Runaway Montana Groom: Bear Grass Springs Book 12

by Ramona Flightner

  “How could you?” she asked again, her shoulders shaking.

  “I had no idea,” he said in protest, gasping when she hit him on his chest. “Don’t cry, my darling.”

  Shaking her head as her sobs continued, she asked around a wail, “How could you embarrass me like that? Now everyone thinks like your grandfather.” She swiped a hand over her face, smearing her tears. “I can never face them again.”

  He pulled her close. “Of course you can,” he breathed into her ear. “Let me hold you. Let me comfort you. Please.”

  He cradled her against his chest, as she soaked his shirtfront, oblivious to the beautiful evening, the clouds moving across the sky, or the birds serenading them. His entire focus was on his wife’s misery. “Forgive me,” he whispered. “I thought only of myself. Of my indignation. I didn’t think of you.” When she remained quiet, he whispered again, “Forgive me.”

  “You’re only sorry you said out loud what everyone has thought since our wedding day.” She clung to him, her head down. Her lustrous brown hair shone even brighter in the early evening sun, and he dug his fingers into it, ignoring the pins he dislodged.

  “No,” he said. “I’m sorry for not being wise enough to imagine anyone would believe such a preposterous idea.” He closed his eyes. “I won’t lie to you, Mena. I have thought about my father and mother. I have noted the parallels between our marriages.” He shook his head when she froze, her eyes widening in terror, as hope leached from her gaze. “But I saw all the ways we are different too.”

  “How are we different?” she asked in a tiny, hurt-laden voice.

  “You know what life is like in a small town, and you love that life. You ensured we reunited. You didn’t run from me. You ran to me.” His thumbs ran over her cheeks, as he gazed with ardent intensity into her eyes. “You love the café and the life we are building.” He paused as she remained quiet. “Please tell me that you do.”

  “You know I do,” she whispered, her voice plaintive and wavering. “You said you feel affection for me.” Another tear rolled down her cheek.

  “God, yes,” he breathed, as he bent forward, pressing his forehead against hers. “Affection and passion and desire.” He backed away, staring deeply into her eyes. “And love. So much love, Mena.” When she gazed at him in stupefied wonder, he firmed his shoulders. “Surely you knew that?”

  “I hoped. I wished. But I feared I was mistaken.” She leaned forward, kissing him soundly, her hand digging into the hair at his nape. When they broke the kiss, she raised one of his palms to kiss, before resting it against the soft swell of her belly. “I thought you only wanted me for the baby. Not me.”

  He flushed and shook his head. “No. Yes. I mean, I want our baby, never doubt that.” He left his hand over her belly and cupped her cheek with his free hand. “But I want you, more than anything.”

  She arched up, kissing him again. “Forgive me for doubting.”

  He pulled her close. “I’m sorry my grandfather caused you such pain.” His embrace tightened. “I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  She shivered in his embrace, as another pair of tears tracked down her cheeks. “He hurt me,” she whispered. Placing fingertips against his lips, she whispered, “But I don’t want to ruin your relationship with your grandfather.”

  Peter groaned, pulling her close. “For now, let me enjoy holding you again. I’ve missed you so much, Mena.” He kissed her head, as his hands stroked over her. “We’ll have our reckoning with him soon enough.”

  Later that evening, Peter and Philomena were in their room upstairs in the main ranch house. They could hear the soft murmuring of voices, and Philomena assumed that Harold and Frederick were talking. However, Peter had declined a drink with the men of his family, preferring to spend time with her. She snuggled into his embrace, one hand rubbing over her belly. She smiled as she felt the baby move, before she shimmied around to raise her gown to expose her belly.

  “Love, you know I desire you,” Peter said in a groggy voice. “But not in my brother’s house.” He stilled as she giggled, an arrested expression on his face to see her abject joy.

  “No, sweetheart,” she said, as she leaned forward to kiss him. “Feel.” She grabbed his strong wrist, dragging his hand down to her now-naked belly. Gazing deeply into his eyes, she smiled with encouragement, as he stared at her in confusion.

  “I don’t see why you’re having me caress your belly, although it is precious,” he teased. Suddenly he froze, his gaze darting to his hand. He bent over, staring at her belly. “Is that?” His voice broke. “Was that?” His eyes shone with hope and a shimmer of tears.

  She smiled. “Yes. That’s our baby,” she whispered, giving a stifled shriek as he toppled her backward.

  He peppered her belly with kisses, before resting his hand against her belly again.

  “Our miracle.”

  He gazed at her with adoration. “Yes, our miracle. And greatest blessing.” He kissed her, as she arced down to him. “You’ll never know how happy you’ve made me. I don’t know how to express the joy I feel.” He caressed her cheek.

  Her gaze was filled with love and devotion. “Forgive me for ever doubting. For not having the courage to talk with you about my fears.” She took a deep breath, as her fingers played through his silky brown hair. “I allowed my fears to render me mute.”

  Peter stared into her eyes, now shimmering like an opal as she fought tears. “I will always forgive you,” he whispered. “Remember when we were at Bears’s house? I said I would give you a hundred chances, my love.” He kissed her. “Although I’d prefer if we could talk about our fears in the future rather than suffer in silence.”

  She nodded.

  He traced a finger over her silky cheek, before kissing her belly again. “My grandmother tried to teach us that fears only have power over us if we give them that power. If we confront them, they are as harmless as a kitten.” His eyes glowed with his devotion. “I love you, Mena.”

  Tears coursed down her cheeks as she kissed him, before whispering, “I love you too.”

  Tobias sat beside Harold and stared into the fire with him. They were in the large living room in the main house on the ranch. The ranch house that Harold and Irene had originally built and then had been added on to. Tobias settled in his chair, as he watched the flickering flames, mesmerized by them.

  “Never thought to see the day where you’d be welcomed back,” Harold said in a soft voice.

  Tobias grunted in agreement, his arms over his belly, as he relaxed even farther into his chair. “I’m grateful the boys are generous in spirit.”

  Harold stiffened, glaring at him. “Meaning, I’m not?”

  Tobias sat up, now leaning his elbows on his knees, as he peered at his uncle with absolute bewilderment. “How can you act like you have? How can you treat Peter’s bride as you have?”

  A log crackled and popped, and Harold focused on the fire, rather than facing his nephew. “I have every right to my opinion.”

  “I’m not sayin’ you don’t. We all have opinions that aren’t popular, but we have the sense to keep ’em to ourselves. We don’t air ’em and hurt the ones we love.” He flushed. “Not unless you’re a complete imbecile like me.”

  Tobias waited, flushing with indignation, as Harold remained quiet. “Do you want Peter to suffer as I did? As I continue to? Regretting every day I spent away from Ada? Mourning every moment I lost with my Jane? Wishing I’d known what it was to hold her in my arms when she was a baby? To have had the honor of soothing her when she was upset and swiping away her tears? To see her look at me with adoration and love as a little girl, as though I had hung the moon?”

  Harold glared at him. “This isn’t about you, Tobias.”

  “No, it isn’t. But your anger at Peter’s wife, at your wish that they’d never married, would cause him to have the same remorse I have. It isn’t fair. And it’s beneath you, Uncle.”

  “How dare you speak to me like this?” Harold as
ked, his face flushed.

  “I dare because I know what it is to lose everything.” He paused, as he was momentarily overcome by strong emotions. “Everything,” he whispered again. “You lost a dear son. But you’ve never lost everything. You always had Irene. Your grandsons. The townsfolk’s respect. Your business. You never lost it all.”

  Harold sat in thunderous silence, glaring at the fire, as his chest moved up and down with his deep breaths. “I have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “You do, and you know it.” Tobias waited until Harold met his gaze. “She’s not Katrina. Philomena’s loyal and kind and considerate. You know that, Harold. You’re letting your fears blind you. Don’t let fear destroy what you hold most precious.”

  Tobias rose, moving to join Sorcha and to hold his niece in his arms, as he left his uncle to think about all he had said.

  Chapter 14

  The following morning, Peter rose early, leaving Philomena asleep in bed. He tucked the sheet around her, kissed her head ,and slipped downstairs for a cup of coffee. He headed outside to watch the sun change the mountain’s color, marveling at the never-ending display of nature’s beauty in Montana. Cattle lowed in a distant field, and he relished the quiet after his time in town.

  “You act like you’ve never seen this view before,” Tobias said, as he walked in his direction.

  “I became too accustomed to Texas. To rolling prairies. I’ve missed mountains the way a man misses a wife.” He slurped a sip of coffee. “Or the way a man should miss a wife.”

  Tobias sighed and rested an arm on the fence pole, watching his nephew, rather than the beautiful view that still took his breath away. “Don’t do it, boy.” When Peter raised an eyebrow, Tobias continued, “Don’t tuck tail and run back to town, leavin’ too much unfinished and unsaid between you and your grandfather.”

  Peter glared at his uncle. “How’d you know that’s what I planned to do?”

  Chuckling, Tobias said, “’Cause that’s what I would’ve done.” When he saw that Peter hadn’t taken grave offense at his words, he glanced out at the valley. “I would have gone off in righteous anger, swearin’ I didn’t need him and cussin’ him to perdition.” He shook his head. “The only one I swore into perdition was myself.” He stared at his nephew. “Don’t be me.”

  Peter sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing, as he bowed his head and muttered a few swear words under his breath. “What do you recommend I do? I can’t abide him abusing my wife. He hurt her. He hurt our marriage.”

  Tobias nodded, momentarily focused on the swaying grass, glinting gold in the morning sunlight. “Aye, he did. Just as I hurt you.” He paused. “You’ve managed to forgive me.”

  Peter shook his head. “If you’d hurt Mena, I don’t know if I could have forgiven you, Uncle. Watching her suffer, it’s a pain past bearing.” He grunted when Tobias clapped him on his shoulder in a sign of solidarity.

  “Ah, that’s when you know you love her. When the thought of her aching hurts your soul.” His gaze belied decades-old grief. “I wish I’d been wise enough to know that when I was younger. I would never have let Ada go.”

  Peter looked at his uncle, seeing the younger version of the man. The man who had taught him how to use a lasso and to find joy in long days out on the range. The man who had eased the torment as his parents fought. “Why?” he whispered. “Why did you betray us?”

  Tobias closed his eyes at the plaintive question, as though Peter had just stabbed his heart. “There is no good reason, Peter. I was an idiot. You’re a sensible man. Well, I wasn’t sensible. I allowed myself to be taken in by sweet words and a beautiful face. I didn’t look below the surface.” He let out an aggrieved breath. “And I knew how miserable Katrina was. She played on my need to feel like someone’s hero.”

  Peter sighed. “We all have that desire, Uncle.” He let out another deep breath. “I can’t say I won’t always regret what you did, but I do forgive you. And now, as a married man, about to become a father, I do understand better.” He looked at his uncle. “My mother is persuasive and manipulative. She can steal your reason for a while, if you let her.”

  “Aye,” Tobias whispered, battling a deep emotion. “Try to understand your grandfather’s fear. He knows he’s behaved badly, but he doesn’t know how to remedy it.”

  “Why is he so afraid of my wife?” Peter asked in a low voice, filled with deep frustration. “He knows she’s a good woman. He should like and trust her, as much as he does Sorcha.”

  Tobias smiled. “Well, he’s known Philomena for far less time than he knew Sorcha, before she married Frederick. And the entire town watched Frederick and Sorcha court for a few years. Was the most entertaining thing to occur at our town dances during that time.” He paused. “Don’t you remember what losing your father did to Harold?”

  Peter’s eyes shone with grief, as he nodded, momentarily unable to speak.

  “Imagine the fear he’s battling now because he fears you’ll suffer as his beloved son did. He’s afraid you’ll be bitter and angry and die early too, due to a broken heart.”

  Turning to face the rangeland, Peter cleared his throat and then slammed his hand against the railing a few times. “Dammit, I have every right to be angry with him.” When Tobias made a noncommittal noise, Peter glared at his uncle, before he chuckled. “But I won’t. I’ll forgive him.”

  “Good,” Tobias said.

  They stood in quiet contemplation for many minutes, as they watched the light change the color of the mountains, no words needed, as they had finally found the harmony that had always existed between them but had eluded them for so long.

  Philomena poked her head into the kitchen, thankful to find it empty. Although she was starving, she didn’t know how she would face anyone after Harold’s pronouncement the night before. Her cheeks reddened with mortification, and she held a hand to her head.

  “Ach, are ye feelin’ weak from lack of food?” Sorcha asked, as she bustled into the room. She pushed Philomena onto the bench at the long table, before walking to the large stove and extracting a plate of food from the warming oven. “I warned the men that, if they touched yer food, I’d skelp ’em.” She winked at Philomena, sobering when the woman gaped at her. “Are ye well? Are ye ailin’? Should I go for Helen? She an’ Warren always enjoy their lie-ins when at the ranch, but I could interrupt them.”

  “No,” Philomena said, interrupting Sorcha’s rambling. She giggled, holding a hand to her mouth. “Are you always so … informative with your questions?”

  Sorcha stared at her, perplexed. “I dinna ken what ye mean.”

  “If Peter and I frequent the ranch and like to have … time to snuggle, can you refrain from announcing it to everyone who would listen?” Philomena asked, her gaze lit with earnestness and mirth. She nodded to the plate, now forgotten in Sorcha’s hand. “Thank you for saving me something to eat. I’m starving.” She flushed as her stomach growled at that moment.

  “Aye, of course ye are. Ye have a bairn to feed, as well as yerself. Come. Eat.” Sorcha placed the plate in front of her with a clunking sound and then set out a fork and knife. “I dinna ken if ye’d rather have tea or coffee.”

  “Tea,” Philomena said. “Coffee tastes vile just now.” She had gobbled down only a small portion of her meal, when Harold entered the kitchen. Her fork clattered to the plate, as her appetite fled, and she stared at him in horror. “Mr. Tompkins.” She scooted out and rose, stilling when he rested a hand on her shoulder. “Please, let me pass.”

  “No,” he said. “Sorcha, give us time alone.”

  Philomena sent Sorcha a pleading glance, the hope in her gaze fading as Sorcha slipped off her apron.

  “Nae,” Sorcha said, as she sat at the table, across from where Philomena had sat. “I will no’ leave her alone so ye can abuse her again, Harold. She has no’ earned such treatment.”

  Harold closed his eyes, as his shoulders stooped. He limped to the chair at the end of the table and pulled it out.
“Please, Philomena, sit. Enjoy your meal.”

  She sat but did not pick up her fork again. Instead she stared at the food that had tasted delicious but now seemed destined for the pig trough. “What do you want?” she asked dully. “To accuse me again of being no better than his mother? To wish I’d never come to Bear Grass Springs?”

  Harold sighed and shook his head. “No. To ask your forgiveness.” He waited, but Philomena didn’t respond to his words. “I had hoped you’d find it in you to forgive.”

  She raised her angry, defiant gaze to meet his, her eyes a stormy gray. “I have yet to hear an apology.” Her cheeks were flushed red, as she met his startled gaze.

  Sorcha huffed out a laugh at her statement. “Aye, she has ye there, Grandpa.”

  “There’s no need to act as though we’re your latest source of entertainment,” Harold snapped, as he glared at Sorcha.

  “I dinna see why no’. Ye’ll be livin’ with us. I might as well find ye entertainin’.” Her smile held a hint of Ewan’s impishness. “’Tis better than believin’ ye a pest an’ a rascal.”

  Harold smiled as he stared at Sorcha, before focusing on Philomena. “You’re right, dear girl. I haven’t apologized.” He reached forward and clasped her hand. “I’m sorry. I lost my only son to a conniving, heartless woman. I allowed my fear that the past was repeating itself to blind me from seeing reality.” He paused, but, when she remained silent, he said, “I’ve spent my life protecting those boys. I couldn’t have borne to see him harmed by you.”

  “You knew better,” Philomena rasped. “You knew how I was. How I am.”

  He swallowed. “One time, I thought I knew Katrina too.” He squeezed her hand. “I know I hurt you. I harmed my grandson.” His eyes shone with grief. “Something I endeavored never to do.” A tear trickled down her cheek, and he stiffened. “Nothing I say will ever be good enough?”

  As the kitchen door slammed open, everyone at the table jumped. “You’re makin’ her cry again, Grandpa?” Peter asked in an accusing voice.