Roady was back, and when Sally went to take his hand, he lifted her into his arms.
Burying her face into the crook of his neck, she tried to dispel her growing anxiety. Nothing was wrong. This was just a typical snowstorm. And the letter from home brought good news . . . not bad.
Chapter Fifteen
Poppy huddled under her blankets, shivering and wishing for the lovely radiators back in Boston. She’d passed the night fully dressed, rising every hour to feed the fire from her dwindling stack of logs. She’d have to see the wood supply was replenished today, or she’d not make it through another night. Stretching her leg across the frigid sheets, she searched for the bed warmer with her sock-covered toe.
Nothing. As cold as ice. She stifled a sob of misery.
A slow squeak just outside her door made her lower the coverlet from her face and listen, everything else forgotten. Except for the amber glow of the coals, the room was pitch dark. What was the time? Difficult to tell, because the window was gray and all was quiet. The squeak came again. Was someone up here on the third floor with her?
Don’t be silly. This is a hotel. Of course, someone may be checking in, or cleaning a room, or—waiting to kill me.
She listened to the quiet, trying to quell her overactive imagination. A scratch somewhere in the hall, and then creaking . . .
The hair on the back of her neck prickled. When had she turned into such a fraidycat?
The moment I moved in up here—all alone.
She glanced at the dying fire. It needed more wood, and she only had three logs left. Her stomach pinched from hunger. She’d have to get up and descend the stairway if she wanted any breakfast. Even a cup of the coffee Hildy had spoken of would be welcome. Oh, how she dreaded stepping into the frosty air.
Rolling to her side, she reached for the small box of matches she’d left within easy reach, and a lonely twang pulled at her heart. What was Kathryn doing? She prayed her sister’s house was cozy and warm. Surely, Tobit would see that Kathryn was taken care of.
Poppy pictured her sister in her red polka-dot apron, serving Tobit and Isaiah a platter of hot buttermilk biscuits slathered with fresh-churned butter and sweet blackberry jam. The men would compliment her cooking, and her face would turn a rosy pink. A smile producing both dimples would appear on her face.
She has so little compared to Boston but is actually happy in Montana. No, more than that. She’s in love. Poppy had a difficult time understanding such an emotion.
Enough analyzing. She had sufficient worries of her own right now without getting sentimental.
She fumbled the matches. With perseverance and shaking fingers, she lit a match and touched it to the lamp’s wick.
Light.
Standing, she pulled the quilt from the bed and wrapped it around her body before shuffling to the window. A wall of falling snow blocked the view. The sun had indeed risen, but was hidden behind the clouds. She could barely see the street below.
Pushing onward, she sat on the side of her bed, pulled on her boots and laced them up, all the while gripping her jaw to keep her teeth from clacking like a skeleton’s. She found the water in her pitcher frozen as slick as the skating rink back home.
Blast.
She’d have to take care of her ablutions downstairs. After putting her toothbrush in the pocket of her skirt, as well as her hairbrush and pins, she pulled her warm beaver cape more closely around herself. She opened the door a few inches and peered out into the dark hall.
Nothing.
No ghost. No vampires. And no light.
Why hadn’t Miss Hallsey, or someone else, thought to light the lamps up here? Two unlit lanterns sat on the landing table. Surely, the clerk knew how dark the third floor could be. Poppy would be sure to mention the oversight. She glanced at the door of the vacant room across the way. Plenty of places for monsters to hide.
Something smacked the hallway window, making Poppy cry out. She slammed her door shut, her heart almost leaping from her chest as she stood like a statue, unable to move.
What should she do? She had to eat. She had to get down to where it most certainly would be warmer. She glanced at her lamp. Should she bring it along? That must have been a bird, or squirrel, or something else. But in case she had to run, she’d leave the heavy, cumbersome light behind. No sense in weighing herself down.
She blew out the lamp, exited, and locked her door. Taking a deep breath, she felt her way along the wall to the stairway. Each step felt like ten feet. Sensing an eerie stare on her back, she glanced over her shoulder and trembled. She’d never been frightened of her own shadow before. What had happened to her gumption?
It has flown out the window with the warmth and the light.
The narrow stairway cast in darkness didn’t help. Every few steps, a loud squeak announced her progress. A lamp was burning on a hallway table on the second floor. How thoughtful.
Spurred on and feeling a little better, Poppy proceeded. When she reached the painting of the frightful old woman she’d noticed yesterday as she’d checked in, she kept her face averted. Yesterday, the hag’s eyes, swallowed up in a crinkled old face, had caught Poppy off guard as the old woman’s murderous stare seemed to follow Poppy’s every move. She wouldn’t look again, she told herself as she hurried past.
With a huge intake of breath, Poppy arrived in the lobby. She halted on the last step. Only two lamps flickered, leaving the place in shadows. The meager light in the vacant room reflected the ever-falling snow outside.
Sounds echoed from the dining area.
Relief washed through Poppy. She’d made it down alive. She rushed on, eager to speak with someone, anyone, perhaps even Oscar.
“Here you are, miss.” Lenore Saffelberg approached, holding a tray with two coffee cups and spoons. She stopped midsentence and looked Poppy up and down. The rail-thin woman’s chin actually elevated. She was bundled in her coat, although her apron hung out the bottom. Her nose was red.
“The water in my room is frozen solid,” Poppy said, in explanation of her disheveled state of dress, smoothing down one side of her hair. “I couldn’t clean up, even though I tried.” She resisted leveling the complaint how in Boston, or even other less prosperous places, establishments provided light, heat, and water.
“Cook has a pot of warm water on the stove for that purpose. Would you like that now, or after you eat?”
“Now, please.” Poppy glanced into the dining room where a few tables were occupied—but no Oscar.
“Very well. Follow me.”
Ten minutes later, cleaned up and sipping a cup of dark coffee, Poppy relaxed in her booth. An older couple in a table on the other side of the room held hands across the tablecloth and spoke in hushed whispers. The dining room was a bit warmer than upstairs, but not by much. She wrapped her cape more firmly around herself, wishing for several pairs of wool socks. Her toes felt like chunks of ice.
Would she really be stuck in Y Knot all winter? Maybe even in this hotel? The possibility had sounded farfetched the first time she’d heard it, but now? And where was Oscar? She’d expect him to be here eating while reading a newspaper, outdated or not.
Miss Saffelberg arrived with a plate of scrambled eggs, potatoes, and toast. “Here you are.”
“Thank you.” The food on the plate looked delicious. “Can you tell me why it’s so dark in here?” She gestured around to the tables. “There are many more lamps you could light.”
“We have a limited supply of oil. Without the stage to bring in more, we have to be prudent and make our stock last.”
Heavens! This was the Wild West. “Please tell me you have plenty of food.”
The waitress nodded.
Poppy clenched a handful of white tablecloth. “And firewood—lots of it?”
Impatience crossed the woman’s narrow face. “Yes. Wood shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Thank goodness for that. I need more in my room. I used most I had last night.”
Miss Saffe
lberg looked down her nose, an easy thing to accomplish since she was standing and Poppy was sitting, but somehow, she made her feelings known. “That’s something you’ll need to tell Miss Hallsey. I’m only a waitress and seldom leave the dining area. She takes care of the guest rooms and anything that needs doing.”
“Oh yes, of course. Miss Hallsey.” Poppy felt at the mercy of this hotel, as she never had before to anyone in her life. A port in the storm, so to speak. “Is Miss Hallsey here yet this morning?”
“Somewhere. She lives on premises. Her room is just past the office.”
That’s handy. “Thank you. I’ll find her,” Poppy said, glancing past the woman’s formidable barricade of garments to the shadowy room beyond. The place loomed larger than it had in the happy burning lamps last night at supper.
Watching Miss Saffelberg walk away, Poppy picked up her fork. Although the fare was only simple eggs and potatoes, it tasted like a feast. She took her time spreading butter on the toast, followed by jam, savoring every bite.
A window on the wall faced out to a small building and an open lot behind. The day had lightened some, but the storm had not let up. Judging by the tree trunks, the snow must already be two feet deep. Snowstorms in Boston never mattered much because their Georgian mansion had everything anyone could need for years, as well as a staff to cook, clean, and fetch.
Poppy blinked back her dismay at finally realizing just how entitled her upbringing had been. She glanced around the quiet room. This is how real people live. Like Kathryn and Tobit. Like the rest of Kathryn’s friends.
Oscar walked through the doorway, his usually perfectly combed russet hair a mess. He was bundled in his coat and wool scarf. The scowl on his face reminded her all too much of her father. Seeing him spot her, she gave him a little wave.
Giving her a nod, he started over, and Poppy prepared herself for the outburst that was sure to come. He scooted in across from her without saying a word.
This could be far worse than she expected. Oscar Scott, if one thing, was direct when upset. He didn’t mince words. By his pained, entitled expression, she knew he was about to let loose.
In no mood to hear his tirade, she put up her hand. “Before you say anything, Ossy, just remember one thing.”
He drilled her with his gaze but kept silent.
“You begged me to come along. When I told you no, you all but blackmailed me that you would inform my father of my intentions. You have no one to blame but yourself.”
“I’ve been thinking about that all night as I struggled to stay alive. How foolish I was.” He cupped his hands and blew into them. “One trip to this godforsaken town should have been enough. I should have learned my lesson. But no, I didn’t want any harm to come to you—”
“The hotel’s not that bad.”
“No? I’m literally frozen.” He held out his reddened hands. “I’ve never suffered as I did last—”
“Hush. Here comes the waitress.”
Miss Saffelberg was back. “Coffee, sir?”
“What do you think?”
Poppy gasped. “Oscar.”
Miss Saffelberg’s tray wobbled in her hands and her nostrils flared. She’d already picked up the full mug she’d intended to set on the table but halted halfway.
“Of course I want coffee.” He lifted his face defiantly. “An imbecile would know that, if for no other reason than to thaw out my frozen hands. The water in my room is rock solid, as well. I really must complain.”
“You’re being rude,” Poppy exclaimed. “Say you’re sorry, Oscar. Miss Saffelberg can’t help the weather or the dropping temperature.”
The waitress set the mug back on her tray none too gently, ignoring the liquid that sloshed over her hand. She turned on her heel.
“Wait.” Oscar thrust out his hand. “I said I do want the coffee. Come back here this instant.”
With a ramrod-straight spine, Miss Saffelberg marched into the kitchen.
Poppy glared at him. “Now you’ve done it.”
She was so angry, she felt like stomping away herself, but she didn’t have anywhere to go. She had little wood in her room, and at least here she had someone to speak with. Passing the whole day in this booth might be her only option.
“Like it or not, Oscar Scott, you’re dependent on these kind people. You better watch what you say—as you should, anyway. The world does not revolve around you.”
Chapter Sixteen
With the way Morgan was looking at June, Shad thought it best to change the subject. “We appreciate you putting up our animals,” he said. “The ride into Y Knot sapped our horses—and us more than a little, truth be told. We’re thankful you could make room.”
“And that you have your stove burning good and hot,” Francis mumbled.
June gave a small laugh, then elbowed Shad in the ribs. She was a playful one.
“You know I always make room for the Heart of the Mountain’s horses—and their riders, of course. You’re some of the best men I know.”
Smokey directed a pointed stare her way, all the while blowing into his hands, his shoulders shivering. “You’d make room for any horse, not just ours.”
She grinned as she shrugged. “Guess you’re right.”
She looked mighty small in her heavy wool coat. Even with her woodstove cranking out the heat, the barn was plenty cold, but at least frost wasn’t still streaming out on their breath.
Having June for a sweetheart was sure handy for Morgan. Gave him somewhere to rest his backside during the long winter months. His furniture shop was just up the street a short distance. The business was new, and he was still getting the place off the ground. That would change as more people moved to Y Knot.
Shad had seen Morgan’s work. He was good. Enough people didn’t live around here to keep him working full time, though. Because of it, he’d kept his job working the lumberyard with his brother-in-law, Hayden Klinkner.
“You know I’m right.” Smokey laughed. “If an outlaw stepped through the door and asked for shelter, you’d put him up without question. You’re too softhearted, June. It’ll get ya into trouble someday.”
Morgan slung his arm over June’s shoulders as if she were one of the men. “Nothing’s gonna happen to June. I’ll see to that.”
Smokey harrumphed and pressed his hands out to the warmth of the stove.
“I just might stay in here all day,” Francis said, quivering like a cornstalk in the wind. “You and Smokey go check out the town.” He looked at Shad. “I can tell you honestly, I’m not looking forward to the ride back to the ranch. I can’t never remember the temperature being this cold before.”
Shad hitched his head. They wouldn’t get things done huddled around June Pittman’s woodstove. “Let’s go see if Brandon’s in his office. I think I saw a light in the jailhouse window. Best get things done, and head back to the ranch.”
Anxious shouts sounded outside.
Morgan pulled open one door far enough for everyone to see out. The snow was still a solid sheet of white. “What is it?” he asked.
Another couple of shouts came from up the road. Soon, a dilapidated Conestoga appeared. It came slowly, Brandon Crawford at the lines. Justin Wesley, the new deputy, rode alongside, leading Brandon’s horse. The two-horse team pulling the wagon looked about dead on their feet.
“Someone caught off guard?” Shad shouted in the wind before jogging out to meet the wagon.
“Can’t stop,” Brandon shouted back. “Found these folks a few miles out of town, and they need help. They’re nearly froze to death. Taking ’em to the hotel.”
With that, he slapped the lines over the rail-thin horses that struggled in the harness, and they lumbered forward. The wagon disappeared in the wall of white as it rounded the corner and out of sight.
Shad turned to the others, who’d trailed him outside.
“I’ll go for Dr. Handerhoosen,” Francis said quickly. The youth, all business now, had a darn good head on his shoulders. “They�
��ll most likely need a doctor.”
Shaking her head, June grasped his arm. “Last I heard, Doc’s over in Pine Grove. No telling when he’ll return.”
Trouble had arrived even without them searching. Was this the last, or would they find more unsuspecting people stranded in some snowbank? If there were, they wouldn’t live long in this cold.
Shad glanced at the worried faces. “Whatever needs doing, we’ll have to do ourselves. We best get moving. Brandon and Justin need our help.”
Chapter Seventeen
At the Holcomb ranch, Mrs. Seymour paced the front room, waiting for Evelyn to come out of the bedroom. Now that her goddaughter was getting so large, she’d complained she was finding sleep difficult, and so wasn’t able to rise when she normally would. Margaret stopped at the window, the sheer volume of snow that had accumulated overnight sent chilling thoughts through her mind.
I’m not qualified to deliver Evelyn’s baby. I’ve only been to one birthing—and that poor darling creature died. That’s why I’ve been so eager to arrive. Make sure Chance knows how important it is to have a doctor present when the time comes.
She swallowed nervously, gazing at the snow. Evelyn had been born three weeks early. Because of it, Margaret had missed her delivery altogether. Nothing bad will happen to my Evelyn. I’ll make sure of that.
Earlier, she’d cooked breakfast for Chance. His attempts to quell her nerves had fallen on deaf ears.
He’d assured Margaret they’d get Evelyn into town days before the baby arrived. They still had an entire month to go before the birth. There wasn’t a storm in Montana that could last that long, he’d said, and insisted he’d carry his Evie the whole way himself, if he had to.
The hired hand, Andy Lovell, had come in too, since he took all meals with the family. They’d eaten, bundled up, and headed outside, leaving her in the quiet to her disturbed thoughts.
“Good morning.” Evelyn stepped through her bedroom door, bundled in a warm robe. She ran a hand through her abundant blond curls falling freely around her shoulders. When she glanced at the clock, her eyes widened. “My. It’s almost ten o’clock. I’m sorry for leaving you to do all the cooking for the men. Have they been gone long?”
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