A Late-Blooming Rose: A Montana Sky Series Novel

by Debra Holland

  Edith glanced down the street toward the schoolhouse. Her sixteen-year-old-son wouldn’t be free until this afternoon. He’d distributed invitations to his fellow students to take home to their parents. This afternoon, he’d ride out to the various farms and ranches on the outskirts of Sweetwater Springs. Those inhabitants didn’t tend to get into town much and thus wouldn’t pick up theirs from the post window in the train station in time to attend the wedding. Ben wouldn’t get far though before night fell and would deliver more tomorrow after school.

  I didn’t think this through. Ben should have delivered this one, too.

  Henton Hardy. She would never have invited a saloon owner to a family wedding. But Caleb had no such qualms. As the town banker and hotel owner, he did business with many unsavory types and insisted any of his customers should be allowed to attend. Well, it’s his wedding, after all. But I don’t know what our Boston relatives will think having to rub elbows with the riffraff.

  The sound of horses’ hooves and wagon wheels made her turn to see a cowboy driving a team of shiny black horses and a buckboard wagon headed her way.

  Edith had never seen the man before. Surely, she’d remember one so handsome—with Welsh looks—black hair waving to his shoulders, and blue, blue eyes. His face was tan, she supposed from riding the range after horses or cattle, instead of the pale skin he would have had from living in rainy Wales.

  He pulled up the horses in front of where she stood, set the brake, and tied off the reins.

  For some odd reason, Edith couldn’t stop watching him. At the sight of that lanky, muscular body climbing down from the buckboard, a slow tremble coiled through her stomach.

  He flashed a cocky, crooked grin, and the shiver slithered down her legs and into her feet, making her toes curl inside her high button boots. Grateful her skirt and petticoats hid her reaction, she stiffened her knees and raised her chin, unwilling to allow the annoying man to see how much he’d affected her.

  He was dressed informally, like every other cowboy around here—in worn denim trousers, a blue shirt, and black vest. The shirt was rolled up to the elbows, exposing sinewy tan forearms. A black jacket lay on the seat. Catching Edith watching him, the man gave her an appraising stare, then winked and tipped his black Stetson, moving closer with long strides.

  Heat rose in her face, and Edith had to glance away. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had shaken her composure. That cool composure had seen her through the death of her husband, the move from Boston to nowhere Montana, and living for four years in this backwater prairie town. Now on the verge of a triumphant return to Boston, her composure was the last thing she could afford to lose.

  He removed his hat and gave her a respectful nod, one lock of his dark hair falling over his forehead in a boyish fashion. But the admiring look in his eyes, a deep shade of blue, was anything but respectful and boyish.

  He set the hat back on his head. “Hello, darlin’,” he drawled, reaching out a large hand toward her envelopes. “Is one of those for me?”

  Edith huffed out a breath, heat crawling from her cheeks to the back of her neck. “I doubt it,” she said in a chill tone, hoping this man wasn’t another possible wedding attendee.

  His grin widened, and his stare was frank and admiring. His gaze dropped to her hand, as if searching for a ring.

  But today, for such a formal visiting occasion, Edith wore gloves. She ignored the thrill his attention sent through her.

  He cocked an eyebrow and tipped his head. “You sure? I’d love to attend.”

  A lady doesn’t roll her eyes. Although she’d never been so tempted. She held up the envelopes. “You don’t even know what these are for.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Any place a pretty little lady like you will be is a place I want to be too.”

  Edith knew she was attractive and ever since she’d put up her hair, she’d received plenty of male attention. But never had she been called a pretty little lady. For one thing, she wasn’t little, being on the tall side for a woman. Beautiful. Elegant. Poised. All familiar compliments. But never pretty or little.

  Still, the charm of the compliment flustered her. Edith wasn’t a woman to fluster easily, and she refused to allow the man to see his effect on her.

  He reached to pluck the stack of envelopes from her hand and rifled through them. “Ah! I knew I couldn’t be so unlucky to miss whatever this event is for.” He held up one envelope in front of her eyes.

  Mr. Cai Briscoll. Edith read her own writing and remembered how, when she addressed the envelope, she’d wondered who the man was. Since she knew most the residents of Sweetwater Springs and the environs by name excepting loggers, small prairie farmers, and hunters living isolated in the woods, she’d assumed he was one of those. But this man didn’t seem to be one of those sorts.

  “My brother Caleb Livingston’s wedding,” she said stiffly. “To Magdalena Baxter.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.”

  In spite of her desire to remain aloof, Edith couldn’t help giving him a glance of inquiry.

  He waved the invitation in front of him like a fan. “That this isn’t for your wedding.” He paused a beat. “Unless, of course, you’re already married.”

  “I’m a widow,” she said through gritted teeth.

  For a moment, old sadness flashed in his eyes.

  But the cockiness returned so quickly, that Edith couldn’t be sure she’d really glimpsed any vulnerability.

  He gave her a little bow. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  She graciously inclined her head.

  He jerked a thumb toward the door. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  Edith knew her face must be flushing, for her cheeks heated again, and she hated he could see her response. “Absolutely not!”

  He leaned to knock on the doorframe. “Yet, here you are, lingering on the doorstep of the saloon. A game of cards, perhaps? I’ll bet you play a mean hand of poker.”

  “I’ve never played cards in my life.” Nor had she ever spoken so coldly in her life.

  But her coldness seemed to have no effect on the annoying man, for his grin broadened.

  He eyed her up and down. “You can’t be a saloon girl, that’s for sure.”

  “Is that supposed to gratify me?”

  Throwing back his head, he laughed.

  Something warm tickled inside Edith’s midsection.

  “Darlin’, when I gratify you, you’ll have no need to ask. You’ll know.”

  The good-humored, roguish look in his eyes and his teasing tone almost made her overlook the most outrageous flirtation she’d ever received. But a lady—even a widow—shouldn’t acknowledge any kind of intimate innuendo, even if she found her breath hitching and her heart beating faster.

  “Now, I’m curious as to why you’re going into Hardy’s.” He crooked his elbow. “Allow me to escort you.”

  Edith gave his arm her most haughty stare. “Don’t let me stop your drinking or card playing or….” She remembered the saloon girls, and her voice trailed off, scandalized by her own thoughts. Of course, she couldn’t possibly voice such a thing, even if he already had. Ladies weren’t supposed to know about prostitutes. Although, of course we do.

  Mr. Driscoll raised both eyebrows. “Or?” he asked in a polite tone.

  But the wicked gleam in his eyes told her he knew exactly what she’d been thinking. With a shake of her head, Edith wrenched open the saloon’s door. “Never mind!” She sailed through. Once inside, she inhaled the smell of smoke, unwashed men, and alcohol and wished she’d held her breath.

  The men seated at the round tables playing cards and, the two standing at the long wooden bar in front of Mr. Hardy stopped to gaze at her with curious or predatory stares. All except the one at an empty round table whose head was pillowed in his arms, passed out. His hat hid his face.

  Edith didn’t recognize any of them and realized she’d need to add another category of men she didn’t know to the loggers, small prairie fa
rmers, and isolated hunters—men who frequented Hardy’s Saloon.

  She sniffed in distain. Not that I’d want to make their acquaintance. Although she did wonder if they’d received wedding invitations. Well, if they haven’t, I’m not about to pursue the omission.

  Although, Edith refused to meet anyone’s gaze, she couldn’t help but remain conscious of Cai Driscoll behind her. Her spine shivered, as if he’d placed a hand on the small of her back, and the hair on her neck quivered from the brush of a calloused finger over her skin. Yet, he hadn’t touched her.

  From the second table, Sheriff Granger glanced at Edith, her gray eyes assessing. The lawwoman frowned, laid down her cards, and stood, pushing back her chair and winding around the other two tables to stop in front of Edith. She was dressed similarly to the men around her—trousers, longsleeved shirt, vest—hers leather with a badge pinned to the front. “Mrs. Grayson, this isn’t the place for you.”

  “I’m aware of that Sheriff.” She fought to keep tartness from her tone. The lawwoman didn’t deserve Edith’s ire, which rightfully belonged to the man at her back. Nor did she wish to alienate the sheriff. “I’m here to give Mr. Hardy an invitation to my brother’s wedding. I left the one for you, Mr. Red Wolf, and Walter on the desk at the jail.”

  An unexpected smile softened the sheriff’s customary impassive expression. “Maggie Baxter and her baby Charlotte are the best things that could happen to your brother. She’s definitely brought out Caleb’s softer side.”

  Although, Edith didn’t like the lawwoman’s familiar use of her brother’s name—really, she couldn’t wait to return to Boston and more proper manners—she couldn’t help but agree with the sentiment. “Mrs. Baxter and dear Charlotte are a most welcome blessing for our little family.”

  Witnessing her serious brother fall head over heels for mother and child had been quite an astonishing experience. But newborn Charlotte also grabbed Edith’s heart with her miniature hands. Who would have thought I could love a child who wasn’t my own blood?

  Ben, too, had fallen victim to the baby’s sweetness. He doted on the child like a besotted big brother. Seeing them together made Edith long to give her son a sibling. She wasn’t too old, provided she found the right husband in the next year or so. But in Boston, of course.

  Not for the first time, the idea of leaving her brother, Maggie, and that sweet baby cost Edith a pang. But this move is for Ben’s sake, she reminded herself for the umpteenth time.

  And mine, too, of course. I can’t wait. Really, I can’t.

  The sheriff gave Edith a penetrating glance before turning her attention to Mr. Driscoll. “Glad you’re here for Ahab, Cai. Was hoping not to have to haul him to jail to sleep off his bender.”

  “Appreciate that. I was worried about him.” He strode over to the unconscious man, laying a hand on his shoulder.

  The unexpectedness of Mr. Driscoll’s compassionate expression made Edith uncomfortable.

  “Ah, Ahab.” Mr. Driscoll shook his head. He glanced from the sheriff to Edith. “I knew when he didn’t come home to the ranch, I’d be making a trip out here.”

  “I’m sure the journey is a familiar one,” Edith said tartly.

  Mr. Driscoll glanced at her with a hint of censure in his eyes. “Ahab received word yesterday that his sister died. His only living relative.”

  Shame froze her in place, and she didn’t know what to say or how to apologize. Edith knew people thought her haughty, which she didn’t mind. Acting unkindly, though, is a different matter. “I’m sorry for his loss,” she said stiffly, knowing the inadequacy of the expression. But then she thought of Caleb, her rock since Nathaniel’s death. “A brother and sister relationship can be very important.”

  His expression softened. “I remember.”

  Remember? Oh, dear, had he also lost a sister?

  Mr. Driscoll pulled Ahab to a standing position, and then ducked and lifted the man over his shoulder.

  One of Ahab’s arms knocked off the black Stetson.

  Edith stooped to pick up the hat, and then found herself going around Mr. Driscoll and his unconscious burden to hold open the door. Finally, she followed the men outside.

  Mr. Driscoll heaved Ahab over the side of the wagon onto a bed of straw and positioned him on his back. For a moment, he paused, looking down at his employee, a pained expression on his face.

  This man has unexpected depths. She didn’t know why the thought came to mind. Nor could Edith fathom why she even cared. But I do. “Here you go, Mr. Driscoll.” She handed over Ahab’s hat.

  “Call me Cai.” He winked. “I’m sure we’ll be fine friends.” He took the hat and dropped it over Ahab’s face to shelter him from the sun. He walked around Edith and climbed up into the wagon seat, untied the reins, and unlocked the brake.

  Edith waved the invitation for his attention. “But Mr. Driscoll, you’re forgetting this!”

  “I only answer to Cai.”

  She huffed.

  He chuckled. “Bring it out to my ranch, Mrs. Grayson. You’re welcome at any time.”

  I most certainly will not! “I’ll leave the invitation in your mail box at the train station.”

  “Well, then, I’ll probably get it in a month or so when I send someone for supplies.”

  Once again, the grin he flashed her tickled something in her midsection that she refused to acknowledge. “But that will be too late.” Why does the man have to be so stubborn?

  He shrugged.

  Edith flapped the envelope. “Mr. Driscoll, I insist you take this now.” Don’t make me run after you. Not that she would do any such outlandish thing.

  With another charming smile and a wink, he flicked the reins. The horses started up, and he left her standing, arm still raised.

  Mouth agape, she stared after him. Then she caught herself, lowered her arm, and snapped her jaw shut. Proper Edith Livingston Grayson did not make such a ridiculous facial expression. Except, apparently, when in the presence of Cai Driscoll.

  She made a determined mental note to avoid the man at all costs. Glancing down at the invitations she still held, Edith almost groaned, and perhaps would have actually done so if ladies were allowed to utter such animalistic sounds. Instead, she let out a sharp breath, not at all wanting to go back inside the saloon to give Mr. Hardy his invitation.

  With a disapproving shake of her head, she rearranged the stack, putting Mr. Driscoll’s on the bottom.

  I’ll send Ben with the invitation tomorrow. He can’t possibly refuse my son, when he’s driven all the way out to wherever that man’s ranch is located.

  Edith didn’t stop to think why Cai Driscoll’s attendance at the wedding suddenly became important to her.

  To purchase Beyond Montana’s Sky, go to my website: https://debraholland.com

  MONTANA SKY SERIES

  Sweet historical Western/Prairie Romance in Chronological Order

  1882

  Beneath Montana’s Sky

  1886

  Mail-Order Brides of the West: Trudy

  Mail-Order Brides of the West: Lina

  Mail-Order Brides of the West: Darcy

  Mail-Order Brides of the West: Prudence

  Mail-Order Brides of the West: Bertha

  1890s

  Grace: Bride of Montana

  Wild Montana Sky

  Starry Montana Sky

  Stormy Montana Sky

  Montana Sky Christmas

  Painted Montana Sky

  A Valentine’s Choice

  An Irish Blessing

  A Rolling Stone

  Glorious Montana Sky

  Healing Montana Sky

  Sweetwater Springs Scrooge

  Sweetwater Springs Christmas

  Mystic Montana Sky

  Singing Montana Sky

  My Girl

  Bright Montana Sky

  Montana Sky Justice

  A Late-Blooming Rose

  2015

  Angel in Paradise

  ABOUT T
HE AUTHOR

  Debra Holland is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of the award-winning Montana Sky Series (sweet, historical Western romance) and The Gods’ Dream Trilogy (fantasy romance.)

  Debra is a three-time Romance Writers of America Golden Heart finalist and one-time winner. In 2013, Amazon selected Starry Montana Sky as one of the Top 50 Greatest Love Stories.

  When she’s not writing, Dr. Debra works as a psychotherapist and corporate crisis/grief counselor. She’s the author of The Essential Guide to Grief and Grieving, a book about helping people cope with all kinds of loss, and Cultivating an Attitude about Gratitude, a Ten Minute Ebook. She’s also a contributing author to The Naked Truth About Self-Publishing.

  To learn more and join her newsletter list go to: http://debraholland.com