Beneath Montana's Sky: A Montana Sky Novella (The Montana Sky Series Book 0)

by Debra Holland

  Sadness jumped into his eyes, so quickly masked that Pamela doubted she’d even seen the reaction. He released her hand and took back the reins.

  The loss of connection was instant, but she couldn’t allow herself to feel bereft.

  “I’ll take you home, then.”

  Pamela nodded, twisting her hands in her lap.

  Perhaps now he’ll allow himself to court Elizabeth. She’d have to tell her friend to give the rancher some stronger hints about her willingness to marry and move to the West. Surely, all Mr. Carter needed was some encouragement regarding the success of his suit. Then he’d propose, wed Elizabeth, and become the happiest of men.

  Pamela wouldn’t allow her heart to break at the thought.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Another ball, another social activity I want even less to attend than the previous one. Her heart heavy, footsteps dragging, Pamela moved through the Spencer family ballroom searching for Elizabeth. After she spoke to her friend, she’d resolved to linger just as long as was politely necessary before making her escape back to the comfort of her home.

  Pamela spotted Elizabeth in animated discussion with Sylvia Jordan, who wore a pink satin and lace dress and sparkled with happiness from her recent betrothal. Elizabeth had donned a pale green silk gown that blended well with the gold velvet draperies framing the stained-glass window the two stood next to. Normally, Pamela would have joined their conversation. But today, she wasn’t in the mood to talk—not even with her two closest friends.

  Two elderly ladies passed by with gracious nods in her direction.

  She forced a smile in return before easing to the side of the room, until she was in Elizabeth’s line of sight. When Elizabeth saw her, Pamela made a discreet come here gesture.

  Elizabeth’s brow furrowed. She smiled at Sylvia and excused herself before hurrying over. “What’s wrong?”

  I can’t tell you.

  Pamela tried to dissemble. “What could possibly make you say such a thing?” she said in a light tone.

  Elizabeth grabbed Pamela’s hand, her expression grave. “I know you, Pam. So, it’s no use trying to hide your feelings from me. Come.” She pulled her behind a potted palm that screened them from curious eyes.

  No one was in earshot, so Pamela decided to admit a sliver of the truth. “I’m sad at the thought of us parting. Boston and Montana Territory….” She shook her head. “So far apart.”

  “I know.” Elizabeth squeezed her hand. “The only fly in the ointment of wedded bliss.”

  Pamela couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “That’s how you describe marriage?”

  Her friend laughed. “That’s how I describe marriage to John Carter.”

  “Beth,” Pamela said, feeling an urgent need to share her thoughts. “I have the feeling Mr. Carter is not aware of his own worth and is perhaps reluctant to propose. He needs stronger hints.” Her cheeks burned at the truth she kept hidden—Mr. Carter’s mistaken proposal to her.

  Elizabeth stopped laughing and gave Pamela a searching look. “You couldn’t hint to him?”

  Grateful her friend understood, Pamela shook her head.

  Elizabeth reached over and tucked strands of hair behind Pamela’s ears. “Oh, Pam. Dear, dear Pam. I understand. Mr. Carter shall have his hints. I’ll make sure of it.”

  Even though her insides felt hollow, Pamela forced herself to smile. “Good. Then all will be set to rights.” She looked out on the dance floor, her gaze skimming the crowd for a familiar lanky figure. “There Mr. Carter is now. In the corner to the right. I’ll leave you two…” She pulled her hand from Elizabeth’s grasp and walked away as fast as she could without giving the appearance of fleeing, even if she most definitely was.

  I can’t bear to watch them together… See the moment when he learns the truth and realizes his heart’s desire.

  Her back to the dance floor, Pamela covered her cheeks with her hands. She let out a strained breath before scurrying to an alcove to hide. I just need a few minutes to compose myself.

  Later, I’ll be calm…prepared. I’ll be able to greet their announcement with the true joy they both deserve.

  * * *

  I won’t give up. The potted palm didn’t hide Pamela and Elizabeth from John. He saw Pamela searching the room for someone, only to stop when she saw him.

  Hope leaped. His heart knocking against his chest, he started in their direction.

  Perhaps I surprised her with my sudden declaration. Maybe she’s still considering my offer, and I should press my suit.

  But Pamela turned away without acknowledging him.

  John halted, his stomach twisting as he watched her flee from him, taking with her his last vestiges of hope. She hadn’t reconsidered his offer, after all.

  He wanted to leave the ball, to crawl into a dark cave and lick his wounds. Time to admit failure and go home.

  With a raised chin, draconian expression on her beautiful face, Elizabeth advanced on him. She looked about to breathe fire at his head for daring to ask Pamela to marry him and obviously upsetting her.

  He braced himself. In politeness, there was no way of avoiding the woman, even if he wanted to.

  “Mr. Carter, we are going to dance,” Elizabeth said in clipped tones, giving him no time to object. She took his arm and tugged him toward the floor.

  He cocked an eyebrow. “We are?” Even as he challenged her, John allowed her to pull him to an empty area where they assumed a ready position. A slow waltz started, and he had no trouble finding the pattern. I have Pamela to thank for my newfound comfort with dancing.

  John didn’t even attempt to swallow the sudden lump in his throat that robbed him of his ability to speak. Elizabeth might have dragged him out here, but he didn’t have to talk to her. He’d let her speak her piece and be done with it.

  For half a turn around the floor, she remained quiet. Then, as if coming to a decision, she raised her chin. “Mr. Carter, John, I will be blunt with you. I believe that you are courting my dear Pamela. Although I hate the thought of being forever separated from her, I believe you are a good man and would make her happy.”

  He choked, not believing what he’d heard. Evidently, Pamela hadn’t brought her friend up to speed on the latest developments.

  “As you’ve no doubt noticed, Pamela is shy and doesn’t value her own worth. Your courtship will proceed more quickly if you are direct. Mere hints of your esteem will not be heard.”

  He almost stopped short. Only the need to avoid drawing attention and creating gossip kept his feet moving. “Elizabeth, this very afternoon, I asked Pamela to marry me.” For the first time, he saw the woman shaken from her composure.

  Her mouth gaped before she abruptly pressed her lips together. “That cannot be.”

  “I speak the truth.”

  Elizabeth waited while he guided them around a nearby couple. Once out of their hearing, she raised her brows. “You were direct with your proposal?”

  “Does ‘Would you do me the honor of marrying me’ sound clear enough to you?” John didn’t bother to keep the edge of frustration out of his voice.

  Frowning, she let out a long exhale. “I don’t understand. It’s clear to me she has feelings for you.” Elizabeth remained silent for a few measures. “In fact, right before we started this dance, Pamela—” She broke off the sentence, and her forehead smoothed. “Why that ninny!” She let out a peal of laughter.

  John waltzed them to the side of the room, where they could unobtrusively leave the dance floor. He took her by the elbow and propelled her to the corner. “What are you talking about?”

  “Pamela thinks you and I—” she gestured between the two of them “—are interested in each other. She’s being noble in refusing you.”

  Her words knocked him off balance. “How could she believe that?”

  “In the beginning, you did direct your attention toward me,” she said with an accepting smile. “But when you wisely realized Pamela would make you a far superior wife, you f
ocused on her. Mrs. Burton and I have been quietly aiding your efforts. Perhaps we’ve been too subtle. I hadn’t realized she still thought you were interested in me.” She shook her head in apparent disbelief. “Ninny,” she repeated in a fond tone.

  He listened to Elizabeth with rising hope.

  “Pamela’s very protective of me, John.”

  “Oh, course,” he said with an impatient dip of their joined hands.

  “Let me explain. You’ve heard about the deaths of my parents and fiancé?” She raised her brows in inquiry.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Pamela has worried about me these last two years. She provided the lifeline to which I clung when the dark waters of grief threatened to drown me. She has shed tears with me—not only those of empathy, but from her own grief—my parents were a second family to her. Richard…” Her voice broke… “A friend, who grew to be as dear as a brother to her. I know how much she longs for me to be well.” Tears started into her eyes. “She was willing to sacrifice her happiness for mine.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Such great love.”

  The description of Pamela’s devotion endeared her to him even more. He whipped out his handkerchief and handed the material to her. “She’s a remarkable woman.”

  Elizabeth dabbed her eyes. “I’m going to miss her so when she leaves with you.”

  “Pamela turned me down,” John reminded her. But this time the memory didn’t sting as much. To put her friend’s happiness over her own would indeed be like the special woman he’d come to care for. “Let’s go to her.” Elizabeth pulled on his arm. “We will correct that mistake this instant.”

  * * *

  Tucked in her alcove, trying not to cry, Pamela twisted her handkerchief first one direction, then the other. She’d taken out the cloth just in case her tears spilled over, but was determined not to need it.

  From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed swift movement. She looked up to see Elizabeth and John—no, I mustn’t allow myself to think of him in such a familiar manner—Mr. Carter bearing down on her. She inhaled with sharp dismay. Here came the news that would both thrill her and break her heart.

  In her apparent eagerness, Elisabeth practically towed the rancher toward Pamela, her face alight.

  It was obvious to Pamela that he’d proposed, and her friend had accepted. She tried to take a breath through the constriction in her lungs. I’m not ready. She plastered on a smile. I will greet their news with a cheerful spirit. They will never know of my true feelings.

  “Pamela Marie Burke-Smythe! Dropping more hints, indeed.”

  At her friend’s accusing tone, Pamela drew herself up. She waved toward where Elizabeth held Mr. Carter’s arm. “Looks like my advice was useful.”

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Oh, it was useful, all right. Although not in the way you intended.”

  What?

  “We had a frank talk.” Elizabeth glanced up at Mr. Carter. “I discovered John asked you to marry him.”

  Pamela gasped, her throat tightening.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Elizabeth shook her head and let go of John, holding up her hand to forestall whatever Pamela was going to say. “I want to be clear, Pam. I am not, nor have I been, interested in John Carter as a husband. I told you the truth when I said my darling Richard will hold my heart forever. I’ve only wanted John as a potential husband for my best friend.”

  Pamela placed a hand on her chest, studying Elizabeth’s face. Is she telling the truth? Could she really pass up a man as fine as John Carter?

  Elizabeth took Pamela’s hand and tugged down her arm, then she twined her fingers with Pamela’s. “You will make the perfect rancher’s wife, dearest. And become a maternal influence to that poor grief-stricken boy.”

  Pamela couldn’t speak. She could only hug her friend. “Thank you for untangling this situation.”

  Elizabeth withdrew from the embrace. “Now. I believe John has an important question for you?” She gave him a flirty look and a flick of a wrist. “Go on, cowboy,” she drawled.

  They all burst into laughter, and Elizabeth moved away.

  Overcome with joy, Pamela covered her mouth with her hand, staring up at John.

  I don’t care if I’m second choice! He’s my John, and I will make him a good wife.

  John stared after Elizabeth, an expression of admiration on his face. “Your friend is one fine woman, and I’ll be forever grateful to her.”

  Doubt marred her happiness. Just because Elizabeth didn’t want John didn’t mean he wouldn’t have chosen her if possible.

  If that’s the case, perhaps in time he will forget any attraction for Elizabeth and come to care for me.

  “If she hadn’t cornered me to discover my intentions, I’d have retreated brideless to Montana Territory with my tail tucked between my legs.” His eyes warm, John extended his hand to her and waited, seemingly willing to remain in that posture all day until he coaxed a reaction from her.

  Tentatively, she slipped her fingers into his. The warmth of his large hand, even through their gloves, heated hers and set her pulse racing.

  “Pamela,” he began.

  Clearly, he was thinking that she’d already refused him. To save him the anxiety he must be feeling, with her free hand she covered his lips with her fingertips to stop him from repeating the question. “Yes, John, I’d be honored to become your wife.”

  With a smile of joy, he caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. “What do you say…shall I take you home and talk to your father?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  After John’s departure for Boston, Nick abandoned the ranch house and joined the cowboys, not liking to spend the evenings by himself. He’d claimed an empty bed in the corner of the bunkhouse, where he could be alone, yet still be part of the group.

  The men mostly let him be—a contrast from before the accident, when they’d ruffled his hair and ribbed him every chance they’d had. And unlike John, they didn’t expect him to talk. He could lie on his bed and listen while the men played cards or checkers, often swapping stories as old as the hills. Even Nick had heard them a time or two. But every once in a while, a new one livened up the evening.

  Not that he much cared. Since the death of his family, his insides had frozen, even if his body mechanically went about the business of living.

  After supper, the men started to speculate on Chuck Dodd’s whereabouts. The ranch hand was late in returning from a trip to town. The speculations had varied from the likely—he stayed at the saloon too long—to the ridiculous—a wealthy female visitor had laid eyes on him, instantly fallen in love, and dragged him off to Preacher Norton.

  But beneath the banter flowed an undercurrent of worry. Unsaid, but obviously on all the men’s minds, was how the Sanders family had left for town and never returned.

  As Nick speculated about the possibilities, he heard a thud outside on the narrow porch, followed by a jingle of spurs.

  Chuck burst into the bunkhouse, his reddened blue eyes ablaze. He waved a telegram. “Boss done got himself a woman!” He climbed on the nearest bed as if onto a stage, squinted at the paper, and slowly read the words. “Arriving home on 10th with Mrs. Carter. Boxes and instructional letter shipped.” He finished reading.

  The rest of the men whooped. They slapped each other on the back, then passed the telegram around so each cowboy could peer at the words, even if he couldn’t read them. Someone hunted up a calendar, and after a heated argument over today’s date, they decided their boss would be home with his wife on Thursday.

  Vey Garrett ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair. “We’d better look presentable. Although—” he glanced at the small shaving mirror over the washstand. “Some of us have more to present than others.”

  Nick looked over at the cowboy. The man was vain about his thick blond locks, and no amount of razzing from the other hands made him act any different.

  “I ’spose we’ll have to wash our faces and hands,” grumbl
ed old Frank, who had barely a tooth in his mouth.

  “Yep,” agreed Beans Brown, with a bob of his balding head. “Womenfolk set great store by cleanliness, that they do.” He shook his head as if puzzled.

  Nick figured baths for all the hands were in order. Or so his ma would have said. Thinking about her, he winced, the pain still as knife-sharp as when his family had died. Maybe worse. For a long time, he’d still believed they’d be coming home, even though he’d seen them dead and buried.

  Dora Sanders wouldn’t have been pleased that her son hadn’t bathed every Saturday like clockwork, whether he needed it or not. She’d be right ashamed of me. Grab me by my ear, haul me off to the hot spring, push me in, throw a bar of soap at me, and tell me to scrub up, or she’d be doing it for me. He almost smiled at the vision.

  Maybe I should clean up before the new missus gets here. But a wave of anger blocked out his half-formed thought of bathing before John’s return. If his ma wanted him clean, then she should be here to make sure it happened. Irrational or not, he couldn’t shake the feeling.

  The mood in the bunkhouse, which had remained somber for the last six months, now became charged with excitement. The hands speculated about the type of woman John had married and if she was a good cook. When the betting started up on whether she’d be a blonde, brunette, or redhead, Nick slipped out the door, took a breath of the clean night air, and headed for the pasture and his rock.

  His black-and-white dog, Bandit, lay waiting outside the bunkhouse, ears pricked.

  Nick whistled.

  She trotted over and thrust her nose into his hand, as happy to see him as if he’d been gone weeks instead of half an hour.

  They fell into step, heading toward the horse pasture. Overhead, the three quarter moon cast barely enough light to see by. But his feet knew the way. Since Bandit was with him, Nick entered the gate and walked the long way to the rock. The horses were bunched on the far side, black shadows in the darkness.