"Wait." Nick grabbed his gun belt and buckled it around his waist. He picked up the rifle and caught up to her.
Elizabeth stopped and looked up, watching angry red and orange streak across the dusky sky. "It felt like a miracle to be here in Montana. When I met Caleb Livingston, and he appeared so like my Richard, I thought I had a second chance at love. I felt so happy ... so alive." She lowered her gaze. "But then Lizzy came down with influenza, and Caleb stopped visiting...." Her voice trailed away.
They walked in silence; their connection lingered between them. When they reached the house, Elizabeth stepped on the first stair of the porch.
"Wait." Nick grabbed her arm. "Elizabeth, you mustn't give up hope."
"I don't know what I feel, Nick. I'm numb." She tried to smile, then reached out and touched his face. "Thank you for letting me cry. It's what I needed."
"I know." His fingers tightened on her arm. "Promise me you won't give up hope."
Elizabeth hesitated.
"Promise."
Unable to resist the love and intensity in his eyes, her heart warmed to him. "I promise."
#
Nick strode away from Elizabeth, vowing the promise he'd coaxed from her would not be in vain. His stomach churned with a maelstrom of emotions: the constant fear for Lizzy, his old grief about the death of his parents and sister, Elizabeth's sadness about her losses, anger with Caleb Livingston, and his pain over her feelings for the banker.
Flexing his hands, he thought about holding Elizabeth--how right she'd felt in his arms. He'd never have guessed that beneath her refined exterior she'd kept so many tears bottled up. While she'd sobbed against his shoulder, his heart had ached for her. Stroking her back, he'd imagined his hand sending his love into the lonely hurt places inside her.
But after she'd finished crying, the hopeless expression on her face punched him like a bronco's kick. He'd do anything--he clenched his fists--anything, to wipe away her feelings of despair and light her face with happiness.
Nick turned the corner of the house, stopped, and leaned against the building. A second chance at love. His stomach twisted further at the memory of her words, and he rubbed his hand across his face. Now he knew Elizabeth loved Caleb Livingston. The hope that she'd come to love him withered in his heart like the fresh green grass beneath the scorching Montana sun.
He ground a clump of dry grass under the heel of his boot. The love he'd give anything to possess, Livingston had so carelessly tossed aside--something the banker would return to when the threat of Lizzy's illness disappeared. He wished he could shoot Livingston for hurting Elizabeth--for not being here when she needed him.
Nick fixed on the one stable rock in the tide of hopelessness washing over him. Although he couldn't do anything to cure Lizzy, there was something he could do for Elizabeth. He shifted his gunbelt. First thing tomorrow, he'd head into town and hunt up Livingston.
#
I promise ... not to give up hope. The words echoed in Elizabeth's mind. She took weary steps across the porch, dropped her hat on a table, sank into a rocker, and wrapped her arms around herself. Across the gray horizon, the last remnants of orange and red faded away. Within the inner darkness and fear of her soul, hope did indeed flicker--a trickle of warmth--warding against despair.
Nick’s hope. Nick’s love for her.
Taking a deep breath, she leaned her head back against the rocker, her nostrils quivering at the scent of dry grass and dust. Never before had a man held her while she cried. Not even her beloved Richard. The years with Richard had been happy. She'd never had a need for tears. His death, rapidly followed by the deaths of her parents, had caused the pain she'd lived with ever since.
At the time, no one else could comfort her, although Pamela and Sylvia tried. Laurence had shut himself off, suffering his own grief over the loss of his parents and best friend.
Elizabeth's tears had either been shed in the lonely silence of her room or locked away deep inside herself. As painful as it had been to cry them out with Nick, she'd also experienced a sense of relief, as if chest muscles that had clamped down years of sorrow had finally relaxed.
Nick had been the key. Elizabeth knew she hadn't shed her entire load of buried feelings--more grief and pain existed within herself--but now she knew if she needed him, Nick would be there to hold her. And not just now. If in the future, she needed the release of tears… Her mind shied away from thoughts of Lizzy.
Pulling the damp, crumpled handkerchief from her sleeve, Elizabeth patted away any lingering wetness from her face. She shifted her head to avoid a hairpin pricking into her scalp, then closed her eyes.
Think only of Nick, Elizabeth told herself. She relived the sensation of his arms around her, relishing the reminder of how her body trembled when his feather-light kisses brushed across her brow. The trembling began again, somewhere deep within her. Tingling warmth flooded her body.
Elizabeth couldn't stop her thoughts from drifting. Memories of the hot moonlit night at the river, when he had held her against his almost naked body, floated across her mind. Her lips tingled at the thought of his remembered kisses.
The tip of Elizabeth's tongue touched her lower lip. She slipped her hands to the center of her chest, just above the cleft between her breasts, and pressed against her heart in an effort to still its rapid beating. Instead, the rising shivers of need warmed her body; wantonness flamed through her veins.
Dropping her hands to the arms of the rocker, she clasped her fingers around the smooth wood, and rocked. If she didn't anchor herself to this chair, her feet might follow the pounding of her heart, sending her breathlessly racing after Nick.
At her vision of throwing her arms around him and the surprised look he'd have, a mischievous smile danced across her face. She imagined Nick laughing with joy. He'd pick her up and swing her around. Then he'd kiss her and say, "I love you, Elizabeth." And she'd say, "I lo---
Elizabeth straightened in the chair, shocked at the fantasy words she'd almost uttered. Love Nick? Do I really love Nick?
Her mind whirled, fragments of pictures of him flashing in and out so fast she could barely settle on any one ... the day he'd brought her from the railway station and stopped so she could see the view ... the horseback ride beside the river when he'd said her eyes were the most beautiful blue he'd ever seen ... teaching her to shoot ... saving her from the grizzly bear ... eating the saskatoon pie she'd baked ... coaxing Lizzy to drink her lemonade ... the magical night at the pool ... his long-lashed green eyes glowing with love for her....
The blinding scales of Caleb fell from her eyes, and the truth blazed in fiery letters across her heart--spelling out--NICK!
Elizabeth suppressed a gasp. Nick! It’s true. I love Nick, not Caleb, never Caleb. Rocking back and forth so hard the runners of the chair thumped against the side of the house, she shook her head in disbelief. Her heart raced. To busy searching for a re-creation of Richard and trying to control her heart, she hadn't recognized her growing love for Nick.
Lost in her thoughts, Elizabeth slowed her rocker, to just a slight, soothing push with her toes. Tears filled her eyes, and she reached up and carefully pulled her necklace over her head.
Cupping the locket in her left hand, she snapped open the cover and, for the last time, kissed Richard's beloved face. "Good-bye, my dear," she whispered.
Balling her fist around the locket, she dropped her hand into her lap. Later, she'd tuck the necklace away in her jewelry box.
Resolutely, Elizabeth blinked back the tears, and her rocking grew more forceful. Now what? Should she tell Nick about her feelings for him? Of course. But would that be too forward? Elizabeth straightened her shoulders.
I don’t care.
I’m through with being a proper Boston lady. From now on, she'd be a Western woman who could shoot at targets, bake pies, and tell her man that she loved him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Nick reined in before the whitewashed brick bank. He dismounted, led
Freckles over to a nearby trough, and let the horse have a brief drink before looping the reins over the rail. Freckles stretched his neck toward the drooping daisies blooming in a planter on the small porch, then seemed to decide they weren't worth eating.
On the ride to town, Nick had rehearsed about ten different versions of the talk he meant to have with Livingston. In his favorite, he walked in, pointed his gun at the banker, and ordered Livingston to ride with him to the ranch. Once Livingston caught sight of beautiful Elizabeth, everything else should just happen naturally.
Nick's stomach clenched in pain. He ignored the feeling and, instead, kept his mind on how happy Elizabeth would be when the banker resumed his courtin'.
He stepped up on the porch, sending a sleeping brindle-colored cat running for cover. Unfortunately, waving a gun around in a bank and kidnapping the banker would send the sheriff and a posse out after him. He didn't fancy that would set too well with Elizabeth and the Carters.
Nick shrugged. He had better, although less satisfying, ways. He shouldn't have too hard a time reasoning with Livingston. He'd make his talk short and to the point so he could get back to the ranch and track down that grizzly.
Pausing before the door, lettered with "Livingston's Boston Bank" in black paint, Nick turned the handle and entered.
In the dimmer interior light, Nick made out an elderly clerk perched on a high stool behind the wooden counter. "Horace," Nick greeted him.
The door to Livingston's office remained closed.
Nick hung his hat on the rack near the entrance.
"Morning, Nick." The clerk's ink-stained fingers suspended a pen over the inkwell. "How are things at the ranch?"
"Not good. Little Lizzy's mighty sick, and we're a chasin' after a wounded grizzly."
Horace shook his head. The sunlight from the barred window next to the door played in stripes across his balding pate.
"Heard about the child. Preacher's been praying for her every Sunday. Wife and I have too."
"Thank you." Nick hoped he hid his surprise. Usually the clerk never uttered more than a greeting and stuck strictly to business.
Horace glanced away, then looked back at Nick. A shadow of old sorrow lingered in the fading blue depths of his eyes. "Wife and I lost our baby boy to influenza."
Nick swallowed. He'd always thought the couple childless. "I'm sorry. I never knew."
"Near thirty years ago." The clerk's voice quavered. "This here influenza epidemic brings it all back. And with the Meager baby dying---"
The door to the inner office opened. "Horace, where are those--" Livingston nodded at Nick "--reports about the Mason property?"
"I have them right here, sir." The clerk scuttled around the counter and handed over a sheaf of papers.
"Sanders." The banker, clad, despite the heat, in a three-piece brown suit, made no move to advance into the room. "May I help you with something?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact. I'd like to speak to you." Nick jerked his chin toward the office. "Privately."
"Certainly." Livingston led the way into his spacious office, and after Nick had entered, shut the door. A large mahogany desk, placed near the bar-covered window on the far wall to catch the light, dominated the room. The few chairs and a small table holding a silver tea service seemed lost in the space.
In the corner, a gilded cage held three finches perched on swings. After one glance, Nick kept his gaze away from the birds. His heart constricted from the thought he might be helping Elizabeth step into a similar cage. But she wanted this man, and he'd sworn to give her hope.
Livingston walked around the paper-spread desk, straightened a seascape on the wall, and motioned for Nick to sit in the high-backed wooden chair in front of him.
"I've been concerned for my little Lizzy," Livingston said. "How is she?"
Nick almost choked. What a hypocrite. How dare Livingston say he was concerned for his Lizzy. They all had certainly seen enough evidence of his concern.
If my errand weren’t so important.... Nick balled his hands into fists, so he wouldn't reach over the desk and strangle the man. "Not well at all, I'm afraid."
Livingston ran a hand across his eyes, momentarily veiling his expression. "I'm sorry to hear that." He dropped his hand onto the desk and shuffled one stack of papers. "You must be anxious to get back to the ranch. If you've come about Red Charlie and his blacksmith shop---"
"No. I've come about something else. Something personal."
An uncomfortable look flashed in the banker's brown eyes. "Indeed?"
"It's about Miss Hamilton."
"Miss Hamilton?" Livingston frowned, then straightened in his chair. "Is she all right? Don't tell me she's ill as well?"
His anger subsiding somewhat, Nick unclenched his hands and settled back in his chair in satisfaction. The man actually sounded as if he cared. "No, no. She's fine. Just worn out from the strain of nursin' Lizzy."
Livingston relaxed. "She must be a great help to the Carters."
"She's an angel."
Livingston lifted his eyebrows.
"But she's frettin' over you."
"Me?" Livingston frowned again and fingered a pen on the desk.
"You. You've stopped your courtin' ever since Lizzy took sick."
"You'd hardly expect me to go to the ranch when there's illness. The last thing the Carters need is a visitor."
"Not ordinary visitors." Nick's anger rose again, and he fought to keep his tone level.
"Do you presume to tell me my business, Mr. Sanders?"
"A man who's courtin' a woman shouldn't disappear at the first sign of a little trouble."
Livingston set down his pen and straightened. "An influenza epidemic is not a little trouble," he snapped. "The Meager baby died of it."
"Elizabeth needs your support. This is a terrible time for her--for all of them."
"I have a duty to the town. What would happen to the bank if I became ill?"
"Horace would manage just fine."
"He's only a clerk."
"A damned fine one."
A condescending frown crossed Livingston's face. Looking Nick up and down, he said, "What would a cowboy like you know about the responsibilities of a man like me?"
Nick couldn't take any more of the man's excuses. "A man puts his duty to his loved ones first," he growled. Standing up, he placed both hands on the desk, and leaned forward. "I expect you to leave this office in Horace's capable hands." He emphasized each clipped word. "Get in your buggy, head out to the ranch, and see Elizabeth."
"Impossible." Livingston rose to his feet and stepped from behind the desk. "I have work to do. Please give Miss Hamilton my regards, and tell her I'll drive out to visit when this crisis is over." He took another step toward the door. "And not a minute before."
"You coward." Nick slammed his hands on the desk. "Hidin' behind your duty."
The insult pulled Livingston up short. His face reddened, and he inhaled a sharp hiss that puffed out his cheeks almost as if he were about to spit air. Raising one stiff arm, he pointed to the door. "Get out!"
Nick's fingers itched to slide toward his gun; he resisted the temptation by clenching them into fists again. Instead, he took two deliberate strides, his boot heels clicking on the polished wooden floor, to stand face to face with Livingston. "She's better off without you."
Livingston narrowed his eyes. "I see which way the land lies. If I didn't trust Miss Hamilton's superior values and morals---"
Nick's fist snaked out, aiming for the banker's nose. Livingston barely had time to turn his head before Nick's knuckles connected with the man's cheek, sending him stumbling back against the wall. The seascape crashed to the ground. With shock and disbelief in his eyes, Livingston slid to the floor, cradling the rapidly forming red mark on his face.
Nick shook his head in disgust. Pity he hadn't broken the man's nose. But perhaps he'd taught him some manners. Nick yanked open the door and stalked out.
With a look of horror on h
is face, Horace hovered in front of the counter, wringing his hands.
Nick nodded to him, picked his hat off the hat stand, and placed it on his head. "Settled my account with your boss."
The clerk tried to speak, but only a gurgle issued forth.
"I'll pass along your respects to the Carters," Nick murmured as he turned and strode out the door.
Out in the sunshine, the straight set of Nick's shoulders belied his feelings. He'd failed in the promise he'd made in his heart to Elizabeth--and not only failed, he'd probably made things worse.
#
"Dawn," Elizabeth called down the stairway. "Dawn." Hearing no response, she started down the stairs. "Dawn?" She walked into the kitchen. "Annie," she said to the cook kneading dough at the kitchen table, "have you seen Dawn?"
"Dawn no here." Annie waved a plump, flour-covered hand at the door. "She say she go git herb woman."
"Herb woman?"
"For Missy Rizzy."
Elizabeth crinkled her forehead, hoping Dawn had anticipated Lizzy's need. "Dr. Cameron?"
"No tink so. Tink Injin herb woman."
"Oh, dear." Elizabeth whirled, rushed out of the room and hurried down the hall. She knew Mark and Sara were playing on the front porch. She could send one of them to find Nick. Or maybe Mark could ride to town for Dr. Cameron.
Outside the sun blazed in the brilliant blue sky, and the heat pressed against her. In the shade of the porch, the children bent over a checkerboard, engrossed in their game.
"Children, have you seen Nick?"
"No," Mark said without glancing up.
"We looked in the barn and the bunkhouse, but couldn't find him," Sara said. "He's probably hunting that grizzly."
Elizabeth had forgotten about the grizzly. Now she couldn't send Mark for the doctor either.
"I'm so sick of playing in the house," Sara complained. "I hope Nick kills that ole bear."
"I'm sure you are." Elizabeth brushed damp wisps of hair off Sara's forehead. "If Nick returns, send him upstairs, will you, dear?"
Wild Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series) Page 24