Montana Untamed

by Ramona Flightner

  Leticia watched him with fond amusement. “She’s a young woman uprooted from all she knows, Cailean. You must be patient with her. I know Alistair worries about her too.” She smiled. “As for a fresh loaf of bread, give me a moment.”

  He nodded, watching her disappear in the back. He roamed the room, noting the well-crafted cases. He spun to face Leticia, only to frown as Annabelle entered. “Ma’am.” He was uncertain if she flushed from his cold tone or from having just been in her warm kitchen.

  “Mr. MacKinnon, how may I help you?” She held her hands together at her waist, her apron covered in flour and bits of dough.

  “I spoke with Leticia about what I needed.” He nodded to the doorway as though Leticia were about to appear.

  “Yes, well, she was called away with something to do with her daughter.” She waited a moment in silence for him to speak and then huffed out a breath in frustration. “Well, as it must have been a personal call, I wish you a good day.” She spun on her heel.

  “Wait. She went to look for a loaf of bread,” Cailean said, glaring at Annabelle’s impatience.

  “As you can see, we’re sold out. I’m sorry, Mr. MacKinnon.” She nodded toward the door, shifting from foot to foot as he remained in place, staring at her.

  “Are you such a success then? Just like that?” he asked as though stupefied by the notion. “You waltz into town and seduce everyone with your buttered buns and sweetened tarts and—” He broke off as he reconsidered what he had said.

  She bit back a laugh at seeing him flustered. “Yes, I am a success, as you can see. I have commissions from the hotel, the café, and other establishments, and I’m hopeful my business will continue to grow. I was a prosperous baker in my hometown in Maine, and I will continue to be one here too.” She lifted her chin in defiant pride. “Success isn’t only something for men.”

  He glared at her and nodded. “I’ll bid you good day.” He turned toward the door and then paused. “If you would be so kind as to save two loaves of bread for my family tomorrow?” The door shook as he slammed it behind him.

  The following afternoon, Cailean entered the bakery and was again met with empty shelves. He waited a moment before tapping the bell on the counter. He bit back a smile as he heard a sigh and a groan and schooled his expression to one of bland impassivity as Annabelle entered the storefront.

  “I see you’ve sold out again.” He nodded his head in acknowledgment of the bare shelves.

  “You should be a detective. You’re very astute,” she murmured. She pivoted to reenter the back area. “It’s a good thing you had me save you two loaves.” She returned with a paper bag containing one loaf of wheat and one of white bread. “Although you never said what type you wanted, so I improvised.”

  “Thank you, Miss Evans,” he said. “My sister will be delighted with the surprise.”

  She watched him, unable to hide her amusement. “Did you advise her not to bake bread today?” At his blank expression, she giggled. “She’ll have already started it as it must rise. You might find your sister aggravated with you because you haven’t saved her any work.”

  Cailean scowled as he glared at the bread. “Darn it. I should have thought of that.” He fished in his pocket for a few coins and paid for the loaves. “I thank you, Miss Evans. If you could save two loaves for tomorrow, I’d appreciate it.”

  She nodded. As he approached the door, she spoke, and he looked over his shoulder to meet her gaze. “I know we got off on the wrong foot, Mr. MacKinnon. I’m sorry you suffered any gossip due to my arrival. I hope we can be friends.”

  “We aren’t ever going to be friends, miss,” he rasped, yanking open the door and slamming it shut behind him.

  The door to the bakery jingled as it opened, and Annabelle raised her head from her work in the kitchen. She listened, frowning as she thought she heard soft footfalls in the front of the store. Leticia had left earlier because Hortence was ill, and Annabelle still had a cake to decorate for the hotel restaurant and two pies to bake for the café. She swiped flour off her hands with a towel and poked her head out front. “Fidelia!” she gasped when she saw her sister staring around the small space. “How wonderful to see you.”

  Fidelia spun, a cream-colored shawl held high over her fuchsia dress, and her hair pulled in a loose knot at the nape of her neck. “I realize I should have come to the back door.”

  “Nonsense. Come into the kitchen. I still have pies to bake and a cake to decorate.” She flipped the sign to Closed, locked the front door, and pulled shut the curtains. She waited as her sister watched her as though searching out a predator before walking with halting steps toward the rear of the shop. “I should have locked the front before now as I’m sold out. Come. I have a few cookies that fell apart. I couldn’t sell them, but they’re still good to eat.”

  She paused as Fidelia stared around the kitchen before poking her head into the small living quarters. “Seems like you’ve done well for yourself.”

  Annabelle cringed at the note of bitterness in her sister’s voice. “I saved what I earned from the bakery in Maine. And I had the money I inherited from Father.”

  “Of course. He left it all to you.” Rather than scurry out the back door, she pulled out a wooden stool and sat on the opposite side of the counter where Annabelle worked.

  “Yes, he did.” She waited a moment until Fidelia’s defiant, angry gaze met hers. “However, I never considered it all mine. I always thought of it as ours. I have your half saved in the bank for you.”

  Fidelia flushed and then paled. “I’ve no need of that money. I do fine on my own.” She glared at Annabelle when her sister appeared on the verge of arguing. “I will never take a dime of Father’s money.”

  After a long stare-down match between the sisters, Annabelle resorted to tasting the frosting and deciding it needed a drop more almond flavoring, then glared at her sister. “Are you so hardheaded that you can’t thank me for finding you? That you can’t understand that I was misled all those years ago? I’m trying to do my best by you.”

  “What would you know about doing your best? You sit here in your little bakery open barely a month and already a roaring success. You have money and prestige and your honor. You have no right to act as though you’ve been wronged.”

  Annabelle took a deep breath and moved toward the icebox. She pulled out the milk, pouring her sister a cup before leaving it out to use in the piecrust. “And you have an inability to forgive.” She shoved a plateful of crumbled oatmeal raisin cookies in her sister’s direction. As her sister gobbled up the food, Annabelle frowned. “Don’t they feed you there?”

  “No one bakes like you,” Fidelia whispered. “The girls fight over your bread and cookies.”

  Annabelle nodded in an abstract fashion, focusing on her sister. “I’ll be sure to send some over, especially for you.”

  Fidelia shook her head. “No, don’t do that. They already think I’m getting special treatment because you’re in town. I can’t receive nothin’ from you.”

  “Special treatment?” Annabelle cocked her head to one side as she studied her sister.

  “From the men. They’re more interested in me because they’re hoping to learn somethin’ about you to earn your favor.”

  Annabelle tipped over the milk jar, spilling a little on the counter. “Oh my.” She blushed. “I’d hoped their interest in me would wane.”

  Her sister watched her with avid speculation. “The longer you’re in town and single, the more you’ll have men clamoring to lead you down the road to sin.” She shrugged. “It ain’t a terrible road, but I doubt you’d like it.”

  Annabelle stiffened. “I’m not wholly disinterested in men.”

  Fidelia laughed and, for a moment, looked like the young woman who had left Maine all those years ago. “Of course you ain’t. Although there are those interested in their own kind.” She watched her sister frown in confusion and shook her head. “What I’m sayin’ is that you are the type to want a prim
rose path, with a preacher to marry you at the end, and a home to go to.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” She rolled out the pie dough and set it carefully in the pie plates. She then put in a sweetened rhubarb mixture before covering it with more dough. She repeated the process and slid both pies in the oven.

  Fidelia sighed and watched as her sister pulled out a dulled flat knife to ice the cake. “There’s nothin’ wrong with that. It’s just that most men I meet aren’t interested in it.” She looked away. “And Madam still wants us to work together.” She grinned at her sister’s snort. “I’m glad you ain’t interested.”

  Annabelle frowned at her sister’s sly study of her. “What?”

  “I hear tell that a certain man has caught your interest.” At her sister’s headshake in denial, Fidelia laughed. “A man you thought had been intended for me.”

  Annabelle slapped the knife onto the counter and pointed at her sister. “Mr. MacKinnon and I are nothing to each other. He irritates me as much as I annoy him.”

  Her sister took a final sip of milk. “Seems like the courtship has already started.” She rose and waved at her sister. “I’ll see myself out. Good luck with your bakery, Anna.” Before Annabelle could respond, Fidelia had slipped out the rear door and disappeared.

  Annabelle tugged out a stool and sat on it, her mind spinning from her sister’s visit and all that had been said and yet remained unspoken between them. She sighed, rising to finish the day’s work before giving her kitchen a thorough cleaning.

  A few days later, during a late morning lull in mid-May, Annabelle and Leticia worked together in the kitchen. Leticia washed pans while Annabelle was about to start on a cake for the café. “Leticia, why haven’t you and Mr. MacKinnon already married?” Annabelle asked. The question seemed to just pop out. “I beg your pardon.”

  “Why? You’re only asking what the rest of the town whispers and snickers about behind our backs. Besides, I like to think you’re my friend.” She’d moved from the dishes to the cooling racks. She readied a tray full of rhubarb muffins to put out on display. “I can’t wait until there’s fruit other than rhubarb.”

  Annabelle laughed. “People talk nonstop about the huckleberry, trying to convince me it is as delicious as the Maine blueberry.”

  Leticia laughed. “You’ll see we’re correct, and you’ll change all your recipes from blueberry to huckleberry. It’s the highlight of summer for me when Alistair takes a few days off from the livery to take Hortence and me huckleberry picking.”

  Annabelle smiled at her friend. “I don’t see why it should take a few days.”

  “We gather enough for the family. Besides, it’s an excuse for him to get out of town for a few days.” She sobered at her friend’s worried look. “Don’t worry. We only make long day trips. I’ve done nothing to jeopardize my reputation.”

  “Or your teaching position,” Annabelle muttered.

  Leticia set down a metal tray with a thunk, displaying snickerdoodle cookies.

  Annabelle jerked her head at the sudden noise. “I shouldn’t think you’d be worried. Everyone respects you.”

  “When I marry, I’ll lose my position.” Leticia frowned. “I hate that I can’t continue to teach. I’m already a mother. I’ve proven I can be a mother and a teacher.”

  Annabelle winced. “I’m surprised they accepted a widow with a child as a teacher.”

  Leticia laughed. “I think a few were concerned I’d corrupt the minds of the children because I knew the secrets of the bedroom.” She scoffed. “As though all but the littlest didn’t have an inkling about what occurs at the Boudoir.” She blushed as she saw Annabelle stiffen. “I beg your pardon.”

  “No offense taken. I know what my sister is and how she survives. As does the town.” Annabelle pulled a batch of cheese rolls from the oven. “Do you think these will sell?”

  Leticia smelled them and smiled. “Yes, but why don’t we tease them with an introductory price today and then raise it the next time you bake them? That way, they’ll know how delicious they are and will be willing to spare another penny or two.”

  Annabelle laughed her agreement as she set them on the cooling rack. “How do you get along with the rest of Alistair’s family?”

  Leticia eyed Annabelle a moment before continuing her work. “Oh, they’re all nice, although Sorcha is a bit hard to read. She’s not as friendly as her brothers, which I find odd.”

  Annabelle shook her head. “I’m surprised you can say that the eldest is friendly.”

  “As long as he knows I have no inclination to marry him off to a relative, he treats me well. He was relieved to learn my only relative, other than an aged great-aunt, was Hortence. By the time she’s old enough for marriage, he could be her grandfather.” She laughed. “And I’m only exaggerating slightly.” She studied Annabelle as she fidgeted. “I don’t know as you’ll ever live down your arrival and how you met Cailean with the MacKinnons. They still tease Cailean about his upcoming nuptials when they want to rile him.”

  Annabelle punched down a bowl filled with bread dough. “How was I to know my sister was lying? The last time I’d seen her, she was as honest as I am.”

  Leticia frowned. “I know you value honesty, as do the MacKinnons. However, there are always times in life when we must bend the truth.” She shrugged and changed the subject. “As for Alistair, I think we’ll marry next year.”

  Annabelle furrowed her brow at Leticia’s lack of excitement and then smiled. “I can imagine he’ll be delighted.”

  “After two years of courting me, the fact that I’ve agreed to a wedding next summer thrills him.” She hefted one of the heavy trays. “He understands my desire to work one more year before marrying. Besides, his courting me has saved me from the miners’ unwanted advances.” She flushed at Annabelle’s confused frown. “They believe, should they steal a kiss, that I would be honor bound to marry them.”

  “How ridiculous,” Annabelle muttered as she shook her head at their circuitous conversation before focusing on measuring out the flour and spices she’d need for a cake for the café.

  Chapter 4

  A cool breeze blew into the livery through the open door. Thick clouds hung over the town, threatening rain, and the livery was busier than usual. Horses snuffled and moved inside their stalls as they sensed the approaching storm. Alistair kept an eye on his eldest brother, thinking that the moody day matched his brother’s temperament perfectly as Cailean worked tirelessly to outrun it.

  “Awful nice of you to be so considerate of Sorcha. Buyin’ bread every day rather than expecting her to learn how to use that stove,” Alistair said, grunting as the horse whose hoof he worked on shifted and bruised his thigh.

  “I’m a fool,” Cailean muttered, swiping his forehead with his forearm as he leaned against the pitchfork and took a break. “If I didn’t buy bread, we’d save money, and she’d learn an important skill.”

  Alistair chuckled, then crooned to the antsy horse. “Seems to me ye’re more interested in yer daily meetings with the baker. Miss Evans is a bonnie lass.” He crooned to the horse some more, although it was difficult to know if he was calming the horse or his brother. “A man could do worse.”

  “Don’t start,” Cailean said. “You know I’ll never marry.” He cleared his throat as he picked up the pitchfork and hurled it against the side of one empty stall. “Never again.”

  Alistair finished with the hoof, set down the horse’s leg, and stood, patting the horse’s haunch. “No, I don’t. I think ye’re actin’ a fool.” Alistair faced his brother. “Maggie died. She and yer bairn. Ye must move on.”

  Cailean’s eyes shone brightly as he beheld his brother. “Just like that? As though it were easy, and I need only forget?” He fisted his hands as he stalked toward his brother.

  “None of us will ever forget Maggie Mae,” Alistair whispered. “She was as a sister to us all.” He saw the agony in Cailean’s eyes, and his shoulders stooped. “Ye must let her go. Find a
nother to cherish.” He raised a hand in defense, blocking his brother’s punch. “I’ll no’ fight ye today, Cail. These are yer demons, no’ mine.” He pushed his brother away from him, frowning as Cailean spun and stormed from the livery.

  Cailean burst outside, seeing little in front of him. He barreled into the minister’s wife, barely having the presence of mind to apologize as she toppled against the barbershop wall. He paused, taking a deep breath as the red haze of rage abated, and watched the normal daily activities of his town continuing around him. He sighed as he considered his brother’s comment and glared across the street at the bakery.

  His glare turned to concern and then irritation as he saw Miss Evans—for he refused to think of her as Annabelle—on her knees in front of her storefront as she washed windows. He leaned against the wall, now vacated by the minister’s wife, and watched Miss Evans work. Her motions were economical yet graceful.

  A wagon paused in front of him, blocking his view for a few moments. When he saw her again, he froze. She stood, her bucket toppled to the side, and a rag between her fingers as a man leaned forward and spoke with her. Her shoulders were stooped protectively, and she hunched farther into herself as though to render herself invisible. Cailean leaped from the boardwalk, easily avoiding the wagons and horse traffic, and approached her. “Miss Evans?” he called out, his boot heels clomping on the wooden boardwalk.

  She jerked her gaze in his direction, beseeching him for assistance, yet embarrassed. She flinched as the man stroked her cheek, taking a step back, bumping into the plank wall of her store. Now trapped, he whispered something in her ear, causing her to shudder in revulsion. The man chuckled, tapped his hat, and pushed past Cailean. She stood still for a moment before whirling and grasping at the door handle to her shop. She tugged at it, in her agitated state having difficulty turning the knob, until finally it gave, and she burst into her store and home.

  Cailean pushed on the door when she moved to slam it shut behind her, preventing her from locking him out. “I’ve come for the two loaves of bread, Miss Evans.”