Glorious Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series)

by Debra Holland

  Half an hour later, the scent of Delia’s perfume penetrated the smell of new wood and sawdust. Joshua looked up to see her standing next to him, her body blocking the sun. He pushed back his hat and stood.

  “Can I do that?” She pointed at the place he’d been working.

  “What?” Joshua couldn’t think clearly with her fragrance teasing his brain.

  “Hammer nails?”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Have you ever done this before?”

  “No.” She visibly braced herself as if digging in her boot heels. “But when we were setting up the food, Mrs. Jones told me how she and her husband built their cabin. If she can do it, so can I. I want to learn.”

  Joshua couldn’t help but grin at the determined set of her chin and handed over the hammer. “Ready to become a true pioneer?”

  “Ready.” She gripped the handle in determination.

  He reached over to arrange her gloved hand around the handle, trying to keep his touch instructional, instead of personal. “Hold the hammer near the end, not the head. That way, you’ll have more hitting power.”

  She nodded.

  Her expression was so serious that Joshua had to suppress a laugh. He picked up a nail. “We’re putting these about a foot apart.” He positioned the nail in the desired spot. “Hold it upright with your thumb and forefinger. Now, rap the top gently to hold the nail in place.” Joshua knew he was risking a finger-bashing from her first attempt. But better his than hers.

  Gingerly, she gave the nail head a tiny tap.

  “That’s good.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “You might have to pound a bit harder next time. Let’s see if the nail stands on its own.” He released the nail and it toppled over. “Guess you’ll have to try again.” He repositioned the nail. “Go on.”

  This time, her tap was firm, and when he let go of the nail, it stood upright.

  “That’s it.” With a quick inhale to prepare, Joshua positioned himself behind her, placing his hand over hers, trying not to touch her shapely backside. Pretend you’re teaching Micah.

  She gave a little wiggle.

  Heat rushed through him. The image he’d tried to hold of his son flew out of his mind. Joshua held in a groan of frustration, then paused to catch his breath enough to speak. “Brace yourself with your opposite hand on the wood.” His voice came out more jagged than he intended. “Then swing harder and hit the nail straight on. A few smacks should knock it into place.”

  With his guidance, Delia banged the nail and connected. “There.”

  He reluctantly released her and stepped to the side. “Now again. Drive it all the way in.”

  Her swing was crooked, and the nail bent with the impact. “Oh, dear.” She straightened, pouting up at him.

  Joshua focused on her lips, and the sounds of saws and hammers faded away. The edges of his vision grew hazy. He leaned forward a few inches and saw in her eyes the awareness of the attraction between them. “Don’t. . .” His mouth was dry, and he had to work for the words. “Don’t worry about it. Happens all the time.” Concentrate on the job. He resumed his instructional mode, trying to put emotional distance between them. He took the hammer from her and turned it over, touching the end. “Just use the claw to pull it out.” With a tug, he yanked out the nail. “It’s too bent to use this way, so we have to straighten it.”

  “Why not just use a new one?”

  “Can’t let any of them go to waste.” Joshua laid the nail on its side, the head hanging over the edge of the wood and tapped it straight. “There. Let me do this one so it doesn’t go crooked again, and you can start with a new nail.” He quickly drove in the nail and waved to the small burlap sack containing more. “Pick one.” He handed Delia the hammer.

  Slowly, she followed his steps. This time, she succeeded and flashed him a triumphant smile. “I did it!”

  “You certainly did.” How he wished they were alone. . .that he had the right to take her in his arms. Joshua fisted his hands, caught himself, and splayed his fingers. “Now, finish the row.”

  Quickly, as if fearing he’d take back the tool, she plucked another nail from the sack, and poised to strike.

  “I’ll go find another hammer.” With a laugh and a shake of his head, he moved away, searching for O’Reilly. Hopefully, the carpenter would have an extra one. But as he walked toward the man, Joshua couldn’t help thinking about Delia. Somehow, his frustration with her had vanished and not just because of the intimacy of their interaction.

  Remembering Esther, he stopped in the shade of an oak tree. His proper wife would never have participated in the expansion of the parsonage, even if she were to live in the home. In Uganda, Esther had resented having to undertake household responsibilities until she’d trained a helper to cook and do laundry so she could have a little freedom. She preferred going to a native family’s hut to preach and pray with them. Esther wouldn’t have dirtied her hands with menial labor—menial men’s labor—even if given in aid to another.

  Joshua glanced back at Delia, who’d moved several feet down the wood frame. He could tell she was gaining confidence in her ability to drive the nail home, for her movements were slightly faster than before.

  For all that Delia Bellaire refused to allow him to know her more deeply, he’d learned a great deal about her today—perhaps far more important information about her personality than anything she could have told him.

  Far from diminishing his feelings, Joshua found even more to admire.

  I’m in trouble now, he thought and went in search of a hammer.

  Delia struggled to concentrate on driving the nail into the wood. Joshua had wanted to kiss her, right there in front of everyone. She’d seen the desire in his eyes, and her heart and body had responded.

  And she hadn’t cared about other people watching, about her shameful secret. She’d wanted that kiss. . .ached for that kiss.

  Even now, thoughts of Joshua wrapping his arms around her, pressing his mouth to hers, sent shivers of desire through her. As her mind grappled to control her desire, her body still tingled from her passionate thoughts.

  Delia banged the hammer on the nail with more force than she needed, leaving a circular dent in the wood around the nailhead. Exhaling a shuddering breath, she reached for another one and positioned it. Then she drove it in and repeated the action, hoping physical exertion would calm her body. But nothing seemed to help.

  She straightened, pushing back her straw hat and running her arm across her sweaty forehead, trying to cool her inner fire. Delia thought about going for a drink of water and lingering in the shade. But when she glanced at her father, she saw him watching her, a concerned expression on his face. He didn’t seem to be listening to Edith, who’d positioned herself in a chair on his other side and looked to be chattering away.

  Can he tell my feelings? Is he displeased? Worried? She didn’t want her father upset with her for being attracted to Joshua, and not Caleb. Well, how she felt about either man didn’t really matter. She could be with neither.

  Avoid Joshua, avoid him, avoid him, she chanted to herself in a remonstrating tone.

  Easier to say than to do.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Micah stood under the big oak tree next to the schoolhouse, watching the other children play tag. He figured he could go ahead and jump into the game any time he pleased, but he’d had brought his slingshot to show Adam Barrett and waited until he could cut the boy out of the herd.

  The students weren’t allowed to bring slingshots to school, nor could Micah bring his to church. After school, instead of staying to play, he’d always go visit Mr. Bellaire, telling him stories of Uganda and learning chess, so he hadn’t really had a chance to compare weapons with the other boy.

  Adam ran past him.

  Micah reached out and snagged his arm, halting him. “I brought my slingshot.” Turning his back
on the other children, he pulled it out of his pocket and flourished it.

  “Me, too.” Adam fished in a pocket for his and extended it to Micah. “Here, let me see yours.”

  The boys made the exchange.

  While Adam’s slingshot was a plain piece of wood in the shape of a Y, Micah’s was carved in the form of a sculpted male statuette with wide-spread legs. The sling tied around the ankle area. The torso was the smooth grip of the shaft. The figure’s arms were raised against the side of the head, so they framed the crudely defined face.

  “Gosh!” the other boy exclaimed, his green eyes blazing. “I want one like this. And I know just who will help me.” Adam tilted his head toward the parsonage. “Mr. Walker’s our nearest neighbor on the forest side. His missus was a mail-order bride like my ma. He didn’t used to come into town, but now that he’s married and has a little girl, he’s much better about being around people, so he won’t mind talking to you. He and I are good friends. Come on.” He took off at a run, still holding Micah’s slingshot.

  “Hey, wait!” Micah pelted after him. They ran down the street and around the corner of the church to the parsonage.

  Adam skidded to a stop before a white-haired man, carrying a drawer from a piece of furniture.

  Up close, Micah could see the man wasn’t as old as his hair made him appear.

  “Mr. Walker, look what Micah brought from Africa!”

  The man put down the drawer, propping it against his leg, and extended his hand.

  Adam slapped the slingshot into the man’s palm.

  Mr. Walker gave Micah a glance from pale silver eyes before he looked down at the object in his hand. He studied it, tracing one finger over the carvings and down the body. Then he held it up, closing one eye as if aiming. With a shy smile, he handed the slingshot back to Adam, who gave it to Micah.

  Adam practically danced with impatience. “Do you think you could make me one like it?”

  Micah didn’t want another boy having the same one as he and Kimu. That felt like a betrayal of his friend somehow. But he didn’t know what to say to stop them.

  Mr. Walker ruffled Adam’s head. “My garden needs to be weeded.”

  “I’ll be over tomorrow after school.”

  The man laughed, the sound low, as if he wasn’t quite used to making the noise. “I won’t have made your slingshot by then. But I think you will take two days to finish the garden, so that should work just fine.”

  “Oh, thank you.”

  The man’s gaze slid to Micah. “Tell me about yours.”

  Micah remembered Kimu’s father carving matching slingshots for them, and familiar sadness lodged in his throat. He swallowed, and then pushed out the words. “All my friends have slingshots. They don’t all look like this, though. Some don’t have these.” With the tip of his finger, he traced the grooves that outlined the arms. “Some have bigger heads, and rougher features. And others have one long body and the prongs of the Y come out of the head.”

  Mr. Walker nodded. He studied Micah, his silver eyes thoughtful, before glancing at Adam. “How ’bout we make yours different from Micah’s?”

  Micah liked that suggestion.

  Adam tilted his head, obviously thinking. “I’d like mine having horns on his head.”

  Mr. Walker ruffled Adam’s hair again. “Horns it is. Now, you two scoot along. I have to get back to work.”

  “Let’s have a competition,” Adam suggested as they walked away. “Not against each other, but against our own selves. We’ll set up targets and use our slingshots to see how we do. Then we’ll trade. Be interesting to see if we can make the same shots if we’re not familiar with the weapon.”

  Carried along by Adam’s exuberance, Micah joined the other boy in running down the street to collect some old cans from the garbage heap behind the saloon and then back to the parsonage to pick up some wood to set their targets on.

  They chose an area close enough to the parsonage so if their fathers came looking for them, they could be easily found. But they’d still be out of the way of the workers and children playing.

  With their purloined wood, Adam arranged six rusted cans in a spaced-out row on top of a rail propped up with bits of lumber. “You take the three on your side, then I’ll take the other three.”

  “How ’bout I take all six? I need the practice. Then we’ll set them up again for you.”

  “Sounds like a fine proposition,” Adam agreed in a businesslike tone.

  Micah pulled out from his pocket a small, smooth stone, one of a set he’d brought from Uganda, and set it in the pouch of the sling. Feeling nervous, he pulled back, aimed, and let fly. The stone made a satisfying thunk, and the can tumbled to the ground.

  Adam let out a whoop.

  With a breath of relief, Micah quickly dispatched the other five. Isn’t hard really. The cans aren’t moving like an animal. “Hey, maybe we can go squirrel hunting some time.”

  “Yes, let’s.”

  The boys ran over to the cans, scooped them off the ground, and set them back up. Then they picked up his stones. Micah wasn’t about to lose any of his from Africa if he could help it. He was already missing one from the Swensen’s squirrel hunt. I’ll have to find some other stones to use, instead of these.

  When Adam took his turn, he also hit every can. Then he did a whoop for himself and a foot shuffle that reminded Micah of the natives’ dances.

  Micah held out his slingshot. “You try mine now.”

  The boys swapped.

  Micah hefted Adam’s, feeling a slight difference in the weight. “Here goes.” He aimed, pulled, and released.

  The stone sailed strong and fast, heading straight toward the can. But Micah could see the trajectory was too high. The stone flew an inch above the can and kept on going. With a sharp feeling of horror, Micah watched a big man who carried a glass window walk across the stone’s path. “Look out!” he yelled.

  The man glanced their way, startled, then jumped out of the stone’s path. But he didn’t leap far enough to save the window. With a crack, the stone hit the clear surface, and the glass shattered.

  The man let out an angry bellow that caught the attention of the workers and halted the sounds of hammers.

  In horror, Micah stood rooted to the ground.

  Adam groaned. “We’re in for it now!”

  Over the noise of hammering, Joshua heard the sound of breaking glass and an angry yell. Startled, he turned to see a burly man hauling Micah by his ear toward his direction, a broken window in a wooden frame tucked under his other arm. Joshua inhaled a sharp sawdust-laden breath. He let out a sigh and strode over before the man twisted his son’s ear off.

  “I’m sorry to say, this young varmint broke your window, Reverend Joshua.” He let go of Micah, set down the frame, and fisted his hands on his hips.

  “I was using Adam’s slingshot.” Micah held up the offending object. “I wouldn’t have missed with my own.”

  Joshua supposed that was true. The boy had a deadly aim. He held out his hands for the window. “Thank you. . . ?”

  “Burns, Bob Burns.” The man handed over the window, ducked his head, and headed toward the house.

  The sound of hammering resumed.

  Adam Barrett shuffled up, his head hanging. “Whatever you do to him, you’ve got to do to me, too.”

  Jonah Barrett hurried over in time to hear his son’s words. “Why’s that, Adam?”

  “Cuz it was my idea to trade slingshots for target practice.”

  “No, Adam,” Micah objected with a shake of his head. “I missed. That wasn’t your fault.”

  Joshua exchanged looks with Jonah that said volumes about the difficulties of parenting active boys. He threw up his arm to add to the shade of his hat so he could see where the two had set up their target area. He had to admit that they’d chosen a goo
d spot, a safe spot.

  Jonah seemed to echo his thoughts. “Bad luck, really, that Burns was walking by with the window at that time. He should have known better than to cut in front of boys who are target shooting.”

  Joshua gave his son a penetrating stare. “Did you see Mr. Burns before you loosed the stone?”

  “No, sir.” Micah looked him straight in the eye. “I wouldn’t have done that on purpose.”

  Micah always confessed to his mischief—like the time he’d stolen the cake to feed the starving family—especially if he believed he’d done the right thing.

  Jonah took off his hat and slapped it against his leg. Dust flew into the air. He ran his hand over his head, obviously thinking. “I’ll pay for the cost of the window, Reverend Joshua. Adam will do extra chores to make up for it.”

  Joshua made a negating motion with his hand. “I think this is just an unfortunate accident. It wasn’t their fault. They shouldn’t be punished for an accident.”

  Jonah raised an eyebrow.

  “They’re good boys, Jonah. Both owned up to their responsibility and were willing to take the blame for something that was really Burns’s fault, not theirs. That speaks to me of good character, which shouldn’t be punished.”

  “Thank you, Father!” Micah gave Joshua a spontaneous hug—a quick flinging of his arms around the waist, releasing just as quickly.

  Adam followed suit with his father, although he held on longer for Jonah to return the squeeze. Obviously, the two were more comfortable with physical affection. Astonishing, really, when Joshua recalled how Jonah’s drunken father had isolated his son from everyone when his wife died.

  I don’t have any such excuse. I grew up with a father who was far more affectionate than most. Joshua had allowed his wife’s disapproval of physical affection to impact his behavior with his son, although when the boy was younger, both he and Esther had cuddled and kissed their child.

  Micah and I haven’t hugged in so long, we’ve gotten out of the habit. I need to change this now. Before it’s too late.