Debra Holland - [Montana Sky 02] (12 page)

Nick’s flush deepened. “It’s not completely finished yet. Elizabeth just refused to wait any longer.” There was a touch of wonder in his tone.

Emotion welled into Samantha’s throat, and she swallowed. She remembered how Juan Carlos had acted those first weeks they were married. Proud, happy, as if not quite believing his own good fortune. What a special time that had been—how she missed him. “I wish you happiness in your marriage, Mr. Sanders.”

“Call me Nick, ma’am.” The red receded from his cheeks, leaving behind a glow. “Thank you. I’ll pass your good wishes to Elizabeth.”

“Will I meet her on Sunday?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll look forward to it then.”

He sent her a shy grin. “I think you’ll become friends.”

“Of course.”

Nick replaced his hat. “I’d best be goin’ after the mail.”

Wyatt smiled, although sorrow lingered in his eyes. Was he having similar memories? “See you, Sanders. Don’t want to keep your bride waiting.”

With a grin and a shake of his head, Nick left.

Samantha watched him walk away, envying him his happiness. Although the pain over her husband’s death had lessened over the last two years, true joy eluded her. She glanced at Wyatt’s profile. Would those feelings ever return?

One foot still perched on the schoolhouse step, Wyatt stared after Nick Sanders’s retreating back. Although he wished the man happiness in his new marriage, Nick’s obvious joy had jangled the aching, empty place inside Wyatt that still remembered Alicia. Time had scabbed over the wound of her death. But every once in a while something would bump against his heart, reminding him that he hadn’t entirely healed. Perhaps he never would.

Next to him, Samantha sighed. “His wife must be very happy.”

Wyatt remembered what a glowing bride Elizabeth Hamilton had been. “She sure looked it on her wedding day.”

“Don’t most brides? I certainly felt that way.”

“Most I’ve seen.” He remembered his own wedding—Alicia’s radiant countenance, the joy evident through her lace veil. He knew a similar happiness had emanated from his face. He’d been misty-eyed, yet he’d sported a grin that wouldn’t quit.

“I’ll look forward to meeting Nick’s wife.”

“I’m sure you’ll like her. She came out from Boston last year to stay with the Carters—wealthiest ranchers hereabouts.
For a time the gossips seemed convinced that our banker, Caleb Livingston, would be the lucky man, but Sanders, the dark horse, came from behind and won the fair lady’s affection.”

“How romantic.”

“Speaking of Livingston, here he comes now. That’s his nephew, Ben, who’s with him—newly come from Boston.”

Samantha turned, surveying the banker. “Oh good, I planned on going to the bank next.”

“Well, looks like the bank is coming to you.”

She smiled, playfully wrinkling her nose at him, then turned to face the new arrivals.

Livingston, dressed in a navy broadcloth business suit, stopped in front of them, Ben by his side. Next to them, Wyatt felt grubby in his denims and tan shirt.

Livingston nodded at him. “Thompson.” He directed a look of admiration at Samantha.

For some reason that irritated Wyatt.

“Don’t tell me,” said the fellow. “You must be Ezra’s niece, Mrs. Rodriguez. I’ve heard of your…” He glanced over at Wyatt, the right side of his mouth crooking upward. “Falabellas.”

Samantha cocked an eyebrow at Wyatt. “Everyone seems to have heard of my little horses.”

“To be expected.” Livingston drew her attention back to him. “I’m Caleb Cabot Livingston, and this is my nephew, Benjamin Cabot Grayson.”

Ben bowed, a miniature of his uncle, in his own navy suit. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Rodriguez.” His words were clipped in Boston precision, but Wyatt knew his fancy manners and innocent brown gaze melted all the ladies, including his own daughter. Somebody needed to show that boy what it took to be a man in the West.

Wyatt could see Samantha’s thoughts flit across her face:
What a handsome boy. So well mannered. So different from the twins.
He knew she’d say something about those twins, and she didn’t disappoint him.

“You might have heard, Ben, that I’ve taken in the Cassidy twins. I hope you’ll be friends with them.”

“Of course, ma’am.” Sincerity radiated from his face. “I’d better get inside.” He bowed again, then turned and trotted up the stairs into the building.

For a moment Livingston couldn’t disguise his annoyance. “I thought Reverend Norton planned on shipping those two incorrigibles off to an orphanage.”

Samantha bristled like a provoked porcupine. “No child deserves to live in an orphanage.”

Wyatt choked off a laugh.
Not a good move, Livingston, disparaging her precious twins.

The banker made a quick recovery. He smiled, showing his straight teeth. “A loving home will be good for them. If anyone can tame those boys, Mrs. Rodriguez, I’m sure it will be you. I wish you the best.”

The militant look in Samantha’s eyes calmed. “Thank you, Mr. Livingston,” she said, her voice still crisp. “I know it won’t be easy.”

“You’re showing true Christian compassion, Mrs. Rodriguez. I admire you for it.”

Wyatt didn’t like the blush spreading over Samantha’s porcelain skin.
Hypocrite. He dislikes the idea of those boys being around as much as I do.
He’d never realized how the handsome banker oozed charm like a swamp seeping mud. He’d always seemed a businesslike man, even if he had a mite too many upper-class
Boston notions for Wyatt’s taste. A little bud of jealousy unfolded in his chest.

Livingston crooked his arm to her. “There’s some business I need to discuss with you, Mrs. Rodriguez. May I escort you to the bank, so we can go over your accounts? I’ll make sure you are well taken care of.”

“Thank you, Mr. Livingston.” Samantha slid her arm through the banker’s, slanting an almost flirtatious smile up at him.

The jealous bud hardened inside Wyatt. She’d never smiled at him like that.
What am I thinking? I don’t need Samantha Rodriguez to flirt with me.

Samantha flicked a little wave at him. “Good day, Mr. Thompson.”

Livingston nodded. “Thompson.”

Rather than watch them stroll together to the bank, Wyatt headed toward the mercantile, deliberately shifting his focus to the list of supplies Mrs. Toffels had given him. Yet he couldn’t stop the niggling thread of awareness that followed Samantha and Livingston.

Samantha enjoyed the sensation of walking down the street with her hand tucked into a gentleman’s arm. Under her feet, the dirt road still held its springtime sponginess. The banker guided her around the remaining mud holes with the air of a Sir Walter Raleigh.

It had been so long since she’d been the recipient of a chivalrous gentleman’s attention. And while she wasn’t sure she liked him, he certainly was handsome…

She glanced up at his profile, admiring the perfect line of his nose, the high angle of his cheekbone. A picture of Wyatt rose in comparison—skin more tanned, a Roman nose that fit his broader face, gray eyes glowing silver when he teased her. She nudged the thought aside. Why was she even thinking about that annoying man?

Mr. Livingston cleared his throat. “I hope your journey wasn’t difficult.”

Samantha pursed her lips in a rueful grimace. “From South America to Montana? Challenging. I relaxed when Daniel was sleeping, and I didn’t have to worry about the little monkey climbing the rigging, falling overboard, or absorbing the, the…less than gentlemanly language of the sailors. But the ocean was beautiful. I could stare at it for hours, watching the light change against the waves. So hypnotic.”

A kindred look flashed in his brown eyes. “One of the things I miss is the ocean. I spent some of my life in Boston. My
grandparents had a pleasure yacht, and as a boy, I finagled time aboard whenever I could.”

“The West has its own beauty,” Samantha said. “I love the grandeur of the mountains. There’s a wildness about the landscape that is so different from the mountains of Europe. The Alps, for example, appear more civilized. All those quaint little villages perched on the mountainside.”

“You sound like you’ve traveled widely.”

“My father worked in the diplomatic corps, and we lived in Germany, Spain, and then in South America.”

He came to a stop in front of a whitewashed brick building. “Perhaps we can further discuss your European adventures. I’d like to invite you to dine with my sister and me. She’s been missing elevated female society.”

“Thank you for your invitation. Perhaps when I’m more settled.” Was there really a dearth of educated females in Sweetwater Springs? The image of Mrs. Cobb sprang to her mind. That would be a pity. Not that a female needed to be educated to be a good friend. Her dear Maria was an uneducated Indian peasant, yet had always been one of Samantha’s staunchest supporters. But Elizabeth Sanders sounded interesting. And she’d come from Boston. Samantha wondered why Mr. Livingston’s sister didn’t like her.

He guided her up the two wooden stairs, across the small porch to the door, upon which letters in black paint spelled out Livingston’s Boston Bank. “Welcome to my bank, Mrs. Rodriguez. Not very imposing compared to what you’re used to, I’m sure.”

“Nonsense, Mr. Livingston. This building is perfectly appropriate to Sweetwater Springs.”

“I’m only sorry a lady such as yourself has to enter it.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I mean that you, as a woman, shouldn’t have to trouble yourself about business affairs. I hope you will allow me to advise you.”

Shades of my father-in-law, only said with much more charm.
“So kind of you to offer. Of course, I’ll listen to your advice. It would be foolish of me to do otherwise.”
Just don’t expect me to follow it.

He bowed slightly, then opened the door, stepped back, and allowed her to walk inside.

Behind a high wooden counter, an elderly man jerked his head up from the ledger he’d been studying. Underneath the green visor he wore on his balding head, his faded blue eyes surveyed Samantha. “Good morning, Mr. Livingston. Ma’am.”

“Horace. I’d like you to meet Ezra’s niece, Mrs. Rodriguez. Mrs. Rodriguez, this is my clerk, Horace Hatter.”

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am. Ezra and I were good friends when we were young. Death of his fiancée changed him something fierce. Never was the same after that.”

“Yes, I know.”

Mr. Livingston placed his hand on the small of her back. With the other, he waved toward a closed door. “This way, please.”

Once inside the room, she let her gaze rove over the office, past the large mahogany desk to a gilded birdcage in the corner. At their entrance, three finches fluttered as if welcoming them. “Oh, you have birds. My husband had the most dreadful parrot. The nasty thing would bite anyone but Juan Carlos. And the things it said! I almost wrung its neck many a time. These little ones look much more peaceful.”

“They are.” He waved toward a straight-back wooden chair in front of his desk. “Won’t you please sit down?” He looked over at a silver tea service resting on a small table. “Would you like me to have Horace make you some tea?”

“No, thank you. I’m fine. I’m eager to get started.”

He reached for a sheaf of papers. “I anticipated that you would be paying me a visit and prepared Ezra’s paperwork for you to see.”

“Thank you.”

He sighed, concern shadowing his brown eyes. He ran the tips of his fingers over the edge of the papers. “I must be blunt, Mrs. Rodriguez. These last years, Ezra allowed things at the ranch to slip. He seemed to just stop caring. There’s still some money left in his account, but it won’t last long.”

“How long?”

“With careful husbandry, you’ll be able to outfit the ranch with what it needs—repairs, new stock, wages for the hands. But if you don’t start turning a profit, you’ll be wiped out by winter.”

Six months.
“I see.”

He raised his hand as if to stop her from saying more. “There’s more bad news. The property taxes haven’t been paid for the past two years.”

“Would the bank be willing to extend me a loan to pay the taxes?”

“Frankly, Mrs. Rodriguez, I don’t feel comfortable with that idea. Ezra’s property is in poor condition—not good collateral. And I think turning it around will be beyond your capabilities—beyond any woman’s. Ranching is a hard life.”

Samantha strove to keep her tone even. “I’m aware of that, Mr. Livingston. For the last two years, I’ve been living on a ranch in Argentina.”

“Not the same as running a place, I’m afraid. I’d advise you to sell and move to town.”

“To town?”

“Wyatt Thompson has been wanting to buy the property. I’m sure he’ll make you a fair offer.”

Wyatt wants to buy my ranch.

A feeling of betrayal slithered into her heart. Despite her rejection of his advice, she’d thought he’d been concerned for her, when all the time he’d just wanted to get his hands on her land.

Not sure if she felt more annoyed with Mr. Livingston or with Wyatt, Samantha’s anger flared. “I’m not interested in selling.”
Especially not to Wyatt Thompson.