In Your Arms (Montana Romance)

by Farmer, Merry

  She covered one ruined cuff, but the other was just as bad. It had been sweet torture to be constricted as he ravished her.

  “I must have pulled the wrong blouse from my bureau.” She scrambled for an explanation. “This one needs mending.”

  Miss Jones’s eyes remained narrow. “Isn’t that the blouse you wore yesterday?”

  Heart beating close to panic, Lily glanced down at her bodice and shook her head. “No. I have two that are very similar. I should change out of this one before school. If you will excuse me.”

  She sent Jessica the briefest of glances before rushing past Miss Jones and up the stairs.

  “And what are you doing up?” Miss Jones asked Jessica as Lily reached the top of the stairs.

  “I heard Lily and thought she might need help.”

  Leave it to Jessica to tell the truth and still weave a plausible alibi.

  As soon as Lily was safely in her room she locked her door and leaned against it. What little relief she felt in having made it home was short-lived. Miss Jones suspected something. She squeezed her eyes shut and raised a hand to her forehead. The men shoveling the street could have suspected as well. Lieutenant Wilkins had seen them and was close enough to identify them. Michael West knew the truth outright. How could she face a classroom full of students and not have them suspect?

  No, her students were too innocent to know what to suspect in the first place—innocent in a way she wasn’t anymore.

  “What have I done?” she whispered, resting her head against the door.

  She had crept out in the middle of the night and gone to a man’s house. She had gone to his bed and felt more alive than ever before. For one amazing night she had felt whole, she had felt safe. She was loved.

  She hugged herself, eyes still closed, laughing with joy and fear. She’d put herself in the most precarious position of her life, and every moment had been worth it.

  Christian stood outside the stationhouse in the frigid cold without a hat or gloves for an hour waiting for Lewis Jones to show up. He could hardly feel his fingers or toes. He couldn’t wipe the grin off of his face either. He’d just spent the night of his life with the woman he planned to spend every other night of his life with. Not even a Montana winter could cut through that warmth.

  By the time Lewis finally did shuffle onto the train platform—stomping his feet to shake the snow off of his trousers—Christian had already planned exactly how things would go.

  “It’s about time you rolled out of bed,” he greeted Lewis with a wide smile, thumping him on the back as he reached the stationhouse door.

  Lewis stared at him as though he’d sprouted antlers.

  “I had to help dig Rev. Andrews out,” he said and took keys out of his coat to unlock the door. “How long have you been standing here?”

  “Not long at all,” Christian lied. “I need to send a telegram.”

  “All right,” Lewis sighed. “Come on in.”

  He opened the door and gestured for Christian to follow him into the freezing front office. Lewis headed straight for the stove.

  “That fire can wait,” Christian stopped him. “This one can’t. Telegram.”

  He strolled to the desk and tapped on it with his numb fingers. Lewis heaved a longer sigh and slouched his way to the telegraph machine.

  “What do you want to send?” he asked as if the world were gloomy instead of brilliant.

  “To my father, Judge John Hampton Avery, Baltimore, Maryland.”

  Lewis nodded and wrote the words on a pad of paper with his gloves still on.

  As soon as Lewis finished, Christian went on. “Send Grandma’s ring.”

  Lewis glanced up at him. His dour expression soared to a smile. “Well it’s about time! Who’s the lucky girl?”

  Christian replied with a grin and a wink. He tapped the pad of paper. “The sooner you send that telegram, the sooner you’ll find out.”

  Lewis’s delight lasted for all of five more seconds before dropping. “It’s not that Miss Singer, is it? That Injun woman?”

  If his hands hadn’t been numb, Christian would have reached across the desk, taken Lewis by his shirt, and beat a little respect into him.

  “Just send the telegram.”

  Lewis’s expression flattened into wary acceptance. “Are you sure you want to act all hasty like this? You know them Injuns is a bunch of thieves. Why, Samuel Kuhn says—”

  “A lot of things that are nonsense,” Christian finished his sentence. “Send the telegram.”

  “That’ll be fifteen cents,” Lewis mumbled.

  “I’ll bring it by later.” He pushed away from the desk and turned to go. “Send it now.”

  “Yessir.”

  Christian shook his head and marched across the office and back out into the cold. He was losing patience with the hysteria Samuel had stirred up. The longer it went on, the more trouble it would cause. He wasn’t in the mood for trouble.

  Cold though his hands and feet were, instead of heading home to thaw in a warm tub he took a detour to the jail. If Lewis was still having fits over Samuel’s accusations then other people were, and if even one person dared to entertain thoughts that would lead to Lily being uncomfortable, he would damn well do something about it.

  “Kent!” he called as he opened the door. “We need to talk.”

  He stopped two steps inside of the jail. Kent wasn’t there. In his place, seated at the desk eating a heaping plate of bacon and eggs, was Wilkins.

  “What are you doing here?” Christian asked. Two seconds later he remembered that Wilkins had been there earlier.

  “Finished with your savage lady friend already?” Wilkins smirked, confirming Christian’s suspicion. He had seen them.

  A flash of heat filled him while at the same time his hands and feet went even more numb.

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he bluffed. Face set in a scowl, he swaggered deeper into the room. “Where’s Kent?”

  Wilkins’s smarmy grin stayed firmly in place. “He left in a panic last night when it started to snow. I was already here questioning the prisoner,” he nodded to the unknown Indian man sitting cross-legged in his cell, eyes closed, “so I offered to stay so he could go home to his wife.”

  “How noble of you,” Christian growled. He nodded to the plate as Wilkins scooped in another mouthful of eggs. “That’s for the prisoner, you know.”

  Wilkins shrugged. “He wouldn’t eat it.”

  “Yeah, I bet he wouldn’t,” Christian drawled. He ignored Wilkins and strode to the cell to check on the prisoner. The familiar frustration of wanting to help someone who refused to be helped crawled down his back. “Are you comfortable? Anything you need?”

  The man opened his eyes and stared at Christian, expressionless. It was far too close to the look Lily gave him when she thought he was in danger of doing something stupid.

  “I appreciate your stoicism, friend, but the sooner you let us know what you were doing at the pharmacy, the sooner I can get you out of here.”

  “He was robbing the pharmacy, that’s what he was doing,” Wilkins said without looking at them. “That’s why he won’t say anything.”

  Christian hissed in impatience. “You have legal recourse,” he reminded the man in the cell. “You weren’t doing anything wrong. Speak up and we can get you home.”

  Wilkins snorted. Christian twisted to scowl at him. “And just what right do you have to be here anyhow? Kent is the sheriff, not you.”

  “I am a soldier in the United States army,” Wilkins said, sitting straighter. “I was asked to come investigate, and that’s what I’m doing.”

  “Then get out there and investigate instead of eating other people’s breakfast!”

  Wilkins sat back in his chair, a self-satisfied smile on his face. “All right, you want me to investigate? That’s what I’ll do. What was the town justice of the peace doing sneaking around in the extreme early morning hours with the town’s unmarried I
ndian teacher?”

  Reckless. Lily’s word slammed back into him. She’d been right.

  “I still have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, overloud.

  The prisoner was far more interested in the conversation than Christian would have expected. Wilkins chuckled, leaning back further and tucking his hands behind his head.

  “I don’t blame you, really. She’s quite a looker.” He shrugged. “For an Indian whore.”

  Christian was halfway across the room with his fist raised before Lily’s voice at the back of his head warned him to caution. He didn’t listen to it. He brought his fist crashing down across Wilkins’s jaw, knocking him out of Kent’s chair. Wilkins’s caught himself on hands and knees, and after a few startled seconds, began to laugh.

  “Something tells me Samuel would like to know about all this,” he said, pushing to his feet and facing Christian across the chair. He rubbed his jaw. “He told me that woman was radical and disruptive. Maybe she should be investigated.”

  The way he said it made Christian want to bash his face in, no matter how sore his hand was after one punch.

  “Miss Singer is a highly qualified, respected teacher. You leave her out of this.”

  “Why?” Wilkins shrugged. “You didn’t.”

  Christian scrambled for a comeback. Nothing even remotely useful came to mind.

  “The council hasn’t approved your self-appointed deputization,” he said instead. “Until they do—”

  “Who said anything about me being a deputy?”

  A spike of real alarm shot through Christian’s frustration.

  “Town officials have to be approved and appointed by the council.”

  “Do you think the town council would approve of one of their teachers liaising with a councilman?”

  Wilkins shifted his weight, his smile turning Christian’s stomach. His problems just kept getting bigger. Much bigger.

  “I told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It was never a good day when lying was the only way out.

  “Suit yourself.” Wilkins shrugged then sat in Kent’s chair again. He picked up his fork from across the desk where it had flown when Christian punched him and resumed eating breakfast as though Christian weren’t there.

  There had to be something more he could do, another comeback, some way to exert the power he should have had. Wilkins didn’t so much as blink at him. Christian twisted to look over his shoulder at the prisoner. He was on his feet now, gripping the bars of the cell as though he didn’t quite believe what he’d just seen. The curious look in his eyes was unsettling.

  Christian swore and shook his head to cover the slippery feeling of losing control. Without a good-bye, he marched to the door and slammed it on his way out into the snowy morning. Forget Kent. The only way he was going to be able to put things to right and get rid of Wilkins was to catch the thieves himself. And the only way he was going to protect Lily’s reputation was to stay away from her until he had his grandma’s ring on her finger.

  One of those things was a thousand times more impossible than the other.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Lewis and Clark crossed over the continental divide at the Lemhi Pass on August 12, 1805,” Amos recited from his spot near the Trouble Chair at the front of the classroom. “With the help of the Shoshone woman, Sacagawea, they were able to continue on out of the mountains to reach the Pacific coast.”

  Isaac and Grover and the rest of the students representing Lewis and Clark’s expedition walked from one side of the cleared space at the front of the classroom to the other. Lily sat against the jumbled pile of desks that had been pushed aside, chewing on the inside of her lip. Her eyes were fixed on the Trouble Chair. That was where she should be sitting.

  “Miss Singer?”

  She had made it to the school before noon the day before only to discover that school had been cancelled. That hadn’t stopped her from throwing herself into her work. She’d revised the script for their History Day presentation, graded every outstanding paper on her desk, and drafted a week’s worth of new assignments for her students. None of that had taken her mind off of the soreness between her legs or the sweet memories of what had caused it.

  She still ached a day later, but not with physical ailments. She still wanted, still needed. One night hadn’t been enough to satisfy her. Christian loved her. She may never be satisfied again.

  “Miss Singer?”

  With a gasp Lily realized her students were standing at the front of the room staring at her. She straightened, cleared her throat, and said, “The play is looking good.”

  “No it ain’t,” Grover said, as sullen as ever. “We’re missing half the parts.”

  Indeed, Red Sun Boy and Martha hadn’t shown up for school that day.

  “The snow is likely keeping Two Feathers from driving them today,” she said in spite of the knot of anxiety in her stomach. “Jimmy is out today as well because of the snow.”

  “History Day is next week,” Isaac reminded her, his usually tough expression laced with worry. Any other day Lily would have found his enthusiasm for the project encouraging.

  “Next week on Wednesday,” she agreed with him and stood. “I am certain that the snow will have melted or been cleared over the weekend and all of the children that are missing will be back with us on Monday.”

  “But what about that soldier at the courthouse?” Amos asked. “He seemed mean.”

  Several of the other children nodded, looking to her for answers.

  “Lieutenant Wilkins is just one man,” she reassured them, her own heart quivering. “He is nothing to worry about. Perhaps he will come to History Day and learn something about white men and natives working together.” She forced herself to smile. “Now let’s start again from the beginning and I’ll read the parts for the children who aren’t here.”

  The children’s reactions ranged from smiling agreement to doubting frowns as they shuffled back to their original places in the pretend wings of their makeshift stage. Lily felt each one of those emotions simultaneously and then some. She glanced to the clock at the side of the room. It was only ten. There were still hours to go until school ended and she could ride out to Sturdy Oak’s place to put her worry to rest.

  “Miss Singer?” Isabella Kuhn crept up to Lily’s side and looked at her with wide, wary eyes. “Do you think Red Sun Boy is all right?”

  It had never been harder for Lily to pretend confidence. “Yes, Isabella. I’m sure he’s just fine.”

  “Because my papa was saying that Lieutenant Wilkins might call his regiment in to round up all the renegade Indians and send them back to the reservation.”

  A lump formed in Lily’s throat. She rested a hand on Isabella’s shoulder. “Lucky for us, there are no renegade Indians nearby. Red Sun Boy and his family have every legal right to be where they are.”

  If only she believed the law would be enough to keep them safe.

  Isabella nodded and skipped to the side of the room to take her place. Whether she felt any better about the situation or not, Lily felt worse. She rested her hand over her thumping heart for a moment, then took a deep breath and forced a smile on her face.

  “Now then. Any time you’re ready, begin.”

  Amos cleared his throat and recited, “In 1803, the United States of America bought a large tract of land that made up most of the center of the continent of North America from the French for fifteen million dollars. This land was known as the Louisiana Purchase.”

  Samantha, who was playing the part of France, stepped onto the stage at a loss. Jimmy was playing Thomas Jefferson.

  “It’s all right,” Lily whispered to an anxious Samantha. “I’ll read Jimmy’s lines. ‘We have’—”

  A knock at the door interrupted the play. Before Lily could say, “Come in,” the door opened. Mr. Prescott and another teacher, Mr. Claremont, stepped into the room. Mr. Prescott wore an expression so grave Lily shot to her feet.

 
“Good morning, Mr. Prescott,” she greeted him. “Mr. Claremont.”

  Mr. Claremont nodded with an apologetic smile, as if embarrassed to be there.

  “Good morning, Miss Singer, class.” Mr. Prescott smiled for the children, but it didn’t last. “Miss Singer, I need to speak with you in my office for a moment. Mr. Claremont will monitor your class until….” He didn’t finish.

  A heavy rock of dread sank into Lily’s stomach. A thousand things could have just gone wrong, each worse than the last. She was highly aware of her students whispering behind her as she walked to the door.

  “The children are rehearsing their play about the Louisiana Purchase for History Day,” she informed Mr. Claremont, handing him the script as she passed. “Several students are absent today, so you will have to read those parts.”

  “Yes, yes.” Mr. Claremont nodded. “And I’m sorry,” he added, sotto voce.

  Lily’s heart pounded to her throat as she met Mr. Prescott and stepped into the hall with him. He shut the door behind them with a thump that sounded as much like fate being sealed as anything else.

  “What is this about, Mr. Prescott?” she asked, back straight, head held high, as they walked along the corridor toward the office. “Is there trouble with a student?” Perhaps Red Sun Boy and Martha were not absent because of the snow. With Wilkins in town, anything could happen.

  Mr. Prescott let out a breath. “It’s about gossip and rumormongering, Miss Singer,” he confided, slowing their steps. “I don’t believe any of it and I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.”

  Even as dread curled up in her stomach, a measure of relief lightened Lily’s shoulders. Someone must have seen her with Christian. Embarrassing as it was, it was far, far better than if Mr. Prescott had come to tell her the Flathead were in trouble.

  Her relief wobbled to uncertainty when Mr. Prescott led her into his office. Samuel and Christian sat in two chairs—trouble chairs—in front of Mr. Prescott’s desk, as far apart as possible. Christian’s eyes met hers the moment she entered the room. He shook his head just enough for her to catch his meaning. They were going to deny everything.