Montana Courage (McCutcheon Family Series Book 9)

by Caroline Fyffe

  At the beautiful sight of her, Margaret felt her frown dissolve. “Good morning, Evelyn. An hour or so, but you know I enjoy cooking. Makes me feel young again.”

  Evelyn laughed. “You’re not old at all.”

  Today, worrying over the baby, Margaret felt every one of her forty-five years. “You already know what I think of your fine husband, but I’m coming to admire the young hired hand, as well. Much can be said for the school of hard knocks. He’s very polite and appreciative.”

  Evelyn went to the teakettle and poured hot water into the cup Margaret had earlier prepared. “I agree. From the moment we met, Chance took to him. Me, as well. He’s been a great help. Chance has much more time to spend with me. The strain has left his eyes. And with the baby coming next month, I’ll appreciate that even more, I’m sure.”

  Margaret pulled out a chair at the table. “Now, sit.” She went to the counter and took a yeasty roll from the stack and placed it on Evelyn’s plate, and brought it to the table. “You can start on this while I scramble your eggs.” She opened the stove and, with a folded towel, withdrew a plate that held a few strips of bacon, then set that on a trivet in front of her.

  Evelyn eased into her chair. “This looks delicious.”

  “It’s just bacon and a roll,” Margaret answered. “Nothing fancy. Remember the soufflés Dona used to make every Sunday morning back in St. Louis?” She closed her eyes in appreciation. “Those were delicious.”

  Evelyn slipped a portion of bacon into her mouth and chewed. “How could I forget? Yes, they were delicious, but this is too.” She held up what was left of the bacon. “As hostess, I’m supposed to be waiting on you, Margaret, not the other way around.” She picked up the roll, broke it apart, and took a bite. “Umm, just like Dona’s.”

  “You don’t think the brides-to-be were the only ones taking note of her instructions, do you?” Margaret couldn’t hold in a sentimental laugh, thinking about her beautiful Victorian house, the large-boned woman who acted more like an army sergeant than a cook, the array of mail-order brides, and all the fun they’d had.

  Evelyn took another bite, a sound of admiration escaping her throat. “Ina taught me to make a mean biscuit, but I’d be indebted if you’d show me how to make these.” She slathered the second half with butter and jam, and it disappeared into her mouth.

  Margaret glanced over her shoulder as she stirred the eggs in the hot butter. Evelyn was the daughter of her heart. The daughter she’d never had. She’d do anything for her . . . anything except deliver her baby. The risks were just too large. So many horrible things could happen.

  Pushing the eggs with her spoon, she blinked away the fear she’d been trying so hard to ignore. “Of course I will, Evelyn. Today, if you’d like.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  At a clamoring noise in the lobby, Poppy jumped from her dining room seat, her meal forgotten. Voices shouted, and men called out. Without waiting for Oscar or Miss Saffelberg, she hurried down the hall to where the deputy held open the door to the blustering storm.

  The sheriff came through carrying a very young child, a girl, whose eyes were closed.

  Fear ricocheted through Poppy’s chest. Poor little thing. I hope she’s not dead.

  A woman staggered inside next. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her thin body, and ice had crusted her face. Poppy ran over, and with an arm around the woman’s waist, helped her toward the lobby stove.

  A cowboy she didn’t know, carrying a little boy, was next. And then Shad Petty, the cowhand who had taken supper with them two nights ago at Kathryn’s. In his arms was a replica of the other little girl Sheriff Crawford had set in the chair. Her matted hair was pressed against Mr. Petty’s large chest, her hands outstretched as if waiting for something.

  Poppy left the woman by the stove and dashed over, remembering in that moment that he was the cowboy she’d seen in Virginia. The one who’d been hurt by the bull. What a small, crazy world. The incident felt like a different lifetime ago. The way she and the woman had carried on that day brought an embarrassed blush to her cheeks, and a prick of shame heated her face.

  “Give her to me, Mr. Petty,” she said, reaching for the little thing. As he handed her over, cold zipped through Poppy’s layers of clothing. She hugged the child close and hurried to the warmth of the woodstove now surrounded by people.

  Finally, a large man stumbled inside with the support of the deputy. The reek of whiskey filled the room.

  Mr. Petty stepped forward as Poppy pushed closer, her precious cargo nestled quietly in her arms. She worried over the other children and glanced around. Miss Hallsey held the girl that had been in the chair, and Miss Saffelberg the boy.

  “What should we do?” Poppy asked, knowing instinctively time was of the essence.

  “See to the children first,” Brandon Crawford barked. “Remove their wet clothing and wrap them up the best you can. Justin and I have to go back out. The fella mumbled something about others lost in the storm.”

  The man he spoke of lay on the floor, unaware of what was happening.

  Brandon looked around the room. “Any volunteers to help?”

  All the men in the room stepped forward.

  “Good. I was hoping you would. Smokey, Francis, Morgan, get mounted.” He looked at Mr. Petty. “Can you handle things here?”

  “I can. But I think I’d be more help to you.”

  The sheriff was already heading for the door. “No telling when we’ll make it back. I’m putting you in charge. I’ve never seen a storm like this. A man needs to stay here, be in charge.”

  Brandon’s intense gaze sent shivers up Poppy’s spine. This was bad, very bad.

  He glanced at the window and shook his head. “We don’t have time to lose.”

  Poppy thought of Oscar. Where was he? He could help.

  Mr. Petty ran a hand through his hair. “Fine, then. I’ll handle it.”

  “Good,” Sheriff Crawford said. “We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

  “I’ll tend to their horses,” June said, still wearing her coat. “The pitiful things are so thin, they might drop in their tracks.”

  “Be sure to go with the men, June. It’s easy to get turned around in a whiteout. We don’t want to lose anyone today.” Brandon’s tone was ripe with meaning.

  Poppy hugged the tiny girl closer, unconsciously rubbing her back as she worried about Kathryn. Tobit and Isaiah would keep her safe, wouldn’t they? Sure, the men had experience living in Montana, but as the sheriff said, not much was needed to get lost in a whiteout.

  Glancing at the window agitated her thoughts. These poor, half-frozen people testified to the fact the situation at hand was much more dire than she’d ever imagined.

  “Francis, keep your wits about you,” Shad called, feeling responsible for the younger lad who reminded him all too much of his brothers. “I don’t want to hear you’ve gotten yourself lost.”

  “I’ve been riding these snowy hills a lot longer than you have, Petty,” Francis shot back, heading for the door.

  Shad recalled his statement earlier about staying in the livery all day and getting warm. Not much chance of that happening now. Didn’t seem like any of them would be warm today. Or for a long time to come.

  After the door closed behind the last man, Shad glanced around. Lenore Saffelberg, Hildy Hallsey, Cook, and an old couple he didn’t know.

  Miss Poppy Ford was here. She’d been the one who’d taken the child from his arms. Her hold on the little ragamuffin was gentle as she rubbed her back. He supposed her friend Oscar Scott was here, as well—somewhere.

  “All right, listen up. We need to warm these people up slowly. That means one blanket, in a heated room, but nothing more.”

  Miss Ford stepped closer, shifting the child in her arms. “Shouldn’t we soak their hands and feet in hot water? I’ve heard that’s what one does for frostbite.”

  “No. Slowly warming their core is best. Don’t rub their hands and feet. Be careful
with their skin. Keep them quiet and handle them gently.” Coming from Wyoming, he had plenty of experience with snow and extreme cold. He looked at Miss Hallsey. “Pick one of the guest rooms and stoke the fire. Put the children and their ma into the bed to share body heat, get them some bed warmers, and cover them with one blanket. Go on now, get moving.”

  “What about the man?” Hildy asked. “He’s their pa.”

  Shad had a strange feeling about the liquored-up fellow. What father, or what man, took to drinking in a situation where his wife and children’s lives are at stake? “Put him on a pallet on the floor. He’s stronger. He’ll be okay.”

  Hildy rushed to the stairway, followed by Lenore and Poppy, helping along the mother. The cook headed back to the restaurant, as did the old couple.

  That’s when he saw the easterner watching from the shadows. “Scott,” he said in his no-nonsense tone. “There’s wood stacked out back. Bring in plenty to the kitchen and lobby.”

  The man’s shoulders snapped back. “I don’t work here,” he replied stiffly. “I’m a guest.”

  Shad could feel the scowl on his face. “Not anymore. No telling how long this storm will last. We need as much wood inside as possible. As a matter of fact, take some to each occupied room and stack it outside the doors to make things easier.”

  “I’ll do no such thing.”

  As Shad came closer, Scott’s eyes bulged. “I guess you won’t be needing any of that wood yourself. Or sustenance. Either pitch in, or get out.”

  The corner of Scott’s left eye twitched several times before he replied, “When you put it like that, I don’t have much of a choice now, do I?”

  “No, you don’t. Get moving.”

  Shad turned on his heel and followed the women with the children, leaving the man passed out on the rug. Shad would deal with him as soon as the others were seen to. The drunk had enough rotgut inside to keep him out for hours, but the others didn’t.

  Chapter Nineteen

  In the upstairs bedroom of the Heart of the Mountains, Sally unpacked her travel bag, thankful to be out of the storm. Once Roady had seen her safely delivered into the ranch house and Claire’s capable hands, he’d left with Luke, eager to get back to work.

  This storm seemed to have everybody rattled, not just her. The men weren’t letting on, but everyone she encountered had a furrowed brow, and worry lurked in their eyes. Claire had invited Sally to tea as soon as she had her things settled.

  Being in the same bedroom she’d used right after she and Roady had married brought back many memories. Sweet, anxious, and ones where she’d thought her life would never turn out right. The comfortable chair in the corner was the same where she and Roady had gotten to know each other. Many hours were passed there, along with the other chair he’d brought in from across the hall. They’d married as strangers but soon they’d became friends, and so much more. After setting the last of her things in the dresser drawer, she carefully pushed it closed.

  Earlier, she’d set her unopened letter against an empty vase on top of the highboy. She studied the post for several seconds. She had no idea about the handwriting and should open it. Find out. Put her fears to rest—but Claire McCutcheon was waiting.

  “Hi, Miss Sally.”

  Turning, she found Hickory standing in the doorway. The boy’s lopsided grin always pulled her heartstrings. “Hello, Hickory. I heard you’d be here, as well. I’m delighted we’ll have some time together.”

  He ducked his head.

  “I didn’t get a chance when you visited last Friday to ask you about school. Do you like it?”

  “I guess it’s all right. I’m learning a lot.” He lifted one shoulder. “I don’t like it when the older boys make fun of me, though.”

  She came forward and crouched down to his level. “What do you mean? Not Billy, Colton, or Adam, I hope.”

  “Naw, none of them. They’re nice enough. Other boys. They don’t like my long hair. Call me a little girl. But I ain’t gonna cut it.”

  Sick at heart, she straightened and beckoned him inside her room. He slowly came forward.

  “Of course you’re not.” She went to the bed and sat on the edge. He followed her over. “You can’t worry about what other people say. My mother used to tell me it’s when they stop talking about you that you should worry. They’re just trying to get attention. If you ignore them, even though that’s difficult, your newness will eventually wear off, and they’ll leave you alone. Do they ever hit or punch you?”

  “Not since Billy busted the ringleader’s lip.”

  Sally stifled a smile. Seemed the McCutcheons took charge, no matter what age they were. “I see. Well, good for him. Some children are hardheaded and need a bit of encouragement to straighten up. If you’re ever being punched or hit, you let someone know. You shouldn’t have to put up with that. You can come to me anytime.”

  He squared his small shoulders, his expression earnest. “I can take care of myself, well enough. Been doing so for a long time. I was ready to do something about the troublemaker before Billy stepped in.”

  Hickory smiled, but she could see the hurt in his eyes. No one liked to be bullied.

  “Oh, look.” She went to the dresser for the book she’d laid on top and handed him the volume. “Scary stories. Perfect for a snowy afternoon. Let’s read some a bit later, after I have tea with Mrs. McCutcheon. Would you like that?”

  His gaze was fixed on the skeleton drawing on the cover. “Scary stories? They’re my favorite.”

  “Mine too. Most children like them. The majority aren’t really that scary, just unusual. I thought they’d be fun while we’re snowed in. It also has some very interesting drawings. Go ahead and take it to your room. Mrs. McCutcheon is waiting for me in the living room, and I’d like to freshen up. When I’m back, we’ll read some together.”

  Hickory looked up into her eyes and smiled.

  Back on the large bed Hickory would be sleeping in tonight, he thumbed through the pages of the heavy book. The drawings were done in great detail. He didn’t try to read any pages; the words looked much more difficult than anything he could handle. He was more interested in the art. His father had liked to draw, and his mother had said many times that his father should try to sell some of his work. That was before they’d ventured west, and Hickory had lost his family to sickness.

  Filled with memories, he slowly traced the straight line of a barn roof on a hill overlooking a cornfield. He missed his family. With them, he hadn’t been a misfit needing charity to survive. He liked the McCutcheons just fine. They were plenty nice and caring, especially Luke. Nevertheless, he’d been a part of his own family once. And the thought that he’d never see them again always shut down his heart.

  Hickory gazed at the drawing. Something about it made him uneasy. The way the cornstalks swayed in the wind, almost looked as if faces were peering out between the golden-brown stalks.

  He flipped the page. The stories were short, just a page or two. Here a sheepdog watched a flock of sheep by a pleasant river in the sunshine. That was appealing, considering the unrelenting snow hadn’t stopped since yesterday. Hickory clenched his cold fingers as a shudder moved through his small frame. What could be scary about this story, he couldn’t imagine. Maybe he and Miss Sally would read this one.

  Skipping to the back, he came upon a drawing that filled both pages. It was a night scene, with a cave illuminated by the light of a crescent moon. Several wolves sat at the entrance of the den. On the opposite page, a crouching man waited behind a hedge as a rancher walked from a barn toward a dilapidated house. The hunkered man had hairy arms and legs, and large pointed ears. His eyes were just slits. The wolf man’s fangs made Hickory shiver. Three other wolves sat beyond the house, howling at the moon. Two frightened children peered from the window.

  Unnerved, he slammed shut the book.

  “Hickory, is everything all right?” Sally stood at the door.

  “Thought I heard Mrs. McCutcheon callin’ me
.”

  “Really? I didn’t hear her.” Her gaze took in the book on the bedspread. “I hope those drawings didn’t frighten you. Some are pretty creepy, but not all.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Scooting by, he ran down the hall, not wanting her to discover he was a scaredy-cat. For several years, he’d lived alone on the streets of Waterloo. He’d not let some silly drawings get under his skin.

  He wondered what Colton was doing today. He wished Luke had taken him there, to be with someone his own age.

  Arriving on the upper landing, he stole down the large staircase without making a sound or drawing Mrs. McCutcheon’s attention. At the bottom, he made a sharp turn into the small reading library and went straight to the window. His deep breath whooshed out onto the glass.

  The tall pine trees outside, now covered in white, loomed tall at the clearing’s edge, making the side yard look very different. The wolves must be plenty hungry. He’d heard the men talking. This year everyone was warned to be on alert.

  Chapter Twenty

  “There you are,” Claire McCutcheon said as Sally descended the stairs. Claire’s chair was pulled close to the fire. On the table beside her were two cups, a pair of spectacles, and a six-inch cross-stitch hoop with an unfinished breakfast scene done in colorful ribbon. “Did you get settled?” she asked.

  “I did. Thank you. It’s lovely to be back. The room aroused a flurry of nice memories.”

  “Some unsettling ones too?”

  How did Claire do that? The woman seemed so in tune with everyone. She must have been thinking about the talk she’d given Sally those first rocky days when she and Roady were just coming to terms with their hasty marriage, the misunderstandings, and some hurt feelings. Unmarried and with child. What would she have done without Roady then? He’d come to her rescue.