“Of course. I thought I recognized you, Mr. Petty. Please, come in.” She stepped back, holding wide the door.
A rush of heat felt good on his face. He shuffled inside to the aroma of good cooking thick on the air.
“Tobit’s in the kitchen. I’ll get him.”
Her soft voice was like a warm blanket. From the corner of his eye, he was suddenly aware they weren’t alone in the room. Mrs. Preece hurried away, and Shad chanced a glance to his left to see a shorter, younger version of Mrs. Preece regarding him. He nodded politely and used his handkerchief again to blow his nose. Some things just couldn’t be helped.
Why the young woman looked familiar was a mystery. Surely this was Mrs. Preece’s sister, and most likely from Boston too. They’d yet to meet.
“Excuse me, sir, but I feel I know you.”
She speaks with her sister’s accent. Nice.
The swinging kitchen door opened and Tobit strode through.
“Shad. Good to see you,” he said, a welcoming smile on his face. Behind him came his wife and grandpa. “I see you’ve met Kathryn’s sister, Miss Poppy Ford.”
Shad hastily stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket and took Tobit’s hand in greeting. “Well, sort of.” He gave the young woman a smile and a nod. “Good to see you, Tobit. I have a short message, and then I’ll be on my way. Wind’s picking up and a storm’s blowing in. Had a few snow flurries on my way over from the Holcombs’.”
Mrs. Preece’s hands clapped together over her bosom, or thereabouts, but Shad tried not to notice.
“You were at the Holcombs’?” she said, her voice filled with emotion. “How is Evie? Her delivery date is approaching, and I know she’s been feeling the effects quite profoundly. Did you speak with her, Mr. Petty?”
“She’s fine, ma’am. Lumbering slowly, but seems in good spirits.” He snapped his mouth shut when Isaiah chuckled. He hadn’t meant to say that.
“That’s wonderful.”
“She also wanted me to pass along that as soon after the baby as possible, and with weather permitting, she intends to have a welcoming party for her houseguest, Mrs. Seymour. Said you’d know who I was speaking of. She wants it to be real special. That you, her, and Heather Klinkner owed the woman a lot.”
He shrugged. He liked the stern-looking female well enough, but he didn’t feel the excitement about her he’d heard in Evie’s voice or the delight written on Kathryn’s face. She surely must be someone extraordinary.
“Oh yes, we do, Mr. Petty, we all do. She found us our husbands, and made meaningful matches.”
Tobit cleared his throat.
Kathryn laughed. “Well, Evie made her own match, so to speak. After I heard through the grapevine Mrs. Seymour had arrived in Y Knot, I’ve been tempted on several occasions to stop in unannounced. But the weather has been chancy. Tobit wouldn’t let me go. I wish I had now, since the weather is turning. I don’t want to wait until spring.”
“It’ll be sooner than that, sweetheart,” Tobit chimed in. “You’re not that experienced with the wagon yet. And the horses get spooky in the wind. Everything in its time.” He turned his attention back to Shad. “What brings you out today?”
Another stranger came down the stairs to stand by Miss Ford.
“The McCutcheons sent out all the hands, making sure everyone is set for winter. Seeing if anyone has any special needs we can help with. Luke didn’t think you would, but wanted me to look in just the same.” Shad took this opportunity to glance around and take a longer look at Kathryn’s sister.
Tobit and Isaiah exchanged a look before Tobit spoke. “We’re as set as we’ll ever be. Just a bit surprised the snow has held off this long.”
Isaiah harrumphed. “Last year this time, I was shoveling the path to the barn. It weren’t no picnic.”
Tobit nodded. “Isaiah’s right. Hopefully, this year will be easier. But we’re as set as we’ll ever be. Stocked with plenty of food and fuel to burn. I appreciate you asking.” He waved his arm toward the kitchen door. “Now that you’ve relayed the message, can I invite you to join us for a meal? I’m sure you’ve noticed that rich pork roast scent hanging on the air.”
Indeed, he had. And his mouth had been watering since he stepped through the front door. He had about a twenty-five-minute ride to town and another thirty-five to the ranch. The invitation was awfully tempting . . .
“We insist, Mr. Petty,” Kathryn said. “You can get to know my sister Poppy and her friend Oscar Scott.” She motioned to the two.
Poppy, flanked by Oscar, had the same cocoa-brown hair as her sister, but her eyes were ice blue. Shad had seen her before, but couldn’t place where. Something about that frisky little tilt to her lips.
Mrs. Preece tipped her head. “Mr. Petty?”
“That’s real neighborly, ma’am. Don’t mind if I do. Thank you.”
“Wonderful.” Her dimpled smile reappeared.
“Follow me, Shad,” Tobit said. “I’ll show you where you can stable your horse.” He shrugged into his coat and then wrapped a wool scarf around his neck. His gaze cut to the other fellow. “Want to come along, Oscar?”
The man sniffed with disdain. By his expression, there was no love lost between him and Tobit.
“I’ll stay here, thank you.”
“Suit yourself,” Tobit replied, grasping Shad’s shoulder. “Let’s get this taken care of while the women see to supper.”
Shad nodded. Still dressed in his coat and gloves, he took one more secretive glance at Poppy to find her watching him.
For some reason, he was hit with a surge of discomfort—and then embarrassment—but had no idea why. Was Kathryn’s sister the reason? That seemed more than a little strange.
Tobit led the way out the door, and Shad was only too happy to follow.
Chapter Six
Leaving Ossy standing in the front room, Poppy followed Kathryn into the warm, good-sized farmhouse kitchen. Before her sister could open her mouth, Poppy hurried to the cupboard and took down a plate and carried it to the dining room table.
“Thank you, Poppy.” Kathryn followed her with silverware and a napkin. Tobit and Isaiah’s places were at each end. To either side of Tobit were Kathryn and Poppy’s spots, with Oscar next to her.
Poppy circled the table to set the plate next to Kathryn. She kept her gaze trained on what she was doing.
“That was kind of Tobit to invite Mr. Petty to stay,” she said, working her voice to rid any emotional quaver. Every selfish thing she’d ever done ran through her mind like a locomotive. She’d love to skip supper and retire early to pack and plan, but doing so would definitely hurt her sister’s feelings.
“Tobit likes company. His generosity is one of the things I adore about him.”
Not like me.
Kathryn circled the table, moving a knife here and fork there, making everything perfect. The plates sat a half inch from the edge, the water glass at one o’clock. Just like the servants did at home.
Could I ever be like Kathryn? Even if I wanted to? She doubted it.
Kathryn reached out and lovingly traced a graceful finger made for playing the piano around the edge of one plate. “These dishes belonged to Isaiah’s wife, Lori. Every time I set the table, I feel the love they nurtured through the years. Aren’t they beautiful? I’m privileged they’ve been passed down to Tobit and me.”
Poppy took in the tiny yellow flowers on the blue ceramic. She’d noticed the colorful dishes her first evening here and thought them pretty, but she hadn’t said anything, believing they were too rustic for someone of Kathryn’s standing. Sickening.
“You sure put a lot of stock in where our thingamabobs go.”
Poppy’s head snapped around to see Isaiah watching them.
Kathryn smiled. “I do. Setting a proper table shows respect for one’s guests.” She examined the settings one more time. “There, everything is perfect. You hungry, Grandpa?”
“Aren’t I always?”
“
Indeed. With good reason. You’re a very hard worker.” She moved closer and touched his hand. “Tobit would be lost without you. This place is much too large for one man to run on his own.”
“That’s why he has you when I pass on. You and the young’uns ta come.”
Kathryn shyly dropped her gaze. “Yes, someday. I don’t know how you managed for as long as you did.”
Isaiah chuckled good-naturedly. “The place was falling down around my ears when Tobit showed up. He wrangled things into shape. You and him both. But there’s still some wrangling ta do. It’s not finished yet.”
Kathryn put her arm around the old man’s shoulders and squeezed. “Maybe not, but now it’s time for me to mash the potatoes and cream the peas. The men will be in any moment.”
Poppy sighed inwardly. Suppertime in Boston was a lot easier. All you had to do was sit down and the food appeared.
“What can I do?” She followed Kathryn into the kitchen and glanced around. If she knew how things worked, she’d find a chore herself. She was so limited in knowledge of meal preparations.
Kathryn’s head whipped around, and she stared. “You’re a guest, Poppy. You don’t need to help. Go out and entertain Oscar. I’m sure he’s probably wondering where you’ve gone off to.”
“Not tonight.” She straightened her spine. “I feel like cooking. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll do my best.”
Thirty minutes later, the group settled into their seats. Isaiah offered a blessing and the food was passed around. Not until everyone had a few bites did the conversation begin to flow.
Poppy hadn’t told Kathryn yet she planned to leave in the morning. The trip wouldn’t be easy. Temperatures continued to fall. For the first time ever, the thought of saying good-bye brought on a strong surge of emotion that had her blinking back moisture.
Before long, the meal had been polished off.
“Poppy is an accomplished equestrian,” Kathryn said to Mr. Petty over the warm chocolate cake she’d just served. “You should see her ride.”
Seeing the pride in Kathryn’s smile directed her way hurt, and Poppy sucked in a breath.
The ranch hand had been speaking about how the horses at the McCutcheon spread were bred for working cattle. “Is that right?” he responded. “She looks much too petite to ride a big ol’ horse.”
The sparkle in his eyes caught Poppy off guard, and she lifted her fork.
“How long have you been riding, Miss Ford?”
She took a moment to pat her lips with her napkin. “Since I was eight years old. But I ride English, and in particular, I foxhunt. Although I abhor if the prey actually gets caught. I’d like to change that aspect of the sport. Do you know the discipline, Mr. Petty?”
“Two years ago she was invited to the most prestigious hunt in Virginia,” Oscar added pompously. “In the Piedmont.”
Seriously, Ossy? In the Piedmont? As if Mr. Petty will know where that is.
Mr. Petty was just taking a drink from his glass when he sputtered water across the table, hitting Oscar in the face. Poor Mr. Petty grasped his napkin from his lap and furiously wiped his mouth.
“What the devil?” Oscar shouted. He jerked up his napkin and wiped his face.
“’Scuse me,” Mr. Petty blurted, keeping his gaze on his plate. A scorching red line crept up his neck and continued to his face.
He looked so miserable, Poppy wished she could ease his discomfort.
“No harm done,” Kathryn said quickly. She nibbled her lower lip as she glanced at Ossy, who was still outraged over the incident.
Tobit looked to be struggling with laughter. “Not to worry, Shad. Mr. Scott was due a bath in the next day or two, anyway. Now you’ve saved him the trouble.”
Oscar drilled Tobit with a hateful stare before sliding it to Mr. Petty.
“No big deal.” Isaiah chortled. “Ain’t the first time, and I’m sure it ain’t the last. We’re all almost family, been living together long enough.”
When Mr. Petty lifted his gaze, he sought Poppy first.
His embarrassment seemed overly exaggerated. Why would a rancher care so much over such a blunder? This was a family supper in the Montana Territory, not a Christmas Ball in New York. The hand holding his napkin quivered before he moved it under the table, as if he were in shock over something important.
She felt a burning need to put him back at ease. “Please, Mr. Petty, no real harm was done, I assure you.”
He glanced at his empty dessert plate and stood. “I’m sorry I can’t stay to help you clean up, Mrs. Preece,” he said sincerely to Kathryn before glancing out the window. “That coal-colored sky is about to unleash. I better hit the trail if I don’t want to be caught in a blizzard.” Seeing Tobit move to stand, Mr. Petty held out a palm to stop him. “You just stay put. I can see to my horse and be down the road in three minutes. Thank you again for the tasty meal.”
In silence, they all watched him stride out of the dining room without a backward glance.
Poppy stifled the urge to run after him, wondering about her concern over this new acquaintance, so different from her usual attitude. What had they said that caused his shock? She thought back but couldn’t figure it out.
But somehow, some way, she longed to make him feel better before she left Y Knot, never to return.
Chapter Seven
Shad rode into the ranch yard after dark, the easy stride of his horse doing nothing for his agitated mood. The moment he’d heard Poppy Ford had been in Virginia—the Piedmont—the same time he’d been there, the memories he’d worked so hard to forget came rushing back. She’d seen everything. He remembered her now. That coincidence felt like a bad dream.
The Turner Hill Farm foxhunt had coincided with his arrival at the magnificent Southern spread known for breeding the best livestock around. He was there with the Texas ranch he used to ride for to pick up Redbud, an Angus bull, notorious in the county for his nastiness.
Shad rode directly into the open barn doors, forcing Whiskers, the barn cat, to dart out of the way of his horse’s hooves. He unsaddled in the dark.
He’d put the accident behind him long ago. There was no changing the past or its outcome. Once he had been released from his recuperation, he’d pulled himself together and lit out for other pastures. No one knew about the damage the bull had done, not even his brothers, who had been working farther north.
Who would have thought my shame would follow me here?
Now, as fate would have it, Poppy Ford had been one of the onlookers. She’d seen what had happened. Someday, she might even ask about it.
A group of equestrians, finished with the hunt, had gathered in the gazebo on the lawn just off the cattle barn. Several servants served refreshments to the dandies in their tightfitting, uncomfortable-looking breeches, red coats, and tall black riding boots. There wasn’t a spot of mud on any of their silly attire.
The women, dressed in black riding skirts and tailored jackets, had long since removed their netted top hats as he and his group of “real men” struggled to get Redbud from his paddock to a waiting wagon. Some of the younger cowboys smiled and waved at the women, to the disgruntlement of the fops.
He recalled Miss Ford’s inquisitive blue eyes regarding him keenly. Not only that, he remembered her laughing face after Redbud, not liking what was being asked, lunged away, swinging his head in anger and catching Shad by surprise, knocking him off his feet.
Not realizing the severity of the mishap, he’d scrambled quickly to his feet and jumped away from the menacing animal. For some odd reason, the accident struck Miss Ford as amusing, as well as the rest of the women.
He turned his horse into one of the empty stalls, fed him, and headed to the bunkhouse. By now, most hands would be wrapped in their blankets, reading or staring at the ceiling in contemplative thought. Entering, he removed his coat. A good number of pegs were empty when he’d normally have to hunt for space. He looked around.
“Where is everyone?” he asked quie
tly to anyone who felt compelled to answer.
Lucky was already shut away in his room, but Francis, sitting on his blankets, had his back to his pillow against the wall. A thick Mexican wool throw wrapped his shoulders. He glanced up from the book in his hands.
“Luke received a telegram from the boys who went over Pine Grove way to take supplies to Widow Blanchard. Old Sheriff Huxley saw ’em passing through town when they were finished at her place. Seems they’re a bit short on manpower, and he wondered if they’d give him a hand for a day or two. Said he’d clear it with the McCutcheons. Being the workload here is light since we took the yearlings and two-year-olds to Miles City last month, they agreed.”
Thankful he’d snagged Roady’s old bunk by the fireplace, Shad stripped off his shirt. Still good for another few days, he hooked the garment on a knob on the wall. While he untied the bandanna around his neck, he took stock.
Smokey, already in his covers, dealt out a game of solitaire on his blankets.
Bob slumped in a chair in front of the fire, his feet stretched out to the flames, his big toe pushing through a large hole in his sock.
Ike sat on the side of his bed, sewing something by the light of his lantern.
And Hickory was already sawing logs, his small form barely a bump in his blankets.
Shad swallowed and forced his gaze to his own bunk. Something about Hickory had him feeling sentimental tonight. He’d not have a son, not today, not this year—not ever. Or a daughter. Redbud had taken care of that two years ago.
Chapter Eight
Around nine the next morning, Oscar met Poppy in the upstairs hallway, a cup of coffee in his hand.
“I wish a newspaper was delivered to this home,” he grumbled. “I dreadfully miss the opinion page with my coffee. Returning to some civilization can’t come soon enough. If I see another cow, goat, or pig, I’ll scream.”
Montana Courage (McCutcheon Family Series Book 9) Page 4