ill too?”
“No,” Philomena reassured him. “Not at all. However, she’s tired. As is your grandfather. They dream of returning to the ranch. Not because of any more work they wish to do but because they want to spend time in a place they love, surrounded by family and friends.” Philomena had come to learn, through Irene’s stories, that the ranch hands were like family to Irene and Harold.
“They want to leave town?” Peter asked. “Why wouldn’t they discuss this with us?”
Flushing, Philomena shrugged. “They might have. Please forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn. Your grandmother fears she and Harold will be pests, living underfoot at the ranch.” She addressed Sorcha and Frederick. “That you are a young couple, who needs privacy.”
“Ach, we’d love to have ’em at the ranch,” Sorcha said. “They’d have the downstairs bedroom an’ be near the bairns durin’ the day. I can think of no one else I’d rather have livin’ at the ranch with us.” She smiled with chagrin. “Other than ye and Peter.”
Peter laughed. “You’re not offending us, Sorcha. Mena and I will remain in town to run the café. Although we will take a holiday a few times a year to spend time at the ranch.”
Frederick looked at Peter a long moment, before turning his gaze to the woman who would join the family the following day. “Thank you, Philomena, for listening to what my grandmother wanted. I worry she would have hesitated to share her desire with us.”
Peter moved toward her, pulling her into his arms. Sighing with contentment, Philomena rested in Peter’s embrace, giving silent thanks for this family and her second chance with them.
Peter sat beside Philomena in the café for the pre-wedding dinner, delighted to see his grandfather sitting at the head of the table, with a broad grin and a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Peter squeezed Philomena’s hand, thankful to have her by his side, as he stared around the many tables linked together to form one large table. Every MacKinnon and Tompkins was present—with the exception of Cole, still on the cattle trail—along with Warren and Helen Clark.
Duri
ng a pause in the feast, Peter rose. “I know many here are eager to give toasts, but I wanted to say a few words.” He looked first at his youngest brother and then to his grandparents, before his gaze briefly held his uncle’s. “I would like to thank my family for their overwhelming support. I have come to realize how fortunate I am to have always had you looking out for me. I only wish Cole could be here too.”
Frederick nodded, and murmurs of agreement were heard around the table.
“However, I know Cole would be delighted at our upcoming nuptials, as he adored Mena. He thought I was a dunce to forego her company for that of a herd of cattle, and I’m thankful she forgave me.” He turned to her and raised his glass. “To Philomena and to the power of forgiveness.”
He raised Philomena’s hand with his free one, kissing it, as she blushed at the attention from all present. He sat, whispering in her ear, “They adore you too.”
She kissed his cheek and smiled, as a soothing cacophony of chatter filled the room. “Is everything well with Slims?” she whispered into his ear.
Peter glanced at the ranch foreman, who sat near Frederick. “Yes. They made their peace, and Slims will return home to the ranch. Cailean bellyached at the loss of the best worker they’ve had in years, but Slims wasn’t meant to muck out stalls.” He nodded at Davina, as she watched their interaction, with apparent fascination. “Why is Davina interested in you?”
Flushing, Philomena murmured, “She and I spoke about a month ago. I had walked out of town, and they nearly ran me over as they rode in on horses. She and Bears. She was quite upset I was not fighting for you.”
Shaking his head, Peter made a small grunt of disagreement. “No, you were, in your own way. You were granting me time to realize all I was missing. And helping me to understand you are nothing like my mother.”
Runaway Montana Groom: Bear Grass Springs Book 12 Page 14