Forgotten Trails (Paradise Valley Book 5)

by Vivi Holt

  He climbed the stairs to their rooms. The view from the top of the external staircase revealed the town nestled in the valley and the pink and orange of the last moments of sunset staining the sky in every direction. He smiled and pushed open the door. Inside, the room smelled like bread and roasted meat, and his stomach growled. “Hello?”

  Odd – he didn’t see Angela. Usually he found her buzzing around the small kitchen, which was really just a stove, a table and two chairs. He glanced around the darkened room with a frown, until a movement on the bed caught his eye. He hurried over to kneel beside it. “Are you feeling all right?”

  She groaned, rolled onto her side and pushed herself to a seated position. “Just dizzy. I’m sorry, I should have dinner ready for you. It’s just that …ohhh …” She clutched her head with both hands and swayed.

  Ost put his arm around her back and held her steady. “Whoa. Maybe you should lie back down.”

  “I think I’m just tired is all.”

  He frowned. “You’ve been doing too much.”

  She chuckled as she landed on her side and tucked her knees up against her stomach. “Too much? I hardly do anything. I’m bored … maybe that’s why I’m dizzy.”

  He hurried to the kitchen table, poured some water from the jug into a bowl and dipped a washcloth in it, wrung it out and returned to press it gently to her forehead. “Can I get you anything?” he asked, his throat tight.

  “I’m hungry … I haven’t eaten much today.”

  “Right.” He headed back to the kitchen table, sliced a piece of bread and buttered it. He set it on a plate and carried it back to her.

  She sat up with some effort and took the plate with a crooked smile. “Thank you. You shouldn’t be waiting on me – you’ve been working hard all day.”

  “I don’t mind. It’s time you let someone else take care of you. You need to rest more.” He stroked her forehead with one hand. He couldn’t bear it if she fell ill, or worse … things could get dangerous when a new baby came. He’d lost his own mother when one of his sisters was born. He’d been out with friends, and when he returned she was gone and he had a new baby sister. The thought of that happening to Angela made his stomach roil. “Promise me you’ll rest more.”

  She nodded, her eyes finding his. “I promise.”

  “Good. Now let me help you over to the table and I’ll fix dinner for us.”

  She took his hand and leaned on him as she shuffled toward the table. When she sat, he began slicing the meat she’d roasted, as well as thin pancakes and a pot of coffee. He’d heard in France or some such place they rolled up all kinds of stuff in pancakes, and once he tried it for himself he found he liked it. And it was easy to make.

  “I think I’m starting to feel a little better,” she said, “but it’s as though my heart is going crazy inside me.”

  He slid a fork beneath the pancake on the griddle and flipped it over. Perhaps she was anxious. It’d make sense – she’d been through so much and now she was facing the birth of her first child without the comfort or support of her family. “Did I ever tell you about my folks?” he asked, his mind grasping for something to calm her nerves.

  “No,” she replied, folding her hands on the table in front of her.

  “I grew up in Arkansas – a town called Paragould. My folks were pioneers themselves, and they were raised on the land as well. So it was important to them I learn how to ride and muster and take care of livestock. Pa had me doing chores from when I was five, and insisted I learn to ride a full-sized horse at about the same time.”

  Angela smiled and leaned forward resting her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands

  Ost flipped the pancake onto a plate and added more batter to the griddle. “He chose this ornery old chestnut gelding – for the life of me I couldn’t tell you why.” He chuckled. “And he wanted me to learn to ride without a saddle. So there I was, bouncing around on the horse’s bare back when all of a sudden the danged animal took off.”

  Her eyebrows arched and she half-smile. “Oh no!”

  “Yep.” He grinned. “Galloped through the pasture, came to a hill and up he went, then decided he didn’t like the hill. So he propped …”

  “Propped?”

  “Set his front legs straight and lurched, and I went directly over his head, reins still clutched in my fists, and landed so hard it knocked the air clean out of my lungs.” He flipped again, poured again and noted Angela’s eyes looked brighter than they had. “Right in a thistle patch besides.”

  She laughed. “No!”

  “Sure did. I had prickles up one side of my body and all over my, uh … hindquarters.”

  She giggled and hid her smile behind her hand. “Oh, you poor thing. What happened after that?”

  He sighed, slid the last pancake onto the plate and removed the griddle from the stove top with a cloth. “Pa carried me back home, laid me on my good side and plucked every single prickle out, one by one. And all the while, he told me stories about his childhood and all the things he’d done as a boy in Prussia.”

  “He sounds like a wonderful father.”

  “He was.” Ost set a plate of pancakes and sliced meat in front of Angela and another at the other chair, sat down and began rolling up a crepe.

  She did the same. “This looks delicious. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I know it isn’t much.”

  “But it’s made with love, so I appreciate it.” She reached for his hand and squeezed it, then took a bite of her meal. “So why did you leave home?”

  He shook his head, his smile fading. “Ma died when I was still young. Pa fought in the war and never came home. So I took off as soon as I could, made my way to Texas and never looked back.”

  Her eyes widened, and she squeezed his hand again, this time not letting go. “I’m sorry, Hank.”

  He nodded, his eyes smarting with tears that he refused to let fall. “When Pa was taking out those prickles, he told me he just knew I was going to do something special with my life.” He rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “And I can’t help thinking I’ve let him down.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not doing anything much. Surely nothing special, the way he’d hoped I would.”

  She shook her head. “That’s not true at all. You’re doing something very special with your life. You’re a deputy sheriff, which means you’re fighting for what’s right, protecting people and their livelihoods. Not to mention what you do each day for me. You took me in, when you didn’t have to. I’m soiled …” Her eyes darkened and her cheeks flushed. “… yet you agreed to marry me and you treat me with love and respect every day. You don’t hold my past against me. And you’re going to raise my child … that’s very special, at least to me.”

  He almost choked on the lump in his throat and coughed to clear it. “Well … thank you for saying that. “

  “It’s true.” Her blue eyes sparkled and she smiled.

  “And you’re not soiled. Not to me.” Ost leaned toward her over their plates, cupped her face in both hands and pressed his lips to hers. Her eyes shut as he deepened the kiss, a bolt of energy passing from her into him and making his heart race.

  13

  Angela rested her feet on the stool and sighed. But despite shifting her weight around the chair, she was unable to get comfortable. There was still at least another month before the baby came and she couldn’t help wishing it’d come sooner. She felt enormous and hot all the time. Her feet ached, there were shooting pains in her hips, and her back throbbed when she lay in bed. Surely it was closer to her time than she’d thought? She knew that when the baby came it would change everything, but she couldn’t bear being pregnant any longer.

  And now that Ost was off with the posse again hunting for the Berger gang, she was all alone with nothing to do and no one to talk to. He’d made her promise she wouldn’t do too much walking, so she hadn’t even been able to visit her friends.

  A knock at the
door startled her and she set her feet on the ground with a wince. Who could that be? Perhaps it was someone looking for Ost, though she didn’t have anything useful to tell them, like where he was or when he’d be coming back. She waddled as fast as she could to the door and pulled it open.

  Patrice laughed at her. “Well, Angela Oster, are you going to gawk at us all day or let us in?”

  She flung the door wide with a smile and found Joanna on the landing beside Patrice. “Surprise!” cried Joanna, holding a casserole dish high.

  “Well, I never! This is a wonderful surprise. Please come in.”

  She stood aside as Patrice and Joanna bustled in and looked around. “This is lovely – if a little dark,” said Joanna with a frown. “Should I open the curtains, dear?”

  “Oh yes, please. I’m sorry about the state of the place – I haven’t been up to doing much the last few days. And with Ost out of town with the posse …”

  “Yes, that’s right,” added Patrice. “Art told me about it. He wanted to go, but they need him at the bank.”

  Angela nodded. “Well, please won’t you take a seat? Can I get you some coffee?”

  “No, no,” replied Patrice. “We’re here to help you! I remember having my first child and when you get so big you feel as though you can’t fit through a door it’s enough to send you mad. You sit down, my dear, and I’ll fetch you a cup of coffee. Just point me in the right direction.”

  “And I brought you a potato bake for your supper tonight.” Joanna set it on the kitchen table, then walked to the windows and pulled back the curtains, sending a cloud of dust into the air. She coughed and waved her hand to disperse it.

  “I’m sorry, I’m not a very good housekeeper. I don’t know why – Ma taught me well. I guess I just feel a bit low these days.”

  “Where is your ma?” Patrice asked.

  Angela’s eyes misted over and a lump formed in her throat. “She was killed. Yannick Berger killed my folks. That’s one of the reasons Ost is so determined to bring him in.”

  Patrice and Joanna exchanged a wide-eyed look. “Oh, you poor dear,” Joanna said. She hurried to sit at Angela’s side and take her hand.

  “Thank you.” Angela didn’t want to cry in front of her friends, not when she was just getting to know them.

  Patrice eyed her compassionately. “After our coffee, let’s take a ride. Art gave me the wagon for the day and it’s so beautiful out. I can even pack a picnic. What do you say?”

  Angela wiped her eyes. “I don’t know. I promised Ost I’d stay close to home and not exhaust myself …”

  “Yes, but you’d be riding in a wagon,” Joanna pointed out. “And I brought you a nice, comfortable cushion to sit on. It’ll be fine.”

  It would be a relief to get out of the house, Angela thought. And she wouldn’t be walking, so she could honestly tell Ost she’d rested while he was gone. “Thank you, that sounds like fun.”

  They drove for over an hour in the wagon. Angela, perched on the promised cushion, swayed and laughed as they left the small town and toured the countryside. Following wagon tracks in the grass, they talked about everything from husbands to baking, from the hardships of pioneering life to school memories. “… And you know, that was the last I ever heard from Charlie Overstreet!” Patrice chuckled and adjusted her bonnet.

  “I remember the boy I liked when I was in school,” Joanna replied. “He was tall and skinny with a long nose. My tastes have changed somewhat since then, I suppose.” She sighed.

  “It’s a pity all we have to look at around Bozeman are hordes of dirty miners.” Patrice smirked. “Though the ranchers are a treat when they come to town.”

  Angela gasped. “Patrice! What would Art say if he heard you?”

  “He’d probably just laugh. We can look – we just can’t touch.”

  Angela laughed. “You’re naughty.”

  “Through and through,” agreed Patrice with a grin. “But my husband likes me that way.” All three women laughed.

  Angela hadn’t had so much fun in as long as she could remember. Even before her parents were killed, she hadn’t been around other young women she could laugh and joke with in years. The sun shone on their bonnets, balanced by the fresh breeze carrying the chill of fall. A mule deer darted out of their path with a flash of its white hindquarters and disappeared into a copse of hemlocks that lined the trail.

  “What about a certain deputy sheriff?” quipped Joanna, one eyebrow raised high as she tugged on the reins, steering the team of horses around a fallen log.

  Angela’s brow furrowed. “Do you mean Hank?”

  “Hank Oster, indeed,” said Patrice, waggling her eyebrows.

  “You’ve made a fine match, that’s for certain,” Joanna added. “There was many a matron who enjoyed watching him stride around town when he first arrived. He is handsome – those eyes and those cheekbones …”

  “Well, yes.” Angela knew Ost was handsome, but hadn’t realized he’d been the talk of the town over it. “But there’s more to a person than looks.”

  Joanna rolled her eyes and laughed. “We know. But you can certainly enjoy the way your husband looks, can’t you?”

  “Yes, I can … I mean, I do.”

  “And he is a good man, from what I’ve seen,” Patrice stated. “He works hard, even though it’s at that Sodom and Gomorrah brewery. I suppose we can forgive him for that, seeing as how he’s protecting the town without pay. I wonder how long the deputy sheriff position will be voluntary.”

  Joanna shook her head. “I’m not sure. I think they’re about to make the sheriff a fully-paid position. He’s been working for peanuts for years. At least, that’s what my Warren says, and since he’s on the town council he should know. He also thinks … oh, I probably shouldn’t say.”

  “What?” Patrice frowned. “You can’t say that and stop! What is it?”

  Joanna smiled before she went on. “Well, he thinks Stanton might not accept the position. He’s mentioned that he wants to retire. That’s why he’s training your Hank, Angela – to take his place.”

  Angela’s eyes widened. For Hank to be made sheriff wasn’t something either of them was expecting so soon. And if it was a full-time position, he’d no longer have to work in the brewery – another unexpected blessing. “Are you sure?”

  Joanna nodded with a grin. “I am, but please don’t say anything to Hank just yet – the council hasn’t taken an official vote. Once they do, let him hear it from Sheriff Stanton. I’m sure the sheriff would prefer to give him the news.”

  Angela nodded. “That’s fine. I won’t say anything for now. Though I don’t think I could keep something like that from my husband for long.”

  “He’s a good man, your husband,” added Patrice, more serious now. “He never visits the brothels or bawdy houses. He attends church every Sunday he’s in town. You should be very proud of him.” She looked out at the landscape. “Sheriff Hank Oster … I like the way it sounds.”

  Angela’s head whirled. They were right – she knew Ost was good and kind and thoughtful. But perhaps she hadn’t appreciated him quite as much as she should’ve. He deserved so much better than what she’d given him. She hadn’t let him get close, since in the back of her mind she was always worried he’d give her up. But her rational side, the part of her who knew him well, understood that he wouldn’t abandon her or send her away. It was past time she embraced her husband and let him into her heart.

  Sarah tugged her bodice into place and brushed her skirts down against her legs. Her dress was wrinkled, but clean enough. She’d decided to change out of her tunic and breechcloth trousers when she neared Paradise Ranch. She was anxious to get home to see her family again. She’d been gone too long, and now wished she hadn’t left at all. It had been wonderful to see her friends, and returning to the camp felt as though she’d never left … until the incident with Bow Bearer.

  She’d packed up and rode away the next morning, with Ky giving her only a brief and silent e
mbrace goodbye. She’d refused to listen to Sarah’s explanations of what Bow Bearer had done – while they were in the camp. But after she left, Ky came after her, cried and hugged Sarah’s neck and told her she was sorry, that she’d had to keep up appearances for her sake and the tribe’s. Sarah had responded in kind and the two had parted ways as friends again.

  But Sarah still felt like a stone sat in her gut. Bow Bearer had told her more than once during her stay that they belonged together and that one day he’d come for her. She shivered and remounted her chestnut mare. What did that mean – would he take her from her family? How and when? He knew where she lived – Ky had been to visit, and he’d told her he had as well, though he hadn’t revealed himself at the time.

  The knowledge of that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. He’d ridden to Paradise Ranch, seen her with her family, and she’d remained oblivious. What could stop him from taking her when he chose, and what might he do to her family if he did? Now she’d always be wondering, and never feel settled again.

  Her and Bill’s cottage came into view and she pulled the horse to a stop, resting one hand on her burgeoning belly. She was so close to home she could smell the smoke wafting from the narrow chimney. It wouldn’t be long until the baby came, but that thought only made her more nervous. She had to warn Bill, and they needed to go away, to find somewhere far away and safe at least until the baby was born. She was desperate to keep her children from harm. She frowned, clucked her tongue, and the horse set off at a trot, its jerking gait uncomfortable now.

  Her eldest, William Holston burst from the cottage’s front door, his younger sister Jocelyn hot on his heels. They ran toward her, yelling loudly, “Ma! Ma!”

  She smiled and waved, then dismounted. Both children hurled themselves at her legs. “Ma, you’re home!”

  Bill emerged a moment later with little Penny in his arms. The toddler raised her hands toward Sarah with a wide smile. “Ma!”

  Her heart flooded with warmth and she spread kisses liberally on dirty faces and scruffy heads. Then Bill kissed her, and their love made her knees weak. “I’ve missed you,” she whispered.