Healing Montana Sky

by Debra Holland

  “Rode up or downstream, no telling,” Sheriff Granger commented. “I’ll head on out there and see for myself. Hopefully, I’ll find where they left the water and pick up their trail.”

  “I haven’t heard back from the Bureau of Indian Affairs. I think another letter is in order.” John Carter snugged on his hat. “Now with one wounded, maybe they’ll stop,” he said. “But. . .” He shot a glance at Erik. “As your wife said, the Indians are starving.” He sighed. “Can’t blame them. I’d beg, borrow, or steal if my family was starving to death.”

  Erik thought of the boys, of his fragile daughter. So would I.

  The looks on the other men’s faces told him they had similar feelings. Only Caleb Livingston seemed to dissent, shaking his head and frowning.

  “Stealing’s against the law of God and of our country,” Sheriff Granger said with a sharp slash of her hand.

  “I agree,” the banker interjected. “Borrowing is a better place to start.”

  Nick frowned at him. “You’re in the business of lending money. Of course, you’d agree.”

  Caleb Livingston shot Nick a dark look.

  Erik had heard the two had hard feelings between them due to Nick making off with the fair Elizabeth right under the banker’s nose.

  Wyatt Thompson pinned the sheriff with a stern look. “And neither of you is a parent.” Their gray gazes held and clashed.

  Erik had the sense that Wyatt didn’t much approve of their new officer of the law, and he wondered why.

  Wyatt broke the standoff to glance around the circle. “As fathers, we are given families to love and protect.” He flicked the sheriff a critical look. “You might feel different if you ever have a baby, a child depending on you, whose very life is in your hands.”

  Erik remembered his desperation with newborn Camilla, knowing he had only hours to save her. Yes. Becoming a father has changed me to my very core.

  Wyatt’s gray eyes, burning with intensity, met Erik’s, as if reaching across the few feet separating them. “I, too, lost a wife in childbirth. When I held my baby daughter for the first time, a fierce protective love seized me and has never let up, although my Christine is strong and healthy. The image of her mother.”

  The man’s words punched Erik in the chest, for he’d felt the same driving love for Camilla.

  The sheriff made a cut-off gesture. “Sentiments or not, we have a potential war brewing.” Although she appeared perfectly composed, her voice held a chill. “If it’s Indians, and they keep stealing, or if God forbid, someone from Sweetwater Springs is wounded or killed. . .” She shook her head. “Hotheads will rile things up. Those caught up in a mob become crazed and lose their ability to think rationally. We’ll have a self-appointed vigilante posse sweeping onto the Indian reservation. They’re just as likely to gun down the entire encampment, including innocent women and children.”

  John made a sound of protest.

  The sheriff rode roughshod over any attempt to speak. “Later those idiots might suffer remorse, or believe their actions didn’t matter because they only killed savages.” Sheriff Granger’s tone made it clear what she thought about that. “Even if only a few are wounded or killed, the Indians might retaliate.” She didn’t have to say more.

  John looked troubled. “Pray, God, it doesn’t come to that.”

  “We won’t let it,” Nick said fiercely.

  Wyatt’s dark eyebrows drew together. “We’ll speak with our men. Any cowboy of mine who joins that kind of mob will be out of a job, regardless if he’s prosecuted by the law.”

  Ant crossed his arms in front of him. “I’ll run an article in the newspaper urging calm. We can’t keep the Anderson attack quiet for long. The town’s already buzzing about the thefts, although we’re trying not to worry the womenfolk.”

  Erik remembered the groups of men he’d seen talking before church. “That’s a mistake,” he said bluntly. “I’d as soon have my wife and her rifle at my side as any man. She’s a crack shot.” The truth of the words surprised him. “I think the women need to know. Prepare them. Warn them to be watchful. This probably isn’t the time to wander off alone or with small children, picking flowers and such.”

  The sheriff eyed Erik with approval. “I agree.” Her lips twitched. “Most of the women around here seem sensible enough. For those few ladies who don’t take the news well—” she jabbed a thumb toward her chest “—send any hysterical female over to the jail, and I’ll set her straight.”

  In spite of the gravity of the situation, that image made the men smile.

  Well, I’ll be. Our lady sheriff has a sense of humor.

  She gazed at Erik, a thoughtful look on her face. “When this is over and I have time, I think I’ll hold classes for women who want to learn to shoot, assuming their husbands or fathers can’t or won’t teach them.”

  “Nonsense,” the banker exclaimed. “Too unladylike.”

  The others ignored him, something the handsome, wealthy man wasn’t used to, and it showed in the flash of his brown eyes.

  Ant’s eyebrow peaked, matching his crooked smile. “Some things are best left to other instructors, not husbands,” he drawled. “I’ll sign Harriet up on the spot.”

  Caleb Livingston gave him an astonished look. “You’re that sure she’d want to learn, are you?”

  “I know she would,” Ant said, all levity vanishing from his face. “My brother-in-law almost killed her.”

  Shaking his head, Caleb raised a placating hand. “I’d forgotten.”

  “I wish we could say the same,” Ant said coolly.

  “It’s a good notion for the women to know how to defend themselves.” Nick rocked forward on his heels. “I’ve already taught Elizabeth, and Pamela learned from John. But a female shootin’ class might be good for them regardless.” He touched a hand to his side, as if he had a gun strapped there. He didn’t, of course. No one went armed to church.

  Almost no one. Erik eyed the sheriff for weapons.

  Sure enough, she had a bulge at her side, hidden by her jacket, as well she should.

  He’d bet Nick had a rifle in that fancy carriage of his, just like Erik carried one in a special box built under the seat of his wagon.

  The sheriff’s expression sobered. She gestured at the ranchers. “As far as I can tell, livestock in your direction aren’t disappearing.”

  The three exchanged glances, but it was Nick who spoke for them. “No losses that can’t be put down to animals—tracks and all that. We have our cowboys riding around our spreads. And our men are on guard. Granted our ranges are wide, but except for the cattle, our livestock are near the ranch houses.”

  Sheriff Granger straightened her arm, hand pointing like a sword to the front of her. She pivoted in a half circle, indicating a target area. “There you have it, gentlemen.” She lowered her arm. “That’s a lot of territory for one sheriff to cover. In fact, the task would be hard for a posse of sheriffs. The citizens living within the affected area need to take extra precautions. See that you put that in your article, Ant.” She tipped her hat to them. “And I’m going to ride out to the Anderson place.”

  Wyatt raised a hand to stop her. “Take my oldest son, Hunter, with you,” he said, referring to the Blackfoot boy he’d adopted. “He’s good at tracking and shooting. If it’s Indians causing harm, he’ll be able to speak with them. Keep things peaceable. He’ll surely convey understanding to the culprits, for I caught him in the same situation—stealing one of Mrs. Toffels’s fresh-baked pies. Samantha up and adopted him right out from under me.”

  “I’ll take Hunter along. Send him on over.” Sheriff Granger nodded in farewell. “Good day, gentlemen.” She sauntered off in the direction of the jail.

  In silence, the men watched her go.

  Erik rubbed Jacques’s back. “I almost pity the culprits when she catches up with them.”

  “It’s only what they deserve,” Caleb Livingston muttered. “And if word gets out beyond our town—” his voice sh
arpened “—such an event will be bad for our businesses.”

  Your business. If we have Indian problems, no one will come stay at that fancy hotel you’re building. But Erik didn’t voice his thoughts aloud, even though he suspected the other men had similar ones about the banker.

  He glanced over at Antonia, still talking to Alice Cameron. They’d been joined by Mrs. Gordon and Natalia, no doubt discussing Henri’s schooling. “I’d best be getting back to my wife. If you have need of me, if there’s anything I must know, leave word at the mercantile, for I’m there most mornings.”

  Even as he said the words, Erik realized including the Cobbs in their plans was a bad idea. Their hatred of the Indians was a well-known fact. “Never mind that.” He glanced at Sheriff Granger. “I’ll stop by the jail and see how you’re progressing.”

  The tall man nodded. “Sounds good.”

  As Erik moved away, he thought back on the area the sheriff had marked out. His place lay just on the eastern boundary.

  With one of them wounded, the Indians might become more desperate.

  I’ve been negligent, too lost in grief, struggling to help Antonia and the boys adjust, learning to become a new father and a husband to a stranger, getting the crops in the ground. . . .

  That changes now!

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Before walking over to rejoin his wife, Erik paused to take stock of the weather. Overhead, pale clouds veiled the sun. Hopefully, it won’t start to rain again. But just in case, they needed to get going.

  Still, Erik hesitated. He didn’t want Antonia to know anything was wrong and spoil her enjoyment of their visit to town.

  I’ll tell her on the way home.

  He felt Jacques stir and rubbed the child’s back.

  The boy lifted his head, glanced at Erik, and laid his head down for a few seconds, only to look at him again, his eyes still sleepy. “Pa,” he mumbled.

  “Yes, I’m your pa.”

  Jacques looked around. “Ma?”

  “Maman’s over there.” Erik pointed to her.

  Antonia must have seen he was alone, for with a smile and a few words, she left Alice Cameron and came over to join him.

  Lina Barrett, a plump Italian woman, practically pounced on them, corkscrew tendrils of black hair bouncing around her face as she moved. “Oh, I want to see that baby.” She spotted Jacques and smiled. “And meet this one, too.” She spoke with an appealing Italian accent.

  Jonah Barrett, Lina’s husband, followed her. He, too, held a toddler in his arms, a girl about a year older than Jacques, with her mother’s curly hair and his bottle green eyes. “Mrs. Muth doesn’t know you from Adam, my dear Lina. So she might not want to share her children with you.” He winked at Antonia. “Mrs. Muth can’t possibly know she’s standing in front of the most maternal woman in Sweetwater Springs.”

  Lina flicked a wrist at her husband.

  Erik smiled at their banter. “My dear, meet Lina and Jonah Barrett.” He gestured to the Barrett daughter. “Although I don’t know this one’s name.”

  “Maria,” Lina said, going on tiptoe to kiss her child’s cheek. “My only daughter.” She smiled at them.

  Erik gestured to Antonia. “My wife, Antonia, baby Camilla, and this one—” he hefted Jacques so the boy could display his froggy grin “—is Jacques.”

  “Mrs. Muth, I’m delighted to meet you, although what you have gone through, Madonna Mia!” Shaking her head, she threw up her hands and shuddered.

  “Please call me Antonia.”

  “And you must call me Lina. We will be friends.” Her definitive nod set her curls bouncing again.

  “I’d plumb like that,” Antonia said.

  “You’ll hear the gossip soon enough, so I’ll just go ahead and tell you.” Lina waved her hand in a circle indicating the congregation milling around them. “I was a mail-order bride.” She waited, as if expecting a shocked reaction.

  Antonia’s brows drew together. “What be. . .what’s a mail-order bride?”

  Jonah barked a laugh, and his green eyes twinkled. “She’s got you there, dear. That’s the first time you’ve had that reaction.” He turned to Antonia. “I sent a letter to Mail-Order Brides of the West Agency in response to their ad about brides willing to travel west to marry strangers, sight unseen. I ordered up my Lina.”

  Erik stared at the man, a fellow farmer whom he didn’t know well. But he’d heard tales of the morose man Jonah had been, of the drunken sot he’d had for a father, and of his first marriage to a squaw—all just before Erik’s arrival in Sweetwater Springs. But he’d also heard of the change that had come over Jonah when he married Lina. The man had astonished the whole town by becoming a loving husband and father and a solid citizen of Sweetwater Springs.

  Lina finagled Camilla away from his wife, rocking her and cooing Italian words that sounded like musical compliments.

  Jacques squirmed to get down.

  Erik gave in, setting him on his feet.

  “Ma!” The boy toddled to his mother, falling against her legs, and then turned to look at Erik with a wide-mouth grin. “Pa!”

  Jonah cocked an eyebrow. “Things seem to be settling in for you two.”

  “As well as can be expected.”

  “Good.” Jonah hesitated and moved so his back was partially to the women who were engrossed in talking about babies. “My marriage to Lina was somewhat like yours,” he said in a serious tone. “I was mourning a wife who’d recently died in childbirth, along with our second baby. I needed a mother for Adam and selected a bride I didn’t know.”

  Another man with a similar story to my own.

  He had known, of course, that women died in childbirth, but that fact had seemed so distant, not even a possibility he’d considered. To his shame, Erik remembered how he’d scoffed when Daisy had expressed fears that to him had seemed so unlikely.

  Forgive me, Daisy.

  Erik brought his attention back to Jonah.

  “Our. . .transition wasn’t easy,” the farmer said. “We were very different from each other. The guilt I felt from Koko’s death almost crushed me. I thought I didn’t dare open my heart to Lina. But my wise wife convinced me otherwise.”

  Erik hadn’t heard this story before, and he realized the man was confiding in him.

  “Best thing I could have done,” Jonah added.

  “The guilt passes?”

  Jonah nodded, his eyes grave. “Mostly.” He took off his hat and ran a hand through his shoulder-length blond hair. “Hard to be grieving one wife and yet developing love for another.” He put his hat back on. “Confusing as all get-out.”

  Erik let out a slow breath, relieved to be understood. “Yes.”

  “You can treasure the memory of one and love the reality of the other.”

  “I’m not there yet. Don’t know if I’ll ever be.” He glanced over to make sure Antonia couldn’t hear him. “I care for her, that I do. But to love again. . .” He shook his head.

  “Give yourself time.”

  While Erik appreciated Jonah’s sentiments, he wasn’t sure the passage of time would be enough.

  When they left the store, Antonia glanced past Camilla in her arms at her shiny leather boots and turned them in the direction of the church where the Sanders and the Carters still lingered in conversation. With her new brown hat, coffee-colored netting fitted over the brim and crown, and an amber-colored shawl, she looked like the other church-goin’ women. She’d bundled Daisy’s shawl around Camilla and tucked her moccasins, wrapped in brown paper, under her arm.

  Although Antonia had balked at spending money on things she didn’t think she needed and purposely chose simple styles, she’d just discovered the lift a new hat gave her spirits and was eager to see the ladies’ reactions to her finery.

  Not that she’d felt low. Everyone was so welcoming. Mrs. Cobb’s vinegar glare at Antonia’s corset-less waistline hadn’t soured her day. In the face of everyone’s kindness, what does one woman’s disapprova
l matter?

  Erik, carrying Jacques, stopped her with a touch on her arm. “You trying to parade your new finery through town?” he teased. “The wagon’s at the livery, remember?”

  Her cheeks heated, and she looked up at her husband’s grin.

  “So let’s head on over there. But there’s one more thing we have to do before leaving town.”

  “Camilla be needin’ to feed soon,” she warned, then caught herself. “I mean, Camilla will soon need feeding.” She glanced at Jacques and back at Henri, both gnawing on oatmeal cookies. “Those cookies you bought will tide the boys over ’til we git to the food I brought.”

  “This won’t take long.” Erik placed his hand in the center of her back, steering her in the direction of the livery.

  Even through the shawl, she felt his touch. Shivers radiated across her skin.

  “Most of the churchgoers have already left. See—” he pointed “—only a few horses are in the paddock. Most of those belong to Mack Taylor,” he said, referring to the livery owner.

  Antonia had briefly met the man before church when they parked the wagon near the stable. Mack and Pepe, his stable hand, had taken charge of the horses.

  Erik pointed. “Mack or Pepe have already hitched our team to the wagon. The Sanders’ and Carters’ teams are ready, too.”

  As they approached, Mack Taylor waved, his rheumy green eyes beaming. “Hey, you two. Have you heard the news? We were like fleas jumping around on a dog this morning, so we didn’t have time to tell ya. Think everyone and his brother decided to attend church.”

  “Not sure,” Erik responded. “Which news are you talking about? We have a lot going on in Sweetwater Springs nowadays.”

  Mack cackled. “That we do. But this news is about my boy, here.” He waved toward Pepe. “Go on. Tell him.”