Montana Untamed (Bear Grass Springs, Book One): Bear Grass Springs, Book One

by Ramona Flightner

  “If she refuses to live here, she is not to enter our room,” Cailean snapped.

  “Ye’re bein’ unreasonable.” Sorcha’s eyes flared with anger. “She has every right to come for a few of her clothes, an’ I refuse to bar her entrance when she comes here.” She glared at her brother as he silently dared her to defy him. “Fine. But you canna stop me from bringing clothes to her.”

  “This is between Belle and me,” Cailean hissed.

  “No, it is no’. Ye married her and wanted us to treat her like a sister. Just like Maggie. Then when ye decide ye canna bear to care for her—or yer own bairn—ye’re upset when we continue to love her. Aye, Cailean. Love.”

  He breathed deeply as he glared at his sister. “I don’t want ye going to her bakery anymore.”

  “Ye canna stop me. I want to help her. I need to help her. If I didn’t, she’d have to close.” She paled as she glared at her brother. “That’s what ye want!” She rose and hit him on his shoulder. “Ye want to force her to close so she has to crawl back to ye.” She shook her head in anger. “I fear she’s stronger than ye realize and little would cause her to come back to ye.”

  He glared at his sister, the tic in his jaw continuing even though he remained silent. However, he stood as though rooted in place. “How is she?” The question emerged as though ripped from him.

  “What’s the matter with ye? It’s as though ye can’t stand the thought of her, and yet ye want to ken how she is?” Sorcha shook her head. “If ye really want to know, ye can visit her. I refuse to be yer spy.” She watched him with a mixture of frustration and disappointment. “I thought ye better than this, Cail. Ye tell me to live a full life and grasp at joy, but ye’re a hypocrite.”

  He gripped her arm as she moved to march past him. “Don’t. Don’t take sides. Don’t judge. Ye have no idea …” His eyes glimmered as he met her shocked gaze.

  “Nor do ye. For, if ye did, ye’d be holdin’ her in yer arms right now, givin’ thanks for second chances.” She wrenched her arm free, her footsteps sounding on the stairs.

  Cailean entered the back door of the bakery, frowning as he saw Sorcha walking in the opposite direction with a basket looped over her arm. He paused at the doorway, wary as he saw Annabelle freeze with the door’s opening. “It’s me, Belle.” He frowned as she became more withdrawn with his presence.

  “Why are you here, Cailean?” She swiped at the countertop.

  He fought an amused smile as her counter was already polished clean. “I wanted to see my wife. When I realized you were avoiding the house and coming to steal away clothes when I wasn’t present, I thought I should visit you.”

  “I’m not stealing anything. I retrieved articles I already owned before our marriage.” She glared at him. “In the future, I’d prefer if you entered through the front door, like my customers.”

  “But I’m not your customer, am I, Belle?” In an instant he stood across from her, leaning over the counter so close to her that they shared the same breath. “I’m your husband.”

  “Why does that matter? You haven’t acted like one for weeks. You don’t want the child I’m carrying. You don’t want the family we’ll have.” She raised her eyebrows as though daring him to contradict her and also preventing herself from crying. “Or have you suddenly changed your opinion on fatherhood?”

  He watched her with shuttered eyes before he backed away and sat on the stool across from her. “I saw Sorcha leave. She looked like she was making a delivery.”

  Annabelle swiped at her cheeks. “She helps me when she is able to.”

  “The café and hotel are in the opposite direction,” he whispered to himself. He rose, knocking the stool to the floor. “You’re allowing my sister to deliver your sweets to the Boudoir? You’re exposing her to that … that …”

  She lifted her shoulders as though in helpless surrender. “I couldn’t have stopped her had I tried.” She met his incredulous glare. “And I did try. She thinks I’m working too hard as it is with the amount of baking I’m doing.”

  A mirthless laugh burst forth, and he shook his head as he stared at her. “And here I was, concerned about her exposure to your sister when I married you. That wasn’t good enough, was it? You had to expose her to the whole horde of whores.” His head shot to the side as she slapped him.

  She raised her hand, covering her mouth, as her eyes rounded in shock, dismay, and a miniscule amount of pleasure at what she had done. “Don’t speak of my sister like that. Don’t disparage your own sister by believing the delivery of a few sweets will in any way corrupt her.”

  “You have no right! Her reputation will be tarnished, and she’ll be seen as no better than a …”

  She took a step back from his roar, her cheeks flushed with agitation. “I think you should leave, Cailean.”

  “I thought I had made myself clear when we married that I wanted no interference with Sorcha.”

  “No, you didn’t. You were delighted when I befriended her. When I helped teach her to cook, and she attempted to teach me how to improve my needlework. You’re not truly upset about her going to the back door at the Boudoir to deliver a basket of goodies. You’re angry because I’m not bending to your will.” She glared at him as she vibrated with anger. “I am not returning to your home to stem the gossip swirling around town. I refuse to live in a home where you tolerate my presence at best and at worst resent my very existence. My child will be raised knowing it is cherished and loved. As that is impossible in your home, we will be fine here.”

  “Belle,” Cailean whispered, his voice thickened.

  “Get out.” Her raspy voice matched her authoritative stance. She shook her head with disappointment as he nodded and rose. She swiped her face free of tears again and met his confused gaze. “You won’t even fight for us. I hate you for marrying me when you will only ever love her.”

  His eyes shone with anguish before he spun on his heel and stormed out the back door.

  On a Sunday in mid-October, Alistair stood beside Ewan and knocked on the back door of the bakery. When it inched open, Alistair smiled in an attempt to reassure Annabelle. “May we come in, Anna?”

  She backed away and watched them warily as they entered. She shivered as the cold fall air followed them inside. “I’m sorry it’s cold in here. I spend my free day in my room, where there is a small stove.”

  Alistair waved away her concern. “’Tis warmer here than in the livery.” He motioned for her to sit, and he and Ewan settled on stools facing her on the other side of the butcher block counter. “How are ye, Anna?”

  Her hand immediately dropped to her belly. “I’m fine.”

  Ewan frowned as he looked her over. “Ye dinna look fine. Ye look wrung out.” His frown deepened at the purple smudges under her eyes. “Is there anythin’ ye need?”

  Annabelle bit back a mirthless laugh as she blinked to hold in her tears. “Except a husband who desires our child?” She sniffed and shook her head. “I’m fine.”

  “No matter how many times ye say it, it willna make it true,” Alistair said. “I ken Cailean’s actin’ like an idiot, but I hope ye will be able to forgive him.” He frowned as his reassuring smile failed to soother her. “When he sees ye healthy, with a bairn in yer arms, he’ll overcome his fears.”

  She shook her head, then whispered fervently, “I need him now.”

  Ewan sighed and rubbed at his head. “Aye, we ken that.” He shared a look with Alistair. “We want ye to know ye are a MacKinnon. We will always care for ye, look after ye, as much as ye will let us.”

  Annabelle lost her battle with tears, and they streaked down her cheeks. “That’s lovely of you to say now, but I know you will side with Cailean if ever you had to choose.”

  Alistair gripped her hand. “I wouldna be too sure about that.” He squeezed her hand gently as she swallowed a sob. “If ever ye need anythin’, Anna, all ye have to do is ask.”

  She nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  A few
weeks later, Alistair sat on his customary wooden stump set against the side of the barn, sipping water from a metal cup. He watched the light change over the mountains, transforming from a dusky purple to a light pink to a near crimson before the sun burst over the top. Birds chirped, and the sounds of the town awakening carried on the early morning breeze.

  “Cail, come sit,” he coaxed as his eldest brother moved with forced purpose, as though on leading strings. “Ye’ve barely slept in weeks.”

  Cailean slumped onto the other piece of wood, scooting so that his back rested against the wall of the barn. “I’m fine.” He closed his eyes, turning his face up to the warm breeze blowing over them on this early November day.

  “Ye almost pitchforked yer own foot yesterday,” Alistair said with a snort. “Imagine tryin’ to explain that to the doctor.” He picked at a piece of hay and twirled it between his fingers. “Yer Annabelle is stronger than ye think. She’ll not come crawling back to ye.”

  Cailean snorted, and Alistair hit him in his arm in case he’d drifted off to sleep. Cailean opened an eye and glared at his brother. “Sorcha told me the same thing a month ago. I know of Belle’s strength.”

  Alistair snorted again. “I doubt ye do. For, if ye did, the thought of her having yer child wouldna have had ye turn into a weak-kneed lad.”

  Cailean opened both eyes as he met his brother’s challenging stare. “What do you want, Alistair? For me to be infallible?” He shook his head in disappointment. “I hardly think someone who’s known no disappointment in life has the right to judge me.”

  Alistair sat a moment and nodded. “Yer greatest fear is lovin’ her and losin’ her.” At Cailean’s humph of agreement, Alistair cleared his throat in disgust. “Well, I congratulate ye, brother, for it seems ye’ve been successful.”

  Cailean glared at his brother as he rose and disappeared into the back room of the livery to do paperwork.

  Alistair kept busy as he curried horses and reshod the doctor’s horse when he saw the horseshoes were worn. He was just finishing when the doctor arrived. “Not a moment too soon, Doc. This lovely lady needed a new pair of shoes.” He rose and stroked a hand down her nose, earning a soft whinny.

  After the doctor gave him absentminded thanks, Alistair watched him closely as the doctor fidgeted with his horse. “Is there anythin’ else, Doc?” Alistair scratched the horse behind one of its ears, earning a half-closed eye roll of ecstasy and a shift in his direction, away from his owner.

  The doctor chuckled. “I can see you’d charm my own horse away from me,” he said as he plucked a carrot from his pocket, rubbing his horse’s muzzle after it chomped the carrot in a few quick bites. “I can’t speak with you about what worries me. It would be unethical and go against my training. However, I would advise that your brother visit his wife.”

  Alistair stiffened, his hand patting the side of the horse absently as he focused on the doctor. “Why?”

  “Can’t say. Hopefully she will.” He clicked to his horse and led her out of the barn. “Thanks again, Alistair.”

  “Of course,” he muttered, his gaze distant. He stormed into the small office space Cailean had sequestered himself into with the excuse of working on the books. Instead of tallying a row of figures, he slept with his head against the wall.

  He bolted awake when the door slammed shut. “Alistair,” he grumbled, biting off a snore. He stretched and yawned.

  “I wondered how ye’d have so much paperwork. Ye come in here every day to sleep!” Alistair shouted, his boot heels thundering on the floorboards. At Cailean’s impassive silence, his ire mounted. “I just saw the doc. He wouldna say much, other than that ye should visit yer wife.”

  Cailean ran a hand through his hair and picked up a quill. He glared at his brother when it was ripped from his hands.

  “She’s yer wife,” Alistair bellowed, his brows furrowed as he watched his brother, perplexed. “How can ye no’ go to her when ye ken she’s been ill?”

  Cailean rubbed a hand over his face and shook off the remnants of sleep. “I’m sure ’tis nothing more than an exaggeration.”

  Alistair kicked at the desk. “Have ye no’ wondered why Sorcha’s bakin’ bread again? ’Tis because yer wife has been too ill to open her bakery for days.” When Cailean watched him with concern lighting his eyes, Alistair nodded. “It’s no’ because Sorcha has a new penchant for baking.”

  Cailean dropped his head into his hands. “How can I go to her? I’ve been an ass.”

  “How can ye no’? No’ when ye ken she’s ill. She needs ye. Go to her, Cailean.” Alistair watched his brother with a pleading, desperate intensity. He sighed when Cailean pushed himself upright.

  “If I find this was a hoax, I will never forgive you.”

  Alistair frowned at his brother. “Ye should ken I’d never do that to ye, Cail. Ye’re out of yer mind with worry for her. Go.” He pushed on his brother’s back, causing him to stumble as he was propelled from the small office. Alistair stood with his hands on his hips as he watched his eldest brother make slow progress toward his wife.

  Chapter 11

  Cailean knocked on the back door to his wife’s bakery. He nodded to Mr. Finlay, the banker, as he walked past, attempting a smile before he pounded on the door again. When no answer came, he reached into his pocket and used the spare key Annabelle had given him after they were first married. He slipped inside and frowned at the stale air and faint scent of illness.

  He poked his head into the front room, absently noting the drawn curtains over the windows and the empty shelves. After taking a deep breath, he firmed his shoulders and poked his head into his wife’s office. He stood stock-still a moment before rushing to her bedside. “Belle!” He ran a hand over her clammy forehead.

  He frowned as a shiver racked her body, and she moaned from the movement it wrought. She curled tighter under the blankets as her shuddering intensified. He looked around the room, blanching when he saw a bucket filled with bloody towels and sheets. After a moment’s indecision, he scooped her up and marched from her sickroom and out the front door. He walked the short distance to his house next to the livery, shouting for Sorcha and Alistair when he arrived.

  After carefully placing her on their bed, he pulled away her blankets and ran a hand over her. He elicited a cry of distress when he touched her lower belly. When he heard Alistair’s heavy footfalls, Cailean bellowed, “Get the doctor. Now!”

  Sorcha entered the room with a basin filled with lukewarm water and cloths. She pushed Cailean to the other side of the bed, where he sat, holding Annabelle’s hand. Sorcha swiped at her sister-in-law’s face, crooning to her softly. “’Tis a bad fever, Cailean.”

  He flinched at her whispered words. “She can’t die.”

  Sorcha touched him softly on his shoulder. “I’d make yer peace with her now. While ye can.”

  He motioned for Sorcha to leave him alone with his wife. When the door closed behind her, he lowered his head to rest beside Annabelle’s, tears coursing down his cheeks. “Oh, Belle, don’t die. Please don’t die,” he whispered. “I’ve been a fool. Ye’ve every right to despise me. I despise me.” He swiped at her cheek. “Give me a chance to show ye how much I love ye.” He looked at her as though hoping for some reaction to his words, his accent thickening with his deep emotion. “I understan’ ye dinna want to forgive me too quickly. But I’ll never stop makin’ it up to ye.”

  When her shudders seemed to intensify rather than lessen, he pulled her so she was in his lap, enveloped in his embrace. His throat was thickened to the point he was unable to speak, so he rocked her as he held her.

  He jolted from a half-dreaming state when Alistair hit him on the shoulder. “Cail, the doctor is here.”

  Cailean settled Annabelle on the bed and scooted away. He rose and shook the doctor’s hand. “I wish you’d advised me how ill she was earlier.”

  The doctor shook his head as his gaze roved over Annabelle. “She wasn’t this ill when I visited her yes
terday. She’s taken a turn for the worse in the night.” He pinned a disapproving stare on Cailean. “The severity of her illness might have been prevented had she been under her family’s watchful eye.”

  Cailean flushed at the doctor’s admonishment and nodded. “She’s here now,” he rasped. “And I’m no’ leaving for yer exam. I need to be here.”

  After examining her, the doctor scrubbed his hands clean in the basin of water Sorcha had left at the bedside. “There’s little to do. I’m afraid a piece of tissue has become lodged inside and is festering. It will continue to fester until she dies.”

  Cailean shook his head blankly. “I don’t understand.”

  The doctor’s gaze held a weary compassion. “She lost the child, but not all the tissue came out when she bled. What remains will slowly kill her.”

  Cailean shook his head as he glanced from Annabelle shuddering on the bed to the doctor giving him another death sentence. He swayed, held upright only by the quick actions of the doctor grabbing onto his arm. “You could be mistaken.”

  “I’ve seen this more times than I care to recall,” the doctor whispered mournfully. He patted Cailean on the shoulder and moved from the room.

  Cailean collapsed onto a hard chair in the corner as he watched Annabelle. Tears streamed down his face, wetting his shirt, and he shook his head. “Sorcha!”

  At his wounded cry, his sister came running. “I’m so sorry, Cailean,” she whispered.

  “Find the midwife. The one the doctor says is incompetent. I want her opinion. I … I can’t give up on Belle.” He swiped at his face as he moved to Annabelle and pulled her into his arms again. He held her, crooning sweet nothings as she shivered and shook and cried out every once in a while in pain. He ignored Alistair as he poked his head in, Cailean’s entire focus on Annabelle.

  The midwife arrived and shooed him from the room. He motioned for Sorcha to remain, and he left to pace the small hallway. Alistair awaited him, leaning against the wall, his concerned gaze focused on him. “I’m fine.”