Montana Sky: Nolan's Vow (Kindle Worlds) (Grooms with Honor Book 0)

by Linda K. Hubalek

  “Yes, I suppose that is wise, but...I really like the man. I think he’d make a nice husband—not that I want to lose my John.”

  Pamela and John were a good match, even though their backgrounds were so opposite. Holly noticed Myrtle was looking around the sanctuary.

  “I see Myrtle is looking for me, probably wanting to go back to the café.”

  “It has to be hard on her today, telling everyone goodbye, hating to leave but knowing she should.”

  Pamela pulled her into a hug again. “In case we don’t get the chance to talk privately again, please have a safe trip to Billings and write to tell me what you’re doing and where you’re staying.”

  “Holly, I’m ready to leave.” Myrtle put a hand on Holly’s arm.

  Pamela hugged Myrtle next. “Thank you for all your good meals when we traveled to town, Myrtle. I hope you both can travel back to Sweetwater Springs this summer to see us. Maybe you can talk Holly into bringing her violin along and doing an encore performance at church, too.”

  “You never know, but I would like to come back and visit. Holly, can we go now?”

  Holly nodded at Pamela and took Myrtle’s arm to guide her to the door. It seemed the older woman had aged overnight now that she decided to close the café.

  Myrtle paused at the church doorway to look toward the cemetery. “Do you think we could walk to Fred’s grave before we leave?” The cemetery was nearby but drifts would hamper the elderly lady’s walking down the rows to his tombstone.

  “How about we ask Nolan to go with us this afternoon? I think it would be good for you to have his arm to hold on to besides mine.” And give Nolan time to shovel a path directly to Mr. Randolph’s grave, too.

  “Promise? I may not make it back here this summer.”

  “I promise, Myrtle.” Holly would do anything to be sure Myrtle visited her late husband’s grave. She thought of Nolan’s promise to her. Was his promise to her as sincere as Holly’s was to Myrtle?

  ***

  Nolan clutched the violin case to his chest as he trudged through the snow. The case had a handle, but it was so old he was afraid to use it for fear it might break off.

  His mind kept switching back and forth between two thoughts since he left the church.

  Holly was a talented musician, even if she wouldn’t acknowledge it, and he was starting to fall for her.

  Everybody probably noticed he’d stared at her the whole time he was singing. Sure, he needed to watch his accompanist, but he liked watching her expressions while she played.

  Even if she had no professional schooling, she was better than a local fiddle player was. After they practiced “Amazing Grace” last night, Holly went upstairs and played several famous composer’s pieces, both with slow and very fast tempos. He couldn’t personally name which piece was by Bach, or Handel or someone else famous, but he knew they weren’t folk tunes.

  Did she learn to play by ear, or did she have sheet music at one time?

  Too bad there wasn’t a symphony in Montana Territory for her to play in as Mrs. Carter talked about back in Boston. But then her heritage would stop her from trying out, or being accepted.

  Holly wore a black dress today that almost matched her hair. He guessed it was her good dress she dyed for her father’s mourning. Nolan knew the date was just past the anniversary of his death, but Holly either preferred to continue wearing it, or didn’t have the money to buy material to make a new dress.

  What color would she pick for a new dress, say something special, like for her wedding? A deep blue or dark red would look nice with her coloring.

  And why were his thoughts jumping from her musical talent to what she’d wear for her wedding?

  It had to be because he was thinking about churches and weddings he’d witnessed at home. He’d been in a church today, and he’d seen a pretty lady standing up front. Yes, that must be it.

  When he was growing up, a local rancher’s wife, Cora Hamner, who was also originally from Boston like Pamela Carter, invited brides-to-be out to her ranch to pick a gown for their wedding. It started out because she’d brought five trunks of dresses to the ranch when she ran away from Boston. She had no use for all the fancy dresses on the ranch, so she started offering them to brides who needed a new dress for their wedding.

  He didn’t know if Mrs. Hamner still gave away dresses, but Holly would be a deserving woman who would need a new dress for her wedding...if it happened to be at the Clear Creek Community Church. Nolan could picture Holly standing in front of Pastor Reagan saying her vows with...whom? Him?

  The idea of offering Holly a job in Clear Creek became more appealing every time he thought of it. Would something develop between them? What if it did, but then it didn’t work out. Then maybe she wouldn’t want to work in the café and have to look for another job, or want to move away from Clear Creek.

  The blast of cold air hitting him from inside the café jolted him out of his thoughts. He’d used the key to open the front door and now quickly shut the door behind him to keep the cold air from entering the building. Wait. It was excessively cold in here considering he’d stoked both the dining room and kitchen stoves before leaving for church.

  He followed the cold air through the kitchen to the back door, which was wide open. Holding on to the door above the lock, he examined both sides. The inside of the door looked fine, but someone had forced entry from the outside. Shoot. It looked like the intruder had used a crowbar to enter.

  Nolan shut the door then looked at the floor, seeing wet smudges where someone walked to the staircase up to the second floor. Should he charge up himself or get the sheriff first? The room was cold enough that the intruder had probably been here more than an hour ago.

  He pulled his revolver out and listened, but he didn’t hear any sounds in the café besides his own breathing. Nolan cautiously tiptoed up the stairs, keeping his eye trained on the far side of the top of the stairs.

  No one seemed to be there but he didn’t holster his gun. The sitting room didn’t look any different, so Nolan looked into Myrtle’s bedroom, whose door was wide open. Her clothing trunk lid was open and resting against the wall. It looked like someone rifled through it, probably looking for cash. Did the burglar find something of value or had Myrtle hidden her money elsewhere, or on her person?

  Then he eased through Holly’s open bedroom door expecting to see her trunk open, too. It was worse. Her things had been thrown around the room, as if a twister had hit the trunk. Her three treasured portraits were on the floor, one ripped in half; the other two looked like a wet boot had tried to grind them into the floorboards. Thank goodness, she’d had her violin with her at church, or Nolan was sure it would have been broken in half. Had her money been stashed in her trunk or in her reticule?

  “Clancy?” Sheriff Mather called from the bottom of the stairs.

  “Come up here! They’ve been robbed!”

  Mather’s boots quickly clomped up the stairs and Nolan stepped back into the hallway so the sheriff could see where he was.

  The sheriff rubbed his face and sighed. “This isn’t the way Myrtle needs to remember her last days in the café, with a robbery.”

  “One guess who did this?”

  “The two men who bothered Miss Brandt before. Unfortunately, I came over here because I was going down the alley checking all the businesses. Two horses were taken from the livery, so I was following the footprints from the livery back down the alley.”

  “Did you find any other businesses or homes broken into?”

  “Nope. The prints pretty much go from the café straight to the livery.”

  Nolan leaned down to pick up Holly’s photos, and then wiped the fronts and backs on his trousers to get the moisture and dirt off them.

  “These are Holly’s only photos of her family.”

  “We rarely have problems in Sweetwater Springs. If those men hadn’t met Miss Brandt in the café...”

  “This is not Holly’s fault.” Nolan cut th
e sheriff off quick.

  “But you know how some people don’t like Indians.”

  “Again, her heritage shouldn’t matter. She’s a good human being.”

  “I know that, I’m just saying...”

  “Well don’t.” Nolan was steamed, not only with what happened to Holly’s possessions, but with what the sheriff implied.

  The sheriff looked around the room, rubbing his chin as if he was wondering what to do. “People will be walking in the door any minute with their food. I hate to ruin Myrtle’s party...how about we clean up here as best we can and don’t tell the ladies until afterward?”

  Nolan wondered why Mather didn’t ride after the thieves, but the sheriff had been in church too and just found the problem. The men had an hour or more lead on his trying to track them. If they left by the main road in and out of town, there would be other tracks with people coming in to church today from both directions.

  “I’ll put these things back in the trunk if you want to go downstairs and stoke the stoves. Better tell the livery man to keep the news to himself if he’s coming over for lunch.”

  “The man lost two horses...”

  “And you didn’t want to ruin Myrtle’s party...”

  “Yeah. Let’s keep things quiet until afterward if we can.” Mather turned to walk down the steps while Nolan quickly picked up Holly’s things and laid them back in the trunk. What should he do with the portraits? They might be able to glue the torn photo back together but he didn’t have time for it now. He put them on top of her belongings and closed the lid. After looking around the room to see if he missed anything, he rushed to Myrtle’s room to shut her trunk and head down the stairs.

  “Sheriff? You beat us over here. Where’s Nolan?” Myrtle asked as she started to take off her cape.

  Nolan heard Mather say, “He went out back for a minute.”

  “It’s cold in here,” Holly added.

  “Must not have gotten the back door latched and it blew open. I’ll go check.”

  Nolan chose this moment to walk into the dining room from the kitchen. “Sorry about that, I didn’t get the door quite shut and it did blow open. I’m sure it’ll warm up again soon.

  “May I take your ladies’ capes upstairs? Your guests will be arriving momentarily so you need to greet them.”

  “Where’s my violin?”

  Nolan froze a minute wondering where he laid the case when he crept upstairs. It’s on the kitchen table.

  “It’s in the kitchen so I’ll take it upstairs when I take your wraps.” Nolan moved behind Myrtle to help her out of her cape, hung it over his arm, and reached to help Holly next.

  “I can take them upstairs, Nolan,” Holly reached for Myrtle’s wrap just as the front door opened again.

  John and Pamela Carter walked in the door with some other area ranchers he’d met this morning, the Dunn’s, as well as the Pendell’s, who worked for the Dunn’s on their Green Valley ranch.

  “Your friends are here now, Holly, so I can take everything upstairs.” He gently pulled Holly’s cape off her shoulders, nodded to the ranchers, and then walked into the kitchen to go upstairs.

  The dining room had filled by the time Nolan walked downstairs. It was nice to see Holly’s shy smile as people complimented her violin solo. Myrtle was still limping from her fall the other day, but still happily telling women where to set their dishes on the table they’d use for the buffet line.

  “Heard you’re from Kansas?” Nolan turned to the speaker. Harrison Dunn and his foreman, Habakkuk Pendell stood together by him.

  “Yes, near Ellsworth. Have you heard of the cattle town? It was famous for shipping thousands of cattle back in the early 70s.”

  “I’ve heard of Abilene, Kansas,” Pendell, the older man remarked.

  “Ellsworth shipped Texas longhorn cattle from about ‘72 to ‘75, after longhorn herds were banned from Abilene.”

  “Where did all those cattle stay while waiting to be shipped out?”

  “All over the countryside. I was about twelve or so when the herds started to arrive in the spring, but I remember seeing cattle in every direction as far as you could see. Drovers tried to keep the herds separate and drove them down to the Smoky Hill River or the creeks in the area to water them.

  “When it was the herd’s turn to ship out, they drove the cattle into town, right down Main Street to enter the railroad stockyards to ship out. Took most of the spring and into summer to ship them all away by rail car.”

  “Those cattle stocked the west though, so they didn’t all ship back East.”

  “There were millions of Texas longhorns driven up from Texas and some walked clear up to this territory and on west to stock ranches.”

  “I remember those days when herds came up this way. Some outfits would show up again the next year, with the same big old steer leading the way,” the older man said.

  “What do you mean, the same longhorn?” Carter asked in surprise.

  “There would be a calm animal, usually a steer instead of a cow, practically a trained pet. Its job was to be in front of the herd, heading north—or whatever direction the herd was to go. It’d be first to cross creeks and rivers, stop the herd for rests and overnight,” Pendell explained.

  “There’s a family, the Hamners, now settled near Ellsworth, who brought cattle up from Texas every year for about a decade. They’d talk about their trips, and they had a head steer,” Nolan added.

  “Since you’re from Kansas, did you ever help on a drive?” Carter asked.

  “I did a few springs before I joined the military. There are two big ranches in our area, the Cross C and the Bar E Ranches, who sold and drove cattle to ranches. It would be small herds, usually under a thousand head, a remuda of horses, a chuck wagon, cook and about six to ten riders.

  “For a young man it was an adventure, especially since I grew up in a café instead of the range. Some of the preacher’s boys were along, too. We’d end up saddle-sore, sunburned, and scared out of our wits a few times, but it was fun for us young bucks.”

  Nolan thought of the Reagan boys, wondering what the six of them were up to now that they were all adults. He hoped some of them still lived around Clear Creek so he could connect with them again. The oldest boys, Angus and Seth, had been his best friends growing up.

  “When I first moved up to this territory, I saw more different cattle breeds than I expected.” Nolan thought of the differences he’d seen between the ranches in Montana Territory and in Kansas.

  “Actually, to begin with, most of the ranches in the territory were small, often times started with cattle traveling on the Oregon Trail. The cattle, often times a dairy and meat breed, like Shorthorns, would go limp or worn out from the trip. A rancher would trade one animal from his own herd, for two worn-out animals from the traveler. That’s how they built their herd.” Pendell said.

  “Between the forts and the miners in the area, there was a steady need for beef so ranchers brought in more cattle, like the Texas longhorns over time,” Carter added.

  “Ranch sizes have exploded in the past five years now that the Indians are contained on the reservations.”

  “Yep, cattle roam the territory where it used to be big herds of buffalo.”

  Nolan’s mind wandered as the two men talked. Where was Holly and who was she talking to? He looked around and saw her back to him, helping move food dishes around to make room for another dish. Nolan had never guessed he’d be so lucky with good food on this layover, even though he had to cook some of it himself.

  “I believe everyone is here, so I’ll say grace so we can partake of this meal,” Reverend Norton raised his voice to be heard over all the conversations.

  “Dear Heavenly Father, please bless this food we are going to enjoy and the meaning for this meal. Please watch over Myrtle and Holly as they travel to Billings and start the next chapter in their lives. In thy name we pray, Amen.”

  “Amen,” echoed through the room as everyone raised the
ir bowed heads.

  “Ladies of honor, you go through the line first,” the reverend insisted although Myrtle balked until someone gently pushed her forward.

  Nolan noticed that Holly hung back as no one urged her to go next. He winded his way through the people to reach her elbow.

  “I think we should eat next. There’s a lot of kids in this room eyeing that plate of fried chicken, and I want to get my favorite piece.”

  “Oh yes, fill your plate, Holly and Nolan,” Pamela said now that she turned away from visiting with someone.

  “Ladies first,” Nolan handed Holly a plate from the stack at the end of the table, and then picked up another one for himself.

  “Anything to avoid?” Nolan leaned close to Holly to ask.

  Holly quickly turned around to stare at him, but understood the meaning of his quiet question seeing his smirk. She turned back to the table laden with bowls and platters of food and quickly glanced at the food. Holly would know who brought what since she helped put the food on the table.

  “Beans in white bowl, pickles in first jar,” she said under her breath. Nolan liked her quiet warning.

  “Thank you,” he whispered before raising his voice. “All this looks delicious so I’ll have to go through the line twice to try everything.” He nodded to the line of women watching him.

  Nolan’s hand paused over each dish before reaching spoons or forks to scoop a portion on his plate. He’d been to enough church potluck dinners to know what to do to make all the cooks happy. Nolan had swallowed his fill of bad food while smiling, too.

  Nolan chuckled at a memory. He’d been about eleven or twelve, standing at the end of the dessert line with his friends at the summer picnic after church. Mrs. Reagan appeared, looked each of the boys in the eye, and quietly said. “You boys take a slice of that cake which hadn’t been touched and you will enjoy it, every bite. And you will thank the baker...sometime today, not all of you at once...that you appreciated her making it.”

  Old Mrs. Johnston might have been a good baker at one time, but her white cake was deflated, lop-sided, and skimpy on the frosting. They dutifully took a slice each—except Mack Reagan who always took two of everything—and ate every bite. Already knowing how to bake, Nolan knew she’d forgotten to put in the baking powder, and then baked it too long, making the whole cake dry to the point of tasting burnt.