Francis glanced around at the men’s pinched looks, and even from where Charity stood, she could see the top of his ears turn pink.
She lifted her chin, hurt that Francis would want to wound her this way. Her more sensible side cautioned against believing his words, even though a warm sensation crept up her neck as she pictured any woman doting on her man. And Brandon? Was he interested?
“Well, I’m sure he was glad you stopped in, Francis—when you finally caught his attention, that is. He never has anything but nice things to say about you whenever we talk. Thinks of you as family.”
Some men kept their gazes on their plates and others looked like they wanted to skin Francis alive. She felt Lucky’s hand on her shoulder.
“You pull up a chair and squeeze in between John and Smokey,” he said firmly. “I’ll fix ya a plate of flapjacks, just the way you like ’em—drowning in sweet butter and maple syrup. I have the batter right here and the skillet hot. Why, when you was a little tyke, you’d beg me to make ’em practically every week. ‘Lucky,’ you’d say in that sweet little-girl voice. ‘I ain’t had your flapjacks in a month of Sundays,’ and it had only been just the week before you said the same thing. You’d smile at me with a gap-toothed grin, and I’d melt like butter. I made ’em, sure enough, and was happy ta do it.”
All the men chuckled.
Charity struggled to keep her smile in place.
Francis stepped away from the table and went over to his bunk at the far end of the room, where he took his black leather vest from a peg over his bed. He drew the garment on, then sat on his cot as if he didn’t want to hear her stories.
“I’ve already eaten inside, Lucky, but thank you. You always did make the best flapjacks this side of the Rockies. Esperanza filled my plate with so much food, you’d think she thought I hadn’t eaten since I’d left the ranch.”
“That’s good,” Lucky replied affectionately. “You could use a little fattening up. But that don’t mean ya can’t have some coffee and visit with us.” He gimped over to the stove and filled a mug halfway with dark liquid, then poured cream to the brim. “You’re not getting out of here without telling us all about Rio Wells and John and his new wife—so stop thinking ya can. We’ve been waiting impatiently.” He handed her the cup and guided her over to a chair.
“Please, Miss Charity,” Roady said. “We really do want to hear.” Smokey and the others nodded.
“That’s right. Three months is a long time.” Uncle Pete scratched his whiskered cheek. “I’ll bet you have lots to tell.”
Charity took a deep breath, unwilling to let any of the hands see how much Francis’s words had shaken her. They shouldn’t, she chided herself. She trusted Brandon. He was the sheriff. It was his job to check on the people, all the people, of Y Knot. Saloon girls included.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t meet this woman too, and let her know Brandon was spoken for.
Chapter Nine
Fox Dancing wiped the water droplets from her mouth, rolled to her feet, and stood, surveying the land. She’d never been this far south. The dull ache in her stomach reminded her that her dried meat was gone and she’d have to start hunting if she wanted fresh. Right now, foraging for berries and roots would have to do, regardless that those were considered old-woman’s food. She’d be grateful to have them.
The sharp cry of an eagle pulled Fox Dancing out of her musing. She climbed the bank of the pebble-strewn beach and walked to her Appaloosa mare. Searching the afternoon sky, she spotted the eagle overhead, a small black speck in the clouds.
A good sign.
She smiled. The Great Spirit was watching out for her safety. Would make her journey successful. Bring her to her brother’s dwelling, where she’d see him with her own eyes.
Luk Macatceen’s legend in their village had grown as the years passed. Her two mothers had spread the good medicine her father had shared with them about him, her powerful half-white brother. The white woman, Luk’s mother, had been bartered for return many moons after she’d been given to her father. Her white husband had come with a string of fine horses, so many that no man would have been able to turn them down. To avoid bloodshed, her father had agreed, and delivered his third wife back into the hands of her white husband, but not before he’d been told in a dream that she was carrying his son. A very powerful son. He’d hated to relinquish her, but he could see in her eyes from the moment she heard the name Macatceen, she’d never really been his to keep.
Her father had traveled this route several times to see his half-white son, never thinking she’d one day do the same.
Now it was her turn to see her brother. What would Luk Macatceen do when he saw her? Would he recognize the slant to her eyes and the high set to her cheekbones as his? Their father said she held a strong resemblance to him. Excitement surged within when she thought of the meeting. It was fortunate Luk’s mother had taught her father some of the white language, which he’d passed on to Fox Dancing.
Well, she’d never get there if she stood around daydreaming about him. She took out her knife and dug at the base of a reed, pulling up a stalk with three tubers attached to the root. She continued until she had a handful, then went back to the stream to wash them in the sparkling cold water.
Taking a bite, she chewed, wishing the rubbery root was a fresh slice of elk meat, hot from the coals.
Men’s voices drifted across the water to where she stood.
Instantly, she dropped to her stomach.
She flattened herself out on the cold ground, her heart jerking wildly, painfully in her chest. Glancing over to her horse, asleep on the bank, she spotted her quiver and bow where she’d left them on a rock.
Where were they? She picked up her head just enough to scan the opposite side of the stream. Blood pulsed in her ears, making it difficult to hear anything else. So far from home, they were sure to be white. Being caught would mean a slow and dishonorable death—one she was not ready to face.
She dragged in a raspy breath, praying her horse didn’t nicker when she heard the other animals approaching.
Through narrowed eyes, Fox Dancing spotted the riders. Not far, and coming in her direction. Leather cases hung from their saddles, carrying steely gray rifles.
If she didn’t go now, she’d be found. She was surprised they hadn’t seen her already.
Fox Dancing pushed to her feet. Before the men even saw her, she’d gathered her weapons and vaulted onto her mare.
A shout went up.
She recognized the word Indian, then the word squaw. She had her mare turned and into a full gallop before she dared to glance over her shoulder.
With gleeful faces, the white men were charging across the stream at the same time they reached for their rifles. Leaning onto the neck of her mare, she flung back her arm, slapping her horse’s flank with her bow.
Her mare surged forward. Pulling the leather rein, Fox Dancing guided her horse sharply to the left and ascended a steep embankment that the white dogs would never be brave enough to ride. She clung to her mare’s long mane, squeezing with her legs when she felt herself slipping back.
Trees and rocks blocked her path, impeding her getaway. Her mare slowed, heaving beneath her as she struggled to make the climb.
The crashing sound behind told her the men were still giving chase. Laughter reached her ears, then a curse. A bullet zipped past her head and splintered a branch next to her face. Had she fled Painted Bear Stone just to be dishonored at the hands of white dogs and then killed?
She wouldn’t consider that option! She’d meet her white brother. She’d seen the meeting in a dream.
Her horse, breathing hard, finally crested the embankment. Fox Dancing took heart. She could now kill the men hunting her with ease, if she chose to. But that would only bring more white dogs sniffing after her trail.
With a bloodcurdling cry, she spun her horse toward the dense forest and disappeared inside. She was surprised to still hear the men in pursuit. Turnin
g to look one more time, she didn’t see the slick black ferns of a woodland spring until it was too late. Her mare slipped, going down. An upturned branch impaled Fox Dancing’s arm.
She swallowed her cry of pain. Moisture sprung to her eyes as her horse scrambled to her feet. On her hands and knees, Fox Dancing emptied the little contents of her stomach onto the musty earth floor. Taking several deep breaths, she grasped the branch sticking out of her arm and yanked it out. She climbed to her feet, a wave of dizziness almost dropping her.
I am a fierce warrior. Nothing can sto—
She blinked, clearing her blurred vision and foggy mind. Large leaves and branches hid her for now, but it wouldn’t be long before the men found her.
I won’t die like this!
She fingered the knife sheathed in leather and tied around her waist, remembering the stories of women who had used theirs to keep from being dishonored. Sweat slicked her forehead. She dug through her pack for the soft skin wraps she’d packed, then clumsily bandaged her arm to stop the bleeding.
All the while, the men kept coming.
She swayed. Gulping in breaths, she wrapped her fists in her mare’s mane, and with a cry of agony, pulled herself onto the mare’s back, praying for strength to say mounted.
Chapter Ten
The hour in the bunkhouse with the cowhands had been just what Charity had needed. She hadn’t laughed so much in years. And she’d been able to put Francis’s comment out of her mind. He was hurt. He’d staked claim on her years ago, whether she wanted it or not. She’d tried often enough to let him know he was just a friend, but maybe now that the time had come for her and Brandon, he was taking it harder than expected.
When her father and brothers arrived to begin the day’s work, she saddled up and rode over to Rachel’s. Faith and Amy were already there, children in tow. She spent the rest of the morning playing with her darling nieces. She and her sisters-in-law had planned the visit last night at Cattlemen’s, and while she would have loved to sit in on the bunkhouse meeting to hear how they would combat the lumpy jaw Pedro had discovered, she didn’t want to renege on yesterday’s promise.
Riding back into the ranch yard on her palomino, Charity arrived just as the door to the bunkhouse opened and everyone streamed out. Eight horses were tied at the hitching rail, and a scattering of hens pecked at the dirt between their feet.
“Charity,” Flood called. “You ready to ride? We’re going to Covered Bridge and Three Forks.”
She waved, then rode up next to Luke, Matt, Mark, Roady, and her father. The rest of the men mounted up and headed out. “I’m ready and able. I haven’t ridden the pastures for months. I miss it.”
“Well, it’s good you’re back, because we can use your help,” Luke said. “We’re riding in pairs to check the stock. If you find any infected animals, bring ’em back here so we can treat ’em with iodine. Another set of eyes will be useful.”
Flood gathered his reins and mounted, as agile as any of her brothers.
“How come you get to go with Charity, Flood?” Roady asked, a teasing light in his eyes.
Flood gave him a stern look. “Because it’s been months since I had a ride with my daughter. She’s getting married soon, so the opportunities will be few and far between. Especially after she has a little Brandon or Charity.”
Charity could hardly believe her ears. Embarrassed, she turned her head, and her brothers and Roady laughed.
“You better get used to it,” Matt said. “Once you’re a married woman, you’ll hear all sorts of new things.”
“If you say so.”
Matt winked at her. “I just did. Hey, how was the tea party? Rachel could hardly sleep last night with excitement. She had me dig out her best linen and set up an extra little table for the tykes, all before you arrived.”
When Charity heard that, she was doubly glad she hadn’t canceled time with the family to join the meeting.
“It was nice. Her berry pie was delicious. And before you ask—there’s plenty left for you.”
“Thank goodness. The smell of it baking this morning about drove me loco.”
As Flood loped away, he called over his shoulder, “You coming, Daughter, or are you going to sit there all day talking?”
• • •
It took a good twenty-minute lope to make it out to the big herd. Luke and Mark would be out to check this group, but she’d asked her pa if they could come this direction on their way to Covered Bridge so she could see the sight of all those steers grazing. The vision always did funny things to her insides.
They stopped on a hill overlooking a valley filled with bovine. “You know, Pa, I really enjoyed Texas, but I’ll never be able to describe how much I missed this.”
She swung her arm wide, indicating the land and the cattle.
“You don’t have to explain anything to me, darlin’. I understand completely. And I wasn’t even born here. You were. This land is in your blood. I don’t think you could get it out even if you tried.”
They sat for a few minutes in silence, just enjoying the view.
“Have you and Brandon discussed where the two of you will live? Will you stay in his house in town?”
Flood tipped his hat back and turned to her, a totally innocent look on his face.
Charity fought to keep a straight face. A year ago, while she was in Y Knot, she’d stopped into the office of Mr. Browning, attorney-at-law, and the man who represented the ranch if they had need of counsel. Everyone had been out to lunch. She had a parcel from her father to deliver, so she put it on the man’s desk. She wasn’t snooping, but right there, for all the world to see, was a document labeled LAND GIFT FOR CHARITY McCUTCHEON. With a heading like that, it would have been impossible not to stop and glance it over.
Her parents and brothers were gifting her, upon her marriage, a chunk of land she and Brandon could build on, make into whatever they chose. She knew they’d done it so Brandon would be close enough to town to keep an eye on things as sheriff, and yet live with her where she’d be happy—and where she’d be nearer to the home ranch so she could continue to work there.
“Where else? For now, at least, I’ll move into his house behind the sheriff’s office. I admit, it’ll be different, a huge change for me, but I’m looking forward to it. A little variation is always good, don’t you think, Pa? At least, that’s what you’ve always said.”
“Indeed.”
He was looking at the cattle again. She loved when his eyes took on that faraway, dreamy look, and his lips turned up, resembling her brothers’.
“That’s what brought me out to Montana all those years ago,” he said. “And gave me the inspiration to leave the rest of my brothers behind and see what life had to offer over the next rise. As much as I’ve missed them through the years, I wouldn’t change a thing about my life.”
She almost sighed at his intense countenance. He was thinking back, remembering all the good times.
“It was in this rugged, take-no-prisoners land that I met your mama. My whole life changed.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Your grandfather was dead set against her marrying a thick-skulled hothead—that’s what he used to call me. His sweet girl was the apple of his eye and his only child. We met on a frigid December night when the snow swirled so thick I couldn’t see the hand in front of my face.”
He removed his hat and scratched his head. “From the moment I saw Claire, I knew she was the one I would marry. I was smitten. Couldn’t think of anything or anyone but her. Her pa knew I wouldn’t give up, so after a month he finally said yes—but that we’d have to wait three months.” He chuckled again and gazed off at the cattle, deep in thought.
“Well, what happened?” Charity asked. “You’re not stopping there.”
“What happened?” he repeated. “I worked every job I could find, and that was no easy feat because Y Knot was hardly even a town back then. Jobs were few and far between. I scraped together what little money I could and built her a small on
e-room log cabin, then began building this ranch, one steer at a time.”
“And the boys?”
“They started coming along faster each year, and finally you. As much as Claire loves her sons, which she does with all her heart, when you surprised us, something inside her blossomed. It was as if after having four sons in a row, she hadn’t believed a daughter was possible.”
He reached over and patted her leg, making her throat squeeze tight.
“We’re going to miss you, darlin’, and that’s a fact I’m not ashamed to say out loud to the whole world.”
“Pa, stop. You’re making me all sentimental. I’m not going anywhere—far, at least.”
He reined around. “You better not. So just humor me a little. You’ll understand better when your last ragamuffin is ready to fly the coop.” His voice became thick, and he pulled his hat low. “Come on, we have work to do.” He urged his mount into a jog, headed east.
Charity followed. “That’s a lifetime away, Pa,” she called. “I want to enjoy my youth for a while before I start bemoaning a nest empty of children I don’t even have.”
“You better prepare yourself. Life goes by faster than you think—and takes some unexpected turns along the way.”
Thirty minutes later, they arrived at Covered Bridge. Charity’s mare put her head down and snorted when Charity asked her to cross, but followed tentatively after Flood’s horse.
The rushing water made a cheerful sound and the air was cool and inviting. After crossing, they halted on the other side of the river. “Where do you think the cattle are?” she asked.
“This way. Usually they’re in the valley by the aspen grove.” Without another word, they loped off.
As usual, her pa was right. It was a smaller herd of about seventy-five head, but it would take a good part of the day to ride through them all.
Moon Over Montana (McCutcheon Family Series Book 5) Page 6