Cherished (Cutter's Creek Book 9)

by Vivi Holt

  “Sorry, Mary, there aren’t any. But you can take Cammie’s old room.”

  Mary nodded, her eyes wide.

  “So where is my grandson?” asked Lady Cheryl.

  “He’s sleeping, although I think I can hear him cooing now.” Charlotte stood and hurried from the room, soon returning with Johnny in her arms. “Here he is – this is John Edward Beaufort Brown.”

  The grandparents both stood, their eyes gleaming. Lady Cheryl raised her hands toward the baby as she drew a deep breath and smiled. Charlotte handed her the baby, and Camilla could see the glisten of unshed tears as Lady Cheryl gazed at her grandson. “He’s beautiful! Perfect!” She and Lord Edward fussed and clucked over him, taking turns to rock and talk to him.

  Camilla turned back to the kitchen, happy to see the family reunited but wishing her own were here as well. She swallowed hard, her throat tight and her heart racing. She was delighted for Charlotte, but having her parents here only reminded her of what she was missing out on. How she longed to feel her own mother’s embrace and hear her laughter, to hold her little sister in her arms and chase the twins around the living room once more.

  She wiped away the tears that fell down her cheeks and reached for the plate holding the tea-cake Charlotte had made earlier. No doubt their guests would enjoy a slice of cake with a cup of hot tea after their journey.

  Chapter Eight

  Clifford jumped from the back of his gray mare and landed on his feet with a grunt. He paused and tipped his hat back with one finger before hurrying up the stairs to the front door of the Browns’ house. As he knocked on the door, he scanned the yard. Harry’s wagon was parked by the barn. Two horses rested in the shade of a juniper in the yard beside the barn. He heard the cluck of hens coming from inside it.

  The sound of footsteps hastening toward the front door caught his attention, and he spun around to find Camilla as she opened it wide with a look of surprise on her pretty face. “Sheriff, how are you? It’s so nice to see you,” she gushed. Her cheeks took on a slightly pinker hue.

  He removed his hat, and twisted it in his hands. “Cammie … I wasn’t expecting to see you here. I came to speak with Harry and Charlotte.”

  “Please come in. Charlotte’s parents arrived today – they’re just getting unpacked in their room and Charlotte’s settling Johnny down. But I can take you to see Harry – he’s in the living room smoking his pipe. I’m sure he’d love you to join him.”

  The sheriff nodded and wiped his feet on the doormat before following her inside. She seemed please to see him, although he couldn’t be sure she didn’t greet everyone the same way. He’d heard about her outings with Winston since the picnic, and had felt a heavy stone of disappointment sink inside him. He hadn’t moved quickly enough. What chance did he stand anyway when the competition was Winston Frank? The man was so good-looking even matronly necks twisted to watch him swagger down the street when he came to town.

  He shook his head and followed Camilla’s slender figure into the living room. Harry was seated in an armchair in front of a roaring fire. His pipe hung from his lips, and his hands were linked behind his head. But he jumped to his feet to shake Clifford’s hand. “Clifford, how are you? It’s good to see you. Won’t you come and share a smoke with me?”

  “That sounds grand.” He pulled a pipe from his pocket, and Harry handed him some tobacco which he stuffed into the bowl. He lit it and took a deep drag before accepting a seat across from Harry on the sofa. He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling the pungent smoke and letting it waft from his mouth in a wide billow of gray.

  It was time to say what he’d come to say. He hated to be the bearer of bad tidings, but there was none good to share today. He glanced at Harry’s contented face and braced himself.

  ***

  Camilla wondered what had brought the sheriff out to see them. He looked so full of life, it almost seeped from his pores as he sat down, his muscles flexing. She pushed a strand of hair from her eyes, smoothed her skirts and sat beside him, her hands in her lap. He looked at her and she felt her heart jump. His eyes were ice blue under drooping lids, and his chiseled features were accentuated by the firelight.

  He blew out a cloud of smoke, then leaned forward with one elbow on his knee. “I wanted to come and see you folks about the Maria Holloway kidnapping.”

  Harry sat up straight, his eyes narrowed. “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry to say there’s not much new I can tell you. Heath Moore was out trapping yesterday, and said he saw a group of Lakota riding about five miles south of here, toward Bilton. He thought he saw a white woman with them, though he couldn’t say for certain since she was dressed native.”

  “It had to be Maria!” cried Camilla, her eyes wide.

  “We can’t be certain.” The sheriff took a puff on his pipe. “I spoke to Captain Weston from Fort Smith. He was in town the day before yesterday, and said the Army hadn’t been able to find any trace of her. They’ve made a couple of drives into the Lakota camp, but when they arrive the camp is always abandoned. I guess someone’s tipping them off or they’re figuring it out somehow. Anyway, he’s not giving up, but told me not to get my hopes up. These things often don’t end well.” He dropped his eyes to the floor and sucked on his pipe in silence.

  “You mean they’ve probably killed her, or soon will, don’t you?” whispered Camilla, her hands trembling in her lap.

  He glanced up at her with fire in his eyes, but it disappeared as quickly as it had arisen. He drew on the pipe again with a brief nod.

  Harry ran his hands through his hair and exhaled loudly. “Well, we have to keep believing she’s okay. We can’t give up hope. You won’t, will you, Sheriff?”

  The sheriff stood, tapped his pipe out in the ashtray on the mantle, and shook his head. “I won’t give up on her. I hope you enjoy your time with family. Good evening.” He spun around, the tails of his overcoat flapping against his legs, and strode to the front door, shoving his hat on his head as he went.

  Camilla stood and ran after him, her heart in her throat. “Clifford!” she cried as he loped down the porch stairs.

  He stopped and turned to face her with a look of curiosity. “Cammie, what is it?”

  She stood still, embarrassed at her outburst. She didn’t know what to say to him, only that she wanted him to stop, to stay a while longer. “I … well, I …”

  He stepped toward her, looking into her face with that fire in his eyes again. It warmed her, excited her, sent a thrill running through her body. She ran her hands up and down her arms. It was cold outside and her skin was covered in goose pimples, though she wasn’t sure it was from the weather or the intensity of those eyes fixed on her. “What is it?” he said in a low voice, his eyes never leaving hers.

  She was suddenly very aware of how masculine he was – the strength of his arms, his legs, the tan on his sun-worn skin. She swallowed and opened her mouth to speak, but no words came to her.

  “How is Winston?” he asked, breaking the tension between them and fixing it firmly back in place all at once with those three small words.

  “Oh … he’s well, thank you.”

  “Have you seen much of him lately?”

  “Yes, he has been calling.”

  “Well then, I’m happy for you both. Take care, Cammie.” He dipped his hat and turned to leave.

  She watched him stalk away, his coat tails flapping as he shoved his empty pipe back into his pants pocket. He untied his mare from the fence post and sprang onto her back. She stood rigid as he wheeled the horse around and, with one last look at her, pushed the animal into a gallop down the long drive and back to town.

  Chapter Nine

  Clifford pressed the Stetson down on his head firmly, and mounted his mare in one leap. Tilly was her name, and she was the best friend he had. With a big heart that pumped warm blood through sturdy veins, and flared nostrils - everything about her bespoke an Arabian heritage, as did her ability to travel miles at top speed while bare
ly breaking a sweat.

  He smiled and patted her neck. “Let’s go girl.”

  She surged forward, eager to stretch her legs. They thundered down the main street and out of Cutter’s Creek into the lush countryside. Their headlong pace startled a family of raccoons foraging by the side of the road, and the critters scuttled away to find some undergrowth in which to hide, their black-and-white faces bobbing through the tall grasses.

  He’d decided he’d waited long enough for the U.S. Army to find Maria Holloway. It was time he did some investigating of his own. Captain Weston had warned him against it, not wanting the sheriff to spark a battle that might turn into a full-blown war with Gray Wolf, the Lakota chief. The skirmishes with Gray Wolf had made it tough getting supplies into Cutter’s Creek, and the Army had all but closed the Bozeman Trail entirely, diverting traffic along a different route.

  Too many battles, too much death, too many loads of valuable foodstuffs lost to the natives – and Cutter’s Creek was beginning to feel the pinch. He wasn’t too worried – vendors always found a way to satisfy their customers, and the Army was doing its best to make sure they didn’t starve. But they’d have to do without some of life’s luxuries, like powders and soaps, fresh fruit and varieties of fabrics. Only essentials were making it to town these days, and it wouldn’t be long before all the inhabitants became aware of the loss.

  But he didn’t intend to do anything about that today. Today, he wanted to find some evidence of where they were keeping Maria Holloway. He’d just keep his head down and do his best not to be seen. Surely there could be no harm in that.

  He slowed the mare to a gentle canter and soaked in the peacefulness of his surroundings. He always loved to get out on horseback into nature, away from town, just him and his mount. There was nothing quite like being all alone in a countryside few white men had ever seen. The journeys he’d taken in earlier years into entirely undiscovered territory had been even more invigorating, albeit with the need for constant vigilance since one never knew what you might find in such places. Every animal encountered was the first he’d ever seen, every village a mystery, each prairie full of the unknown. The love of adventure was in his blood, and Montana Territory was nothing if not full of the possibility of adventure.

  The sudden beating of pheasants’ wings filled the air and a bevy of birds rose up, startling Tilly. She shied sideways and reared on her hind legs. He held on tight and watched the birds resettle in the grasses some way off, his heart pounding in his chest. He was on edge today, and even more so the closer he came to Lakota territory.

  His thoughts returned, as they often did these days, to Camilla Brown. He couldn’t help feeling as though he no longer had any hope. She and Winston had been seeing each other for some time now, and he knew when to admit defeat. Not that he’d really fought for her. His face blazed as the thought filled his mind. Why hadn’t he ? He shouldn’t have let her go without at least trying to win her affection.

  He shook his head, and clenched his jaw tight. He knew why he hadn’t courted her.

  Marlene’s death had hit him hard, harder than he would have thought possible given they’d only known each other a short time. But he’d fallen for her, and intended to ask for her hand at the first possible moment after delivering Craddock and the other outlaws to Cheyenne. But he’d never gotten the chance. For years his heart had been hardened against the idea of love or marriage, and he’d never found another woman he wanted to open his heart to.

  Until Camilla. She’d just arrived in Cutter’s Creek three years ago with a small wagon train of folks who’d braved the Bozeman Trail together . Shaken after their encounter with the Lakota, she’d sat quietly while her brother Harry recounted Maria Holloway’s kidnapping and her husband’s murder. But still and heartbroken as she was, his eyes kept traveling to her face, those wide blue eyes full of pain, the freckles that danced across a dainty upturned nose. She reminded him of Marlene in so many little ways. His palms had grown damp, and he had to keep repeating his questions to Harry.

  Ever since, he’d told himself that it was a crush, nothing more. It wasn’t in her best interests to be married to a sheriff – look what had happened to the last woman he’d loved. It had been his fault – she was on her way to see him. And because he was a lawman, that had taken her directly into harm’s way. He couldn’t bear to place Camilla in danger as he had with Marlene. He’d chosen his path, and that it would be lonely was something he’d grown accustomed to. Could he really change now? Even if she grew to love him, could he truly open himself up to loving her the way she deserved?

  Well, it didn’t matter now one way or the other. Camilla was likely to soon be engaged to Winston, and so much the better for her. He would make a fine, safe choice. No doubt he’d treat her well and she’d be happy. He pressed on down the trail, pushing all thoughts of her from his head. It was time he concentrated on the task at hand: finding Maria.

  He spent the entire day scouring the Bozeman Trail and its surroundings without luck. There was no sign of any natives, and certainly no English captives. Having packed enough supplies to last several days, he decided not to return to town but instead continued on toward Bilton. He still had friends in the sheriff’s office there, and maybe they’d be able to help.

  He hated to consider what had happened to Maria since her abduction all those months ago. It was likely she was no longer in this world, but had moved on to the next. Even so, he knew how much not knowing pained Camilla, and though he didn’t feel as though he could pursue her heart, this was one thing he could do for her. He could find Maria Holloway. He might not have been able to stop Wild Clay Craddock for Marlene’s sake. But he could rescue Maria for Camilla’s – or die trying.

  Chapter Ten

  Clifford was tired. He rubbed his weary eyes and urged Tilly onward. His time in Bilton hadn’t yielded any results. His old friend Sheriff Gillard was still at the helm, but time and age had reduced him to more of a figurehead. His deputies were the true arm of the law in Bilton, and they didn’t respond well to an outsider, especially one who’d worked in that office prior to them.

  Gillard had welcomed him with open arms and a warm smile, taking him home for supper where his wife Betty had waited on him and fussed over him like no one had in a long time. It felt nice to be cared for by a woman. But the sheriff had no information on Maria Holloway. In fact, he said Clifford should give up the search as pointless. She was most likely dead, or injured in one way or another beyond the point of rescue. After so many months with those savages, she’d be lost to civilization, and there was no point trying to bring her back.

  The deputies had been even less help, and none were ready to join him in tracking down the Lakota. They kept to their side of the invisible line drawn by Gray Wolf, so long as he kept to his. From their point of view that was a fine way to live, and they stood by it. Clifford was a fool, they said, to try to find the chief whom even the Army wasn’t able to whip. And he’d likely die a violent death at the hands of the savages if he didn’t see reason and keep out of trouble.

  He shook his head, remembering their words, and lifted the collar of his coat against the cool morning air. On his way home to Cutter’s Creek, he pondered what his next step should be. He didn’t intend to heed their advice, but he knew he had to be cautious whatever he did. If he found her, what then? He hadn’t thought that far ahead, still looking to get some inkling of where she might be. If he found her, then he’d come up with a plan, and maybe the Army would help.

  He lifted the hat from his head and ran his fingers through his hair before returning it to its place with a deep sigh. He wondered what Camilla was doing. Did she even know he’d left town? It wasn’t likely – not seeing him for several days wouldn’t be unusual, and he was certain she wouldn’t ask about him.

  There had to be something he could do to get her out of his head once and for all. Would he live the rest of his days with regret over her? Thoughts of her with Winston – kissing him, mar
rying him, building a life and family with him – were torture to him now. How would he feel when it actually came true? No, he had to banish thoughts like that. They would do him no good – if she couldn’t be his, he’d have to find something else to occupy his mind.

  Maybe it was time to focus on what he’d been trying to do for almost a decade – capture Wild Clay Craddock. The outlaw had escaped too many times to count over the years. The Pinkertons were on his trail now, but he kept track of their pursuit when he had the chance. The last he’d heard was that Craddock and several members of his gang had been seen down in Arizona Territory. Maybe he should head down there and finally put the scoundrel away for good.

  That the journey would take him far away from Camilla Brown was an added benefit.

  A noise up ahead on the trail caught his ear, and he pulled Tilly to a stop. It was the sound of wagon wheels turning on hardened ground. He caught the low murmur of human voices drifting back to him on the chill breeze and hurried forward at a trot, soon confirming his guess – there was a wagon train up ahead.

  Three wagons made up the train, flanked on all sides by Army cavalry. They drove close together, the armed guards looking around with darting eyes and rifles at the ready. They saw Clifford before he was close, and two soldiers rode to meet him. “Good morning, sir. Where’re you headed to?” asked one, greasy hair tickling the top of his soiled collar.

  “’Morning. I’m Sheriff Clifford Brentwood of Cutter’s Creek, Montana Territory. Just on my way home from Bilton.”

  “You do know, Sheriff, that the Bozeman Trail is closed?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry. I don’t generally use it, but just thought it would be the swiftest way to Bilton. Of course I’ve been very careful not to attract any unwanted attention along the way, I assure you.”

  The soldiers nodded and motioned for him to follow them. When they reached the wagons, Clifford fell in with them between the last two vehicles. The mood was somber, and everyone seemed on edge, likely waiting for an attack.