Montana Sky: Dance Toward The Light (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Entertainers of The West Book 3)

by Linda Carroll-Bradd

  The blanket rustled as Howie stood and held out his hand toward Bertha. “Let’s take a walk.”

  Valerik roused and pushed to his feet. “Hold off for a few minutes. I planned a surprise.” Gesturing that they both should sit, he turned and walked as fast as he could to the wagon. From under the wagon seat, he retrieved his leather instrument case and returned to the blanket, sitting opposite Dorrie. Turning the instrument toward the other couple, he pointed at the three strings. “This is a balalaika, basically a Russian lute.”

  To warm up his fingers, he strummed several notes. Then, he first played a jig, glancing up when he could between the newly-learned notes.

  Dorrie sat stone still and wide-eyed, her hands clasped under her chin.

  Without a pause, he moved into a lilting melody in three-quarter time. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Howie and Bertha stand and start dancing, moving as best they could over the uneven ground. When the tune ended, he rested his palm on the strings and waited, gaze intense on her face.

  A smile burst out. “Oh, Valerik. Those were wonderful.” She clapped and looked to the nodding couple, who added their approving applause.

  Her excited tone relieved his worries. “Good enough to play for your next dance?”

  “Really?” She squealed then winced and put a hand to her throat. “I’d like that.”

  Leaning forward, he poured more water into her mug and gestured for her to drink. “I only know four or five tunes so far.”

  “This isn’t a recital.” Bertha waved a dismissive hand. “Dancers don’t care. They just want a snappy tune to move to.”

  Frowning, Howie crossed his wiry arms over his chest. “Will you promise to stay away from strong liquor?”

  The teasing reminded him of joking with his brothers, and Valerik threw back his head and let out a long laugh. Then he held up his hand and pledged, “On my honor as a dedicated musician, I, Valerik Andrusha, vow not to get drunk, Mr. Brungar.” But his real satisfaction was found in Dorrie’s nod and the glassy look of gratitude in her beautiful blue eyes.

  Chapter Eight

  The top news for the first week in July was the arrival of the mayor’s son, Michael Morgan Junior, born on the sixth. When he announced the happy news, Michael assured anyone who’d listen that both mother and baby were doing well. He promised to let the ladies know when Prudence was up to having visitors.

  With summer in full season, the warmer days were doing wonders for the garden. Seedlings had broken through the soil with leaves of various shapes. Dorrie stood at the back of the shops, staring at the sea of green. Now that she looked at all the growing plants, she remembered how her mother marked the rows with a thin stake bearing the name of what seeds had gone where. Whatever grew, they’d eat. Shrugging, she hefted the watering can, moving slowly along the outside edge to shower the plants the way rain would. “Here’s a sip of water for all you thirsty vegetables. Drink up, my sweeties.”

  “Still talking to those things?”

  At the deep voice, Dorrie spun, trailing a splash of water over Valerik’s boot. “Uh, sorry. Everything needs encouragement.” Since the day of the picnic when she discovered the hours he’d devoted to learning to play dance tunes, she couldn’t deny his appeal. He was a caring man who had volunteered to help—to help her. But wasn’t he here only until Nicolai returned? Then he’d leave again?

  “Now that the plants are growing, you’ll need a fence around it.”

  “I will?” She thought of the one at the family farm and remembered it being open, with just a strip of dirt separating the garden from the fields of corn and wheat.

  “If you don’t, you’re inviting rabbits, raccoons, squirrels, chipmunks, and deer to come for a midnight feast.” His hands spread to encompass the entire space.

  Not my precious plants. Wide-eyed, she turned. “We had the occasional gopher in Illinois but not all those animals.”

  “I forgot gophers.” He grinned and crossed his arms over his chest. “Living this close to the mountains is different than on the flatlands.”

  “What can we do?” Turning to Valerik for the answer felt right.

  “Barbed wire would do the trick.” Frowning, he shook his head. “But I don’t suggest that as a solution because of the dogs. Hog wire with cloth strips hanging from it should be a good enough deterrent.” He turned. “I’m on a break to grab something to eat.”

  Tonight, she was putting in a hem on a new blouse she’d sewn on her own. Tomorrow, she had all the preparations for the monthly dance. “All right, thanks.” She watched as he walked toward the saddlery back door. “But will you—”

  “I’ll help after work.” He waved before he disappeared inside.

  “I appreciate that.”

  Before she’d finished washing her single plate and fork after supper, Dorrie heard noises behind the shop and went to investigate.

  Sacha ran through the door and frolicked with Maks.

  Dorrie didn’t look forward to when Sacha came into heat and the dogs had to be kept apart. Hopefully, Nicolai would return by then. “You started.”

  “Hope to get done before the sunlight disappears.” Valerik pounded a long stake into one corner of the garden.

  She glanced at the ground and saw a roll of smooth wire. Without a word, she stepped to the table in the dressmaker’s shop and gathered the strips she’d made by ripping apart her oldest and most faded dress. For a few moments, she’d thought about using yardage from one of Cinnia’s bolts. Logic told her that a lady in town wouldn’t appreciate seeing the same fabric of her dress also being used to frighten away pests. After dumping the strips on a kitchen chair, she carried it outside and sat, awaiting further instructions.

  To the west, the sky was a mixture of lavender and blue. She leaned forward to look around the edge of the building at the mountain range to the north and spotted how yellow and orange rimmed the top peaks. While performing with the troupe, she’d not had the time to study many sunsets. The group was usually backstage making costume adjustments or last-minute preparations. Since staying here, she’d come to appreciate how each day the color mix was different.

  “Dorrie?”

  She jerked her attention to the garden. “Yes?”

  “Ready for the strips.”

  How long had she been daydreaming? The garden was enclosed by stakes at the corners and a triple row of wires. She stood and stuffed handfuls of cloth strips into her apron pockets. “How far apart should they be?”

  “Start with a foot between each but staggered between the heights. Does that make sense?”

  After tying on a strip to a top wire, she set one atop a middle wire several inches away from the first. “Like this?”

  Valerik stood with a hand on one of the stakes. “Right. That will give the best coverage.”

  “I give you credit for knowing how to do this.”

  “I’m only guessing, but I call it good practice.”

  “Practice?” She turned her head to look his way and caught his wide-eyed expression before he pressed his lips tight. “For what?”

  “Uh.” He cleared his throat and glanced to the side. “For whatever Howie throws my way. Looks like you’re doing fine. I’m heading inside to rehearse.” He gave a two-note whistle and the dogs bounded up the incline from the creek.

  Frowning, she watched him dart into the shop and shut the door. What did I say?

  For the July Jamboree the next day, Dorrie made arrangements of purple wood asters, mountain bluebells, white chokecherry, pink fireweed, and goldenrod blooms. As enthused as she’d been to plan the event, she was even more excited about the dwindling days until the Andrushas’s return. Again, she strung up lengths of fabric across the walls. Maybe, with Cinnia’s help, the decorations would be different next month.

  Valerik hadn’t wanted input on the order of the songs or even which songs to play. Based on what she’d heard during his surprise performance and his nightly practices, she trusted he would choose well.r />
  This month, she was ready well ahead of time and walked at a normal pace across the street at little after six in the evening. Her new blouse was a bit snugger than usual, because she hadn’t been sure how to adjust the dress form. After a final check of her appearance in the mirror, she knew the pink floral pattern highlighted her complexion. Now that she’d hosted a couple of dances, she had set the routine to memory and was confident she could handle accepting the fees. She’d told Bertha that afternoon to enjoy herself for the first hour before checking if her help was needed.

  Uneven shuffling sounded on the steps second before Valerik appeared with his leather case in hand. “Evening, Dorrie. Pink’s your color.” He grinned. “You look real pretty.”

  “Thank you.” She glanced at the linen shirt with the offset colored band pointing to his heart. What an odd thought. Moving from behind the little table, she gestured toward the hall’s far end. “I’ve set out a chair for your use. Do you need anything else?”

  He stood in place a moment to look around the entire room. “You do this much every time?”

  “What? The decorations?” She followed his gaze, feeling pride at the showy bouquets she made from the bountiful wildflowers. “For the last two dances. Each time is an improvement over the previous month.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she blushed, remembering Valerik’s method for calming her when she’d been so upset. Her pulse raced just like every other time she’d thought of that kiss. Shooting a sideways glance at his expression, she saw he had a similar memory, too.

  “I’ll get set up.” He dipped his chin and then walked across the floor.

  Watching him, she realized the shirt and his tan trousers had been ironed so not a wrinkle showed. Hot tears flooded her eyes, and she whirled so he wouldn’t see her silliness. Of course, the man wanted to look nice. As the musician, he would be in the spotlight. She shouldn’t read any other motive into his actions.

  Gay laughter and chattering voices preceded the entrance of townspeople. The ones who attended the first two were back in force. Everyone knew the routine and dropped their pennies into the basket without her saying a word. As she smiled and greeted all the arrivals, she heard snippets of their ongoing conversations.

  Seemed Bethesda Janes was getting help from his miner friends in building a house on the west side of town, complete with a livery stable and paddock. Someone said a one-story, but May Tisdale corrected that person, stating she knew for a fact Bethesda was building a three-bedroom two-story house.

  Dorrie would have to remember to inform Valerik. Or maybe he’d already heard that news from Howie.

  A broad-shouldered man with dark hair and a dark beard stepped up to the table, a pretty woman on his arm.

  “Welcome to the July Jamboree. Good to see you, John.” She angled her gaze toward the petite woman. “And you, Lena. Fee is three cents each, please.”

  The blacksmith turned to his wife with a crooked eyebrow and a grin that grew wide. “Think we can afford to attend?”

  “Don’t tease, John.” Lena playfully cuffed his arm then strained to look around him. “The flowers are so pretty.”

  “Thank you. Enjoy yourselves.” Dorrie turned to the next arrivals and repeated her greeting. She was glad to see Paul and Letty Slater but didn’t get to say much more than a welcome before Paul shuffled his still-pale wife to the closest bench. Her gunshot injury must still be healing. From the next group, she overheard gossip about a woman who came to town looking for her recently deceased father and how two of the mine guards also disappeared when she left Morgan’s Crossing two days later. All very mysterious, if the Copelins were to be believed.

  Moments later, the plink-plink of balalaika notes clued her Valerik was ready. She scooped up the money basket and walked to the center of the hall. “Good evening, everyone.” She paused to cast a wide smile around the gathered crowd, happiness bubbling in her chest at the sight of the expectant faces. “I’m very pleased to introduce a new musician tonight. And I have every confidence he’ll play the entire evening.”

  Laughter broke out.

  “Although his instrument may look a little different, I guarantee you won’t be disappointed in its sounds. Please welcome Valerik Andrusha and his Russian balalaika.” She swung her arm toward him and thought she heard a little rip before the clapping started. Then she was lost in the notes and moved to the edge of the room so she could enjoy his playing. At the first invitation to dance, she set the basket under his chair and joined the long double line for the Virginia Reel.

  More than once, dark-haired Taylor Temogen stopped Dorrie as she moved around the room. And he flirted. No other word described the way the man with the almond-shaped eyes acted. The government agent was definitely after something other than a dance. Why had he been asking about the sewing circles held at the Harper Ranch? He obviously hadn’t been in town long if he thought she might be an attendee.

  Walking among the crowd, she mentally noted who was missing. Huh, Bethesda and Jessamine weren’t here. Nor were Doc and Missouri. The song ended, but another didn’t start right away. She stepped to where she could spot Valerik and saw him in conversation with Taylor. She sucked in a breath. Could their topic be about the attention Taylor was paying her? Ducking behind Dean Tisdale to move out of Valerik’s sight, she patted a hand on her chest. Should I be flattered? Ooh, where was her best friend when she needed her?

  Finally, Dorrie accepted Taylor’s invitation to dance. She couldn’t afford to be considered an ungracious hostess. After a vigorous jig, she excused herself from Taylor and headed for the water barrel, glancing at Valerik’s chair to be sure the basket was still there.

  Valerik jumped to his feet and strode close, gathering her into his arms and turning so her back was to the room.

  “Why’d you stop playing? I thought you didn’t dance.” Frowning, she looked up into his too-serious face.

  “I don’t. Do you have a shawl or a coat?”

  Don’t tell me he’s taken to drink? “It’s the middle of summer, Valerik.” She pushed against his hold, but he was too strong. “Why would I have one?”

  “To cover what’s being exposed.” He kept his gaze level with her forehead and nodded as someone walked by. “Looks like the front of your blouse is coming apart.”

  She gasped and glanced down. Oh, good heavens. Heat flamed her cheeks. Sure enough, the placket front had pulled away from the main portion of the blouse, displaying the eyelet and lace of her chemise and under-bodice. Did I only use basting stitches on that section? “I’ve got to go home. But how can I leave without causing a scandal?”

  “Give me a couple seconds to get back to my chair.” He leaned down to meet her gaze. “I’ll play a robust tune not meant for dancing. Trust me, Dorrie. This will work. While everyone’s distracted, hunch your shoulders and walk out keeping your back to the room.”

  As soon as the first strident strumming filled the air, she scuttled sideways toward the exit, but she kept glancing over her shoulder.

  People closed in to form a semi-circle, their attention locked on the rapid-fire notes and the man who produced them.

  She paused in the doorway, absorbing the finesse of his playing and wishing she had a view of his face. The realization that once again Valerik had rescued her settled around her heart. He was truly a caring man. When she returned moments later wearing her mint-green blouse, dancing had resumed. Probably, she hadn’t been missed. A thought that dissolved like sugar in hot tea when she connected with Valerik’s ice-blue gaze. For the rest of the night, whenever she glanced his way, she connected with that same intense look…and her heartbeat raced like it strove to match the raucous tune he played.

  *

  In the middle of the third week of July, Dorrie heard her name being shouted. She stood at the clothesline spreading the freshly washed sheets and shaded her eyes, looking toward the almost completed hotel.

  Valerik stood on the roof, circling a hammer over his head then pointing it t
oward the prairie. “A wagon’s coming, and I don’t think it’s El Davis.”

  Dorrie dropped the pillowcase into the basket and ran past the flourishing garden until she was close to the building. “Do you think it’s Cinnia and Nicolai?”

  Both dogs jumped from where they’d been sleeping in the shade and followed.

  “Wish I had my spyglass.” He shaded his eyes and leaned forward. “Definitely has two people in the seat, but the wagon is full of something that’s hanging off the back.”

  Her pulse raced, and she hopped from foot to foot. “What kind of something?”

  “Can’t tell. The wagon went into a gully.”

  “Oh, I’ve left a mess in the kitchen with the laundry.” She turned and took a few steps then reversed direction. “No, I should put something in the oven for supper. But the wash still needs to be hung.” She glanced down at her ugliest clothes and fisted her hands in the rough cloth. “Ugh, look what I’m wearing.”

  Valerik lifted his hat and swiped a palm across his forehead. “Dorrie.”

  “What?”

  “They’ll be happy to see you, no matter the state of the shop.” He flashed a smile.

  She blew out a breath. Of course, he was right. But she should start airing out the wagon since she’d be sleeping there tonight. With a clear task in mind, she crossed the grassy area, scampered up the metal steps, and flung open the door. Opening the three windows and the roof vent didn’t take long.

  Sacha thought her quick movements were a game and jumped from the floor to the settee and back down.

  Maks copied the move, but his body was too big. Both dogs tumbled to the floor with a resounding thud, which set them off in a game of chase.

  Dorrie drew in a deep breath and repinned the straggling tendrils into her loose bun. That was as good as she could make her appearance. She hurried back to the basket, determined to get all the sheets hung. The air was plenty warm so they’d be dry in only a short while. Her insides tickled like she’d swallowed a feather.

  Back inside the shop, she ran a dusting cloth over all the surfaces in the workroom before she scooted back the dress forms and rolled up the blinds. The last tasks were to drop the Closed sign to the floor and open the door. Before she finished debating about carrying a chair to the front porch, she heard the rattle and creak of an approaching wagon.