Cherished (Cutter's Creek Book 9)

by Vivi Holt

  He pressed Tilly forward and she galloped across the clearing, slowing again as she entered the woods. Thankfully Pee-wee hadn’t taken the hunting knife that he kept strapped in a sheath around his ankle, or the pistol he always tucked into the back of his belt. He pulled out that pistol now, cocking the hammer with his thumb as Tilly wound her way through the towering junipers and spruce trees. The trail they followed was narrow and dark, hidden from the searching light of day by the trees towering above.

  He pulled Tilly to a halt and listened. Pee-wee wasn’t far ahead now – he could hear the bay nag meandering noisily through the dry leaf litter lining the dank ground. He urged the mare forward, caught up within a minute and raised his pistol, pointing it at the small head sitting on those wide, sloping shoulders. “Stop right there!”

  Pee-wee pulled the horse to a stop, and sat still, not looking back.

  “I have a gun, Pee-wee, and I’ll use it if you move even an inch.” Clifford rode up beside the man, pulling a pair of handcuffs from his holster.

  Pee-wee reached for the revolver wedged into the front of his pants, but his tiny brain and enormous stomach slowed him down. Clifford had ample time to press the end of the pistol against the outlaw’s temple. “I’ll have that, thank you,” he snarled.

  Realizing his position, Pee-wee grunted and handed the sheriff the revolver.

  Clifford took it, slipped the cuffs over the outlaw’s wrists, then extracted his rifle from his captive’s saddlebag, returning it to its proper place in the saddle scabbard beside his own leg. “Let’s go. We’ll have to double back a little to find the trail to Bozeman, but it shouldn’t take long. And don’t try anything like this again, or I’ll save time and just shoot you.”

  Pee-wee finally turned and fixed his small, beady eyes on Clifford’s. “Yer the boss, I guess,” he hissed.

  “And I hope you haven’t eaten all the food. It’s a long way to Bozeman, and you’ll be mighty hungry.”

  Pee-wee grunted again in response and looked away.

  Clifford sighed as they set off back the way they’d come moments earlier. This job was fast becoming more trouble than it was worth. His head still throbbed from where Pee-wee had struck it. He was just glad the lout hadn’t thought to shoot him, and didn’t figure he would be so lucky twice. Dumb as Pee-wee was, he’d be keeping a close eye on him from here on out.

  The whole time he’d tracked Pee-wee, he was thinking about home – about Camilla Brown. He could have died on the trail from Cheyenne. He’d been unfocused and reckless, turning his back on a known cattle rustler and murderer. If he had, would she have mourned him? Would she have thought of him?

  Suddenly he knew what he had to do. Whether she was going to marry Winston or not, he had to tell her how he felt. She might turn him down … almost certainly would, in his mind. But no matter, he had to get it off his chest. He couldn’t die knowing he hadn’t been honest with her.

  The sun was setting with a brilliant burst of pink and orange over the peaks behind them as they trotted back through the clearing. Clifford shivered and pulled the collar of his coat up higher around his neck. They’d had snow flurries over the past few nights on the trail, and he was anxious to finish this job and hand Pee-wee over to the sheriff in Bozeman so he could get back to Cutter’s Creek. It would be Thanksgiving in a few weeks, and he wanted to be home before the heavy snowfall began and Montana Territory was socked into a deep freeze for months.

  More importantly, he had to see Camilla before she married Winston. Provided she hadn’t already – when he’d left Cutter’s Creek they weren’t even engaged, but that was weeks ago.

  Not for the first time, he wished he’d never signed up for this hare-brained job. Sure, the pay was good, he’d had time to think — as he’d desired — and his brush with death had helped him see what really mattered. But it kept him away from home for too long.

  When all was stripped away, what mattered were the folks he cared about and who cared for him. He knew now that he wanted to get to know this God who kept saving him from disaster better. And he wanted Camilla. Those were the things that were clear when he’d woken with a throbbing head, no food and few weapons, alone in the middle of the frigid wilderness. Those were the things he was going to pursue, no matter who or what stood in the way.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Camilla’s eyes rested on the peaceful face of Anna sleeping in her cradle. Her chubby cheeks were tinged with red from the cold, dry air, and black lashes nestled against their rosy roundness. She shifted her gaze to the bed in the center of the room, where Charlotte lay fully clothed with one arm wrapped around a sleeping Johnny, her eyes shut, a light snore emanating from her open mouth.

  Camilla smiled. Poor Charlotte looked exhausted. Between the toddler, the baby and the sick mother, she wasn’t getting much rest these days even with Mary and Camilla’s help.

  She shut the door quietly and tiptoed down the hall. It was Thanksgiving, and she had a lot of work still to do. She hurried back to the kitchen to continue preparing for the feast they’d share later that day. The mood in the snug house was subdued, given the state of Lady Cheryl’s health. But Her Ladyship was adamant they celebrate the American ritual as usual – she wanted the chance to share one holiday with her grandchildren – and so they’d all decided to make the best of it given the circumstances. They would celebrate with cheer, forced though it might be, and shower Lady Cheryl with as much love, warmth and joy as they could muster.

  She donned a floral print apron and smiled at Mary, who was kneading dough at the kitchen table. She pushed a strand of hair from her eyes with one hand and sighed. Winston would be here soon – she’d invited him to spend Thanksgiving with them, and he was bringing Justin since the two of them had no one else to celebrate with. They had left their family behind in Virginia. Sam and Estelle would be coming as well, bringing Margaret Hutchins, a young teacher from town, with them. The house would be full and cozy in no time. And she was looking forward to it.

  She picked up a large wooden spoon from the kitchen table and walked to the blackened stove.

  There was nothing quite as satisfying as a family coming together to share a meal, celebrate a holiday together and remember all they were thankful for. She had so much to be grateful for in her life – God had truly blessed her. It wasn’t so long ago she’d been suffering the drudgery of taking care of her brothers and sisters in a cold dark shack in England, watching her mother suffer and her father drink his life away, with no real life of her own to speak of.

  And now here she was, half a world away in Montana Territory, in her brother’s snug home, surrounded by loved ones, preparing a meal to share with her … hmmm. What should she call Winston? Her beau? Her future fiancé?

  A wrinkle formed between her eyes as she frowned in concentration, the spoon held high in her hand. She was fairly certain he was going to propose soon – he’d been dropping hints for almost a month now. But what would she say if he did? Was she ready to commit her life to him, to agree to spend the rest of her days with him as his wife?

  She did care for him. He was handsome, kind, warm and sweet. He loved God, and helped people when they needed it. He’d make a good husband and father. Yes, if he asked her, she should agree to marry him. Shouldn’t she? She couldn’t keep going over this same question again and again in her mind – she had to make a decision. What was she waiting for …

  … or whom?

  A bead of sweat broke out across her forehead, and she lifted her apron to wipe the dampness away. She couldn’t help wondering what Clifford Brentwood was doing for the holidays. She hadn’t seen him in weeks. Perhaps he was still on that job down in Wyoming Territory that Mrs. Waverley had told her about. She hoped not – the weather had turned cold, and there had been several light snow falls of late. They were expecting a heavy fall any time now.

  She walked to the kitchen window and peered out through the curtains at the sky. It was clear, with only a few fluffy white clouds
floating lazily overhead. No sign of snow, thank heavens. She’d ask Harry when he came in if he’d seen Clifford. She couldn’t shake the thought that he might be in trouble, and the idea made her heart tremble in her chest. She turned back to the stove and stirred the large pot of sweet potatoes, her mind still troubled over Clifford’s whereabouts.

  The sound of hooves on the drive leading up to the house startled her. She laid the spoon back down, wiped her hands on the apron, untied it and hung it on the peg beside the kitchen door. She strode into the living room in time to see Harry helping Estelle from the wagon through the front window. Sam and Margaret stood beside her, and their cheerful voices floated into the house, warming the air around her.

  She smiled and hurried to greet them. “Welcome!” she cried as she flung the front door open. She was met with a blast of cold air and shivered, running her hands up and down her arms. “Brrr … come on inside! We’re so glad you could join us today.”

  Sam stepped forward to pull her into a hearty embrace that knocked the air from her lungs, while Estelle turned to lift a covered bowl from the back of the wagon. She handed it to Harry and smiled at Camilla as she reached for another. “My dear Cammie, how lovely you look! I’ve brought a contribution, just a small one. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Camilla embraced first Margaret and then Estelle, kissing her weathered cheek. “Oh, wonderful! I was beginnin’ to despair that I’d never get the meal prepared in time. Between takin’ care of the children and Lady Cheryl, Charlotte, Mary and I have been run off our feet. Thank you so very much!”

  “Don’t mention it, my dear – I’m happy to help. We have snowflake potatoes, baked carrots and cornbread dressing.” She passed a warm bowl to Camilla, carrying the last one herself as they all hurried into the house. Harry stayed behind to tend to the horse and wagon, and by the time Camilla had helped Estelle and Margaret with their coats, Sam was already stoking the fire in the hearth.

  Camilla was about to take the women through to the kitchen when she heard more galloping horses approach the house. She hastened to the window and saw Winston with his brother Justin. Both were headed straight toward the barn to stable their horses.

  She felt her heart seize in her chest. But what was she so anxious about? It was just Winston. She’d seen him almost every day this week. Still, she knew she’d have to make a decision soon, and the thought sent a pang of panic through her. Shouldn’t she feel thrilled or excited in anticipation of an engagement? What was wrong with her?

  She drew a deep breath and hustled to the kitchen to lay the bowl on the counter. “Mary, will you take care of everyone for a moment, please? We have more guests arriving.”

  Mary nodded and set about pouring the visitors coffee.

  Camilla strode back to the front door again to greet the men, who by now were wiping their booted feet on the mat. She threw the door open and beamed at them both, her hands clasped together in front of her chest to keep them from shaking. “Winston, Justin – it’s so good to see you both. Won’t you come in?”

  ***

  The cold water of the creek bubbled and chattered over protruding rocks, scaling a rotting log and falling to froth against the obstacle on the other side. On the bank, Clifford slid from Tilly’s back and patted her neck with a sigh. “Almost home, girl. Almost home.”

  She bent her head and slurped at the water, her reins dangling on the ground in front of her.

  He squatted beside the stream and lifted a handful of the cool, clear water to his mouth, sucking it in with gusto. It was delicious, and the excitement of finally bringing this journey to a close grew as the water ran down his throat. He’d finally managed to get Pee-wee safely to Bozeman. The sheriff there was pleased to see them and had promised Pee-wee a fair trial the following week. Pee-wee hadn’t looked convinced, insisting in a last minute appeal to Clifford that he was innocent of the murder – his only crime had been to take a few skinny heifers in Wyoming Territory he didn’t think anyone would miss anyhow.

  Clifford shook his head. In the end, he’d felt sad as he walked away from Pee-wee, who’d collapsed into the cell overcome with the knowledge that his life was no doubt close to its pitiful end. That was the last time he’d volunteer for prisoner transport duty – he didn’t have the stomach for it anymore. Not to mention being away from home for so long.

  Since when did I become such a tender-hearted homebody? I used to love the open road, camping out for weeks at a time, no one to answer to, nowhere to be. Just me, my horse and the trail beneath us.

  He splashed water onto his face and scrubbed it vigorously with both hands. The cold of it sent a shock through his body, and he glanced skyward. It didn’t look as though snow was coming, but there was a feeling in the air he recognized well – it wouldn’t be long.

  Calculating in his head, he considered what day it was. Thanksgiving? Was it Thanksgiving already? His heart sank. He’d hoped to get home before the holidays so he could talk to Camilla about his feelings for her. Ideally, he’d wanted to celebrate the holiday with her. He pictured her, snuggled up to a warm fire, a cup of apple cider in her hand, a smile on her pretty face, and he suddenly felt very much alone.

  The beauty of the rugged landscape became barren, the freedom of life on the trail turned lonely, and the pleasure of completing a job prompted only hollow emptiness within. What did any of it matter if he was to spend the holidays alone while Camilla was likely enjoying Winston’s company in his cozy ranch house? They might even be already engaged, planning their wedding while she sewed items for her trousseau.

  He frowned and jumped to his feet, reaching for Tilly’s reins. He had to get moving if he was going to beat the coming snow. And he needed to see Camilla before she committed her life to another man. Knowing her character, if she made the commitment, she’d see it through whether she wanted to or not. He had to get back to Cutter’s Creek as quickly as possible.

  God, please don’t let her get engaged before I can speak with her. I can’t pray that she’ll marry me, because I know it’s a long shot and I only want her to be happy, but if You could just make sure she isn’t engaged until I’ve had my say, I’d really appreciate it.

  He climbed onto Tilly’s back, adjusted his Stetson and leaned over the mare’s neck. “Hiya!” he cried, and she sprang forward into the creek, the spray wetting them both as she pushed through the crystal-clear waters and over the sandy, pebbled creek bottom.

  His heart pounded in his chest. He could see in the distance the valley where Cutter’s Creek sat, nestled against the foothills of the Bighorn Range. It wouldn’t be long and he’d be home. But then what? Should he try to find her immediately? That probably wasn’t a good idea, since she’d no doubt be sharing the celebration with family and friends. Maybe he should wait until tomorrow?

  He groaned inwardly. No, he couldn’t wait. He’d been pondering this for weeks, wondering what he’d say to her, how she’d react, how it would feel to hold her in his arms and kiss her soft lips again. He couldn’t wait one more day. As soon as he reached town, he’d set out in search of her. Surely she’d be either at the Todds’, Harry and Charlotte’s, or Winston and Justin’s. He’d start with Harry and Charlotte’s place, since that was on this side of town and he wouldn’t have to double back.

  Filled with resolve, he leaned into the frigid wind that buffeted them, whistling down the nearby slopes and plowing through the valley. He lifted his neckerchief to shield his bearded face from the wind’s cutting breath. He’d see her soon, and he knew exactly what he’d say when he did. The rest would be up to her … and God.

  Chapter Twenty

  Camilla lifted the napkin from her lap to dab the corners of her mouth and beamed at her family and friends seated around the long, split hardwood table. They’d finally finished eating their meal, and she had just served everyone a steaming cup of coffee.

  A fire crackled and spat in the hearth. Across from her, Winston and Justin discussed the latest advancements in pig farmi
ng, and Harry listened intently, nodding and interjecting ideas of his own from time to time. Charlotte, Mary and Margaret chattered on either side of her about the latest fashions in Chicago, from where Margaret had just traveled.

  Johnny toddled around the living room giggling and gabbling in his cute, babyish voice. Anna slept peacefully in her cradle, which Harry had carried out to be near to them while they ate. Lady Cheryl lay on the love seat, with Lord Edward beside her carefully spooning soup into her mouth, smiling as they spoke quietly together.

  It was a warm and cozy scene, and Camilla soaked it all in with a smile of deep satisfaction. She took a moment to thank God for all of it, feeling as though she could hardly ask for anything more. But even as that thought crossed her mind, it was chased by the image of Clifford leaning in to kiss her, her back pressed up against the fence rail. Her cheeks flushed with warmth and she lifted a hand to brush the tips of her fingers over her lips.

  Winston caught her eye and smiled with a dip of his head. She returned the smile, her cheeks burning, and took a sip of hot, black coffee.

  “Cammie, would you care to take a walk with me?” he asked across the table. Charlotte glanced at her with raised eyebrows, a grin playing at the corners of her mouth.

  Camilla felt her heart skip a beat. “It is rather cold, don’t you think?”

  “Just a short walk. We’ll get our coats.”

  “All right then, I think that would be lovely.” She stood and walked with Winston to the front door. They each donned coats and hats, and Camilla pulled a scarf from the coat rack to wrap around her neck. Her gloves were in her coat pockets, and she pulled them on as well as they walked out the front door into the cold afternoon air. She shivered and rubbed her hands together.

  “Won’t be long before the real snow comes,” said Winston, offering her his arm.