Montana (11 page)

She hesitated, then shrugged. “Russell Letson said there were a number of unexplained incidents that've happened since Sam arrived. He said people in town talk about him.” Her voice rose again and she leaned forward.

“I'm not a man who listens to rumors. You disappoint me, Molly, if you do.”

“But Gramps, Sam spends time with my boys.”

“You've been taken in by that silver-tongued devil of an attorney.”

“But I thought you liked him! He's your attorney!”

“I should fire him, that's what I should do! I don't want him filling your head with doubts.”

“How do you know he's not telling the truth?” Molly demanded. “What did Russell mean by ‘incidents'? Why didn't you tell me? Is it true, Gramps?”

“Fiddlesticks.”

“Gramps, please. Listen to reason. Everything is fine and then Sam Dakota arrives and stirs up the town…”

“It needed a little stirring up. Whole damn place has gone to seed. I don't know how it happened, but overnight the population of Sweetgrass has turned into a bunch of fanatics. I'm telling you right now that fight wasn't Sam's fault. I saw it happen. I'd have done the same damn thing myself.”

“Tell me about this fight. Russell mentioned it, too, but he didn't give me any details.”

Apparently his mother didn't know everything. Tom was interested in the particulars himself. Sam might not be as big as some, but he was strong. And Tom knew he wasn't a man inclined to walk away from a challenge, either.

“There's nothing you need to know about it, other than what I already told you.”

“Gramps, I'd rather—”

“You're forgetting something, Molly girl,” Gramps interrupted. “If it wasn't for Sam Dakota, I'd be a dead man now.”

A moment of silence followed his words.

“Oh, Gramps…”

Tom watched as his mother took one of Gramps's hands and pressed it to her cheek. She closed her eyes and Tom knew how grateful she felt that he was alive. He had to admit he felt pretty grateful, too.

“One more thing I'm gonna tell you,” Gramps said gruffly. “Sam was a champion rodeo rider—one of the best till he had a bad accident. He knows about hard work, and the value of a dream. Not only that, he's managed to keep this ranch going. So if you've got anything to say to the man, I suggest you start with thank-you.”

I
t was more out of habit than necessity that Sam stopped by the house each morning. With family around Walt didn't need Sam checking up on him. His visits had become courtesy calls—first he would inquire about the old man's health, then he'd list his plans for the day.

Although Sam's title was foreman, he'd taken on just about all the responsibilities of what bigger ranches would call a general manager. He did the paperwork, ordered supplies, hired and fired temporary hands when they needed extra help and organized the work. And he dealt with any problems that arose, of which there never appeared to be a shortage.

Toward the end of Molly's second week at the ranch, he walked into the kitchen one morning and found her in her bathrobe, standing barefoot in front of the coffeepot. His reaction at the sight of her—looking warm and sleepy, her hair tousled—surprised even him. It felt as if…as if someone had kicked him in the stomach.

“Mornin',” he said, aware that he sounded flustered. In a gesture of respect he touched the tip of his hat.

“Sam…hi.” Seeing him had obviously unnerved her, too. Sam watched as she tugged the robe more securely about her waist and rubbed one bare foot against the other.

They'd been avoiding each other for almost a week. Kissing her that night hadn't been one of his most brilliant moves, but try as he might Sam couldn't make himself regret it. Seeing her now, her hair mussed and her face bare of makeup, he thought Molly Cogan was lovely—much lovelier than he'd realized before. It was difficult not to stare. He pulled his gaze away and wondered if her appeal had something to do with getting to know her and the boys. He enjoyed Molly, the small things she did to make every day special. Not a night went by without her adding an extra little touch to the evening meal. Sometimes it was a bouquet of wildflowers placed in the center of the table; other times a low-fat dessert made especially for her grandfather. Without further discussion, Sam had joined the family for supper on Sunday night and every night since.

He and Molly didn't speak or meet each other's eyes, but he found himself listening for the contagious sound of her laughter. It always made him smile, no matter what his mood. The gentleness she displayed toward her grandfather touched him. And he sensed that she was a good mother, too. Not only that, he was impressed with the improvements she'd made around the place. Molly and her boys had already done a number of small repairs that he'd been putting off for lack of time. Fixing the porch steps. Painting the front door. Things like that.

“Do you want coffee?” she asked, breaking into his thoughts. She opened the cupboard and reached for an extra mug.

“Thanks, but no, I've already had my fill.” He'd been working the better part of two hours and had downed half a pot before sunup. Sam's routine was to rise around four in order to sort through an accumulation of paperwork, then head out to the barn.

Last week he'd hired two hands, high-school kids who worked cheap and were grateful for the jobs. They arrived early in the morning and returned home at the end of the day. Pete could shoe horses, mend fences and fix machinery. Charlie would work half the time as a hand and the other half as a wrangler; his particular responsibility was caring for the horses.

Some ranchers used all-terrain vehicles, instead of horses, but Walt would have none of that. A horse was the original ATV, he said, and while his opinion might be outdated, Sam tended to agree with him. He wasn't opposed to taking the pickup onto the range and often did, but nothing beat riding. Nothing compared to the feeling of exhilaration and freedom he experienced on horseback. During his darkest days in prison, this was what he'd thought about, how he'd escaped the hell he was trapped in.

Sam forced his mind back to the matters at hand. Charlie worked well with the horses, but Sam guessed that by this time next year Tom would be knowledgeable enough to tackle the job.

Molly's older son possessed horse sense. It was something you either had or you didn't. For Tom, it seemed to come naturally. The boy had a real affinity for animals, especially horses, and he was a fast learner. He frequently reminded Sam of what
he'd
been like at that age—eager to prove himself, looking for ways to establish his manhood. Nothing better than ranch work for doing that.

Both Molly's boys were good kids. Sam would have liked to tell her, but hesitated because the tension between them remained so strong. Probably because of that damn kiss.

Sam started into the living room where Walt was resting. He knew it was hell on the old man to sit idle, something he had to do more and more lately. That was one reason Sam made a point of visiting Walt every morning, consulting with him and seeking his advice, although he rarely needed it.

“Sam.” Molly stopped him as he left to find Walt. He turned around.

“I—there's a question I'd like to ask if you don't mind,” she said without meeting his eyes.

Ever since Saturday night, when she'd gone to dinner with Letson, he'd noticed a change in her attitude. He'd assumed it had something to do with the kiss; now he wasn't sure.

“Gramps said you didn't offer any references when he hired you,” she said, holding her coffee mug with both hands. “Why was that?”

“He didn't want any.” He squared his shoulders in challenge. “Are you asking for them now?”

“Gramps doesn't seem to feel he needs them.” A dubious quality in her voice told him she didn't agree.

If he hadn't demonstrated his ability and his commitment by this time, Sam doubted he ever would. He was about to tell her exactly that when she asked another question.

“I've heard there've been a number of…unexplained incidents around the ranch since you started here.”

“Unexplained incidents?” There had been, but they'd begun
before
he was hired; Walt had told him that. He wondered who'd mentioned it to Molly. Letson, no doubt. Any problems Sam encountered he'd dealt with promptly and efficiently. For the most part he didn't see any need to worry Walt, so he hadn't brought up any of the recent incidents. The old man knew about the mailbox being knocked over three times, but only because Ginny Dougherty had said something. The damaged fence posts, strewn garbage and rotten eggs thrown against the side of the barn were more a nuisance than a hazard.

The most dangerous incident had happened earlier in the week. A windmill used to pump drinking water for the cattle had been toppled. At first Sam suspected that wind and time had been the culprits, but on closer inspection, he'd discovered the damage was deliberate. It'd taken half a day for two men to repair it.

Molly's right hand clasped the front of her robe. “Gramps suggested if I was concerned about any of this, I should ask you. He's right—you should have the opportunity to defend yourself.”

Sam's hackles instantly went up. “Defend myself?” His narrowed gaze locked onto hers as his anger simmered just beneath the surface. “Are you suggesting
I'm
the one responsible?”

“That's not what I said.” The hesitation before she answered implied something else. “What I want is the truth. I can deal with anything but lies. If there's some hidden agenda here, then I'd rather you told me about it now.”

“Hidden agenda?” He worked his fingers, clenching and unclenching his hands. “In other words you're asking me if I'm causing these problems. That doesn't make much sense to me. Why would I bite the hand that feeds me?”

“To prove how valuable you are.”

She'd apparently given the matter some thought. “I don't have to make more work for myself to prove how much I'm needed around this place. Look around you—the ranch is in terrible shape! I can't keep up with everything that needs to be done as it is. Trust me, the last thing I'd do is add to my own workload.”

She studied him as if to gauge the truth of his words. After a moment she nodded. “Thank you, Sam. I apologize if I offended you.”

“No problem.” She
had
angered him, but he admired her for having the courage to confront him directly. Most folks wouldn't, and he'd be dismissed without ever knowing why. “Now if you don't mind, I'm going to talk to your grandfather for a while.”

Walt looked pale and drawn when Sam finally entered the living room. Just sitting up seemed to drain him of strength. “Mornin', Sam.”

“Walt.” Sam removed his hat and took the seat across from the old man.

“My granddaughter givin' you trouble?”

Sam laughed softly. “None that I can't handle.”

“Good.” Walt let his head fall back against the sofa cushion and closed his eyes. “Were you able to get the Stetson?”

“Yeah, I picked one up in town yesterday.” He didn't mention that it had cost almost a hundred dollars—or that he'd paid for it himself.

Walt's smile was full, rare even at the best of times. “Tom will be surprised, won't he?”

“I expect he will.” Delighted, too.

“Good.”

It was time to get on with the business of the day. “I'm sending Pete and Charlie out to Lonesome Valley and I'll have them check the—”

“Fine, fine, whatever you think.” Walt cut him off with a flick of his hand. “How are Tom and Clay doing? Molly told me they follow you around like shadows.”

The boys had taken up the role of sidekicks, asking questions and trailing after him, but Sam didn't mind. Much of the time they were actually a help—Tom especially—doing small chores like cleaning tack and sweeping out stalls. He could always use a couple of extra hands.

“Tom's doing well with his riding lessons,” Sam said. “I'd like to take him out on the range.”

Walt's mouth quivered with a half smile. “Whatever you think,” he said again. “What about the younger boy?”

“Not yet. He's too nervous. Needs his confidence built up first.”

Walt showed his agreement with an abrupt nod. “Didn't you tell me Natasha recently delivered her pups?”

“A couple of days ago now.” Sam grinned. “Clay's been spending his days baby-sitting them—when his mom hasn't got him painting shutters or nailing down steps.”

“Good. Let the boy choose one of those pups for his own.”

The old man was wise; giving the younger boy a puppy was the perfect thing. “I'll see to it.”

“And—” A clamor arose outside, followed by a shout.

Sam recognized Ginny's frantic voice and knew it meant trouble. He leaped to his feet and raced through the kitchen, nearly colliding with Molly in his rush.

Stepping away to avoid him, she lost her balance. Sam instinctively reached for her shoulders to steady her. He wasn't sure how it happened, but his hand grazed her breast. The briefest of contacts, completely unintentional, and yet he felt a jolt of desire so potent it was as if someone had pounded a stake right through him.

Molly felt it, too, light as the touch had been, and her startled gaze flew to his.

He opened his mouth to apologize, but she shook her head, wordlessly conveying that an apology wasn't necessary. She understood. He had more important matters to attend to.

“Sam.” Ginny's Appaloosa pranced about the yard, his neck lathered from the long gallop. “I was out checking my herd and saw that your fence is down. You've got a hundred head or more making straight for the river.”

Sam slapped his hat against his thigh and swore. He'd already sent Pete and Charlie out for the day. First he'd need to find them, and then the cattle. He just prayed none of the herd was injured or managed to get lost before he found them. That wasn't all he had to worry about, either. He'd recently planted seventy-five acres of alfalfa; those cattle could destroy the entire crop in ten minutes.

“Thanks for letting me know, Ginny.” He was already running toward the truck.

“What is it, woman?” Walt hollered from the doorway, his eyes flashing with more life than Sam had seen in a week.

Sam stopped abruptly and turned toward them. “There's a fence down,” he explained.

Walt's reaction was identical to his own.

“That's not the worst of it,” Ginny muttered.

“There's more?” Walt cried. “Dammit, woman, can't you bring any news except bad?”

“It isn't my fault, old man! If you'd gone out of your way to create friends instead of enemies, you might not be in this predicament.”

“Would you two stop bickering?” Sam shouted. He didn't have time to stand around while they exchanged insults. If there was more trouble, he needed to hear what it was so he could deal with it as quickly as possible.

Ginny's gaze traveled from Walt to him. “It was deliberate, Sam. Someone cut the wires.”

This time Walt and Sam swore in two-part harmony.

 

Molly didn't understand the full significance of what had happened; all she knew was that she didn't see Sam for three days.