Wild Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series)

by Debra Holland

  Inside the music room, Elizabeth went over to the cabinet where she'd placed her music, selecting several new pieces and a few of her old favorites. Although accustomed to playing in company, butterflies of nervousness fluttered in her stomach. Tonight she had a special audience.

  She set the sheets on the stand, seated herself at the piano, arranged her skirt, and then started to play. After a few measures, she fell under the spell of the music, and her tension floated away. Her heightened awareness flowed through her fingertips, producing music more beautiful than she'd ever played. The feeling stayed with her even when she stopped to announce the next piece.

  When she finished, she could feel exhilaration bring a glow to her eyes, yet she almost couldn't bring herself to glance at Mr. Livingston. What she might see on his face? What did he think of her playing? But when she turned toward him, the warm light in his brown eyes and his appreciative smile sped up her pulse and caused her hands to shake. So like Richard after he'd heard her play.... She balled her fingers in an effort to hide the telltale quivers.

  Annie entered carrying the tea tray. While Pamela poured for everyone, Elizabeth received compliments on her playing. Impatient for Mr. Livingston's approach, she barely paid attention to her admirers.

  She wasn't kept waiting for long.

  Mr. Livingston carried two cups of tea and handed one to Elizabeth. "Miss Hamilton, I haven't heard such playing since I was last in Boston."

  "Thank you, Mr. Livingston." She relaxed at his praise and took a sip of her tea.

  "And even there I've heard few performances to rival yours. I don't think I've ever enjoyed one more, not even a professional one."

  "You flatter me, Mr. Livingston," Elizabeth said, immensely pleased. "Although I must admit, I enjoyed playing for such an appreciative audience."

  "It's not often we have a chance to hear such fine music. I hope I have more opportunities in the future."

  She took a deep breath of satisfaction. She'd been treated so coldly over the last few months. She hadn't realized how much Genia's attitude had wounded her. The warmth of Mr. Livingston's admiration soothed her bruised heart.

  John called to everyone to resume their seats.

  Mr. Livingston seated himself in the first row next to Elizabeth. Conscious of his presence by her side, she tried to distract herself by observing Nick.

  He lifted his violin out of the case and, cradling the instrument between a broad shoulder and his neck, tuned the strings. Glancing around the room, he smiled at Pamela and then at Elizabeth. "This is called Lizzy's Theme."

  Elizabeth stiffened. Surely he didn't mean her? He'd been looking at her, but he must mean little Lizzy. She relaxed back into her seat, and sipped her tea.

  The first lilting notes reassured her. The music called to mind a tiny bird, flitting from tree to tree. She smiled in delight. Nick had musically caught the character of Lizzy. As Elizabeth watched Nick play, she forgot the man next to her.

  For the first time, she studied Nick's face. Lowered eyelids hid his beautiful green eyes, making his long lashes stand out against his cheeks. He had the kind of fair skin that freckled and then tanned only after repeated days in the sun. His jaw rested on the violin. Without his hat, she noted his prominent cheekbones. The bump on his nose gave his face character, and she wondered how he'd broken it.

  As she studied Nick, a new appreciation arose in her. He had a depth she'd never suspected. As if sensing her thoughts, Nick looked up. As he met her eyes, the violin's vibrations shivered through her body.

  Playful and delicate, the music joyfully followed the little bird through her day, then became more serious although no less lovely, and ended with a tune like a lullaby. In her mind, Elizabeth saw the bird growing tired of playing and settling into her nest to rest for the night.

  When he was finished, Elizabeth clapped with the others.

  Nick bowed in acknowledgement. Again, he met her eyes. His shy smile elicited an answering one from her. His music had formed a bridge over the differences between them, building a harmony with him she'd never thought to experience.

  Then Mr. Livingston leaned forward to say something to her. In looking into his dark eyes, so like Richard's, she lost her connection to Nick.

  "That was well done," he commented. "The boy shows talent."

  Pamela stood up and moved forward to the center of the room. "Thank you, Nick. That was beautiful." She smiled and glanced around. "Although perhaps I shouldn't say so since it is a composition about my daughter. However, I still think it's wonderful."

  "Nonsense, Mrs. Carter!" Dr. Cameron called out. "No false modesty allowed."

  Laughter flowed around the room.

  "Now if you'd play for us, we could have a song." The doctor allowed his voice to thicken into a burr. "How about something for a homesick Scot." He leaned back, and winked at his wife. "Let's sing, 'Highland Mary.'"

  Pamela passed out booklets, which she'd made by copying notes and words of songs onto sheets of paper. She'd then sewn the papers together along one side. In turning the pages, Elizabeth saw many songs she knew, but also some which weren't familiar.

  Pamela started playing. Contrary to her friend's earlier disclaimer, the notes flowed smoothly.

  One-by-one each person picked a song. It had been a long time since Elizabeth had participated in a pleasurable evening of singing. Mr. Livingston's presence made the experience even more special. She listened to the pleasant tenor beside her, pleased at how well their voices blended.

  Pamela chose the final rendition. "This last song expresses our feelings for our home and our friends," she said with a loving glance at her husband.

  Elizabeth had never heard the song before. As she sang, she pondered the words.

  We journey along quite contented in life

  and try to live peaceful with all.

  We keep ourselves free from all trouble and strife

  and we’re glad when our friends on us call.

  Our home it is happy and cheerful and bright,

  We’re content, and we ask nothing more.

  And the reason we prosper, I’ll tell to you now,

  There’s a horseshoe hung over the door.

  Elizabeth remembered the horseshoe hanging over the door of the kitchen. She'd wondered why they displayed such a rustic decoration, but hadn't asked. Now she understood. Maybe if she had a house out here, she too would have a horseshoe over the kitchen door. At the thought, 'Lizzy's Theme' played sweetly in her mind.

  With the singing ended, everyone stood up and prepared to leave. Mr. Livingston glanced down at Elizabeth. "If you're attending church with Mr. and Mrs. Carter on Sunday, I'd like to invite the three of you to my home for luncheon after the service."

  Elizabeth tried not to show her elation. "Thank you, Mr. Livingston. I'd be delighted. I'm sure it'll be fine with the Carters. Although I believe the children attend church, too."

  "They do. Of course they're invited also. My housekeeper can look after them."

  "Then I'll look forward to Sunday."

  With a brief bow, he turned and left the room. Elizabeth's gaze followed him. A movement to her left caused her to glance at Nick. Had he overheard their conversation?

  He nodded at her. "Good night, Miss Hamilton." He turned to leave.

  "Nick, wait." He stopped, facing her.

  She stepped forward, extending her hand to him. "I loved your composition."

  He took her hand and bowed. "Thank you."

  It amazed her how this calloused hand touching hers, so different from the smooth feel of Mr. Livingston's, could play the most delicate music. "I could actually picture Lizzy as you played. You're very talented."

  Mrs. Cobb bustled over.

  Nick hastily dropped her hand.

  "Oh, Miss Hamilton. Before we left I wanted to tell you how much we enjoyed your playing."

  "Thank you, Mrs. Cobb."

  Behind Mrs. Cobb's back, Nick gave Elizabeth a slight bow and left the room.
r />   Elizabeth forced herself to politely say good night to Mrs. Cobb instead of making a face at her for spoiling the moment with Nick. They'd only started talking, and she still had so much to say to him about his music. Oh, well, perhaps they could continue their conversation another time. Surely in the next few days they'd find some private moments that no Mrs. Cobb could spoil.

  #

  John left the house to see the departing guests to their carriages. As soon as they were alone, Elizabeth turned to Pamela. "What a wonderful evening," she said with a sigh of pleasure.

  Pamela hugged her friend. "Do tell."

  "Do you remember the secret signal Richard gave me whenever we met in public?"

  Pamela's eyebrows scrunched together in thought. "The thumb press on your palm?"

  "Yes." Elizabeth leaned forward, and touched her forehead to her friend's. "Pamela, Mr. Livingston gave me that same signal!"

  Pamela's eyes widened. "No-o-o."

  "I almost melted."

  "I can imagine."

  Elizabeth straightened up and grimaced. "Actually it brought tears to my eyes."

  Pamela touched her cheek. "Oh, my dear."

  "I didn't think you'd noticed. You sent me a mischievous look."

  "I didn't notice. I'm so sorry."

  "Don't be." Elizabeth smiled ruefully. "It helped me regain my composure. If you'd have looked sympathetic, I'd have dissolved into tears."

  "I'm glad I could help," her friend said with an ironic lift of her eyebrow.

  With a sigh of pleasure, Elizabeth raised her shoulders and flung out her hands, spreading her fingers wide. "Pamela, I'm so pleased about meeting Mr. Livingston."

  "Then you liked him?"

  "Yes, very much. He's quite the gentleman."

  "And so handsome," Pamela teased.

  "He's invited us to his house for dinner on Sunday after church. I thought it would be fine if I accepted for all of us."

  Pamela tilted her head and tapped her finger on the side of her chin, pretended to think about it. "I don't know, Elizabeth, we have so many other invitations for that afternoon. I really think we'll have to check our social calendar and reschedule for a few weeks from now."

  "Silly," Elizabeth said, hugging her friend. "I'm so happy. Thank you, thank you, for inviting me here. Now I'm off to bed."

  "To dream of Mr. Livingston, no doubt," Pamela called to her.

  Elizabeth didn't dignify that remark with a reply, but there was a bounce to her step when she left the room. Too bad she had almost a whole week to wait. In spite of her prior reservations about Mr. Norton's sermons, Elizabeth eagerly anticipated Sunday morning. She didn't care if the minister was boring. She might not even listen to the sermon!

  #

  Nick and John walked the Camerons to their buggy. Although the light of the full moon illuminated their surroundings, John held the lantern so the Camerons, unfamiliar with the ground, would be able to see their way.

  "I loved your composition, Nick." Mrs. Cameron reached over and gave his arm a squeeze. "I could listen to your playing for hours."

  "I agree, Nick," Dr. Cameron added. "You're really quite talented. Have you ever thought of seriously pursuing a musical career?"

  "When he was younger we tried to get him to go back East to music school, but he wouldn't," John said.

  "As much as I love music, I love horses more."

  "At times you can be stubborn as a mule."

  "I take after my godfather." Nick elbowed John in the arm, causing the lantern to sway, sending shadows dancing in their path.

  They all chuckled.

  "It's not too late," Dr. Cameron continued in a more serious vein. "Those music schools in the East and in Europe accept adults."

  "I don't regret my decision."

  "Don't try too hard to convince him, Doc," John said. I don't know what we'd do without him. And my children would miss him. I'd have to tell them it was your fault he left."

  "Oh, no, you don't." Dr. Cameron's Scottish accent broadened. "We can't be upsettin' the bonnie lad and lassies. Sorry, my laddie, you'll just have to be a stayin' home and not a traipsin' off to foreign parts."

  They laughed again. John held the lantern higher so the couple could see to climb into their buggy.

  Mrs. Cameron settled her skirts. "Thank you so much for a lovely evening."

  "It was nice to enjoy a party without being called away on an emergency," her husband added, untying the horses. He climbed into the seat, picked up the reins, and flicked his hands.

  As the horses started forward, Mrs. Cameron leaned out the side, her curls disheveled, and waved. "Good night."

  "Night." The two men waved goodbye.

  John turned to Nick. "That's the last of them. Did you enjoy yourself?"

  Before Nick could answer, John continued, "The little schoolmarm seems mighty taken with you."

  Grateful the darkness hid any telltale sign of his embarrassment, Nick remained silent.

  "I'll bet Pamela's thrilled. She loves playing matchmaker."

  Remembering some of Pamela's previous attempts on his behalf, Nick winced. Just what he needed, Miz Carter takin' up the idea of matchin' him with Miss Stanton.

  "Livingston seemed impressed with Elizabeth," John continued.

  So John had noticed too. Regret choked Nick's throat. He had to force his next words out. "Miss Hamilton looked happy to meet him."

  "I'm glad he changed his mind about the loan to Red Charlie."

  "He didn't." Nick growled. "You offered your pledge. That's what got Red Charlie the loan."

  "He should've taken you up on your offer of the horses."

  "He couldn't believe a cowboy'd actually own something." The words came out with more heat than Nick intended.

  "Remember Livingston's only been here since '91. He just doesn't know you or Red Charlie."

  "He's the banker. It's his business to know."

  "Give him a little more time, Nick. He'll learn. Especially if he comes a courtin' Elizabeth."

  "Maybe." Nick knew it was probably futile to hope the man wouldn't come around. How could Livingston resist Elizabeth? I certainly can’t.

  "My wife told me Livingston is the living image of the fiancé Elizabeth almost married. Apparently he died only months before the wedding, and Elizabeth hasn't been interested in any man since."

  Nick's stomach knotted. Bad enough competing with Livingston the man--but Livingston as the ghost of a beloved fiancé....

  "Having two matches to work on will make my wife mighty happy."

  After seeing the attraction between Elizabeth and Caleb Livingston, Nick hadn't thought he could feel any worse. But now he knew the truth of the saying about how your heart could drop, because his heart had just landed somewhere in the vicinity of his boots. If he weren't careful he'd step on it.

  Nick didn't want to cut John off, but he was anxious to end the conversation and be alone with his thoughts. "It was a nice party."

  "It was." John paused as if to say more, then stopped himself. "Good night, Nick. I'll see you in the morning."

  "Night, John."

  Nick strolled toward the bunkhouse. But when he knew he was out of John's sight, he changed direction away from the ranch buildings. The men already knew of Miss Stanton's attraction to him. He was in no mood for their ribbing.

  He headed toward his favorite thinking spot--a large boulder in the middle of one of the pastures. The moon's light made the evening bright enough for him to avoid any obstacles. Calm and chill, the night held only the sounds of nickering horses and the distant hoot of an owl. He climbed over the fence and made clicking noises with his tongue to reassure the nearby horses, but didn't stop until he touched the rough surface of the rock.

  Over six feet tall, the rock had a depression about halfway up that made a semi-comfortable chair. In his "chair" he could slightly recline and look at the sky, while his legs dangled over the side. Ever since he'd come to live at the ranch, he'd climbed up on the rock whenev
er he had feelings or problems he needed to think through.

  He'd spent a lot of time perched on this rock when he'd first come here to live. He'd been fourteen that year, grieving the death of his parents and little sister Marcy from a wagon accident, struggling to live his new life when most of his heart had died.

  While John, his godfather, had been kind, it had taken Nick a long time to adjust. Working with the horses--the silent communication between them and trust they'd placed in him--had helped. But the arrival of Miz Carter, and later, the children, had made all the difference. It was almost like having family again, and, for the most part, he'd been content.

  But now, with the appearance of one Boston lady, that contentment had vanished. The Carter family was no longer enough. Tonight he realized he wanted a family of his own. But that would mean opening up the withered places of his heart to Elizabeth.

  He'd risk being hurt all over again, especially if she became Livingston's wife. Could one's heart perish twice? Could he bear it a second time? He massaged his chest, feeling the ache as the warmth of his love for Elizabeth flowed into places long numb--like blood rushing into fingers and toes after they'd been frozen.

  In the distance, only a few lights showed through the windows of the ranch house. The candles in Elizabeth's room cast a soft glow, beckoning his thoughts to drift through the window to her. He could almost see her sitting in one of those fancy robes women wore over their nightgowns, seated at her vanity table. She'd pull out each hairpin until she could shake her hair free. Shining golden in the candlelight, her mane would cascade past her waist, a glorious sight seen only by a husband....

  In his vision, she picked up a silver-backed brush and stroked the long fall of hair. He imagined himself taking the brush from her hand. As their eyes met in the mirror, he'd sensuously stroke every tress. He could see himself picking up a lavender-scented lock, kissing it, and then kissing her shoulder, her forehead, her lips.

  The light in the window vanished. "Good night, Elizabeth," he said softly. "Sleep well."

  He tilted his head back until it rested on the rock and studied the sky above him. He seldom went to his rock at night. Usually he did his thinking while looking at an azure sky, perhaps with puffy white clouds. Sometimes just the vastness of that overarching blueness would put his thoughts in perspective. Tonight he had velvety blackness broken by the glowing light of the moon and the pinprick white of the stars.