Cherished (Cutter's Creek Book 9)

by Vivi Holt

  She hadn’t seen Winston in a few days, other than to say hello. He’d called in at the ranch a couple of times over the course of the week, but she’d been too busy settling Johnny or cooking meals to spend time with him, and he’d looked most disappointed. Even though she enjoyed his company, she wasn’t as sad as he was about their time apart. It gave her an opportunity to think about what she wanted with a clear head.

  There was no question that he was attractive, strong and masculine – qualities she found hard to resist when he was close by. But was that enough? Lately, she wondered if they had anything more in common than mutual attraction and availability. He was shy and quiet, so it was difficult to get to know him quickly. Perhaps she just needed more time to draw him out of his shell. What she had seen of his personality in recent weeks, though, made her think that perhaps he wasn’t lively enough for her tastes. She was used to Harry, who always made things interesting.

  She shook her head and laughed. A little too interesting, most of the time. Winston would probably never get them chased down by gun-wielding thugs on a crowded city street … but that was a good thing, wasn’t it? Surely she didn’t need that kind of excitement in her life, the kind that used to follow her brother wherever he went. She could settle for stable, reliable and polite. It would certainly make for a nice change to be with a man who was nothing like her trouble-making brother or drunken father.

  That was probably it – she was too used to having men in her life who raised Cain, who were unreliable and unpredictable. But that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted a man who was warm, caring, loving, dependable and secure. And Winston was all of those. He was perfect for her.

  An image of Sheriff Brentwood flashed through her mind, and she felt her cheeks flush with warmth. He wasn’t even here, and the thought of him sent tremors through her entire body. But she knew so little about him, and he’d never shown more than a passing interest in her until recently. Even now, all they’d shared was a moment at the picnic by the river, and their kiss. If he wanted to court her, he would have done so. Wouldn’t he? It’s not like she could pursue him. If he wasn’t interested, she’d have to let it be.

  Maybe that was why she couldn’t get him out of her mind. He was unattainable and disinterested, and Winston was the opposite. Winston wanted her. But she wanted Clifford – his blond hair and ice-blue eyes, his muscular arms and tanned skin, the serious expression that rarely left his face, the quiet confidence of his voice. That kiss they’d shared – she remembered the feel of his strong arms encircling her waist, and it made her knees weak.

  She waded to the edge of the creek bed and sat on an exposed rock. She lifted her fingers and traced the curve of her lips, recalling with a smile the feel of his pressed there …

  No, she told herself – she didn’t want him. She wanted Winston. Winston would make a good husband, and he cared for her. There was no point in silly fantasies about a man she barely knew, who didn’t care enough about her to call on her even though they’d shared a passionate kiss. She wouldn’t let that moment derail what would be a good match for her.

  Camilla shook her head. She would forget about Clifford Brentwood and focus on what was real, good and true. Winston was the man for her, and it was time she concentrated on him and him alone. She gathered the clean laundry into her basket and lifted it up to set against her left hip.

  As she climbed the hill, she thought about what she’d heard earlier that day from Mrs. Waverley in the mercantile. Mrs. Waverley was talking to Abigail as she stood behind the counter laying out bolts of fabric for her to inspect. She’d said something about Sheriff Brentwood leaving the town vulnerable – exposed to the criminal element.

  When she’d asked Mrs. Waverley what on Earth she meant, the older woman replied that the sheriff was out of town for at least two weeks, transporting an outlaw from Cheyenne to Bozeman. “Irresponsible, it is, if’n ya ask me,” she’d sniffed, “since we got no other law enforcement in Cutter’s Creek. I’m tellin’ ya, he should’ve thought of that ’fore he went off on some wild errand that’s like to get him killed.”

  Camilla trembled remembering Mrs. Waverley’s words. She tried not to think about how often his work must place him in danger. It sounded as though he’d volunteered for the job, though she couldn’t understand why. Cutter’s Creek was usually such a safe, quiet town – wouldn’t he want to stay and enjoy that? Did he really need to seek out excitement and danger elsewhere?

  She pulled the back door of the house open and walked into the kitchen. She’d have to hang the laundry by the fire to dry, since darkness had already fallen and Charlotte would need these linens dry for the baby in the morning. It was hard work trying to keep up with all the washing now that there were two young ones to tend to.

  Lady Cheryl and Lord Edward sat by the roaring fire in the living room, him reading the newspaper Harry had purchased in town that morning and she working on her needlepoint. She’d donned a pair of spectacles for the work, and peered over the top of them at Camilla as she entered the room, the laundry basket still on her hip. “There you are, Camilla – Charlotte was asking for you. What have you there?”

  “Just a few of the baby’s things to dry by the fire,” she said with a smile, kneeling beside the hearth. “I washed them in the creek, so they’re good as new.”

  “Must you lay them about so in here? Rather unseemly, don’t you think?”

  Camilla’s eyes widened, “Oh dear, I’m sorry. Would you rather I hung them elsewhere? Only they may not dry in time. The baby’s goin’ through them rather quickly, I’m afraid.”

  Lady Cheryl waved her hand at Camilla and resumed her needlepoint. “No, no, never mind. We’re to live like savages, I suppose, but it can’t be helped. I wonder what we should do about supper.”

  Camilla’s smile was tight. “I’m startin’ on that next. I thought we might have a meat pie with mashed potatoes.”

  “Oh, that sounds lovely.”

  Camilla waited for Lady Cheryl to offer to help, then returned to laying out the laundry when she didn’t. She shouldn’t have been surprised – Lady Cheryl hadn’t helped with much of anything since her arrival, other than to cuddle the baby or play with Johnny. She knew Her Ladyship had probably never done a day’s work in her life, and she was Harry and Charlotte’s guest. But the fact that she didn’t even offer still irked her.

  She finished with the wash, and pushed herself to her feet with a groan. It seemed the work never ended. How she wished she could sit before a warm fire and knit. She loved to knit – it was relaxing, and she longed to make Johnny and Anna mittens with winter fast approaching. Maybe she could start on that tonight after supper …

  She carried the laundry basket into the outdoors pantry to gather the ingredients she’d need for supper, then set the basket down and carried the food carefully in her apron back into the house. Potatoes were plentiful at this time of year and always went well with meat pie. Harry had received some beef from a nearby rancher in exchange for a day’s work on his ranch. It was a special treat, meant to bolster Charlotte’s spirits and in celebration of baby Anna’s arrival.

  She smiled as she sliced the beef into small pieces. Regardless of her internal complaints about the workload, she wouldn’t change a thing. She loved her family and the warm, happy home Harry and Charlotte had built together. If she could help them in some small way, she was happy to do it. If only Lady Cheryl felt the same way.

  Suddenly she had a thought, and her eyes narrowed as she smiled. “Lady Cheryl, I wonder if perhaps you could help me?” she called.

  She heard movement in the living room, and Lady Cheryl’s face soon appeared in the doorway. “Yes, my dear?”

  “I’m about to start on the pie crust, and wondered if you have any experience makin’ pastry?”

  “I have.”

  Camilla started peeling a large white potato. “Do you mind helpin’?”

  “I … suppose I could, if you like.” Lady Cheryl was obviously un
comfortable with the idea.

  “That‘d be wonderful – thank you.”

  Lady Cheryl inched toward the kitchen table, where Camilla had placed a large bowl and the ingredients for the pie. After some hesitation, she reached for an apron hung on a peg at the end of the table. As she wrapped it around her waist, Camilla noticed for the first time how thin she was. She looked paler than usual, too, and her collarbone was protruding in an unusual way.

  Lady Cheryl smiled at her, poured flour into the bowl, and let the bag fall back to the table with a crash, causing Camilla to cry out in surprise. And then she did so again as Lady Cheryl’s legs gave way beneath her and she flopped to the floor, sending the bowl and flour flying.

  “Help!” Camilla screamed, dashing to Lady Cheryl’s side. “Someone help!”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The trill of a meadowlark crept across Clifford’s consciousness. Then the rush of pain in his head overwhelmed his thoughts, and his eyes blinked open. He groaned and rolled onto his back to stare at the darkening sky above him. The first stars twinkled faintly in the expanse, and he pushed himself into a sitting position. What had happened? The last thing he remembered was riding with Pee-wee across the plain, then stopping for lunch …

  … dagnabit. The outlaw must have jumped him!

  He spotted Tilly grazing in the distance, her bit jangling in her mouth. The bay nag was nowhere in sight. He sighed with relief – at least Pee-wee hadn’t taken Tilly. He’d have been in big trouble out here without her.

  He wondered for a moment why anyone with an ounce of intelligence would leave the Arabian behind. Well, he wasn’t sure Pee-wee had an ounce of intelligence, but the more likely explanation was that Tilly must have been unfriendly. He’d seen someone else try to ride her once before, and they’d ended up sailing over her head and breaking their arm on a fence paling after she’d kicked up her heels in disgust.

  He smiled and ran his hand over the back of his head, finding a swollen knot beneath his hair. He winced as his fingers pressed the lump, covered with blood-matted hair. He reached for his hat on the ground beside him and dusted it off before placing it carefully back on his head.

  He whistled, and Tilly raised her head with a snort. Her intelligent eyes found him and she let out a low whinny before high-stepping over to greet him, her neck arched and her nostrils flared. “Good girl, come here.” He stood slowly and stroked her nose.

  As he tried to mount her, the world spun and blackness flooded his vision for several seconds. He leaned against her shoulder, then pushed his foot into the stirrup again and eased himself up onto her back. He had to find Pee-wee and re-arrest him – who knows where the man had gone or how far he’d ridden by now? He was Clifford’s responsibility, and if he hurt anyone else it would be on Clifford’s conscience.

  Laying his hand on his holster, he realized with dismay that his revolver was gone. A quick glance down revealed the rifle had been taken from his saddlebag, as well as his large canteen and the remaining food, leaving him only the small canteen. He frowned. He’d have to scavenge for food and water along the way, but it wasn’t the first time and no doubt wouldn’t be the last. The guns were the greater loss.

  He clucked his tongue and Tilly started forward. After a quick drink of water from the remaining canteen, he strained his eyes in the dull light of dusk, looking for a sign to indicate which direction the outlaw had headed. He circled the clearing and found a single line of hoofprints leading north, toward Montana Territory. At least he wouldn’t have to backtrack.

  He pressed his heels to Tilly’s sides, and she leaped forward in pursuit of the escapee.

  ***

  Charlotte pressed the damp washcloth to her mother’s forehead and felt the grip of grief tighten across her chest. Lady Cheryl’s face was gray and her cheeks had hollowed in the last few days. She knew it wouldn’t be long before her mother was taken from her. Her only comfort lay in the knowledge that she’d be free from pain and with her heavenly Father, but she still couldn’t shake the horrible feeling of regret over time lost together.

  “Charlotte my dear …” Lady Cheryl’s eyes opened, and she smiled weakly.

  “Yes, Mother, I’m here. What is it?”

  “I want to tell you something.”

  “Yes?” She leaned forward to tenderly stroke her mother’s hair back from her forehead .

  “You must know … I’m so proud of you my darling.”

  Charlotte felt the lump in her throat shift, and a sob rose to the surface. She covered her mouth with her free hand and closed her eyes against the threat of tears. She had to be strong for her mother’s sake. “How could you be? I’ve never been what you wanted. I’ve always been so headstrong, conceited, selfish and rebellious. I’m so sorry, Mother – please forgive me. If only I could go back in time …”

  “No, no, my darling, don’t worry yourself. Now that you’re a mother, surely you can see none of that matters in the end. A mother loves her child no matter what. And being stubborn and headstrong are not things to be ashamed of, my dear. I’m simply sorry I pushed you so hard, and didn’t show you over the years how much I admired the woman you were growing into. You remind me of myself at your age. Only I didn’t take the chances you did, and I lived with that regret for many years.”

  Tears rolled down Charlotte’s pale cheeks and she rested her head on her mother’s thin chest. “Oh Mother, I love you too. But what do you mean, ‘regret’?”

  Lady Cheryl reached up to caress Charlotte’s cheek. “When I was young as you are, I longed for adventure and love. I was matched by my parents with your father, though I was painfully in love with a young doctor in London. It was a great scandal at the time. Your father knew about him, but still agreed to marry me.”

  “What?” Charlotte lifted her head with a jerk and stared into her mother’s dark eyes.

  “I know. It’s shocking to imagine your mother in love.”

  “No – I just never imagined you’d cause a scandal. And Father … you didn’t love him? It was all a lie?” Charlotte’s heart beat wildly in her throat. She felt as though her whole world was crashing down around her. Mother hadn’t married Father for love? All this time, she just assumed her parents loved each other. Her entire childhood had been built around that foundation. And now it was being stripped away in front of her.

  “I didn’t love him at first. I was too angry – with my parents, with him. And with the man I loved. Herbert … he gave me up for a thousand pounds. That’s what my father paid him, and I never heard from him again. Oh, I checked on him years later through a friend of mine, and he was married to another woman – they had a family and seemed quite happy. But I was devastated - he broke my heart, and I married your father with only broken pieces of it left.

  “But over time your father loved me and gradually helped my heart mend, until one day I awoke to the knowledge that I loved him. It wasn’t a passionate kind of love, certainly not love at first sight, but a gradual building, of friendship first. So no, it wasn’t a lie. By the time you came along, things had changed. And I love him still.”

  “Oh,” Charlotte sighed in relief.

  “I used to think Herbert was the great love of my life, the love that I lost. Now I know the truth – my greatest love has been your father. He has been my comfort, my partner, my true companion. I couldn’t have asked for anyone better to spend my life with. But I do still regret some of the chances I never took in my youth. If I could have my time again, I’d take them, have all the adventures I longed for. I’d be more like you.”

  Charlotte’s head returned to her mother’s chest. “Why are you telling me all this?”

  “Because I want you to know I understand you, and the choices you’ve made. I could easily have made them myself many years ago. When your father and I spoke to the Duke of Notherington about an engagement, we did it because we didn’t want you to find yourself in the same heartbreaking situation I did so long ago. We wanted you to marry someone we b
elieved could be your life companion, but who wouldn’t hurt you as Herbert did me. We wanted the best for you.”

  Lady Cheryl sighed before continuing. “When you ran away, and when we heard of your marriage to Harry, we thought our worst nightmare had become a reality. But after spending time here with you, I feel comforted by the knowledge that you made the right choice. All we wanted for you is your happiness. We were upset that you felt you had to leave your home behind to find it, but now I see that I can leave this world knowing you‘ll be well taken care of.”

  Johnny toddled into the bedroom and over to Charlotte. He threw his chubby little arms around her legs, hugging tightly to her skirts and burying his face in the thick layers of fabric.

  She lowered a hand and stroked his hair, feeling as though her heart would burst. All this time she’d believed she was such a disappointment to her parents, especially her mother. To learn that Mother was proud of her, loved her and understood the choices she’d made filled her with poignant joy. A heavy weight lifted from her chest and drifted away as tears fell onto the blanket beneath her cheek.

  ***

  Trees crowded the trail, heavy branches scratching at Clifford’s face and arms as Tilly wove her way through the woods. Up ahead he saw a patch of light – a clearing. He leaned over the horse’s neck to duck beneath another low-hanging branch, and they emerged into daylight.

  He blinked rapidly, his eyes adjusting to the brightness. In the distance, on the other side of the clearing, he saw Pee-wee, his sloping shoulders towering over the back of the plodding old nag. He disappeared into the woods without a backward glance.

  Clifford smiled. He’d been tracking the outlaw for two days and had finally caught up. They were traversing the foothills of the Bighorns, and no doubt Pee-wee thought he’d lost the sheriff in the thick woods, but years of practice had given him a keen eye for each broken twig or indentation in the dry earth, leading the way to his quarry.