Montana Courage (McCutcheon Family Series Book 9)

by Caroline Fyffe

  Shad shuffled his boots. Yeah, he did.

  “If we need extra hands, we hire in the spring.”

  Disappointment weighed heavy. With his years of ranching experience, Shad had expected that answer. Still, he’d been watching out for his two brothers since his grandma Girdy passed on some twelve years back. Keeping them on the straight and narrow, so to speak—as best he could. Times were tough. Work was scarce. If they hired on here, they’d get the stability he’d found at the Heart of the Mountains. He couldn’t give up just yet.

  “They’re good workers, Luke,” he added, trying not to sound desperate.

  Luke held his gaze. “Chance Holcomb just hired a man a couple weeks ago. Said with Evie so close to delivering, he wanted the freedom to stay close to the homestead. Too bad we didn’t know sooner.”

  Shad nodded. “Yeah, I heard about that myself. It’s a shame. Well, thanks, anyway. My grandma used to say it never hurts to ask.” He turned to go.

  “Hold up, Petty. How old are they?”

  “Nick is twenty-four, and Tanner twenty-three.”

  “Any experience in the saddle?”

  “Plenty. Just like me. They’re good hands. Honest.” Although, Tanner’s a bit of a hothead . . .

  Luke gave him a nod. “Tell ’em we’ll hire ’em on half-time until spring. When we begin work on the new barn at Matt’s place, they can go full-time. That’s the best we can do at the present. They can live in the bunkhouse just like everyone else.”

  “Thank you.” Shad thrust out his hand. “That’s darn nice of you.”

  Luke smiled and shook his head. “Nothin’ nice about it, Petty. Business is business. Now, get back inside and get some sleep. You’ve earned time off. Tomorrow, you’ll be back out in the cold. I want you to ride out to the Holcomb ranch and the Preece farm.”

  “For?”

  Luke looked up at the sky.

  Shad followed suit. In the distance, foreboding black clouds hung low to the ground. He shrugged deeper into his coat. “Those weren’t there a half hour ago when I rode in.”

  “Exactly. That’s why we’re sending men out to every homestead within ten miles of town, just to be sure everyone is ready. Flood and the rest of us are feeling a mite gun-shy since the early snowstorm that caught Roady and Sally unaware in the mountains. We’ve been expecting snow—but since then, it hasn’t come.”

  “I’ll deliver your message first thing after tasks tomorrow.”

  Without a glance back, Luke lifted a hand and clamped down his Stetson as he strode toward the ranch house. A sudden gust swept past, setting the evergreen branches dancing and scattering aspen leaves across the frozen dirt.

  Shad grasped his coat lapels together and started back for the bunkhouse, thinking of the hot fire burning inside, the great weight lifted from his shoulders.

  Tanner and Nick had jobs. His first obstacle conquered.

  The black clouds in the distance caught his attention once more. Shad stopped and stared, the satisfied feeling in his belly pushed away all too soon by disquiet. Now his brothers just had to arrive in one piece. The sooner they did that, the better he’d sleep.

  Chapter Two

  Relaxing in Sheriff Brandon Crawford’s large desk chair, newly hired Deputy Justin Wesley scanned last week’s three-page Sunday Herald for any tidbit he might have missed. After a few disappointing moments, he looked away from the printed page he’d read ten times and sighed.

  Y Knot wasn’t Denver. He’d only been deputy sheriff a little over a month, but he hadn’t taken long to decide he’d enjoy living in Y Knot—even if there wasn’t much news to read about. He’d already adjusted to the quiet streets, and knowing each and every person he encountered.

  But he had a quick mind. He needed to keep his thoughts occupied, or else he found himself in trouble. He added subscribing to the Rocky Mountain News on to his mental list of things to do. The news would be old by the time the daily arrived in Y Knot, but old news was better than no news.

  With a satisfied grin, he took in the fruits of his labor. The jailhouse was spotless. Not a thing on the sheriff’s desktop was out of place. On one corner, recent correspondence was stacked in order by date. At the top center was the coffee cup filled with pencils. On the other corner, Crawford’s two large law books were stacked one on top of the other, along with the official journal where the town’s daily happenings were faithfully recorded.

  Justin wanted to show Crawford he was up for the deputy job, which wasn’t just about hunting outlaws and upholding the law. In the short time he’d been in Y Knot, he’d gotten an earful about Jack Jones, the previous deputy. How the place was always a mess. Neatness was one of Justin’s best qualities, and he aimed to show Crawford he’d hired the right man.

  His gaze drifted to the basket and jar of apple butter in the middle of the desk at the same time hoofbeats thudded on the icy ground outside.

  Francis, the McCutcheons’ ranch hand, stepped into the building. The tall young man was bundled against the frigid weather, his hat pulled down tight. He closed the door and smiled when he spotted Justin sitting behind Crawford’s desk.

  “Howdy, Francis.” Justin stood and came around the desk, extending his arm, and they shook hands. “What brings you to town on this downright chilly afternoon?”

  “Errands,” Francis replied, eyeing the ten-foot-long bullwhip attached to Justin’s left hip opposite his pistol. He moseyed over to a chair in front of the desk and sat.

  Justin reclaimed his warm seat and neatly folded the newspaper.

  “You always carry that whip?” Francis asked.

  “I do.” He shrugged. “Feel naked without it.”

  “Brandon around?”

  “Nope. Not much going on here, so he rode out to Matthew McCutcheon’s, or maybe Mark’s. I’m surprised the two of you didn’t pass. Charity’s been out there a good month, helping out with the new babes. Brandon’s dog-faced because of it. Misses her, I guess.”

  Francis removed his hat and tossed it behind him to the long bench under the window before pulling the scarf from around his neck. He peeled off his gloves, eyeing the place. His lips inched up in amusement. “I would too if she were my wife.”

  Justin pushed the wicker basket toward Francis. “Brandon made these before he left. Help yourself, if you’re hungry.”

  Francis’s eyebrow winged high. “What are they?”

  “Biscuits.”

  Francis reached forward, flipped back the cloth, and stared.

  Justin chuckled. “Go on, they’re not rattlesnake eggs.”

  “Yeah, but Brandon made ’em. Any good?”

  The one Justin had choked down sat in his belly like a stone. “Not bad with coffee,” he mumbled. “Have some.” So they’ll be gone by the time Brandon returns. “They’ll warm you up.” Tossing them out wouldn’t be right. He’d like to report how others had enjoyed the sheriff’s cooking.

  Francis scooted his chair back an inch. “Naw, Lucky’s spoiled me for others.”

  “The spread make ’em even better.” He pushed forward the jar.

  Clearly against his will, Francis reached in, retrieved the top biscuit, and took a large bite, crumbs falling everywhere.

  Seeing the mess, Justin frowned but kept his comments to himself.

  Francis swallowed and stuffed the remainder in his mouth. “Not as bad as I thought,” he said over a mouthful, dusting his hands over his lap. “But nothin’ like Lucky’s.” Finished, he stood, dropping everything on his lap to Justin’s clean floor, and went to the stove for a cup of coffee.

  Justin sighed.

  “Sure looks good in here since you were hired,” Francis said. “When Jack Jones was deputy, the place looked like a twister passed through—every day.” He chuckled. “Brandon tried to keep up, but Jack messed things faster than Brandon could clean.”

  “A place for everything and everything in its place,” Justin replied. He wasn’t all that fussy, but he did like to find things when they
were needed. His first day, he’d washed the front windows and cleaned out the jail cells. “Anything new out at the ranch?”

  “Quiet out there too, now that we’re back from the stockyards. For the first time ever, we drove about three thousand head of yearlings and two-year-olds to Miles City and sold ’em mid-November.”

  “That’s right. Charity mentioned something about that.”

  Francis got comfortable in the crumb-strewn chair. “We still have the cows and bulls, of course, and the horses, but the place is bare bones for the amount of stock we’ve usually got around to look after. Feels nice not to be worrying over the young animals.”

  Curious at this news, Justin sat forward. Over the years, he’d worked at his grandfather’s ranch in Colorado and knew the cattle business as much as the next ranch hand. “That’s an odd time to push a herd. Usually you wait until spring, when there’s plenty of grass along the way. By the time they reach market, they’ve gained weight and are worth more per hoof. Taking them in the fall is no way to make money.” He shrugged. “Seems strange to me.”

  Francis nodded. “Miles City is only about a sixteen-day trip if nothin’ happens. Not long enough to lose much weight. The McCutcheons are wary after last year’s harsh winter, followed by the long dry summer and fall. Better to sell now and lighten up.”

  “Sounds reasonable.”

  “I can tell you, the ranch hands are liking it.” Francis grinned, took another biscuit, and then stood. “More readin’ and poker time on days too cold to be ridin’. I better get moving. Things to do; people to see.”

  Justin stood and walked out with Francis, watching his new friend head toward the Hitching Post Saloon. His chuckle died in his throat. The slate-gray sky overhead had an ominous feel. Snow was on the way.

  Chapter Three

  The following day, Shad, content with his life, loped down the long, winding lane leading to the Holcomb ranch. He’d pretty much fallen into a vat of chocolate when the McCutcheons hired him on. They were fair, the bunkhouse was comfortable, and Lucky cooked as if he’d been born with a spatula in his hand. The help was paid on time, and town was an easy ride away.

  The Hitching Post poured good whiskey, and Fancy Aubrey was sweet on him—and just about every other cowboy in town, he reminded himself. Just depended on who was sweet-talking her at the time. But that didn’t matter. When she came close in the saloon, she made him feel like a king.

  Dexter, Chance Holcomb’s dog, raced out to meet him, and Shad slowed riding into the ranch yard. A fellow he didn’t recognize came out of the barn, bundled from head to toe.

  “Howdy,” the fellow called.

  Shad glanced at the house, and then back at the man. “Afternoon.”

  When he dismounted, the fellow hurried forward. Of medium height and build, he was about as average as they came except for a nickel-sized birthmark on the right side of his chin that resembled a heart, of all things.

  “I’m Andy Lovell,” he said, reaching out his hand.

  “Shadrack Petty, from the Heart of the Mountains. I heard a new man had signed on out here.” They shook hands. “Chance around?”

  “Sure. In the house.”

  Warmth sprang to Shad’s face. He’d hoped to catch Chance outside. Evie was in a delicate way, and he didn’t want to intrude. His chest tightened, thinking about the baby to come. Chance might have a son soon—or a daughter. A stone dropped into the pit of Shad’s stomach at the memory of that fateful day in Virginia. Then again in Colorado, the moment he’d gotten “the news.” Melancholy pricked inside.

  “Mrs. Holcomb is close to her time. You think they might not want to be bothered?”

  Andy wrapped his arms around himself. “She’s not due for another month. She was gathering eggs in the henhouse only ten, fifteen minutes ago.”

  “In this cold?”

  “That’s right. There’s no stopping Evie.”

  Shad nodded his thanks and tied his horse. Taking the three tall porch steps, he knocked lightly and the door opened. Expecting to see Evie or Chance, he was taken aback at the very businesslike older woman before him who held the door, waiting. He heard a scraping chair and saw Chance stand from his place at the kitchen table.

  “Shad. Come in,” Chance called. “Good to see you.”

  Shad entered slowly, edging his way around the woman, who stepped back to give him room.

  With awkward movements, Evie rose from her seat by the fire, placing her hand protectively on her protruding tummy. “How nice to see you, Mr. Petty,” she said. “Please, come in and meet my dear friend, Mrs. Margaret Seymour. She was the proprietor of the mail-order-bride business in St. Louis, where I used to work.” She blushed as she looked at her husband. “And because of her, I met Chance.” Evie smiled warmly at her friend.

  Margaret smiled back.

  “She also raised me when my mother passed on. I think of her as a second mother and a friend. She’s come to help in my time of need, and I couldn’t be happier. I just hope I can talk her into staying for good.” She laughed and shook her head. “My, that was a mouthful. Margaret, this is Mr. Petty. He works for the McCutcheons.”

  “Ma’am,” he said, conscious of holding his hat.

  “Mr. Petty.”

  Something about the woman made him nervous. There wasn’t a wrinkle to be found in her military-style blue dress. Her brown hair was neatly swept up on her head with one gray streak at her temple. Even though her tone was quite friendly, her expression still had him cautious, as if she’d like to rap his knuckles with a ruler.

  “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance,” Mrs. Seymour said as regally as a queen. “Have a seat with Mr. Holcomb, and I’ll get you a cup of coffee. I’m sure you could use something hot after being out in such cold weather.”

  Evie lumbered forward, placing both her hands on the back of the chair Chance had been using. “I was just about to suggest the same thing. And we have crumb cake too, fresh from the oven. I won’t take no for an answer.”

  Chance waved to the table. “You better do as my wife says, Shad. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but she’s bigger than the both of us together. I think she must have three babies in there. We don’t want to get her mad.”

  A second passed before Shad realized Chance was joking, and he let out a laugh.

  Mrs. Seymour was already at the sideboard getting an extra cup.

  Being a messenger wasn’t bad in the least. He could use a cup of coffee and a slice of crumb cake. Even though Lucky had made a three-layer double-chocolate cake last week, Shad wouldn’t pass up his chance for more sweets.

  Chance picked up his fork and started into the half-eaten portion on his plate. “You meet my new help?”

  “I did. Seems like a friendly sort,” he said as Evie set the cake before him.

  “He is,” Chance said. “And a hard worker. We’re lucky to get him for as little as I can pay.” His appreciative smile colored his wife’s cheeks when she refilled his coffee cup. “Thank you, darlin’,” he drawled.

  Evie looked past her time, when in reality, Andy had said her baby would come next month in February—a bitterly cold time in Montana.

  Shad forked in a large bite and took a sip of coffee. “This is mighty tasty, Mrs. Holcomb. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure. Margaret and I set to cooking today. That’s why the kitchen is a mess.”

  “And also why the air smells so good,” Chance said with a grin. “You can understand why I decided to stay inside.”

  “I do, indeed. I’m glad Luke picked today to send me out. I’m sure your crumb cake won’t last long.”

  Evie laughed. “You’re right about that. Now that we have Mr. Lovell to feed as well, things are finished more quickly. Nothing goes to waste.”

  Chance chuckled. “Did they ever?”

  Mrs. Seymour had taken a cup and sat by the fire, listening and smiling. Shad supposed she wasn’t as imposing as he’d first thought.

  “What’s the news?�
� Chance asked.

  “Not really news. Luke and the rest are just making sure everyone is duly set with supplies and such for whatever weather might be coming.”

  Chance dabbed at the crumbs on his plate with his thumb. “I’m well aware of the seasons. I only had three steers to sell this year. I sent them early when the McCutcheons drove their herd to Miles City. Besides that, we’re stocked up and ready.”

  “Luke figured as much, but wanted me to stop by anyway and say hello. See if you had any news for them. I’m headed to the Preece farm next.”

  “I’m glad you did,” Evie said, leaning on Chance’s chair. “Staying in touch is good. I haven’t been to town in two months. Cabin fever has set in. I wanted to have a big welcoming party for Margaret when she arrived, but with the holidays and the weather . . .”

  “And with you being very near to your time, a party is definitely not needed,” Mrs. Seymour sternly added from her chair by the hearth. “I’m just happy to be here. I’d planned to arrive sooner, but a dear friend was sick and needed me. I stayed until she was better.”

  Evie shook her head. “We’ll have a party with all the brides and their husbands just as soon as we can. In town, at the Biscuit Barrel.”

  “You have a baby to deliver,” Mrs. Seymour insisted. “Your thoughts should be on that—and only that. Anything else is just foolishness.”

  Chance caught Shad’s gaze over the rim of his cup.

  His friend seemed happy and would soon add another to his household, something Shad would never be able to do. He cut away his gaze, but it landed on Evie’s hand resting on Chance’s shoulder.

  Shad swallowed and looked at the crumbs on his plate. Give him his horse, a herd of cattle to tend, and open country. He’d be content with his lot.

  Chapter Four

  Prancing down the stairs of her sister and brother-in-law’s two-story farmhouse, Poppy Ford felt on top of the world, as well as invigorated from her nap.