The Cowboy's Honor

by Amy Sandas

  In fact, everything was eerily still.

  Having lived in Boston all her life, she was accustomed to the constant motion and clamor of bustling city life. She leaned closer to the window and swept her gaze as far as she could in all directions. An expanding stretch of green dotted with clusters of shrubs and rocks and trees extended beyond the small yard and the long dirt road they had come down.

  Aside from the house, barn, and other outbuildings, she was surrounded by nothing but nature.

  Courtney turned back to the interior of the house.

  It was small, though certainly larger than the other shack-like structures she had seen in the distance along the drive from town. At least there was a parlor. She wandered out into the entryway and noted the staircase that led up to the second floor, where she assumed the bedrooms were located. Continuing down the hall, she headed back toward what she hoped would be a kitchen. Surely, there had to be a servant about somewhere. The kitchen seemed a logical place to start looking for someone who might assist her in finding her bearings.

  Not to mention she was absolutely starving. The last meal she’d had was early that morning. Bitter coffee and some bread with jam. She would give anything for some glazed ham or baked fish smothered in creamy lemon sauce with a steaming baked potato.

  Her stomach grumbled at the thought.

  After passing a rather impressive dining room holding a long wooden table and matching chairs that would easily seat a large family, she stepped into the kitchen.

  It was a cheery room painted in white and yellow with a sturdy wooden counter running along one wall beneath a row of windows. There was a large iron stove to one side, and opposite that was another smaller table, painted white, with two chairs set up beside a back door.

  The room was neat and tidy with no evidence that anyone was about.

  At this time, back home, the kitchens would have been flooded with staff beginning preparations for the evening meal. Then again, the meals back home were likely a bit more elaborate than what she’d find here.

  As she stood there, uncertain of her next move, the back door opened and a woman swept in carrying a basket on her hip and two loaves of bread tucked under her arm. Dressed in a bright-colored skirt and red blouse, the woman was short of stature and rounded in a matronly way. She had warm, brown skin and her hair—ink-black with strands of gray liberally threaded through—was pulled back into a long braid down her back.

  Noticing Courtney standing there, the woman, who appeared in her midfifties, startled and made a sound somewhere between a harsh gasp and a smothered shriek. Dark-brown eyes widened as she pressed the bread loaves to her ample chest. “Ay, dios mío.”

  She clearly hadn’t expected to see someone standing in her kitchen.

  Courtney’s smile came naturally as she spoke. “Good evening, how do you do? I am sorry. I did not mean to startle you.”

  The older woman continued to stare at her with big eyes that roamed swiftly over Courtney’s appearance—from her slipping coiffure to the fine lace details of her dress’s bodice and down over the draped layers of satin and brocade with touches of velvet that made up her bridal skirts. By the time the woman’s brown eyes met Courtney’s again, a wide smile had spread across her lips. She bustled forward quickly to set her burdens on the table, muttering under her breath as she did so.

  Courtney had always been fascinated by foreign cultures and had loved learning new languages. She was actually rather good at them and could speak fluent French and Italian. She also knew a smattering of Russian and possessed enough Portuguese to manage a basic conversation. Unfortunately, she knew very little Spanish. In truth, she knew only enough to recognize by its similarity to Portuguese that it was the language the woman was speaking as she approached with her now-empty arms spread wide to take Courtney into a welcoming embrace.

  Courtney was shocked as the stranger wrapped her up in a hug, still speaking in rapid Spanish and smiling brightly. The physical contact was unexpected. She could not recall the last time she had been embraced in such a way, or by whom.

  Drawing back, the woman grasped Courtney’s face gently in her hands and met her stunned gaze. She seemed to have asked a question, though Courtney had no idea what it might have been. For a brief moment, it felt like she might be able to interpret some of the words, but just when she thought she grasped something recognizable, the language took a turn and she lost all comprehension. “I am sorry. I do not speak Spanish.”

  The woman laughed, and her eyes sparkled with amusement as she shook her head and gave Courtney’s cheek a little pat before she turned back to the table to begin unloading the basket.

  Courtney watched, listening for any words she might recognize, as the woman continued her one-sided conversation. She thought she caught the word for hungry, which made sense since the woman was throwing together a large plate of food. And possibly the word for chief, though that did not seem to make sense at all.

  Finally, the woman turned back to Courtney and gestured for her to come forward and sit at the table, where she had set the plate holding a generous portion of bread topped with thin-sliced beef and crumbles of white cheese. Despite its simplicity, the meal looked amazing and smelled even better. The beef seemed to have been seasoned with something Courtney couldn’t quite identify but was anxious to taste.

  While Courtney filled her empty stomach, the cheerful woman continued to bounce around the kitchen with limitless energy. Occasionally speaking in Spanish with a smile or curious look tossed in Courtney’s direction, she readied food for the evening meal. Much of what she pulled from her basket appeared to have been prepared elsewhere and just needed to be warmed, while other items were quickly thrown together with what was available in the kitchen as the woman loaded the stovetop with pots and pans.

  Just as Courtney finished the food on her plate, feeling wonderfully satisfied by the savory meal, the woman rushed forward to sweep the dirty dishes away. Then she returned and grasped Courtney’s hands to urge her to her feet.

  “Por favor, ven conmigo,” she said with a series of nods.

  Courtney understood the woman wanted to take her somewhere. Satiated and relaxed by the delicious meal, she followed the woman a short way down the hall to another small room. It was a bathing room, complete with an enormous porcelain tub that had a curved headrest on one end and a water pump and spout on the other.

  Just the idea of a bath made Courtney’s skin tingle with anticipation. It had been days since she’d last had a proper washing. She glanced at the woman with wide, hopeful eyes and received a grin and a nod.

  “Sí, puede bañarse.”

  As Courtney debated whether she could take the risk of completely disrobing in the house of a man who had married her against her will, the woman pumped the handle of the spout until clear water began flowing into the tub. She looked over her shoulder at Courtney and waved her free hand to indicate Courtney’s gown. “Desvistete.”

  Courtney looked down at the dress she’d been wearing since leaving Boston with only one washing in between at a small laundry outside the train station in Billings. Then she looked to the tub longingly before glancing back at the door. “I, ah…” She didn’t feel like she was in any particular danger, but the impropriety of stripping down and bathing in the house of a stranger was not easy to overcome.

  Then again, the stranger—What was his name? Dean. Dean Lawton—was her husband. Which made this her house. Surely, there was no impropriety in bathing in her own home.

  Without any further debate, Courtney carefully removed her gloves, making sure her money stayed safely tucked inside before she reached around to start tugging at the tiny buttons running down her back. Her new friend swiftly stepped around behind her and brushed her fingers aside.

  The older woman made short work of releasing the gown, then held it for Courtney to step out of. She made tsking sounds of dismay a
s she tried to shake out some of the deep-set wrinkles and brush off the trail dust. Seeing the futility of the effort, she draped the gown over a long bench set in the corner of the room, then turned back to assist Courtney with her many layered petticoats, bustle bump, and corset.

  Courtney could not understand what the woman was saying as she peeled away one layer after another, but there was obvious humor in her voice as she addressed the contraptions worn to create the silhouette preferred by Boston’s elite.

  Once Courtney was down to her chemise and drawers, the woman swept from the room, making sure to draw the door gently closed behind her.

  Courtney eyed the tub. It had been half-filled with water from the spout, and although she suspected the water would be quite cold, the bath looked infinitely inviting. After setting her gloves on the bench beside her gown, she began the task of removing the many dozen pins holding her hip-length hair in the thick chignon she’d managed to create.

  From the day she’d stopped wearing her hair free down her back as a girl, a maid trained in creating the most current and stylish coiffures had managed the daily task. Courtney had been quite proud of herself for figuring out how to keep her hair contained once it had started falling from her bridal coiffure. Luckily, the original elaborate style had come with a grand supply of pins, so Courtney was able to get the unruly tresses twisted and tucked enough that the pins had done the rest.

  A gentle knock at the door made Courtney jump. She heard the woman’s familiar voice a moment before she opened the door again, carrying a large pot of steaming water. After pouring it into the tub, she left and returned two more times with more water, turning the cold water into a warm, luxurious bath.

  Bustling around with quick, efficient movements, the older woman withdrew a large square of cloth from a cupboard, then a dish of soap, setting them both on the stool that stood beside the tub.

  Turning to Courtney again, she smiled and nodded as she gestured to the tub. “Señora, báñese, por favor.”

  “Thank you. Gracias,” Courtney replied, trying to recall the very little Spanish she knew. “Ah… ¿Cómo se llama?”

  Though Courtney’s accent was probably deplorable, the woman’s grin widened at her attempt.

  “Me llamo Jimena.”

  “Jimena. That is beautiful. My name is Courtney. Me llamo Courtney.”

  Jimena repeated the name, then gave a smile and a shake of her head as she spoke too rapidly for Courtney to make anything out, although she again thought she heard the word for chief.

  Backing out of the room, Jimena seemed to instruct Courtney to shout if she required assistance.

  After the door closed and Courtney was left alone again, she did not to waste a moment in slipping off her underclothes and getting into the water. She had no idea where the cowboy had gone and no idea when he’d be back. She did not want to be naked and vulnerable in a bathtub—even one as long and deep as this one—when he did.

  Sinking into the warm water, she sighed as it lapped at her chin and completely covered her everywhere else. It was heaven. After allowing herself only a few minutes to close her eyes and relax, she sat up and reached for the cake of soap. Bringing it to her nose, she inhaled the delightful scent of orange with a hint of spearmint.

  The bath did not nearly approach the degree of luxury she was accustomed to back home, but at that moment, Courtney couldn’t imagine anything more decadent.

  Chapter Six

  It wasn’t until after Courtney got out of the tub and used the large cloth to squeeze the excess water from her hair before wrapping it around her body that she realized all her clothes were gone. Her custom-made wedding gown, her shoes and stockings, every item of underclothing. Even her gloves.

  A rush of panic seized her.

  She couldn’t recall seeing Jimena taking anything from the room. But then, Courtney had been so desperate for the bath, she hadn’t noticed much beyond the inviting water.

  Surely, the kind woman did not intend to just leave Courtney stranded in the bathing room with nothing to wear. Securing the towel beneath her arms and tucking the end in at her chest, Courtney took a seat on the bench and finger-combed through her hair, keeping a cautious eye on the door.

  After a while, she heard a noise in the hall and rose to her feet. Jimena gave a quick little rap on the door and called out a greeting before peeking her head in.

  Seeing that Courtney was out of the bath, Jimena swept into the room, carrying a brightly colored skirt-and-blouse combination similar to what the older woman wore herself.

  “Where are my gown and all of my other things?” Courtney asked, then repeated the phrase in Portuguese for good measure as she gestured toward the bench where her clothes had been.

  Jimena appeared to understand the question well enough as she replied in Spanish, finishing her explanation by dramatically holding her nose.

  Courtney lifted her chin, trying not to blush in embarrassment. “You try traveling across the country with nothing more than the clothes on your back,” she replied in a low mutter.

  Setting the clothing on the bench Courtney had just risen from, the older woman shook out a simply made but pristine combination of camisole and drawers. Jimena continued speaking in rapid-fire Spanish as she held out the cotton garment for Courtney to step into the leg holes.

  From what she could grasp of the few familiar words, the clothing belonged to Jimena’s daughter. The skirt’s hem hovered a couple inches from the ground on Courtney’s tall form. It was a vivid blue trimmed with a green ruffle and embroidered with multicolored threads in a flowery design. The blouse was of light, white cotton and was also colorfully embroidered, this time across the shoulders and chest. Once the blouse was tucked into the skirt, Jimena wrapped a yellow sash around and around Courtney’s waist and tucked the ends securely in the folds to keep it all secure.

  It was unlike any outfit she had ever worn, but the bright colors were cheerful, the materials were soft and clean, and the skirt swirled in a way that almost made Courtney want to spin in place like a girl. Jimena motioned for Courtney to take a seat on the bench. She combed through Courtney’s long tresses, then braided the length into a single plait down her back.

  Finally done, the older woman urged Courtney to stand while she took a good look at her work. Smiling widely, she reached up to gently pat Courtney’s cheeks in a motherly fashion. The open and friendly gesture made Courtney distinctly uncomfortable, but she smiled back at the woman.

  She was shocked to feel the prick of tears in her eyes. “Thank you. I am not sure why you have decided to be so nice to me, but I appreciate the kindness.”

  Jimena gave a quick reply before she ushered Courtney from the bathroom and back out to the parlor, where a tray of refreshments had been set on a small table in front of the sofa.

  Courtney took a seat as Jimena poured a glass of cool lemonade. The older woman’s eyes suddenly widened as she handed Courtney the glass. “Dios mío, casi se me olvide.” She reached into a deep pocket of her skirt and withdrew something that she handed to Courtney.

  It was a cotton handkerchief wrapped securely around Courtney’s money.

  “Gracias, Jimena,” Courtney murmured as she curled her fingers around the precious riches. The meager coins had come to represent her tentative grasp on an independent future. They were all she had of value in the world and represented the only way she was likely to get away from this place and continue to Alexandra’s.

  Jimena gave one last smile as she clasped her hands together in an almost prayerlike gesture. The words she said were terribly earnest in tone, but before Courtney could try to understand their meaning, the woman turned and bustled from the room.

  Leaving Courtney alone once more in the quaint little parlor.

  The sudden absence of Jimena’s energetic amiability left Courtney feeling an abrupt wave of weariness and doubt as she looked
around at the unfamiliar surroundings.

  She would never have expected her adventures to bring her to this strange home in the middle of Montana cattle country. She had never seen as much open land as she’d noted on their drive from town. Raw wilderness extended in all directions, broken up by nothing more than a few tiny homesteads and grazing cattle or sheep in the distance. The Lawton Ranch was by far the largest home she’d seen in the territory.

  Tomorrow, if Dean Lawton was to be believed, she would be on her own again. She would have to find somewhere to stay in town while she waited for Alexandra to reply to her letter, unless she managed to find another way to continue on her journey.

  For the first time, Courtney wondered what she would do once she actually made it to Helena. She could only stay with Alexandra’s family as an uninvited guest for so long. If she intended to remain out here, she would need to find a way to replenish her funds, to rent a room, perhaps. To live.

  A heavy sigh escaped from her chest before she could stop it. It was all so overwhelming when she stopped to consider what she had done. Overwhelming and terrifying.

  She forced herself to look on the bright side. Optimism was her only friend at the moment.

  At least she wasn’t still on the dreadful stagecoach. And she was certainly significantly closer to Alexandra than she was to Boston…and Geoffrey.

  Over the many days since leaving, the stab of his betrayal had eased to a deep ache made up of regret, embarrassment, and a strange sort of empty sadness.

  Such emotions were so foreign to Courtney that she honestly had no idea what to do with them. She had always felt completely self-assured. Her place in the world—or, more accurately, in Boston—was one of an elevated social status where she was adored for her charming and friendly manner, her somewhat impulsive energy, and her loyalty to those deserving her friendship. She had never had cause to feel regret, but she did now in how naively she had believed in a future that had been so laughably out of reach.