A Valentine's Choice: A Montana Sky Series Holiday Novella (The Montana Sky Series) (3 page)

Bridget sat back, tugged up the fur to cover most of her face, inhaling the smell of musty leather, and watched as they glided through the town, which on closer inspection proved bigger than she’d thought from her first glance through the train window. Two big buildings under construction rose three or four stories amid the false-fronted wooden ones. A few nice houses and one brick mansion seemed out of place next to simple wood cabins.

Soon they left the town, gliding under brown-trunked trees, the branches laden with white crystals from yesterday’s snowstorm. The beauty, like the cold, took her breath away, and she had to force the pine-scented air into her lungs.

James looked back over his shoulder and tossed her a grin. “You two lovely ladies all right back there?”

She lowered the bearskin. “As right as can be with such a skilled driver,” Bridget said with a smile, grateful that Alana was snoozing and thus couldn’t hear how flirtatious she sounded.

He winked and returned his attention to driving.

After about an hour, the novelty of riding in a sleigh had worn off. The bricks at their feet chilled, and they grew cold.

They passed from forest into open land. The earlier cloudiness of the day had given way to vivid blue skies and sunshine that sparkled off the snow, the brightness making her squint.

Even huddled next to her twin with the thick bear pelt over part of her face, Bridget felt the icy cold start to wear away at her energy and fatigue set in. Eventually, the strain of the their long journey caught up with her, and she dozed off, her head resting together with Alana’s. Sometimes, the women bumped awake when the runners of the sleigh hit an unseen hole or rock, buried under the snow. Then they’d drift back to sleep.

Finally, James slowed the sled. He twisted in the seat to give them a sympathetic glance. “Last stretch, ladies. We’ve been on Thompson land for a while.”

Bridget lowered the fur enough to expose her mouth. “It’s thankin’ the Good Lord I’ll be when I’m warm again.”

He laughed, although his face was ruddy with cold. “’Bout another ten minutes or so, and we’ll reach the house.”

He must be just as glad as we are to arrive at the destination.

Keeping the fur tight around the two of them, she wiggled to sit up so she could see. But the vista hadn’t changed from snow-covered land and distant blue-gray mountains.

“Do you really think they’ll welcome us?” Alana’s voice quivered.

“Of course. We’re kin to Sally and her husband.” Bridget enthused more certainty into her tone than she felt. Alana, gentle soul that she was, had too many fears, and Bridget often needed to prop her up.
Or push or pull her
. She remembered the difficulties she’d had in convincing her twin to set out for America. Bridget hadn’t wanted to leave “her” horses, but Alana clung to the people she cared about, especially her best friend, Timkin.

“There!” Bridget pointed with her chin. “I see buildings.” A big two-story white ranch house blended into the snow around them. But the two huge red barns—one in front of the other—made a start contrast against the arching blue sky. She couldn’t wait to meet all the horses that must be inside.

In the corral on the left of the barn, Bridget saw a big man lunging a magnificent black stallion, his movements capable. She sat up, leaning over the side so she could study the horse. She glimpsed a well-chiseled head on a long neck, high withers, a lean body, and long legs.
A Thoroughbred
. The sleigh passed the barn, and she lost sight of the horse.
What are they doing with a Thoroughbred on a ranch?

“Bridget,” Alana chided. “Yer lettin’ in the cold air.”

“Away wi’ ye, Alana. Aren’t ye excited?”

“Nae, Bridget. I’m tuckered is what.”

The sled pulled up in the area between the house and the biggest barn. A picket fence enclosed an area around a side door. A brick walkway and steps leading to the house were cleared of snow.

The door opened, and Bridget spotted a woman in a navy blue coat step out. She wore a pale blue hat, scarf, and mittens, and apparently hadn’t seen them arrive, for she stopped and shaded her eyes from the sun. Then she lowered her arm and moved down the walkway and through the gate to meet the sleigh, a warm smile on her face. She had bright blue eyes, even features, and auburn brows and lashes, which must surely match the hair hidden by her cap.

“Looks like you brought company for me.” The woman addressed the words to James, but her glance at the twins was friendly.

“Well, not precisely for you, Miz Thompson,” James corrected her. “Miz O’Hanlon’s cousins. Bridget and Alana O’Donnell. All the way from Ireland.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “What a journey you two have made. I’m Samantha Thompson. Welcome.” She gestured for them to step from the sleigh.

A lanky man ambled from the barn. Up close he proved to be young, perhaps seventeen, with orange hair and a freckled face. When he saw the twins, his eyes widened and he stumbled, pulling himself up abruptly. Color flooded his cheeks, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

With an upward quirk of his mouth, James handed the reins to the young man. “This here’s Deuce. He’s really named Harry, but since we have another Harry, the one who married your cousin, we swapped out his name for Deuce.” He introduced the twins to the young man.

Deuce ducked his head and stuttered out a greeting.

Mrs. Thompson patted him on the shoulder. “I was just on my way to check on Sally,” she said to the twins. “The storm knocked down the north fence, and the cattle have scattered. My husband, Wyatt, and the hands rode out to round them up and string new wire. I intend to stay with Sally for a while because Harry is reluctant to leave her, for she’s been feeling poorly.”

Is she ill like her mother?

Bridget’s concern must have shown on her face for Mrs. Thompson waved her hand in a negating motion. “No, no. Nothing serious. For the last three days, she’s been queasy in the mornings…”

Alana gasped. “Sally’s with child?”

Her sister had been the one to help their mother with healing and midwifery and so knew about such matters.

Mrs. Thompson’s eyes twinkled. “It’s early days, but I suspect so, since she perks up in the afternoon.”

Bridget exchanged a concerned glance with Alana. Given her condition, their cousin couldn’t possibly welcome visitors.

With a smile, Mrs. Thompson waved for them to accompany her. “After you greet Sally, I’ll bring you back to the house. I know from experience what a long journey from another country feels like, and I’m sure you’d like a bath. We have indoor plumbing and a nice bathtub for soaking. Far easier than a small tin tub in Sally’s cabin. And afterwards, Mrs. Toffels, my housekeeper, will make you something to eat.”

“A bath sounds just heavenly.” Bridget allowed Mrs. Thompson’s charm to wrap around her like welcomed warmth, and her fears eased. Back home, an upper-class lady wouldn’t dream of inviting the likes of them into her home for a bath and a meal. She wondered if everyone in this town would be as friendly.

The crunch of footsteps and hoofbeats in the snow heralded a horseman leading the black stallion. She recognized him as the one who’d been working with the Thoroughbred, and her interest quickened.

With a gasp, Alana shrank behind Bridget.

Up close, Bridget could see the man was as magnificent as his horse. Big and broad-shouldered, he had patrician features with dark eyes and eyebrows.

He glanced at them, a glint of interest in his eyes.

Bridget met his gaze with a frankness of her own.

His eyebrows lifted, and he focused his attention on her.

“Mr. Gallagher owns a stud farm.” Mrs. Thompson explained, touching Bridget’s shoulder. “Patrick, I’d like you to meet Miss Bridget—” She brushed Alana’s sleeve “—and Miss Alana O’Donnell, who’ve come a long ways…from Ireland. Ladies, Mr. Patrick Gallagher.

He removed his hat and swept them a charming bow. Straightening, he smiled with great charm and replaced his hat.

Something about the way his body shifted—shoulders back, chin firm, head slightly-angled, showed he was used to female attention. He made Bridget aware of her bedraggled state in a way that James had not. She stilled her hands to keep from smoothing the wrinkles of her skirt. She wouldn’t betray any hint of self-consciousness to this man.

Like James, he, too, barely glanced at her sister. A novel reaction, not just because the sisters were twins but because at home Alana, with her gentle goodness, was beloved by all the villagers. Kindness shone on her face, and everyone, especially men, noticed her.

Confusion made Bridget glance away from the horse’s owner and focus on his stallion. She wanted to move closer, but Alana grasped a fold of her coat. She couldn’t pull away without exposing her sister’s skittishness.

Is Patrick Gallagher looking at me because he can tell I’m interested in him? Does he see my longing to know his horse? Or is it just that Alana is hiding, and I’m the one in the forefront?

As if discerning that her thoughts were on him, he sent her a knowing smile.

Heat flushed her, bringing a sudden sense of optimism.
Perhaps there’s some gold dust in Montana, after all.

* * *

A few minutes later, as James carried the bags of potatoes, Bridget and Alana followed Mrs. Thompson down a narrow path through the snow to a small cabin made of squared-off logs. The door sat in the middle of the one-story house, with a small four-paned glass window on each side. The timbers still looked raw, with some kind of plaster sealing the spaces between the logs. There was no porch, unlike many of the houses she’d seen from the train, only a wooden step to the entrance. Cordwood was stacked to the eaves along one wall.

A privy stood to the left of the house, with a narrow path through the snow from the doorway. The wood of the small structure was as new as the home.

Mrs. Thompson tapped on the door, and then stepped to the side so the twins would be in view of whomever answered.

Her stomach tight, Bridget turned to give Alana a reassuring smile.

Her sister barely tipped her lips up in response.

The door opened, and a man looked out. He had a tan, rugged face and brown hair and eyes.

Mrs. Thompson waved toward Bridget and Alana. “Harry, I’ve brought visitors.”

He looked at the twins with a bewildered expression but gave them a polite smile. “Come on in.”

The group stepped inside. With just the light from the two windows, the interior was dim, although a small stove in a kitchen area emitted warmth that filled the room. A slight sour smell lingered in the air, remnants of Sally’s nausea.

Harry gestured the twins forward.

Bridget moved to his left, and Alana flanked her other side.

On a bed tucked under a loft and taking up half the room, a young woman was propped against the pillows. She wore a navy wool dress. A shawl of the same color was draped around her shoulders.

Bridget studied her cousin, searching for a family resemblance.

Sally looked wan and tired, but when they entered, she slid her legs off the bed and stood. With her mouth in an
O
, she gazed at the twins.

When Bridget saw her cousin’s dark blue eyes—the same eyes she saw in her sister and in the looking glass—the O’Donnell eyes—she relaxed, feeling an immediate sense of kinship, although she envied Sally her thick dark hair and refined nose.

“I have a surprise for you, my dear,” Mrs. Thompson said gaily. “These are your cousins Bridget and Alana, come all the way from Ireland.”

Sally gasped. Her hand flew to cover her mouth. Then with a happy shriek, she lowered her arm and lunged forward to hug Bridget first, and then Alana before stepping back, laughing.

Bridget couldn’t but join in her cousin’s laugher

“Oh, you must think me daft!” Sally exclaimed. “But Da will be so happy. He’s never stopped missing his family in Ireland.” She glanced behind them as if looking for more people. “Your mother? Catriona?” She spoke with an American accent.

“It’s just us,” Bridget said with the bright smile she beamed to belie the pain of her stark statement. “We decided to come to our family in America.”

“As well you should.” Sally leaned forward to take the hand of each twin and squeezed.

James gave Bridget a questioning glance.

She figured he was asking about giving Sally the information about her mother, and she nodded for him to go ahead.

He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I have bad news, Sally. Your mother is very ill, and your father sent word with Erik Muth to fetch the doctor to their place. That’s why I brought your cousins here, instead of to your parents’ home.”

“My Ma!” Sally released their hands. “Oh, dear Lord. I must go to her.” She whirled toward the bureau as if to start packing.

Harry caught her arm. “You cannot, love. You’ve been sick, too. You’re in no condition to take care of your mother. You couldn’t leave the bed this morning.”

“No, Harry, I must! There’s just Da and the children to nurse her.”

He touched her cheek. “If what we think about your condition is true, Sally, you can’t risk yourself or the babe.”