Away in Montana (Paradise Valley Ranch Book 1)

by Jane Porter

  “I guess I need to make sure it’s what Sinclair wants.”

  Johanna’s eyes widened. “Oh, it’s what Sinclair wants. Trust me.”

  *

  Tired, so tired he couldn’t open his eyes. Tired, and sore. It hurt to move. It hurt to breathe.

  What had happened to him?

  And then Sinclair remembered. The explosion at the mine. The trapped men. The party. McKenna.

  He stiffened, his hand jerking out to the side. He touched something warm.

  Eyes opening he struggled to focus. Cloud dark hair. Pale beautiful face. Sleeping.

  McKenna. Here. McKenna here with him.

  Had he died and gone to heaven?

  He drew a breath, wincing at the burn in his chest, and the searing white-hot pain in his ribs. He didn’t think he’d feel this bad in heaven. That meant he was still on earth, but Mac was with him. Still.

  Maybe there was heaven on earth…

  He thought back to the promises they’d made at the mine. Had she really meant what she’d said? That if he came back, she’d marry him?

  Was his girl going to finally to be his wife?

  If that was all it took—almost dying—why hadn’t he almost killed himself years ago?

  Smiling faintly, Sinclair closed his eyes, and gave himself back up to sleep.

  *

  It was late in the evening when Sinclair opened his eyes and McKenna was there, sleeping next to him on the bed, waiting for the moment he’d awake. She felt him stir and she pushed herself up on her elbow.

  “How are you feeling?” she whispered, gently pushing dark blond hair back from his bruised forehead.

  “Where are we?” He rasped.

  “The hotel. They brought all the injured men here after the explosion.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “A day and night.”

  “You’ve stayed here with me this entire time?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  He stirred, his arm slowly extending to curve around her. “Ah, sweetheart, that will make people talk.”

  “And they are, but I had to stay. It’s my job to protect you.” She leaned over and kissed him carefully, trying not to touch any place that had a cut or welt. But even with the bruises he was beautiful.

  “Protecting me from what?”

  “Women who don’t deserve you.”

  The corner of his mouth curved. His eyes smiled at her, too. “Sounds like you’ve been handling things while I’ve been sleeping.”

  “Oh, I have. I let everyone know just how things are.”

  “And just how are things?”

  “It’s you and me. Forever.”

  “That means marriage, sweet girl.”

  “I know. I’m forcing you to marry me. I’m sorry.”

  He reached up and drew her head down to his, kissing her lightly. His eyes closed and he drew a deep breath. “Stay with me, Mac.”

  “Always.”

  He exhaled. “I hurt.”

  “Not surprised. You have broken bones. Your shoulder, your wrist, maybe some ribs, but I’m told it won’t slow you down too much.” She leaned over him and kissed him again, murmuring, “Apparently you are the king of Copper Mountain.”

  “That’s because you’re the queen.”

  *

  After helping the doctor change Sinclair’s bandages, she made sure Sin ate some dinner and then he just wanted to sleep some more. McKenna still wouldn’t go home. She curled up next to Sinclair and slept next to him all night, only leaving when it was morning and Sinclair was stirring and she wanted to make sure he had some food in him before his next dose of medicine.

  She was just returning, having ordered a tray of milk, eggs, and toast for Sinclair when she heard voices coming from Sinclair’s room. McKenna cautiously pushed the door open and then froze.

  Her father was there, standing next to the bed.

  She looked from her father, to Sinclair, and then back to her father.

  Beyond shocked, McKenna went weak all over. She leaned against the doorframe. It wasn’t proper. A lady didn’t lean. A lady was always calm and composed.

  She wasn’t a lady.

  “Hello, Father,” she said, her voice husky.

  “I heard you were creating a scene,” he said.

  “Plural, Father. Scenes. It’s what I do.”

  “So I’ve learned.” He sounded resigned rather than outraged. “Can we have a word in the hall?”

  McKenna glanced to the bed. She gave Sinclair a tight smile before stepping from the room. Her father followed, closing the door behind them.

  For a moment there was just silence and then he spoke. “You look well,” he said. “Considering.”

  She’d been studying him as well. He was leaner, while his beard was fuller, and whiter. “You, too.”

  “It’s been what? Nine months? Ten?”

  “About that.” She paused. “I’m surprised to see you.”

  “The accident is in all the papers.”

  “There will be a lawsuit, won’t there?”

  “Nearly all accidents are the result of human error. The company is rarely held accountable and, in this case, there is no negligence on management. You should be fine.”

  “I’m not worried. I’ve been disinherited.”

  He gave her a curious look. “You don’t know, do you?”

  “Know what, Father?”

  “It’s not my mine. It’s yours.” His dark eyes bored into her. “I put it in your name last summer. It belongs to you. It’s been yours all this time.”

  “But there’s no income—”

  “There’s plenty of income. It’s deposited right into the bank there on Main Street. You have an account in your name. Mr. Bramble manages the funds on your behalf.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “I told Douglas if he married you, I’d put the deed of the mine in your name, which, by marriage, would make it his.”

  “But he didn’t marry me.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know why.”

  “Maybe he didn’t want to be forced into a marriage.” McKenna held his gaze. “That was a terrible thing you did, dangling me like that. I don’t appreciate it.”

  “He didn’t, either. I felt badly later. That’s why I went ahead and put the deed in your name after all.”

  “And you weren’t going to tell me?”

  “I wanted to see if you could make it on your own, and you did.”

  She couldn’t believe it, but he actually sounded proud. “I don’t want your money, Father. I want your love.”

  “Funny, that is exactly what Sinclair said about you.” He pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. “Incidentally, it’s bad form to threaten a young lady.”

  “I didn’t threaten anyone.”

  “The Texan’s daughter.”

  “I was quite civil but firm and let her know that she wasn’t going to marry Mr. Douglas, as he and I had a previous understanding.” Her chin lifted. “And we did. I promised years ago to marry him.”

  “I know. He asked me for your hand years ago.”

  “And you said no.”

  “I did. But after your disgrace, I approached him and made him an offer. I’d make him a partner if he married you. He refused.”

  McKenna had heard all this before but it still hurt. “He told me.”

  “What makes you think he’ll marry you now?”

  “I’ve grown up.” She hesitated. “I know what’s important. I don’t need the whole world. I just need Sinclair.”

  Her father turned away, hands on his hips. “Your mother warned me that I indulged you too much and then I sent you to that school—”

  “School didn’t ruin me. And you didn’t ruin me.” She reached out and touched his arm carefully. “I’ve been my own person my entire life. And I made a mistake in New York, thinking I could be free, and I’m sorry I embarrassed you, and embarrassed Mary, but my life is a good life, and Father
, I’m happy. I love Sinclair, and I am right where I should be. Please forgive me. Please?”

  He was silent so long she didn’t think he was going to answer, and then he said flatly, “I’ve only loved three people in my life. Your mother is gone, and when I cut you off, it felt like another death. I do forgive you, but McKenna, it will never be the way it was. Not for me. Not for anyone.”

  She drew a slow breath. “Does that mean you’ll give me away at my wedding?”

  “If I can, I will. When is the wedding?”

  “Soon. Sinclair wants a Christmas wedding.”

  “That’s just a few days from now.”

  She nodded. “I know. I’m worried it’s too soon for him, considering the pain he’s in, but it’s what he wants, and I’m not about to tell him no.”

  “I can’t be here for Christmas. I’m taking Mary to New York. If you want to wait—”

  “I can’t do that to Sinclair, Father.”

  “I’m sorry then. But I’ve promised Mary she’ll have Christmas on Fifth Avenue this year. She’s been invited to a number of New Year’s parties.”

  McKenna tried to smash the disappointment. “You don’t think she’d love Christmas in Marietta?”

  “She’s ready to enter society.”

  “I understand.” She gave him a quick hug and then stepped back. “Thank you for coming, Father. It was good to see you. I’ve missed you.”

  He blinked, his eyes suddenly suspiciously bright. “Goodbye, my daughter.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  They married at St. James on Christmas Eve between the five o’clock and midnight services. Sinclair still ached, the cold making the broken bones throb, but he’d had enough gossip and was ready to make McKenna his wife.

  He hated that McKenna’s family could not attend, but his mother and Johanna were there, and they were both well on their way to accepting McKenna as part of the family. Johanna had made McKenna a stunning bridal gown, and McKenna reciprocated by asking Johanna to be her maid of honor.

  The Brambles attended the service, as did the Zabrinskis, the Parkers, and the Hoffmans.

  McKenna had asked Albert Graff if he’d be willing to give her away since her father couldn’t be there, and Mr. Graff was so touched he insisted on hosting the wedding dinner for them afterwards even though Christmas Eve was already a very busy time for him at the hotel.

  When McKenna and Sinclair arrived at the Graff after the church ceremony, Sinclair expected a small dinner for twenty in the restaurant, but instead the ballroom was filled with the miners and their families, all wearing their Sunday best.

  The miners cheered as they entered the ballroom, every man rising to his feet. The applause was deafening. Sinclair stood in the doorway, rooted to the spot.

  McKenna squeezed his arm and smiled up at him. “I had to invite them. You saved them, but they saved us.”

  “Albert can’t be expected to pay for all of this.”

  “He’s not. I am.”

  “You are?”

  She nodded. “Mr. Bramble told me what I had in my account, and I thought that we needed to have the community here with us. It’s our celebration, and they are our people.”

  Sinclair shook his head, overwhelmed. He thought he knew her and yet she constantly surprised him. “This is the best present you could give me.”

  “I love you, Sin.”

  “And I love you, Mac.”

  “Even though I have a rebellious heart and progressive soul?”

  His chest tightened, aching with emotion. She had no idea how much he loved her. He’d waited fifteen years for this night. “It’s the part of you I love most.”

  *

  With Sinclair not yet able to travel, they decided to wait until summer to take a honeymoon, but Sinclair wasn’t about to let his injuries keep him from moving McKenna into his house.

  McKenna loved his house.

  She loved how the house was situated on the land with sweeping views of the valley and the snowcapped mountains. The house was warm, with a stove in every room and Sinclair had plans to bring electricity into the valley for the ranching families.

  McKenna didn’t mind the lack of electricity, though. After her rustic cabin, Sinclair’s two-story house felt like a mansion. The downstairs had big rooms but her favorite place was upstairs. She loved sleeping in his bed and making love at night in the second story room in the wash of white moonlight.

  She was happy, so very happy. Not just because she was finally with Sinclair, but because she could see how happy he was, too. Not just with her, but with his life. He was a man that loved the land, and he relished his work, spending long hours outside, putting up fences, seeing to his livestock, making sure his ranch prospered. He had a significant piece of land, too, and he’d earned it himself. He was a self-made man—like her father—but at the same time, he was so very different from her father.

  She loved Sinclair’s courage and admired his convictions, and in her letters to her friends she wrote of her love for her new husband and how blessed she felt, and how grateful.

  *

  Late January, McKenna received a small pile of letters in the mail. There was one from Amelia, and one from her sister Mary, and then a third from a publisher in Philadelphia.

  McKenna read the letters from Amelia and Mary, so very glad to hear from both. Mary had written to extend her congratulations to McKenna on her marriage and even though Mary’s letter was brief, it was a start, and McKenna felt hope as well as relief.

  McKenna waited to open the third envelope, though, wanting Sinclair there when she did.

  It was hard to be patient but finally he was back in from his evening chores and after she made him evening tea, she carried the envelope to the table.

  “Do you know what this is?” she asked him.

  He reached up to push a long strand of hair behind her ear. “No.”

  “It’s from The Curtis Publishing Company in Philadelphia,” she said, trying to contain her excitement. “I think they’re writing to tell me they want to publish my letters.”

  “So why haven’t you opened it?”

  “Because it could also be rejection.”

  “Will you be so terribly disappointed if it is?”

  “No,” she said, not sounding very convincing at all.

  He smiled and reached for her, drawing her down on his lap. “It sounds to me as if you will be disappointed if it doesn’t work out.”

  She shrugged, snuggling closer. “I miss teaching. The writing keeps me from getting bored.”

  “There are other publishers.”

  “Or I could open my own school.”

  “Or you could open your own school—” He broke off and frowned. “Wait. Do you really want to do something like that? Become a Superintendent Egan?”

  “No. But I don’t necessarily think men should be the only ones in charge of education.”

  “Oh dear, it sounds as if you’re about to march for more reforms,” he said smiling at her and, as always, his gorgeous blue eyes smiled, too. “Open your letter, sweetheart, put me out of misery. Let’s see what your publisher has to say.”

  McKenna held her breath as she opened the envelope and withdrew a folded sheet of paper. Something fluttered out as she unfolded the stationery. McKenna reached for the paper even as she scanned the letter. “They want my letters.” Her voice broke and she looked up at Sinclair, pulse racing. “They’re going to turn them into a regular column.”

  “Who is the offer from?”

  “Edward Bok. He’s the new editor of Ladies Home Journal, and he and Mrs. Louisa Knapp, the magazine’s founder, think… oh, let me read just read it to you, ‘We are delighted to offer you a contract as we believe your column would be an excellent addition to the magazine.’” McKenna laughed and hugged the letter to her chest. “I’m going to be published!”

  He kissed her. “Well done, Mac.”

  “And they’re paying me,” she added, finding the check that had fluttere
d out “Two dollars per column. They’ve sent me a check for the first four already.”

  “And I thought you’d finally reconciled yourself to being dependent on me,” he teased.

  “Living out here, I am dependent on you for everything but, you must admit, it’s nice for me to have my own pocket money.”

  *

  Late that night after they’d made love and lay side by side, cocooned under the layers of blankets topped by the quilt McKenna had made, she stirred in Sinclair’s arms, unable to stop thinking about something that had been bothering her for a long time.

  “Sin, are you asleep?” she whispered.

  “No, not yet,” he answered, his deep husky.

  “Never mind. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “What’s troubling you?”

  “Nothing—”

  He sat up, punching the pillow behind his back. “Let’s talk now. Tell me.”

  She turned to face him, her hand going to his chest, her palm over his heart to feel the steady beating. “I hate the mine.” She drew a quick breath. “I hate it so much. Do we need the income? If so—”

  “We don’t need the income.”

  “I’ve never asked you about your finances but I trust you and don’t want to be a burden.”

  “You’re not a burden, and I appreciate that you didn’t marry me for my money, but my investments are doing quite well, and the mine is yours. I don’t want any part of it.”

  She was silent a long time. She kept her hand pressed to his heart, feeling the steady even beat all the way through her.

  He was her rock. Her roots. He hugged the ground so she could stretch and fly.

  “I want to sell it.” McKenna felt a little queasy saying the words aloud, but it’s what she’d been thinking ever since she heard the news that her father had put the Marietta mine in her name. “I don’t like it. But it’s something you’ve done nearly all your life and I don’t want to sell it if you’ll miss that connection.”

  “I won’t miss it. It’s not a connection I need. Not at all.”

  “What about the money when I sell?”

  “It’s your money.”

  “Do you want to know what I’m going to do with the money?”

  “No. Let’s find a buyer and then surprise me.”