Montana Courage (McCutcheon Family Series Book 9)

by Caroline Fyffe

  Justin liked Hildy. She was levelheaded, nice, and quick-witted. When there wasn’t anything to keep him in the sheriff’s office, more often than not, he found himself relaxing in the comfortable chair of the hotel lobby. Why not? The place was right next door to the jail.

  “I’ve brought you some things, Miss Ford.” Hildy came into the room and placed two folded towels on the bed. “I hope everything is to your liking.” She crossed the rug and opened the doors to a large wardrobe set against the wall. “Pegs are here to hang your cape, if you wish.”

  Miss Ford ran her hand over her fur cloak. “The air is much too cold yet, thank you.”

  “That’s true. I’ll have Harold build a fire as soon as he returns.” The clerk wrung her hands as she glanced at him, and then back at Miss Ford. “If you’d rather, I can move you down a floor where you’re closer to the restaurant’s kitchen stove. I thought you’d like this larger room, but perhaps you prefer another.”

  “This will do nicely, Miss Hallsey,” Miss Ford replied. “I don’t intend to be here long.”

  “Look,” Hildy exclaimed, pointing out the window. “The snow’s falling in earnest. I can’t help but be excited. I dearly love the way the white flakes float down from the clouds. Isn’t it pretty?”

  Justin came to the window where Hildy and Miss Ford looked out on Main Street and the Hitching Post saloon across the way. With the on-again, off-again dustings that Y Knot had experienced the last few weeks, he’d begun to believe they would skate right through the most difficult months without much of a problem.

  Now, by the blackness of the clouds overhead, Mother Nature was about to prove him wrong.

  Chapter Eleven

  After six hours of heavy snowfall, Shad began to think this storm was going to be a whiteout blizzard. Snowflakes were coming down hard, and the temperature was falling. The talk in the bunkhouse turned quiet. All the cowhands had lived through bad winters before, and accounts of losing loved ones, animals, or appendages began to come out.

  Hickory sat by the hearth wrapped in a heavy blanket, his long hair braided down his back and a cup of hot cocoa between his palms. The young fellow had learned to wait quietly for his turn to speak.

  “And that’s how I met the woman I was gonna marry. Yes, sir. I can remember the day like it was yesterday,” Smokey drawled. “While I helped dig out her pa’s prairie schooner axle-deep in the snowbank, I had time to do a little wooing. She sure was a purty little thing, even with her apple-red nose and purple lips. She thought I hung the moon, and said so six times.”

  “What was her name?” Ike asked. “You never said.”

  “Can’t remember.”

  A howl of laughter went up. Shad shook his head and smiled.

  “Really?” Hickory’s eyes had gone wide. “That don’t seem right.”

  Smokey winked at the boy. “The incident was a long time ago, son.”

  “What happened to her?” Hickory asked. “How come she ain’t here?”

  A shadow of sadness crossed Smokey’s face. “Her pa didn’t think I hung the moon. No sir, not at all. Made sure the wedding never happened.”

  A few murmurs sounded.

  Lucky crossed to the door and went out on the porch. Within a few moments, he returned. He clicked the door closed and then rubbed both hands up and down his arms.

  “How’s it looking out there?” Shad asked.

  Lucky scanned the faces around the room. “I don’t recall a time I ever seen so much snow fallin’ unless it was up in the high country. There’s at least six new inches already. It’s piling up quicker than dirt behind Hickory’s ears.”

  “That right?” Ike slung his arm across the mantel as he leaned around the fire. “That’s pretty fast. The cattle’ll be hard-pressed to find enough grass to eat these next few months.”

  Lucky nodded. “And the wolves are howling.”

  Francis sipped from his cup. “Can’t blame ’em much. Could be they’re hungry too.”

  “Shouldn’t be,” Shad added. “The carcass I found up at Covered Bridge was a new kill. Still had plenty to scavenge.”

  Lucky ambled away toward the kitchen. “They’ve been quiet for the last ten years. The long, dry summer had the rodents and small animals out searching for water, easy kill for them. Years have passed since we thinned ’em out.” He turned and looked at the men. “Anyone need anything more before I turn in? My old bones are feeling the cold.”

  The bunkhouse was quiet.

  “Fine then,” Lucky said. “Get some shut-eye. Come tomorrow, I’m sure we’ll have plenty of work shoveling out to the house and barn.”

  Shad, still rolled deep in his warm blankets, glanced at the window when he heard the bunkhouse door open and close. Murmured voices brought him more fully awake. The sky was dark and cold. Who would be coming in at this time of the morning?

  By the light of a single lantern burning low on the dining table, he saw Luke and Roady in the doorway, shaking off a coating of white. He sat up and rubbed a hand across his face. The cold air brought gooseflesh to his arms, even through his long johns.

  “What time is it?” he asked quietly. In the wintertime, when no one needed to head out to the pastures, Lucky rose at five instead of four. The cook was still in his room.

  Luke crossed the floor and lit a second lamp on the mantel. “Four thirty. Snow’s still falling.”

  Most men were now awake and dressing.

  Roady went to the kitchen and began loading wood into the cookstove. Finished with that, he pumped water to fill the coffeepot. “I’m moving Sally over to the main house on invitation of the McCutcheons,” he said quietly as Shad met him in his stockinged feet. “I won’t leave her alone at the homestead—not in weather like this.”

  I wouldn’t either.

  Shad pulled on his boots, coat, and hat, and made a mad dash for the outhouse. The McCutcheons had been talking about bringing indoor plumbing to the place soon, but it couldn’t come soon enough to suit him. Freezing wet snow slipped down his coat neckline. Hunching against the howling wind, he kept a tight hold on his hat.

  For some odd reason, thoughts of Miss Poppy Ford jumped into his mind unbidden. He’d made a fool of himself last night when he’d sputtered water into Oscar Scott’s face. The memory taunted him. He felt his face heat, despite the howling wind.

  At the outhouse, he quickly did his business and hurried back inside. Luke and Roady wouldn’t be here this early unless there was a good reason.

  Lucky now moved around the kitchen, whipping up some grub.

  “What’s going on?” Shad asked, wanting to get to the bottom of why his two bosses were here so early.

  “We’ve had twelve inches of snow in twelve hours, and the snowfall doesn’t look like it’ll be letting up anytime soon,” Luke said. “With the new babies, Matt and Mark will remain at their places, but we want to send out men to circumvent any problems. Ike and Bob, you ride over to Matt’s homestead, check on things there, and then go over to Mark’s. If everything’s fine, come on back to the bunkhouse. I’ll help Roady move Sally to the main house with my parents. Hickory, get some things together. I’m moving you into the main house too.”

  “But, but,” Hickory sputtered, looking around at the others. “Is Lucky staying here?”

  “No buts about it.” Luke’s tone was hard. “Just follow my orders. I’ve paired up men so nobody will be riding anywhere alone. We’ve had several reports about the wolves. If we get caught off guard, we’ll have no one but ourselves to blame.”

  Shad glanced to Francis and Smokey. What would their orders be?

  Roady, now with a cup of coffee in his hand, turned to the group. “Shad, Francis, and Smokey, you three ride into Y Knot. Check the road along the way and make sure no one was taken by surprise. Mrs. McCutcheon wants you to check on Brandon too. Charity, who you all know for the last month has been taking turns at Matt’s and Mark’s to help the women, is worried about him. Wants to know that he’s safe. When you�
��re finished, come back to the ranch.”

  “What about the livestock?” Shad asked. He’d thought they would be sent out to the pastures.

  Luke’s stern face was answer alone. His shoulders tensed and the coffee in his hand looked forgotten. No one liked the thought of the cattle suffering in a storm like this.

  “Nothin’ we can do for ’em now.” His voice was low, his tone grave. “Once the snow stops will be soon enough to check ’em out. For now, we have people to worry about.”

  Shad guzzled down half a cup of black coffee and waited as Lucky filled their plates. A full belly was prudent when venturing out into a blizzard like the one buffeting the walls. At times like this, cattle weren’t the only things to worry over. Every man stepping through the bunkhouse door had danger to face.

  He glanced around the stern faces. Seemed everybody else realized that too.

  Chapter Twelve

  Hickory crept down the large staircase in the main ranch house, feeling completely out of sorts. He wasn’t used to living upstairs in Luke’s bedroom. He liked the bunkhouse, Lucky, and the men. His cot, next to Francis’s, was his castle. Whiling away the hours with his books or sketchbook was easy.

  Here, he was like a tadpole in sand. Mrs. McCutcheon was very kind, and Esperanza, the maid, hovered over him like a mother hen. He was a ranch hand—not a son, or guest, or a kid—and he didn’t want to be treated like any of them.

  He wished he’d been sent to town with Francis, Shad, and Smokey to check on the others. Punk had forded his share of snowy roads. Besides, Hickory enjoyed spending time at the sheriff’s office, playing checkers with Brandon, filing papers, or sweeping the floor.

  When Hickory had first come to Y Knot, he’d been frightened of Brandon Crawford, the tall, serious-faced sheriff, suspecting him to be like the lawman in Waterloo, always out to blame him—the town’s homeless waif—for whatever bad happened in the town. If something turned up missing, everyone immediately assumed Hickory had taken it. Didn’t matter that they rarely found anything in his dugout. Not to say it never happened, but he wasn’t the only one scraping out a living on the streets—just the one they could easily find.

  Hickory gave a mental shrug. That was done and past. His thieving days were over. Luke had seen to that, making him take an oath to always be honest and truthful. He’d done his share of stealing in Waterloo, but this new leaf he’d turned here in Y Knot felt good and honorable. He’d not mess up the fortunate hand he’d been dealt. No, sir.

  “Hickory, did you get your things settled?” Mrs. McCutcheon asked from her seat by the large living room window. She pulled her gaze from the snow falling outside. The lantern burning by her chair cast her in golden light like an angel.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good. If you’re hungry, Esperanza is in the kitchen. Since it’s hours until suppertime, she won’t mind if you venture in there and ask for something to eat. I know little boys are always hungry. Billy, Colton, and Adam like the high stool by the warm kitchen stove. She spoils them rotten.” Mrs. McCutcheon laughed and shook her head.

  He could tell her warm smile was the result of some memory.

  “I don’t know where the years have gone.” She gave Hickory a wink. “Go on; I promise she won’t mind. And if you’re not hungry, surely you’d like a cup of hot cocoa. That’s always available in this house.”

  Although he wasn’t hungry, because he was missing the bunkhouse, Hickory nodded obediently and shuffled toward the kitchen door. He knew his mistress, but not like he knew Lucky, Francis, and the rest of the boys. Being singled out to come into the main house where he’d be safe from harm felt like a prison sentence. To sit and do nothing when work needed to be done was torture. And he didn’t like it one bit.

  At the kitchen door, he stood silently, watching the slim Mexican woman scrub the leathery-looking potato she held in her hands. She rinsed the spud in a bowl of water, and then scrubbed some more. Why anyone cared so much what the outside of a potato looked like was a mystery to him. Lucky surely didn’t.

  On the counter by the windows were two golden-brown pies, most likely baked this morning for tonight’s supper. Thank goodness Roady and Miss Sally would be staying here too. He’d not like to be the only one singled out for special treatment. At least the burden of conversation wouldn’t fall solely on his shoulders.

  Esperanza straightened at the faint howl of a wolf. Her gaze darted to the window. She mumbled something unintelligible, then crossed herself before going back to work.

  Hickory took a small step into the room.

  “Chiquito, come in,” she said when she saw him. Her smile widened, and she reached for the nearby towel on the counter.

  She was soft-looking, her shiny black hair pulled back and braided down her back.

  “Come into my kitchen and I’ll feed you, sí? Anything you like. What can I make for mi chiquito Hickory? Scrambled eggs, meat sandwich, leftover enchiladas? Anything you want, cariño.”

  He wished she’d stop calling him little one and sweetie. Luke had translated on a bark of laughter when Hickory had first come to the ranch. Since then he heard chiquito this and cariño that. Didn’t she know he was a ranch hand?

  “Hot tortillas with melted cheese?” she asked, her gaze darting to the ice box. “That is a favorite of the young señores. They only take a minute and keep you filled until suppertime.”

  He’d better think of something quickly, or else she would have him eating a five-course meal. “Hot cocoa, ma’am. Please.”

  She gave a nod of her head. “Ah yes, a favorite of señores Billy, Adam, and Colton. And that of their fathers, especially on a snowy day. You sit here by the stove and stay warm.”

  Hickory climbed up on the stool she’d indicated and got comfortable.

  The woman set to work, filling a small pan with milk. She put it on the hot stove top.

  He glanced around. A multitude of pots and skillets hung from a rack above the sink. On the far wall, the icebox, where she kept things like meat, cheese, and milk, as well as a mountain of leftovers, stood next to a butter churn.

  Colton had showed him the night after Thanksgiving. The kitchen had been cleaned, Esperanza gone to her room, and everyone else was nowhere to be found. The two boys had stuffed themselves on leftover turkey and pumpkin pie.

  Hickory shook his head at the memory. He could have survived a month in Waterloo from the many covered crocks and jugs of eatables she always had stored away.

  From a basket by the side of the stove, Esperanza took a log and reached for the oven door, a dish towel protecting her hand against the hot metal.

  “I can do that for you, ma’am,” he said softly. “I don’t mind.”

  She put the last two small logs into the stove. “Oh no, chiquito. That is my job. I like what I do.”

  Hickory hopped down anyway. He was meant to do, not be done for.

  “Then I’ll fill the empty basket.” His gaze challenged hers as she was about to say no.

  Esperanza gave a laugh. “You are a small man in size, but large in heart. You may fill my wood basket if you’d like. I will not rob you of that task.” She winked. “You and I are much alike. But you should first put on a coat.”

  “I’ll be out and in before I get cold,” he said with a smidgen of pride. “I fetch wood for Lucky every day. It’s one of my jobs.” He lifted the medium-sized basket and hurried to the kitchen door. He’d seen the logs stacked very close to the wall, making the job of fetching wood in the winter simple.

  The wind howled inside when he opened the door. A freezing-cold flurry hit him in the face as he worked, robbing his breath. Esperanza grasped the back of his heavy wool shirt and hauled him inside, closing the door. He’d had just enough time to get four logs into the basket.

  “Much too cold for you. Besides, the storm has made darkness fall more quickly.” Her uneasy gaze darted to the door. She seemed as if she had more to say, but held her tongue.

  Sensing her skitt
ishness, Hickory lugged the basket to its spot and climbed back on his stool, now thankful to have the heat from the stove to chase away the blast of cold that had all but frozen him in one strong gust. He rubbed his palms together several times, thinking how fast his skin had turned icy.

  How were the ranch hands faring, the ones singled out to ride into Y Knot? Perhaps, instead of holding a grudge at Luke for sending him here, he should be grateful. At least he was warm, and soon he’d have a nice hot mug of cocoa to enjoy. If things got too boring, he was close enough to the bunkhouse to slip away and go see Lucky for a little while without being missed.

  “Here you are, mi chiquito.”

  Esperanza handed him a filled-to-the-brim mug. Holding it carefully, Hickory blew on the top of the liquid.

  Now that he thought about it, that was a darned good idea. Mr. McCutcheon was closed away in his office. Perhaps Mrs. McCutcheon would go upstairs, leaving him on his own. He thought of how surprised Lucky would be to see him. At first he’d be annoyed, but then Hickory would get to help him in the kitchen.

  No matter the falling snow, or even the wolves, Hickory was fast. Nothing could catch him in a dash to the bunkhouse.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Shad’s five layers of clothing did little to ease the biting cold of the howling north wind as snow accumulated on the shoulders of his long leather duster and hat. The hot coffee, biscuits, and gravy in Shad’s stomach were not keeping him warm.

  Francis rode between him and Smokey, the group picking their way carefully through the two feet of snow on the road as they watched for possible victims. The day was dark, even though sunrise had arrived some thirty minutes ago. Each man had his sidearm, as well as a loaded Remington in his saddle scabbard. They weren’t expecting trouble, but if it arrived, they’d be ready.

  “What’s that?” Smokey lifted an arm and pointed twenty feet ahead to a lump of snow larger than a horse. “Ain’t seen nothin’ along this stretch of road before. At least, nothin’ that big.”