Montana Dawn

by Caroline Fyffe

  Out of the corner of her eye she could see Luke eyeing her lips. Was he thinking about the kisses they’d been sharing all too often as of late? They possessed her waking thoughts. Was he feeling the same?

  Faith was about to bolt out of the chair; Luke could feel it.

  “Were you scared when I got thrown?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Picking up her hand and lacing her fingers through his, he chuckled.

  She nodded.

  He said, “If I hadn’t been watching you and was concentrating on what I was doing, I wouldn’t have been pitched off.”

  “Is that so?”

  “That’s so. I guess I’ve been preaching to the choir about letting you be a distraction. Actually, I’m starting to think it’s not so bad.”

  She giggled happily. He leaned a little closer, noticing the fawn-colored freckles sprinkling the bridge of her nose. The flecks of amber and possibly some green in her toffee brown eyes. He watched her stay her first impulse to pull away from him, saw her skittishness, watched her eyes go dark. He hurried to say, “Faith, I would never hurt you.”

  Her answer was barely a whisper. “I know.”

  It was getting almost impossible to listen to reason, which kept telling him to keep his distance from her, to watch and wait until he knew what it was exactly that she was trying to hide. For the hundredth time he reminded himself that this attraction was clouding his usual good judgment. If he got involved, he couldn’t be objective.

  She jumped up, pulling away from him as Colton ran through the door. “Look, Ma!” the boy said. “Look what Uncle Ward gave me!” He held out a knife encased in a leather sheath. It was covered with many different colored beads, the work intricate and extraordinary.

  Luke stood and took the knife from the boy’s hands, turned it over and over. It was heavy. Colton wasn’t going to like him for this, but the boy was much too young to have it. Not such a dangerous weapon.

  Seeming to recognize the direction of his thoughts, Colton frowned. Luke pulled the knife from its protective covering, and the wicked blade winked in the light.

  “You can’t keep such a knife, Colton,” Faith gasped. “It’s much too big and sharp.”

  Colton turned pleading eyes on her. “Pleeeease, Ma,” he begged.

  Luke saw Faith waver, so he interceded. “No. I’ll find you a knife suited to your age,” he promised. “Your ma will keep this one until you’re older.”

  Glaring, Colton turned and ran from the house.

  Luke reached out and stopped Faith from following. “Give him a little time. He’ll come to see the truth in our words. In the meantime I’ll try and hunt up a knife he can’t hurt himself with.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  FOR Faith, the next several days passed in the blink of an eye. Colton continued giving Luke the cold shoulder for taking his knife, which Luke ignored. The boy was learning the rigors of ranch life, though, and seemed to be taking to it. If Faith got a glimpse of him at supper, she was lucky. Up and gone by the time she rose with Dawn, he spent a good part of the day over at Matthew and Rachel’s house.

  Charity had moved there also, to help Rachel with her household chores and anything heavy that needed doing. Rachel, as bighearted as she was, included Colton in Billy and Adam’s schooling. Her time was getting very near, and everyone was anticipating the new baby with excitement.

  Faith had reached a decision, the only one that seemed possible. She would sign the deed for her farm over to Ward. Although the land was the only piece of security she had, and her father had warned her never to sell, it would be worth it to be rid of her past.

  Finding a place to speak with him would prove to be difficult, though. True privacy was a rarity with such a large family, the ranch hands and children. She was rarely left alone.

  Today was the day. Luke was going into town with his brothers and father. They wouldn’t be home until late that evening. Billy and Colton were riding along. The women were spending the day canning and dipping candles, which only left Charity and Mrs. McCutcheon to worry about.

  Leaving Dawn with Esperanza, Faith approached the bunkhouse. She’d watched Luke and the others ride out this morning, early, with Colton and Billy trotting behind. Soon after, the other ranch hands departed in one direction or another for their duties.

  Faith stalled in the shade of a large ponderosa pine, hoping Ward would come out. She wanted to avoid Lucky. He’d surely report to Luke that she’d come around.

  All was quiet. No one came out of the bunkhouse. Faith started to get nervous; Esperanza had things to get done, and she’d promised the maid to only be gone for a short while. Her gut tightened in a knot. Some chickens scratching around in the dirt and a hound lying on the bunkhouse porch, morose over being left behind, were her only company.

  She approached the bunkhouse porch slowly, her palms moist, her heart pounding. She stepped around the dog and knocked.

  Lucky opened the door. A big grin spread from ear to ear. “I suppose yer tired of all that prissy cookin’ at the house. Am I right, missy?” he asked, dusting the flour from his hands and then wiping them on an apron stained all sorts of colors.

  “Hello, Lucky.”

  At her tone, his smile vanished. He came out and closed the door. “Everythin’ all right? Little Dawn ain’t feelin’ poorly, is she?”

  “No. Dawn is fine. I need to speak with Ward. Is he here?” She looked the cook straight in the eyes.

  Lucky straightened. His expression bespoke surprise and disappointment. “He’s here,” he said. She could tell he wanted to say a lot more but was holding back. He was giving her his squinty-eye look, as the men called it.

  “It’ll only take a minute,” she promised. Lucky stood rooted to the spot.

  Turning, the cook ambled in, his limp accentuated. Faith heard voices inside, mumbling, and then a sharp word, but she couldn’t make out what was being said.

  Ward appeared. “Getting antsy to go?” he asked, grinning. Leaning on his crutch, he hobbled over to a chair and sat down. Gesturing to the chair next to him he said, “Set yourself down and get comfortable.”

  Oh, how she hated giving in to him. If there were any other way, she’d do it. There he sat, so smug and sure of himself, his hurt leg propped up on a nearby stool. She’d like to give it a swift kick.

  “I have a proposition for you,” she said, easing onto the chair beside him.

  Ward’s eyebrows arched curiously over his ice blue eyes. “Oh?”

  Faith cleared her throat and fingered the bandanna she’d stuck in her pocket this morning. She’d wanted something of Luke’s for courage. As she’d passed his room, his door had been left ajar and it was setting on his chest of drawers. “Yes. I think you will be very happy with what I have to say.”

  Lucky came out then, and, meandering over, threw a bucket of water off the opposite side of the porch. Setting the bucket down, he stretched his back and gazed out at the corral. Turning, he eyed the two of them.

  Annoyance flashed across Ward’s face. “You got somethin’ to say, old-timer?”

  “Nah, jist stretchin’ my legs.” He let a long string of tobacco juice stream from his mouth, which he then wiped with the back of his sleeve.

  Ward waited for the cook to go back inside before he continued. “What is it you have to say, Faith?”

  Taking a piece of paper out of her pocket she held it out. “This is the deed to the farm, Ward. I’ll sign it over to you today if you’ll leave and never come back.”

  He eyed it for a moment, then relaxed back against the spindles of his chair. “Mind if I take a look?” He reached for the tattered paper. “Fifty-five acres, the house and barn. Everything?” He looked surprised. “You don’t want to keep even one little acre?”

  “You can have it all.”

  Bending, Ward picked up a small piece of twine lying on the boards. “Now I’d say that was a right generous offer, Faith.”

  “I mean it, Ward. You can have it al
l. But, I keep Colton and Dawn.”

  “What you’re really saying is you want your freedom so you’ll be able to marry that jackass, Luke McCutcheon. You got the hots for him, do you?”

  Faith tried to remain relaxed. What more did he want? She was giving him everything she had of any value. Surely he didn’t want the children because he loved them. His family didn’t know the meaning of the word.

  “Can’t do it,” Ward said.

  “What?”

  “I said no. Don’t want it.”

  Faith sat in stunned silence. Sounds around her grew until they were an overwhelming clamor. The clucking of the chickens. A neigh. The cry of a distant hawk. Blue jays fighting over a morsel of food.

  Her gaze dropped to Ward’s hands. To her horror she saw he’d fashioned the twine into a miniature hangman’s noose. Her throat closed.

  “Why?” she was just barely able to get out.

  “Because I don’t like him,” Ward spat out. “That highfalutin Luke McCutcheon. He don’t get you. You’re going home with me, like we planned. Seeing his face as you ride off with me is going to feel real good. I’ll get the farm anyway when you’re my wife. We’re leaving sooner than I first thought. Another week at the longest.”

  “Ward, don’t do this,” Faith begged.

  “It’s done, sugar.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  THE McCutcheon men stabled their horses at the livery and walked down the dusty street of Y Knot, Montana, a medium-size town an hour’s ride from the ranch. The settlement had grown in the last few years; it wasn’t just cowmen and outlaws anymore. Respectable families were relocating, lock, stock, and barrel, to take a chance on this rough territory town, starting anew, like Flood had done umpteen years ago.

  “I’ll be down at the sheriff’s office for a spell,” Luke said, waiting for a peddler’s wagon to pass before he crossed the rutted street.

  Matt addressed Billy and Colton. “Stay out of mischief. Understood?” Both boys nodded seriously.

  “I’ll meet you,” Luke called from the opposite side of the street, “around noon at the Hitching Post.” He enjoyed coming to town every so often. He’d tried to talk Charity into riding along, but she didn’t want to leave Rachel.

  “Yoo-hoo, Luke,” a feminine voice sang out from somewhere above. A woman leaned from the second-story balcony of the saloon and waved, her voluptuous body practically spilling from the bodice of her bright green satin dress. “What brings you to town, handsome?” she called in an all-too-husky voice.

  “Business, Tilly,” Luke called back. He saw his brothers down the street laughing at him. She was bound and determined to improve her standing by marrying a McCutcheon. Any McCutcheon. He was the only unmarried one left in town.

  “Don’t you leave without saying hello.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Stepping into the sheriff’s office, Luke paused, letting his eyes adjust to the dim interior. The room was musty and damp. Papers were piled on the desk, half of which were Wanted posters and the like. “Crawford, you here?” he called.

  “In the back, McCutcheon. I wasn’t expecting to see you till next month.” Brandon Crawford, the sheriff of Y Knot, appeared out of the back, broom in one hand, dirty dishes in the other. A white apron was tied haphazardly around his waist.

  “I wanted to let the brand office know about the new herd we brought home, and also get a few loose ends tied up.”

  Brandon was eye to eye with Luke and grinning broadly. “Glad you did. I’d shake your hand but as you can see mine are a mite full. Shit. This is disgusting. Jones is about the laziest piece of cow du—” He stopped himself midsentence, set the dishes by the door and tossed the broom into the corner. It landed with a clatter, knocking a half-full cup of old coffee onto the floor. “Guess I knew that when I hired him.”

  Luke gave the sheriff a sympathetic look. “Good help is hard to find. I know. The Heart of the Mountains has struggled with the same problem for almost thirty years.”

  “How’s your mother?”

  “My mother?” Luke repeated with raised brows. “Don’t you really mean Charity?” All the chairs in the office were piled full of clutter. He pushed a stack of papers over and leaned one hip on the desk.

  “No, I don’t,” Brandon said with a snort. “I’m not pinin’ any longer, Luke. Charity made her feelings perfectly clear the last time I saw her.” The young lawman pushed his fingers through his thick brown hair. “I’m through trying to impress her. She’s a grown woman now and has a mind of her own. What’s done is done.”

  “Come on, Crawford, don’t quit on me now,” Luke teased. “My money’s on you. That sister of mine needs a strong, firm hand. I think you’re just the man to settle her down. Besides, I told you before, she’s just testing you.”

  Brandon shrugged and changed the subject. “I’d offer you a cup of coffee but there isn’t any. Jones forgot to put it on. Again.”

  Standing, Luke cleared his throat. “You get a chance to check on that matter I asked about the other day when we passed through?”

  “I did. Couldn’t find out a thing. But I’ll keep checking.”

  “I reckon I can count on you being discreet?” Luke asked.

  Brandon studied him. “You know you can.”

  The men were lost in thought, riding along in silence. Billy and Colton had galloped ahead in their eagerness to get home. Inch by inch, the sun meandered behind a sloping hill blanketed with aspens and pines. Shadows, long of leg, slipped along in front of each horse, vanishing slowly as evening descended. A mourning dove called plaintively to its mate and fluttered across the road, momentarily drawing the horses’ attention.

  “I heard Trum Edwards is looking to sell out,” Matt said, breaking the silence. “That’s prime grazing land. I think we should buy it before someone else does.”

  Flood glanced over. “Good idea. I’ll send a message to him tomorrow. See what he’s asking.”

  Luke fingered the piece of paper folded in his pocket. Indecision on when to tell Faith about it weighed heavily on his mind. Christine Meeks had replied almost instantaneously to his telegram, and she needed help immediately. The store, which had grown considerably since she’d opened fifteen years ago, was too much for her alone to handle. Faith could come anytime she was up to traveling. The sooner the better.

  The sooner the better? He didn’t quite feel the same. But there was one silver lining to this black cloud. At least Faith wasn’t going home with Ward.

  After Luke’s run-in with him in the bunkhouse, he wanted the man gone. Ward was trouble waiting to happen. There was just something about the man that wasn’t adding up. It was his eyes—they were shifty, like an injured wolf’s. No way would Faith ever agree to marry him. If she did, he never really knew her at all.

  At the fork in the road, Matt and Mark split off toward their individual houses and Luke and Flood rode for the barn.

  “Something on your mind, Son?” his father asked when they were alone. “You’ve been mighty quiet all night.”

  Luke hesitated. He gazed at the ivory moon, so large in the sky. It was just poised there, setting right on the treetops. He looked at Flood. This man had been a good father to him. He’d always been honest.

  “Yeah, there is.” They rode on a ways. “I’m…” This was harder than he’d thought. “Faith seems to be hiding something from me. Holding back.”

  Flood kept his gaze forward. “Is there something between the two of you? Feelings?” Flood pulled from his pocket a pouch of tobacco and put a pinch under his lip.

  “Reckon so. On my part anyway.”

  “If you give her time, Luke, she may open up.”

  “Maybe.” Stopping in front of the barn, the two men remained in their saddles. “I’ve told myself since the day I found out you weren’t my real pa that I was going to have honesty in my life. Come hell or high water, it was that or nothing. Like you and Ma. Nothing short. And here I find myself thinking after this gi
rl day after day. But I can’t get the same answer from her two days running.” He shook his head sadly. “And still, I feel myself slipping.”

  “Some people got their reasons,” Flood answered. “Don’t be too hard on her. Besides, if it’s meant to be, all your resisting won’t do a thing. Some things just aren’t in your control.”

  They dismounted and unsaddled in the dark barn. The house looked quiet, as if everyone was already in bed. One lamp burned in the window, a welcome sight for tired cowboys.

  “Good night, Son,” Flood said as he passed by Luke, who stood at the outdoor washbasin. “Get some rest. Tomorrow just might look a little brighter.”

  “G’night.”

  Luke washed the trail dust from his face and hands, then took a cool drink from the well. A rustling in his pocket reminded him of the peppermints he’d bought for the children. He popped one in his mouth.

  Up in his room, he paced to the window and stared out. His fingers mechanically went from one button to the next until his shirt was open; then he took it off and tossed it onto the chair in the corner. Was he willing to compromise his beliefs, everything he’d thought was important to him for all these years? His heart gave a resounding yes! His mind told him to slow down and think this through. Frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Going to his dresser he reached for the earthen jug of water to splash his face but found it empty. Esperanza must have forgotten to refill it. Pitcher in hand he headed for the kitchen. In the hallway he paused.

  Whimpering—no, crying—caught his attention. That didn’t sound like Dawn’s wail that he’d grown accustomed to at all hours of the night. No, this wasn’t Dawn, he was sure. But why would Faith be crying? Had she gotten hurt today while he was gone?

  Wasting no time, Luke silently slipped into her room. When his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw her facedown in her pillow, trying to cover the sound of her sorrow. He hunkered down next to the bed and set the pitcher on the floor. He leaned close and crooned, “Faith, darlin’, don’t cry.”