Winds of Paradise (Paradise Valley Book 2)

by Vivi Holt

  “Thank you so much for your help, Mrs. Langston.” Jane patted her flyaway hair back in place with both hands. “Really, your cakes are always such a treat. For the life of me, I haven’t been able to figure what I’m doing wrong, but everything I bake ends up dumped in the garden. Not even the ants seem to want it.” She screwed her nose up at the memory of a particularly bad batch of cookies, currently lying beneath a juniper behind the tool shed. “I can make meals just fine, but baking isn’t something I’ve ever really done much of. The last time I tried, Mr. Lewis told me I could use my currant cakes as bricks.”

  Mrs. Langston laughed heartily, then patted her on the back. “Yer most welcome, ya funny lass. I’m sure yer bakin’ ain’t as bad as all that, but ya do make me laugh so. Now I’ll write down some receipts for ya to take home, and we’ll finish up these here butter cakes for eatin’ today. And please, call me Laura.” She handed Jane an apron then, quickly fitted one around her own ample waist.

  Jane bit her lip and worked hard not to spill the flour as she poured it into the measuring jug.

  “So this is for a suitor, is it?” Laura’s eyes twinkled as she reached for the butter dish and measured out the correct amount. “Dusty Lewis, perhaps?”

  Suddenly, Jane realized she didn’t even know his real name. Well, that certainly wouldn’t do. The next time she saw him, she’d simply have to ask. She couldn’t court a man whose name she didn’t know, and it wasn’t very likely his mother named him Dusty. While she was at it, she’d ask him how he got the nickname.

  She blushed as she sifted the flour into a large bowl. “Yes. Well, I’m not entirely sure we’re courting, but he’s called on me a couple of times. And he’s coming again in the morning, and I so want to serve him something I’ve made – rather than almost poison him like I did the last time. I remembered what a wonderful baker you are, so I thought perhaps I could learn from you.”

  “I’m surprised yer ma never taught ya.”

  “Mother never was much of a cook. Father always said a man would starve if he depended on Mother’s cooking to sustain him. And she was working a lot of the time, so I spent much of my childhood shifting for myself for meals.” Jane measured out the sorghum, then added it to the bowl.

  “Gracious me, that sounds right awful!” Laura shook her head, laying a hand on Jane’s shoulder. “Never ya mind – I’ll teach ya all I know about good cookin’. All right now, crack these eggs into that bowl, my dear.”

  ***

  The next morning when Dusty arrived on horseback, Jane welcomed him with a cloth-covered basket hanging from her arm. “How about a picnic?” she asked as she closed the door behind her.

  He smiled tentatively. “That sounds like a mighty fine idea.” He took the basket from her and offered her his arm.

  She looped her arm through his, and they wandered down the road, away from town. It wasn’t long before they were surrounded by nature’s bounty: mule deer trotting across the trail ahead of them, pheasants flapping their wings to scatter into the brush, even a long-legged moose strolling by, watching them with mild curiosity. Pine, larch and aspen trees filled the valley with a fresh woodsy scent and shaded their path as they walked.

  This is about as perfect as a day can be. It’s just like I imagine Paradise might look in the by and by. Jane smiled, lifting her head to gaze at the wide, blue sky above. A falcon circled overhead, silently soaring on the gusts of wind rising up beneath it. Flying on the winds of Heaven, looking for its next meal without concern of where it’ll be found. Knowing that supper is always close by in this land of plenty.

  She felt so content, walking with a basket full of good food (she hoped), her arm linked with her beau’s. And he was her beau, she knew that now from the way he looked at her, how he smiled and dipped his head when he blushed. He came to see her every Saturday without fail, which she knew must cost him energy and time since it was unlikely he was given every Saturday off work. She wondered how he managed it. Just that he was willing to try food prepared by her again, after what happened last time, was sign enough that he liked her. She laughed silently at that.

  “Do ya like livin’ in town?” Dusty blurted. “I mean … do ya think ya could ever enjoy country livin’?” His voice was strained.

  Jane’s heart sang at his question. “I do like town, and I’ve never really lived in the country, so I can’t say much about it. I imagine I’d love it, though. Just taking this walk, it’s as though all the cares of the world lift from my shoulders and I can enjoy the Almighty’s beautiful creation. It feeds my soul. Does that even make sense? I suppose I’m yammering on.” She frowned.

  “It makes sense, ‘course it does. That’s how I feel ‘bout the woods and the open trail – they always make me feel rested, in some way.” He tilted his head toward her with a smile. He was so close she could see the gold flecks in his hazel eyes and the faint laugh lines around the edges of his mouth. Her pulse raced and her mouth dried out.

  She pulled her eyes away from his and glanced around. “How about here? This looks like a good place for a picnic,” she stammered.

  “Fine,” he agreed, releasing her hand and helping her to lay out the picnic blanket beside a patch of thimbleberry flowers.

  Once seated, Jane unpacked the food – bread rolls, cold chicken, potato salad and butter cake. She smoothed her black linen skirt and tucked her feet beneath her. “Have you always lived in the country?”

  “Sure have. My folks had a small farm – cotton, corn, some oats – but hackin’ crops out of red clay was hard. When they died, I sold the land. I dreamed of havin’ my own ranch someday. But now, I think I’d just like to settle down and live and work at Paradise Ranch. It’s home to me, and I ain’t got plans to leave it. Least for now.”

  Jane’s skin tingled. She’d never been certain of what he was wanted until now, given his history as a wandering cowboy. In saying he meant to settle down, was he hinting at a life for them together? She handed him a plate piled high with bread, chicken and potato salad.

  His eyes gleamed. “You made all this?”

  She pouted, then laughed. “Yes, I did. And don’t act so surprised – even I can fix a picnic.”

  “’Course ya can – didn’t mean to say otherwise. Even … the cake?” He frowned, closely eyeing the cake still in the basket.

  “Yes, even the cake. But I followed a recipe this time. No bricks.”

  He laughed and took a bite of chicken. “Mmm … good.” He swallowed and asked, “And did ya always want to be a schoolmistress?”

  “Not really. Don’t get me wrong, I do love children and it can be very satisfying. But I’d always dreamed of being a writer. Back in Boston, I wanted to be published in a newspaper or magazine, maybe even a novel like the Brontës. Though of course, I’ve given all that up now.” She bit into her chicken and chewed it slowly, relishing the flavor. It wasn’t often she got to eat fried chicken, one of her favorite dishes.

  “So ya don’t write no more?”

  “I do on occasion. But no one ever reads it, so I’m not sure if I can call myself a writer when I’m my only audience.” She chuckled. “Being a writer always sounded so romantic to me, but one has to pay the rent. Vagrancy isn’t quite so romantic.” She sighed and stabbed a piece of potato with her fork.

  “‘Course ya can call yerself a writer. Ya write things, yer a writer, ain’t ya?”

  “I guess,” she replied, feeling a rush of affection for him.

  He smiled warmly at her, and took another bite of potatoes. The look in his eyes made her heart skip a beat, and she wished for a moment they could stay in this place forever. His gaze remained trained on hers, and she swallowed hard feeling her cheeks flush with warmth. It took every ounce of fortitude she had to break their shared look and not throw herself trembling against his strong chest.

  When they’d finished their meal, Dusty lay back on the blanket. He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. “That was real good. And the cake was amazin’. Ya
can cook for me anytime ya like, thank ya.” He put his hands behind his head and gazed up into the branches of a fir tree.

  “You’re welcome. I’m so glad you liked it.” Jane put the food and dishes back in the basket, feeling proud at having succeeded in baking so delicious a cake. Laura’s guidance had been all she’d needed to succeed. She wished she’d had a relationship like that with her own mother. But as Mother would have said, wishes were wasteful. She had so much to be grateful for, and wishing wouldn’t cure a thing – certainly nothing from the past.

  “I suppose we’d better be gettin’ back. I gotta long ride ahead of me, though I’m glad to not have the wagon with me. Makes the journey a lot faster and a lot comfier over the bumps, that’s for sure.” Dusty pushed himself to his feet, then offered Jane his hand and pulled her up beside him – a little too hard. She lost her balance, landing against him with a gasp. “Sorry, ‘bout that,” he apologized, his gaze filled with sudden intensity.

  “No matter,” she said shakily.

  He leaned closer, his breath whispering against her cheek. His hat shadowed her face and his hands crept around her waist. His lips met hers softly. She closed her eyes and a shiver of delight passed through her from top to bottom.

  He pulled away and the corners of his mouth crinkled into a half-grin. “Well … that was …”

  “Perfect,” Jane murmured breathlessly, still leaning against his firm chest.

  “Sure was.” They both laughed, soft and low. He gripped her hand and smiled down at her lopsidedly. “Let’s head back, shall we?” He gathered the picnic basket in his free hand and pulled her gently along beside him.

  She could barely place one foot in front of the other. Her entire body still tingled and her mind was in a daze. They proceeded in silence, him glancing at her questioningly every so often.

  Before she knew it they’d reached the schoolhouse, and she pouted. “It’s not fair you have to leave again so soon. With these short trips of yours, I hardly get to see you. Won’t you stay at the hotel one weekend so we can attend church on Sunday together?”

  He laughed and pulled her close, checking quickly to make sure no one was watching them. “I wanna see more of ya too. How ‘bout next weekend I’ll stay at the hotel. And … would ya like to come to the ranch sometime? Ya could stay in the ranch house with Tom and Genevieve, and I’ll drive ya back after a few days. I’m sure school could do without ya for a day or so.” He tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and trailed his finger down the side of her face, setting her cheek ablaze.

  “That would be wonderful. I’d adore seeing the ranch, and I’d love to spend more time with Genny. Let’s do that as soon as we can!”

  He gently kissed her cheek, then walked her to her rooms. “Next week, then?” His eyes were full of love.

  “Next week,” she sighed. She could hardly bear the wait.

  Chapter Twelve

  Dusty slipped his Stetson onto his head and holstered his Colt single-action revolver. He scanned the bunkhouse, making a mental list of everything he’d need for his trip into Bozeman.

  “Off to town again?” Dan asked slyly. He leaned back on the rear legs of his chair, a cigar hanging from his grinning lips.

  “Yep,” answered Dusty, moving toward the door.

  “How come ya go so often now?” Ost asked, pushing pieces of sizzling salt pork around a frying pan on the black stovetop.

  “Just visitin’ someone,” replied Dusty, warmth rising into his face. He’d wondered how long he could get away with his Saturday trips to town before the other ranch hands figured it out. Looked like his time was almost up.

  “Who are you visiting?” pressed Dan, taking a long puff on the cigar, then blowing an elongated smoke ring. “And how come the boss lets you off every Saturday for it?”

  Dusty decided not to answer. His hand rested against the door, ready to push it open.

  “You staying at Miss Fancy’s parlor house, by chance?” Dan smirked, raising his eyebrows.

  Dusty tensed. “No, I ain’t!” he exclaimed.

  “Well, then?”

  Dusty ground his teeth together and sighed. “If’n ya must know, I’m callin’ on Genny’s friend Miss Wilder, the schoolmistress from Missoula. And Tom knows all ‘bout it, so ya can just shove it. Please.” He shoved open the door, striding off toward the barn.

  A rumble of laughter filled the bunkhouse behind him, and he grumbled. Let them tease him all they wished – it wasn’t going to change his mind. Not when he got to spend a few hours with the most beautiful woman in all the Montana Territory every Saturday.

  Since the trail to Bozeman followed the riverbank, aspen trees lined the way. Beneath them, brilliantly colored wildflowers grew in patches – creeping grapes, thimbleberries, Woods’ roses and a few others Dusty didn’t recognize. He pulled Rebel to a halt and dismounted to gather a bunch of flowers for Jane. She could set them in that vase on her kitchen table, the one with the blue flowers painted on it.

  Bending to pluck the prettiest ones he could find, he noticed a beaver setting up the first stages of a dam on the other side of the river. Dadgum varmint’ll cause the boss all kinds of headache, no doubt. He stood and lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the morning sun’s glare as he frowned at the critter’s activity. He made a mental note to tell Thomas when he got back to the ranch.

  Another movement on the bank caught his eye – Cookie’s old gray mare Cass, grazing on sweet grass shoots. What in tarnation was she doing out here on her own? She was saddled, and the reins of her bridle hung low around her head as she ate. She stepped forward, right onto the reins, pulling them taut. She jerked her head up, but couldn’t move. The restriction made her panic and she jerked her head again, harder this time.

  “Whoa there, whoa!” called Dusty, hurrying to free her. “It’s okay, Cass – simmer down, gal.” He reached her side and quickly lifted her hoof to release the reins, pulling them over her head and gently leading her back to his horse, who was waiting patiently. Cookie had to be around somewhere – sleeping it off in the tall grass, no doubt. As high as the grass was, he wouldn’t find Cookie unless he snored or made some kind of noise.

  Well, nothing for it. “Cookie ya dang fool, wake up!” he called, and hooted and hollered a few times for good measure. No luck, so he tied both horses to a nearby tree branch and set off to search further. He yelled, beating his way through the grass back and forth.

  He was about to head back to the ranch and report it all to Thomas – hating that it would cut into his time with Jane – when he spotted the old man lying face down at the water’s edge. He half-ran, half-slid down the embankment as fast as his legs could carry him, landing with a thud beside Cookie’s still form. “Cookie!” he cried. He rolled him over, curled his hands beneath the man’s arms and pulled him up the bank.

  Once Cookie was laid out on the trail, Dusty leaned over him and listened for a sign of life. Nothing. He pressed his ear against Cookie’s chest and heard a faint beat. “Cookie! Wake up!” he shouted, and thumped him hard on the chest.

  The old man sat up with a jerk, coughing up water and phlegm. His reddened eyes searched his surroundings for a full minute before landing on Dusty’s face in confusion. “Wha …whass goin’ on, Dusty?” he rasped.

  Dusty sighed in relief and sat back on the grass, resting his elbows on his knees. “Cookie, ya whiskey-soaked ol’ coot, ya gave me the scare of my life. I was afeared ya’d died on me!” He frowned at the old man even as he thumped him on the back with his hand.

  Cookie coughed again, then grimaced. “Agh … m’throat hurts.” He hiccuped loudly.

  “No doubt it does. Ya just stayed above snakes by the skin of yer teeth. The Almighty musta been lookin’ down on ya today.” Dusty rubbed his eyes wearily. “Can ya tell me what in Heaven’s name ya were doin’ down here that landed ya in the river?”

  Cookie ran his hands over his wet gray hair and frowned. “I was takin’ a ride, I recall. Then I got a mit
e thirsty, as can happen when yer workin’ hard, so I decided to sit under a tree and have a nip. Next thing I know, yer thumpin’ me and shoutin’.”

  Dusty rolled his eyes. Cookie’s affection for rotgut was well known around the ranch and in town, but this was beyond anything that had happened before – the old man had darn near drowned. As Cookie continued blathering, embellishing his story the more he talked it through, he felt his gorge rise.

  Finally, he’d had enough. “Cookie!” he interrupted. “Ya got drunk is what happened. Just be straight with me and yerself for once. I ain’t gonna beat ya down with it, I just want ya to be honest ‘bout it.”

  Cookie hung his head. “I … I couldn’t say.”

  “Oh, never mind. I’m just glad I came along when I did. C’mon, lemme get ya up on ol’ Cass and I’ll take ya home.” Dusty helped Cookie to his feet, then up into the saddle. “Hold onto the apple, mind – I don’t want ya fallin’ off along the trail.” He patted the man’s shoulder, then climbed into his own saddle and the two men headed back toward the ranch.

  “Ya won’t tell Tom ‘bout it, will ya?” begged Cookie, after they’d ridden in silence for a while.

  “No. I won’t tell Tom,” said Dusty quietly. “But maybe ya should. Ya cain’t go on like this.”

  “I’m sorry, Dusty.”

  “Never mind, ol’ man. All’s well that ends well, as my Pa used to say. But do talk to Tom ‘bout it – maybe he can help ya lay off the hooch for a while.”

  “I’m not touchin’ the stuff ever agin!” declared Cookie with a slap to the saddle horn for emphasis.

  Dusty smiled and nodded. “Hope not.” He’d known a few drunks in his life, and knew they were like to promise they’d stop drinking anytime you asked. He wondered whether Cookie would be able to follow through on his promise. It wasn’t likely, but anything was possible. Maybe this near-miss would be just the thing to set Cookie straight.

  “Did I ever tell ya about Meg and Daphne?” asked Cookie.