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

by Debra Holland

  Pamela let out a long sigh. “Good thing I love to work in the garden. I have an ancient straw hat for that as well.”

  John tilted his head in curiosity. “Did you not expect me to have a garden?”

  “Oh, no,” she assured him with a slight wave of her hand. “I’m sure you do. I’ve purchased all new work clothes.”

  The men laughed.

  John held in a smile, delighted with his wife’s sweet naiveté, while still worried about her ability to quickly adapt to the West. “Go change, my dear,” he said gently. “We don’t want to miss the train.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  John woke Pamela from dozing against his shoulder. “My dear, we’re almost at Sweetwater Springs.”

  At his words, she startled, sat up, and smothered a yawn. “Oh, my.” Glancing out the windows at the passing scenery, Pamela rolled her neck and shoulders, trying to work out the stiffness. Nervous anticipation pinched her stomach. She sniffed, disliking the acrid smell of smoke that clung to them.

  John ran a hand over the kitten, sleeping on his lap. “Better put him back in the basket.”

  Smoky stretched all four legs.

  Luckily, the kitten had adapted to their mode of travel, spending hours on Pamela’s lap. He used the sandbox Pamela had brought along but had been off his feed. Hopefully, his appetite would return when they were settled. Yesterday, he’d decided to accept John as his human and had gifted him with lap time as well.

  A wise choice. Throughout the interminable journey, her husband had remained patient with both her and Smoky, doing his best to ease her discomfort and entertain her with stories of the ranch. She felt as if she knew all nine cowboys and Nick, as well as his parents and grandparents—her future children’s ancestors. He’d even told tales of his foreman and close friend, Andrew, smiling through many of them, although sometimes a shadow of pain darkened his eyes. If Pamela hadn’t already fallen in love with her caring husband, she would have done so on this trip.

  He brushed a few wayward strands of hair off her face. “Tired?”

  “Fatigued by the journey, yes. I can’t wait to get home.” Pamela treasured the word. “But the nap did me good.”

  “I can’t wait to get you home,” John echoed with a teasing smile. Then his expression sobered. “I only hope you aren’t disappointed.”

  This wasn’t the first time he’d expressed such sentiments. Pamela let out a huffing breath. “And what if I am, John? Do you think me such a poor creature that I’ll go into a decline? Lay around on a sofa and weep all day?”

  “No, my dear.” He shook his head, a ghost of a smile playing about his lips. “Never that.”

  “I’m not a woman who’s discontented by nature. I can make the best of things. And we can make improvements, can we not?”

  The worried look in John’s eyes cleared. “Well,” he drawled. “I put my foot down at the notion of improving the ranch house to match your Pa’s.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Silly man.”

  “You can spruce up the house to your heart’s content. The place always seemed pretty big to me. I just rattled around. Mostly lived in the kitchen and slept in a bedroom. Then lately it’s been Nick and me. But having seen that monstrosity you lived in…” An eyebrow arched as he met her gaze.

  “Monstrosity.” She laughed. “You’re lucky I wasn’t a Sofit daughter.”

  “A mansion for titans. The Sofit offspring must stand fifteen feet tall.”

  She thumped his leg with her knuckles.

  Smoky stirred, opening sleepy eyes, then fell back asleep.

  “You met Sophie Sofit, and she is my height.”

  He winked. “Only two young ladies made a memorable impression on me that night, and neither was Sophie Sofit.”

  Two ladies. She had a quick feeling of insecurity, easily pushed aside.

  “As you know, my home is no Sofit mansion…but we can always add on.” His tone sobered. “I do have something to confess, though.”

  Her shoulders tensed.

  “I never moved out of my boyhood room.”

  Pamela looked askance at him.

  “Never seemed right to sleep in my parents’ bed.”

  Her body relaxed, and she nodded, understanding such sentiments.

  “Then, when it probably would have been fine, the habit was already there, and I never thought to move.” He shrugged. “Fact is, one room or another didn’t change anything. I was only in there to sleep.”

  Thinking over this revelation, she pursed her lips. “You’re all right with moving now?”

  He grinned. “I think having you in my bed will make all the difference in the world.”

  Pamela remembered their wedding night in Boston and felt the heat of a blush rising in her face. Abruptly, she leaned over the empty seat in front of them to pick up her hat. With only a few people in the car, she and John had spread out their possessions. Her straw hat was now even more battered than when they’d set out—definitely fodder for the fire as soon as she was at the house and clean. She placed it on her head, then lifted the cat’s basket over the seatback.

  “Let me get him.” John gently scooped up the kitten, who dangled boneless in his big hands. With care, he lowered him into the basket.

  Smoky mewed in protest.

  Pamela left the lid off, petting Smoky until he plopped down and curled into a ball. “There you go, baby.” She peered out the window to the grasslands and the mountains beyond. “How much farther?”

  “Just a few minutes. Keep watching. You’ll see the first house right about…now.” He pointed to a shack that flashed by.

  People live there? she thought in dismay. If that’s John’s idea of a house…The big home I’m expecting might not be so nice after all.

  The train chugged past a sturdy log cabin, then started to slow at a cluster of buildings before jerking and shuddering to a stop, with a whoosh of brakes and steam.

  A quick look at the more substantial structures allowed her to relax a bit.

  John leaned over to drop a kiss on her lips. “Welcome to Sweetwater Springs, Mrs. Carter.”

  Although embarrassed the other passengers might have seen, Pamela couldn’t help enjoying the sweetness of her husband’s welcome. Given the public nature of their journey, since leaving Boston all they’d done was hold hands.

  I’ll never see these people again, she told herself. It hardly matters what they think about John kissing me. What matters is my marriage!

  “A lovely welcome, my husband. Thank you.”

  John placed his hat on his head, stood, and reached for the basket. He shifted the handle into his other hand so he could help Pamela to her feet. He returned the basket to her and picked up their carpetbag before heading down the aisle, glancing back once to make sure she was following.

  The conductor poked his head into their car. When he saw they were leaving, he smiled and nodded.

  John walked down the steps first, then guided Pamela to the platform.

  I’ve landed in Montana Territory! The unpainted wood of the depot looked raw, and she remembered John telling her the train had only recently come to this area.

  Farther down the line, porters offloaded their trunks and various crates onto the platform.

  She was relieved not to see anyone around—to have to make conversation with strangers was hard enough for her when she was looking her best. But to do so when she was grubby…

  John released her hand, strode over to the men, reaching in his pocket to tip them some money.

  Pamela followed at a slower pace. She stopped to look more closely at the town and couldn’t help a pang of disappointment at the sight of the single road lined with false-fronted wooden structures. Unlike some of the other towns they’d passed by or stopped at—where the buildings were crowded together and joined by a wooden boardwalk—Sweetwater Springs was more spread out. Empty lots gapped between several ramshackle structures.

  With relief, she saw a brick mercantile on the right an
d the spire of a white church farther down the street on the left—real signs of civilization.

  John turned back to Pamela and held out his free hand. “Ready?”

  The crack of gunshots sounded.

  Startled by the sound, Pamela let out a shriek, alarm jolting through her. On the far side of the town, a group of mounted riders cantered down the street, guns waving.

  Townsfolk raced inside the buildings for cover.

  Merciful heavens! She clutched the basket to her chest and whirled to run back to the train.

  John cursed and made a grab for Pamela with his free arm, hauling her to his side.

  Blood pounding in her ears, she shivered with terror, clutching Smoky’s basket to her chest.

  “I’ll shoot them myself,” John muttered in evident fury.

  The locomotive blasted the horn, and the wheels began to turn. Panicked that they would miss the train, she struggled to escape. “John, hurry!”

  Her husband’s arm tightened around her. “It’s all right, Pamela. No need to fear.”

  Gaining momentum, the train pulled away, and she couldn’t help a moan escaping.

  More gunshots made her flinch.

  The sound of hooves thundered. Wheels rattled.

  Pamela wanted to bury her face in her husband’s shoulder but made herself stand tall and meet danger head on.

  A black coach pulled by a team of horses followed the cowboys. The driver snapped a long whip over the heads of the horses. A man driving a wagon brought up the rear.

  With no way to escape, Pamela stood stiff within the shelter of her husband’s arm, too frozen with fear to even move.

  The first of the gunmen pulled his horse to a stop. “Howdy, boss,” he called, holstering his gun and dismounting.

  The rest of the riders reined in around him.

  Boss? John knew these ruffians and ne’re-do-wells?

  The carriage lumbered to a stop, and the wagon pulled up next to it, followed by clouds of dirt that slowly settled.

  “You damn fools!” John thrust the carpetbag at the nearest man.

  Bereft of his support, Pamela began to shake, and she thought she might collapse. Horrified visions of beginning her new life by fainting dead away seized her mind.

  John rushed to her side and slipped an arm around her back. “Just my men being too stupid to think. They aren’t here to hurt us. You’re safe.”

  Slowly the truth seeped in and, not caring they were in public, Pamela lowered her head to John’s chest.

  She inhaled, grateful her corset strings were loosely tied. Otherwise, her inability to take deep breaths would have made her faint for sure.

  John pushed off her hat and deposited a quick kiss on her head, murmuring words, that in her fight to clear her mind, she couldn’t quite absorb.

  The creak of a floorboard made her startle and look up.

  The cowboys ranged in a semi-circle around her, their hats in their hands.

  The sight of them so close made her shudder. But Pamela straightened her back and stared at them. These were her husband’s men, the fellows who made the ranch run. They might not have the polished manners she was used to, and maybe not a lot of common sense, but they were now her people. I need to overcome any fear of them.

  One pulled on his forelock. “We sure are sorry, ma’am. We didn’t mean to scare you none.”

  “My men are more brainless than the cattle they herd,” John ground out. “I think I’ll fire the lot of them and find me some new hands.” His eyes glittered with anger.

  “Hanging’s probably a better punishment,” said a gravelly voice from the side of the circle. “Then we won’t have to live with the shame of scaring a lady.”

  Pamela glanced back at the cowboys, this time seeing the true remorse in their eyes. She looked up at John for his reaction.

  He glared at the one who’d spoken. “I’ll provide the rope and the tree.”

  She didn’t know this hard man who seemed a stranger. John wouldn’t really have them hung, would he?

  Her husband glanced down at her. The stern look in his eyes softened. “Your color is coming back.”

  “Don’t be angry.” Pamela’s mouth was too dry to make herself heard in more than a whisper.

  “I am furious, wife, and you can’t tell me not to be.” John let out a long, slow breath. “But I guess I won’t fire them.” Shaking his head, he gave a dramatic pause. “Yet.”

  If Pamela hadn’t felt upset, she would have laughed at the hangdog expressions on the men’s faces. She managed a weak smile before a shiver coursed through her body.

  He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Chuck, fetch Mrs. Carter some water.”

  A weathered blue-eyed man slapped his hat against his leg. “Yes, sir. There’s a well by the schoolhouse, ma’am. I’ll be back as quick as a tail-shake.” He took off at a run, the heels of his boots thumping on the wood of the platform.

  Tail-shake? She began to sort out the gang of men into individuals, guessing their names based on John’s stories.

  A man with thick blond hair stared after Chuck.

  That one must be Vey.

  “Never seen him move so fast,” Vey marveled. “Not even when Murphy’s dog chased him down the street.”

  Tears pricked her eyes. She had the oddest need to cry. Pamela sniffed them back. How ridiculous to well up now! Everything is over, and I’m safe. But the facts didn’t change her response. With all the men watching her, the last thing she wanted was to show weakness. She thought of Elizabeth—her directness, her boldness—and stiffened her spine. With a sense of shame, Pamela realized she had little control over her emotional reaction.

  “I’m sorry, my dear.” John gentled his voice. “This isn’t the homecoming I’d hoped for.”

  “We was so excited to meet you, ma’am,” said an older man with a seamed face and few teeth. “We wanted to give you a real cowboy welcome.”

  And he must be Frank. Pamela let out a weak laugh. “That you did. You gave me quite a shock.”

  “You, idiots,” John growled, apparently not softened toward them. He squeezed her to him.

  “That kind of thing happens, ma’am, when you think you’re in I’m-gunna-die danger,” Vey solemnly assured her. “Afterwards, ya feel as weak as a baby.” He shot a sharp look around at the other men, as if daring them to start teasing him.

  They all nodded in agreement, and the blond man rocked back on his heels in obvious satisfaction.

  Frank gave a sage nod. “’Member that time my horse went down in the river. Snow melt, it was. Swept me away faster than a bullet. Thought I was gunna drown for sure.”

  Edgar the cook—she could tell by his potbelly—nudged a balding man. “Beans, here saved your sorry a—” he broke off the word, his face and neck reddening. “Ah, bacon, saved your sorry bacon.”

  Frank smirked at the embarrassed man, before turning to Pamela. “After Beans roped me and dragged me out of the river, thought I was gunna bawl like a baby calf lost from his mama.” He nodded. “Yes, siree. I mean. Yes, ma’am, I did.”

  Pamela let out a deep breath. She could see the men’s sincere desire to make amends and make her feel better, and she wanted to meet them half way. “This will certainly be a story to write home about.”

  They all laughed and jostled each other.

  Chuck rushed up with a dipper, walking with quick, careful steps, obviously trying to keep from spilling the water.

  Pamela schooled herself not to wrinkle her nose at using a communal drinking vessel. With care, she shifted the basket to her left arm and accepted the dipper. “Thank you, Chuck.” The water tasted as sweet as John had described, moistening her mouth and quenching her thirst. Just drinking made her feel better. When she finished, Pamela handed the dipper back to Chuck.

  Smoky let out a meow, startling the man.

  Chuck eyed the basket, his face screwed up in apprehension.

  “My cat’s in there.” Pamela ducked out of John’s embrace.
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  “Meow!”

  The men clapped their hats on their heads and parted to form an aisle toward the platform stairs.

  As she and John walked through, the scent of horse and unwashed men came her way. Pamela worked hard not to cover her nose.

  “Meow, meow.”

  Beans scooped up her hat and held it out to her.

  Pamela smiled a thank you and set it on her head.

  “We’re almost home, Smoky,” she said to the caterwauling kitten. “I’ll let you out soon.”

  John jerked his head at the trunks and crates. “Don’t just stand there staring like prairie dogs. Start loading.” He leaned over and picked up the carpetbag.

  The men jumped to follow his command.

  John helped her down the stairs, and they started over to the coach.

  With each step, Pamela felt her strength returning until she no longer needed to lean on her husband. She studied the carriage, not remembering any of John’s stories featuring one, although he’d spoken often of a wagon. The black body of the vehicle gleamed in the May sunshine. The painted yellow wheels had a light coating of dust. “I didn’t know you had a coach.”

  A smile played around his lips.

  Pamela looked at him, her eyes wide. “John Carter, whatever have you done?”

  “I bought you a carriage.”

  She blinked in surprise. “But…”

  “But, nothing, wife. I bought the carriage for you to travel in comfort. I didn’t want you driving back and forth to town in the wagon. And it’s too far for you to ride horseback, tenderfoot that you are,” he gently teased. “I ordered it in Boston and had it shipped here as a surprise. I hope you like your wedding gift.”

  “How did it get here in time?”

  “Bought it the day after you said you’d marry me, and the company shipped it out right away.”

  Touched, she placed her hand on John’s arm. Such a practical gift, but romantic as well because the carriage answered her urgent need for safety and provided the comfort she was accustomed to. “Thank you, my dear husband.”

  Beans stopped short. He carried a long box that she recognized as containing Nick’s violin. “Had us widening the road and clearing off any low branches all the way ’tween the ranch and town.”