The Lady and the Mountain Promise (Mountain Dreams Series Book 4)

by Misty M. Beller

She swallowed, forcing liquid down her parched throat. “Don’t come any closer.” Her voice came out stronger than she’d expected, given the fact her legs were quivering.

  A faint chuckle drifted over the breeze.

  The wash of anger that rushed through her pushed away any fear that tried to linger. No man would have control of her again. And she would certainly not let anyone close enough to endanger her child. Not this shadow. Not now. Not ever.

  With renewed determination, she turned back toward her home and stalked forward. She kept a steady ear tuned to any sound behind her, but none drifted through the night air.

  As she turned right onto their street, the familiar view of home shone in the moonlight before her. For a moment, her heart stuttered. Was she making a mistake letting the man see where she lived? But if he’d followed her before, as she was sure he had, he already knew. And with a strong metal brace on the door—and the revolver beside her bed—she could protect herself. Couldn’t she?

  ~ ~ ~

  MARCUS GLANCED toward the curtain partitioning off the kitchen as he swallowed another bite of the beef soup. Lilly’s stews had developed quite a reputation in town, although they were usually attributed to Aunt Pearl. Claire had let him in on the secret of who really produced all the savory meals from the café’s kitchen.

  It still astonished him that Lilly could stay so hidden back there. And with a daughter, too. He’d never heard a peep from the child, and Claire and Aunt Pearl were the only women who ever pushed through that dividing curtain. He’d tried to ferret out Lilly’s story from Claire, but his sister was tight-lipped for the first time in her life. All she’d told him was that the story was sad. Maybe Claire wasn’t privy to all the details.

  But Marcus wanted to know. Something inside him craved to learn more about her, almost as much as he yearned to follow God’s will for his life and this church.

  Aunt Pearl stopped by to fill his mug with fresh coffee. The dark liquid rose halfway up as she poured out the last bit from the pot. “Let me get more for ya, Reverend. Coffee’s in high demand tonight.”

  He shot a glance at the full tables around him. “The café’s busy. Is Claire helping you?”

  Her mouth pinched. “She asked to take a couple nights off a week. Can’t say as I blame her, what with that new husband an’ all. I think I’m gonna hafta find more help, though. Gettin’ too old ta try ta keep up on my own.”

  He reared back and eyed her with the hint of a grin. “Why, you don’t look much older than Claire. A sight prettier, too, if you don’t mind me sayin’.”

  She shooed him and turned away, but not before he saw a smile pull at her mouth. “Let me get ya more coffee.”

  Marcus took up his spoon again and inhaled another bite of stew as he watched those around him. Mostly business men, some with their wives. A handful of miners, bachelors he assumed. From what he’d heard, miners with families barely made enough to keep them nourished and clothed. Eating at the café was a luxury they didn’t experience.

  Food and supplies sure weren’t cheap up here in the Montana Territory. He’d noticed that pretty quickly.

  A clatter sounded from the kitchen. Then a scream. Marcus’s heart jumped in his chest, and he leaped to his feet before he could stop himself.

  The voices around him didn’t wane. Had he been the only one to hear it? Should he go see if everyone was all right? The kitchen had always been off limits—Aunt Pearl made that clear.

  The curtain ruffled, then pulled aside enough for Pearl to peer out. She searched the crowd. When her gaze landed on him, she waved him forward.

  Marcus sprinted toward her, brushed aside the curtain, and stepped around it. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the cluttered space.

  Aunt Pearl and Miss Lilly were bent over something on the floor. A whimpering filled the small space, along with a soothing murmur.

  He stepped around them to see what held their attention.

  The little girl lay curled in a ball on the floor as her mother dipped her tiny foot in a basin of water. Shriveled, crimson flesh glared up at him, stealing his breath. Tears streamed from the child’s eyes as she cowered into Lilly’s side.

  “Parson, can you fetch the doc?” Aunt Pearl’s command jolted him from his stupor. “Dahlia’s burned herself good.”

  “Of course.”

  “Go out the back.”

  He spun toward the door, pushed it open, and hit the ground at a sprint. The town had two doctors, Claire’s husband, Bryan, and his younger brother, Alex. Neither was likely to be in the clinic at this hour of the evening. He veered in the direction of Bryan and Claire’s house at the edge of town. Claire would surely come with her husband, and it would be good for Lilly to have a friend close by.

  When he reached the whitewashed cottage Bryan had built, he took the stairs in a single stride and pounded on the door. “Bryan. Claire. Open up." His breaths came hard, and he bent at the waist to gather more air.

  As he raised his hand to knock again, a shuffling sounded inside. The door opened, and Bryan’s form filled the frame. “What’s wrong?”

  “Lilly’s daughter. Burned herself at the café. Where’s Claire?” Marcus still struggled to catch his breath as he peered around the man.

  Bryan ducked back inside. “Claire’s helping Miriam,” he called over his shoulder. “I’m coming now.” He reappeared with his doctor’s bag in hand. “Let’s go.”

  Marcus led the way as they jogged the blocks to the café. His nerves were a ball of knots by the time they arrived. Bryan seemed familiar with the café as he stepped through the back door.

  The two women knelt in the same position Marcus had left them, but Aunt Pearl rose and stepped back when they entered. Bryan took her place, and Marcus moved close enough to see.

  “How are you, little flower?” Bryan’s words were gentle as he examined the bright red skin on the child’s foot.

  Marcus couldn’t focus on the sight. Not the precious little limb, inflamed and obviously very painful. A sob jerked his attention to the child’s tear-filled eyes.

  Lilly brushed the girl’s hair back from her forehead, soothing with soft words. Her voice was rhythmic, flowing, like the music she’d played the other day. Under the spell of them, his own muscles eased.

  Until the child jumped and whimpered.

  “I’m sorry, Dahlia,” Bryan murmured. “I’m just going to dry it off and put some medicine on, then we’ll wrap it so it feels better.”

  The child didn’t answer but caught her bottom lip between her teeth.

  Marcus wanted to pace, but that would likely disturb the girl. He really wanted to elbow his way in and help. Do something.

  Watching the child in so much pain—while he did nothing—was ripping his heart in two.

  Chapter Six

  AFTER WHAT FELT to Marcus like an hour, the doctor finally straightened.

  “There now. I know it still hurts, but that will help.” The man handed a small bottle to Lilly. “You can give her a capful of this twice a day for the pain. Don’t give it any longer than you have to, though.”

  She took the bottle, peering at the black label with white print. Marcus was too far away to read what it said.

  Bryan sat back on his heels and eyed the girl. “Are you starting to feel better, Dahlia?”

  She nodded once, and her eyelids drooped a little.

  Bryan turned back to Lilly. “Keep it wrapped for a day or two. I’ll stop by and check to make sure it’s healing nicely. It hasn’t blistered, so there shouldn’t be much danger if you keep it clean.”

  The woman nodded. The hint of fear in her eyes gave her a vulnerability Marcus hadn’t seen before.

  Bryan seemed to be taking her measure. “I think it’d be good if you took her home now.”

  “Of course,” Aunt Pearl spoke up. “Y’all go on. That crowd’s windin’ down out there anyway. Get on with yourselves.”

  Lilly looked at the woman, a line forming between her dark brows.
“Are you sure?”

  “Sure, I’m sure.”

  Bryan started to repack his supplies. “Do you need help getting her home?”

  This was his chance. “I’ll help.” Marcus stepped forward, and all four pairs of eyes turned toward him. “I’ll escort them home.”

  That fear again, stronger now, reflected in Lilly’s eyes. Her mouth parted to speak.

  “That’s a good idea.” Aunt Pearl jumped in. “Thank ye, Reverend.”

  Marcus kept his focus on Lilly. After a second, she closed her mouth, squared her shoulders, and nodded once as she looked down at her daughter. Barely a bob of her chin, but it eased the tension tightening his neck.

  “I’ll clean the floor, then be ready to go.” Lilly’s voice was so soft he almost missed it.

  When she’d wiped the floor and gathered a small satchel, Lilly gingerly lifted the child in her arms and stood. She turned toward the door, not even looking his direction.

  Marcus’s brows pinched. “How about if I carry her?”

  Lilly halted to fumble with the door latch, but she still didn’t give him so much as a glance. “I’m fine.”

  In two strides, Marcus was by her side, reaching for the latch to stop her efforts. “She’s too heavy to carry far.” Even though the child was just a waif, it couldn’t be easy for this slender woman to carry her past the next building.

  Lilly jerked her hand back from the door, even though he hadn’t touched her. She spun toward him, fire lighting her eyes.

  Marcus gave her his most beseeching look and softened his tone. “Please. Let me help.”

  Her chin jutted, and she stared at him for a long moment. Then she looked down at her daughter, snuggled in her arms. Lilly’s features softened.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Dahlia.” The word came out like a prayer in that rhythmic cadence she’d used earlier.

  “It’s pretty.”

  “It was my favorite flower.” The wistful tone seemed at odds to the fire in her expression only moments before. And was that a hint of a smile on her lips?

  But looking at that sweet child, so trusting in her mother’s arms, had the power to change anyone.

  At last, Lilly peered up at him, almost shyly. “All right.” Gently, oh so tenderly, she placed her daughter in his arms. The greatest of gifts.

  Dahlia weighed less than he’d expected, and he pulled her close and smiled at the sweet, sleepy face. “Hi, Dahlia. I’m gonna help you and your mama home, all right?”

  She snuggled closer.

  A warmth washed through him, bringing a burning sensation to the back of his throat. He cleared it, then looked up at Lilly with a smile. “Ready when you are.”

  Dusk was just overtaking the town as she led him through the alley. Rows of back doors faced them on either side. Gram’s house was a few buildings down on the right, but everything seemed quiet there. At the end of the street, Lilly stepped across the side road and onto a boardwalk.

  Marcus took the outside edge, and Lilly finally dropped back to walk beside him, shooting nervous glances at her daughter as they went.

  Maybe some conversation would help her feel at ease. “How old is she?”

  Lilly darted another glance at Dahlia’s drooping eyes. “Two next month.”

  “A birthday soon, eh?”

  A weak pull of Lilly’s mouth, which she might have been intended as a smile. “Yes.”

  “Have you worked at the café for long?”

  That weak smile straightened into a tight line. “Yes.”

  “How long?”

  “Two and a half years.” The words had a bite to them. Time to back off.

  “Aunt Pearl seems like a kind woman. I imagine she’d be good to work for.”

  “Yes, very.” That was a better tone. So far, her happy topics seemed to be her daughter and Aunt Pearl.

  “Claire likes working at the café, too. I think she’s struggling to find balance with her new married life, though.”

  Lilly’s face stayed soft, but she didn’t answer.

  They’d walked at least half a mile so far, and the scenery seemed to be deteriorating quickly. The Cabbage Patch, Butte’s red-light district, loomed ahead. Lilly showed no signs of turning aside. Surely she didn’t live here, did she?

  Bile roiled in his stomach as he thought about all the ways an unmarried woman might find herself with a child in this part of town. He didn’t want to think those things of Lilly.

  But no, it wasn’t his place to judge, only to help. Still, his spirits sank more the farther they walked. He couldn’t bring himself to keep up a conversation.

  She didn’t stop at the Irish Castle, though. Nor the Spirit of Butte or any of the other saloons, cheap hotels, or brothels. As they passed the last of the bawdy-houses, Lilly’s step seemed to move swifter. “Almost there.”

  Soon, the buildings changed to mostly shacks. Three and four in a cluster, often leaning against each other for support. A stiff wind might do them all in.

  Dahlia shifted in his arms, snuggling closer. He tightened his grip on her. The wind picked up now that they were away from the protection of the storefronts.

  A couple of blocks later, Lilly turned right down a side street, then pulled up at the second house on the left. “This is ours.” Her voice held a hint of pride as she gripped the latch string and pushed open the wooden door.

  Marcus couldn’t bring himself to follow Lilly inside yet. Instead, he eyed the building. Rickety was a kind word for it. The wooden siding had never been painted and looked to be in the early stages of rotting. The whole thing listed slightly to the left.

  A grim knot formed in his gut as he stepped onto the low stoop and confirmed his other suspicions. Only a single layer of boards separated the inside from the biting cold outdoors. The gaps between them must let in enough light to illuminate the room until sundown. It also let in the wind and surely any form of moisture that happened to be falling outside. How could they live like this?

  Lilly lifted her daughter from his arms, murmuring gentle words to the child. Her face held a soft glow—pure pleasure—as she pulled Dahlia close. “Let’s get you in bed, little one.”

  She carried her to a mattress in the corner, a size suitable for two people. Clothing hung from pegs on the wall nearby, along with a few gowns draped over the rope hanging between two nails.

  Marcus turned his attention away to a less personal part of the one-room shack. A rocking chair sat beside a warming stove on his left. He moved closer and reached a hand close to the heater. Cold.

  He grabbed a couple of the smaller logs stacked beside the stove and opened the door to the firebox. Clumps of white ash formed the remnants of a long cold fire. Looks like he’d need matches.

  He found the matches and tender in a small basket and had a fire going within a couple minutes. The pile of firewood stacked beside the stove had dwindled to only three logs, not enough to get them through the night. Marcus brushed off his hands and rose, looking around for Lilly.

  She stood at the foot of the bed, motionless except for her dark eyes, which tracked his every movement. The expression on her face took a moment for him to decipher. Wariness. Maybe a hint of curiosity? And something else he couldn’t read.

  “Is there more wood stacked outside?”

  She nodded once and pointed to the right of the cabin. “Around the corner.”

  He headed toward the door. The burn of her stare followed him until he closed the wobbly door behind him. The firewood was where she’d said, just around the front corner of the house, but it could hardly be called a stack. It didn’t rise much taller than his knee, just an uneven assortment of sticks and dead branches, apparently rotten enough to break in two without an ax. The knot in his stomach tightened. Had she gathered these in the woods herself?

  When he had both arms loaded with enough wood to see her through the night and morning, the stack at his feet had dwindled substantially. Maybe only enough for one more night.

>   As he reentered the cabin, Lilly stood by the stove with a pot of something—water for coffee or tea most likely. She stepped back as he neared to drop his load.

  He straightened and brushed his hands over the pile. “Anything else I can do while I’m here?” He gave her an easy smile, the one people usually responded to.

  “No.” The word was swift and clear. “Thank you for…your help.” Those last words seemed to require a little more effort. “I can take care of things now.”

  Why was she so stubbornly independent? Would it be so hard to just say yes? Let someone else pick up the slack?

  He clamped his jaw against the questions and forced a pleasant expression as he met her gaze. “If there’s anything I can do, anytime. Please. I’d like to.”

  A simple bob of her chin was his only response. She turned back to the pot on the stove. He’d been dismissed.

  Marcus turned toward the door, and she didn’t follow him. He pulled it open and looked back. “I sure hope Dahlia gets to feeling better soon.” No answer. “Y’all have a nice night.”

  “Thank you.” The soft words followed him out.

  He stood outside for a moment, breathing in the chilly night air. Darkness had taken over while he’d been inside.

  A slight clatter sounded at the door behind him. The sound of metal on metal. A brace to bar the door? At least she had a small measure of protection, although if someone really wanted in, they only had to deliver a few swift kicks to the rotting boards.

  He imagined her then, that lovely face, the silky hair. He looked around at the other shanties, then back toward the red light district they’d crossed through to get here. No wonder she carried that attitude with her—the fear and wariness and tension. She might as well have worn a target. What other defense did she have?

  He had to do something about her situation, whether she wanted him to or not.

  As Marcus strode back through the Cabbage Patch with its raucous music and bright lights, determination steeled within him.

  He knew exactly what he would do.

  ~ ~ ~