A Valentine's Choice: A Montana Sky Series Holiday Novella (The Montana Sky Series) (8 page)

CHAPTER FIVE

The next day, when Bridget first awoke to silence, she lay disoriented in the dim light. The dark slant of the roof over her head gradually brought her the realization she was in the loft of her cousin’s Montana cabin.

She listened for sounds of Sally stirring but didn’t hear anything.
Well, Sally has no cow to feed and milk at first light.
She thought of Bo, the soft-eyed Guernsey she’d left behind, and felt a pang of homesickness.

Thinking of Bo reminded her of playing with the Falabellas and the goats…and of her very first kiss, the lightest brush of their lips before the goat’s head butting interrupted them. She wondered what a real kiss would feel like.
I hope I find out soon.

Bridget pulled the coverings closer around her shoulders, grateful for their warmth in the frigid air. She didn’t look forward to crawling out from her warm cocoon to dress. Until her hostess arose, she’d not venture from her bed.

Last night she’d been so exhausted, she’d dropped right into a deep sleep, barely noting the lack of her sister’s presence on the pallet beside her.

But now, Alana’s absence hit her, tightening her throat. For the first time in her life, Bridget had slept alone. Even in the third-class cabin on the ship, they’d squeezed together on the same bunk. She slid her hand over to where Alana should be and ached for the presence of her twin.

Bridget tried not to think of the empty place on her other side that had always belonged to Catriona. She’d had months to get used to the fact their older sister had abandoned them, and she supposed eventually she’d get used to Alana’s absence, as well. Then she chided herself for being so fatalistic.
Alana will be back. Soon we’ll be reunited.

But an awareness of future changes hit her in a way that she’d never thought of before.
Someday, maybe soon, we’ll be married and no longer living together. Someone else will sleep next to me and to Alana.

Bridget had always had a vague awareness of that fact. After all, marriage is what happened when one grew up and became an adult. But no man in their small village was suitable—for the sisters’ ages and station in life anyway.

Unfortunately beautiful Catriona had set her sights on the squire’s son and had for a long time had eyes for no other. Bridget suspected her yearning for the man combined with grief over their mother’s passing made her susceptible to the peddler’s blandishments.

And even if available bachelors or widowers lived nearby, she had always assumed Alana would be the first to wed. That is, if her twin ever got over her secret love for Timkin—another reason to leave their village, for Bridget had always doubted that young man, who seemed more fey than human, returned her sister’s love.

And even if Bridget caught the eye of a man she wanted to wed, she couldn’t leave her sister—for timid Alana couldn’t live on her own. Any man who chose Bridget would end up with the pair of twins on his hands.

Nostalgic pain for her childhood, the closeness with her parents and two sisters—all five of them together—clogged her throat.
Now I’m alone.

A different sadness, as wispy as a spider web, threaded through her pain—feelings she’d never allowed herself to feel before—the longing for someone to love and be loved by in return. As things stood back home, there’d been no one.

But, unlike in Ireland, here she had hope. Her thoughts lingered on James, then skittered to Patrick.

From the way the stationmaster had talked, the twins could have even more men interested in them. For the first time ever, they might have an abundance of suitors to choose from.

I have possibilities for a different future.

She imagined a husband lying in the empty place beside her.
But which man?
She felt attracted to both Patrick and James, and as the purple shadows lightened, she pictured first one then the other beside her, and both men felt good.

The heady thought excited and overwhelmed her.

* * *

A week later, Bridget curried a placid Falabella mare, taking advantage of Sally’s nap time to escape to the barn to play with the little horses she’d fallen in love with.

Aside from handwork, she had only a limited amount of household tasks, for Samantha and Mrs. Toffels insisted the three of them take meals at the big house.

While she enjoyed sitting with her cousin—doing handwork, knitting, mending, or darning socks—and talking about everything under the sun—well, under an Irish or Montana sun—Bridget was used to being outdoors or in the stables.

So when Sally napped, Bridget felt free to do as she pleased. But she also felt an obligation to stay by Sally’s side and try and keep up her cousin’s spirits, not let her fret about her mother.

Two days after he’d left, Harry had returned with distressing news. Dr. Cameron had diagnosed Henrietta O’Donnell with influenza, a serious illness that caused far too many deaths. Sally not only worried for her mother, she feared the rest of her family would succumb.

Bridget couldn’t help worrying about Alana. To be sure, her twin had often nursed the sick and remained as healthy as a horse. But now, she couldn’t help but wonder if her sister’s broken heart and weakened appearance would make her more susceptible.

Harry had also spoken of the warm welcome the family had afforded Alana, which reassured Bridget. Both hers and Sally’s thoughts and prayers tended to often stray to the far-away house on the prairie.

Gradually, Bridget had also gotten to know several of the cowboys. A few, like Buck, were gregarious, obviously grateful to have a woman to talk with. But others acted shy and barely made eye contact with her. A few, she suspected, hadn’t yet adjusted to the presence of beautiful Samantha Thompson, much less having Sally, and then Bridget, drop into their world in rapid succession.

Deuce trailed after her like a puppy dog. Moss had a sense of humor that made her laugh. The oldest cowboy, Sid, pretended she wasn’t there at all.

Of all the men, she spent the most time with James and Patrick because those two singled her out. Each day, her liking for them increased.

She also spent time riding, although it was too cold to go far. James often lent her Dusty, and when he worked away from the house, she rode Samantha’s black mare Bianca.

Today the cowboys were out and about, and she had the barn to herself. Bridget was so occupied with grooming Pampita she didn’t hear James until he spoke. “Hello, Bridget.”

Startled into gasping, she almost dropped the comb. Her heartbeat quickened and not just from surprise.

“I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” James extended a hand to her. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

“I haven’t finished with Pampita yet.”

“There’s not much of her, so I’ll bet you’ll be through in a few minutes.”

“Where are we going?” She continued pulling the comb through Pampita’s shaggy winter coat.

“You’ll see. It will be a bit of a walk.”

Bridget finished the last spot on the brown mare’s rump. “You’re right. They’re so small, it doesn’t take long to groom them.” She kissed Pampita’s nose and reached up to place her hand in James’s.

He helped her to her feet, his grip warm and sure, and released her.

Bridget grabbed her mittens from the edge of the manger and pulled them on. She stepped out of the stall, latching the door behind her, then followed James down the aisle and out the door.

Outside, the day was sunny, the warmest she’d experienced since her arrival, although still cold. Much of the snow, especially in the trodden areas, had melted to mud. Luckily, the area between the barn and the house had stone pavers, but their protection didn’t last past the far edge of the barn.

They walked in companionable silence for about fifteen minutes, until they reached an area with unbroken snow. A trail led to a crescent of trees—most with their branches empty, but some firs stood in all their year-long green finery.

“I broke a path through here earlier.”

James led her through the trees.

She breathed in the spicy scent from the firs. The rows of trees thinned to bare land.

They continued to the top of a small rise that seemed flat, gradually sloping to a snow-covered meadow.

James raised a hand in a signal to halt. He sent her a glance filled with mischief.

Try as she might, Bridget could see nothing special about her surroundings. Slowly, she turned in a circle, viewing only sky and trees and snow. “What is this? Why did ye bring me here, Jamie?”

A smile played around his mouth. “To see your dreams.”

She shrugged and raised her eyebrows in puzzlement. “I give up. What am I supposed to see?”

A slow grin spread across his face. He waved an arm to encompass the whole space. “Your potato patch.”

“My what?”

“No one’s using this plot of land. Too many trees around the area to be able to run cattle through here. Too far from the big house to make it easy to cultivate for the kitchen garden. Potatoes don’t need the tending that other vegetables do, or at least, I assume.” He raised an eyebrow in inquiry.

Heart beating fast, she nodded in agreement.

“So it’s a practical area for you.”

“But this is still the Thompson’s land.”

“I think if you offered them a share of your crop in exchange for the space to plant, they’d be fine with your enterprise. Certainly wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

Excitement tingled through her. She imagined the rich dirt beneath the snow, the budding crop, harvesting potatoes in the fall, filling the larders of the Thompsons and the O’Hanlons, and still having enough left over for a cash crop. Breathing deep, she stretched out her hands, fingers spread, feeling her dream take hold.

James watched her as if he saw something wondrous. His gaze captured hers, and he stepped closer, clasped her hand, drawing her to him, and gently touched her cheek with his other hand. He smiled just enough for those dimples to show.

Obeying a strange compulsion, she boldly leaned forward and pressed a kiss into the nearest one. Then, realizing what she’d done, Bridget gasped and pulled away.
Holy mother of God, what came over me!

“You missed.”

“Missed?” Confused, Bridget only knew her face must be beet red.

He tapped his lips, laughter in his eyes.

“Oh, ye.” She swatted at him, but the urge to kiss his dimples again remained, unnerving her. Her face hot, Bridget turned and hurried toward the copse of trees. When she reached their shelter, she looked behind her to see what James was doing.

He grinned and waved, but made no move to follow her.

Her hands flew to cover her burning cheeks, and Bridget fled back the way they’d come and didn’t stop until she’d reached the safety of the big barn.

Once there, she thrust open the door, stepped inside, and shut it behind her—far harder than necessary—and tried to catch her breath.

In Thunder’s stall, Patrick groomed the horse. His attention was fully absorbed in the stallion. His hands were gentle, and he murmured to Thunder in a quiet voice.

Bridget couldn’t make out the words, just the warmth of his tone. She’d never seen a more perfect picture of masculine beauty—both man and beast—not that Thunder was a beast. No, far from it. The stallion was as sweet as clover—an unusual temperament for a Thoroughbred.

“I’m not sure who likes the grooming more—him or ye.”

With a jerk, his head came up, and he slanted her a glance. “I was looking for you.”

Calmer now, she came to the stall door, unlatched it, went in, and walked to his side.

“Thought you’d like to work with Thunder.” Patrick shrugged. “But when I couldn’t find you I did the job myself.” His posture radiated displeasure.

“Oh,” she said in disappointment. All week, she’d been angling to work with Thunder—had striven to build Patrick’s trust in her skills with horses.
Have I ruined my only chance?

“James took me to see some land where I could plant my potatoes.”

His brows pulled together in a frown. “Potatoes?”

With a shock, Bridget realized she hadn’t shared with Patrick her dream of a potato farm.
Strange how that hasn’t happened, for I’ve told anyone else who’s shown the slightest sign of interest.

Perhaps he hasn’t given me any.
Their talk had been only of horses, with some sharing about their previous lives. “Alana and I brought potatoes from Ireland. I plan to raise a crop to sell.” She went on to tell him the story about her family surviving the famine, including her pride in their achievements.

His frown didn’t abate. “I’ve nothing against a good spud, mind you. At my house, we have a well-stocked garden, which, as my cook tells me, leads to a well-stocked pantry and root cellar.” His jaw tightened, as if he’d planned to say more, but stopped himself.

Bridget had a feeling she wouldn’t have wanted to hear the rest.

“Did I ever tell you about my house? My horse farm is outside of Crenshaw. A couple hours journey by train from Sweetwater Springs.”

His abrupt change of topic confused her, but she managed a shake of her head.