Montana Legend (Harlequin Historical, No. 624) (4 page)

“You bet.”

“Good. Can I go pet the horses again?”

“Sure thing.”

It was a pleasure to watch her traipse down the weed-strewn path. Little and reed-slim, filled with such important hopes.

He was all she had in the world, and he didn't want to let her down.

Maybe on these high Montana plains, things would fall their way.

“I
t's gonna be trouble, that I can guarantee you.” Seated at the kitchen table, Milt slurped the last of the coffee from his cup. “Heard in the saloon last night that Buchanan sold his land to some drifter. For nothin' more than a song.”

Sarah heard Pearl exhale in frustration. She didn't know what had gone on with old Buchanan, but she knew her uncle. Milt wasn't a man of high moral fiber.

Half listening, she finished wiping dry the last of the baking dishes and cracked the oven door to check on the pies. Golden and bubbling.
Perfect.
She donned the oven mitts and carried the pie plates to the windowsill to cool.

“Surely not to a drifter!” Aunt Pearl was beside herself. “We can't have someone like that for a neighbor. What was the old man thinking?”

“Hard to say, and after all I done for him. All I know is that no drifter is gonna take what's mine.” Milt's chair screeched against the wood floor as he pushed away from the table. “Sarah, you bring me out a slice of that pie when it's cool enough to cut.”

She nodded, turning her back as she put away the
mixing bowl. A chill curled around her spine and she shivered. What did Milt mean? Would he cause trouble for Gage Gatlin?

Gage's image filled her thoughts—tough, capable, everything a Western man should be. By the look of him, he could handle Milt.

Then again, it never hurt to have a little warning just in case. Sarah considered the four pies cooling on the sill of the now open window.

“Ma, I'm ready.” Ella deposited Baby Davie into his settle. “Got my shoes on and everything.”

“Good. Help me pick which pie looks the best.”

“That one.” Ella pointed. “Oops. I gotta find my sunbonnet.”

“Quick, before Aunt Pearl discovers something else she wants done.” Sarah slipped the chosen pie into the prepared basket. Why was she so jumpy? Surely not over the prospect of seeing Gage Gatlin again. And where had the pie cutter gone to?

She yanked open the top drawer. There. She cut Milt a generous piece of still steaming pastry and set that in the basket, too.

“It's a waste to welcome a drifter as a neighbor.” Pearl appeared with the ironing basket on her hip. “I hope you're not taking that extra pie to him.”

“He's a horseman, not a drifter.”

“A horseman? You mean a wrangler? Or one of them hired men paid to clean out barns?” Pearl wrinkled her nose. “Either way, he won't be here long. Not if Milt has anything to say about it.”

Sarah held her tongue and headed for the door. “Do you need anything from town?”

“A spool of brown thread. Milt tore the knee in his
trousers again. Don't dawdle too long. I need you to get supper tonight.”

“I'll be back in time. Ella, are you ready?”

“I found it.” The little girl breezed through the small, cramped front room dragging her sunbonnet by the strings. “Are we gonna cut through the fields?”

“It's nicer that way.” Sarah let the screen door bang closed behind them, grabbed a spare shawl, and tied on her bonnet. The brim shaded her eyes as she headed out into the sunny fields.

The earth stretched brown for as far as she could see, but there at her feet were new green shoots struggling up through last summer's tangled stalks. Like hope. She wished the same for her life. For new opportunities to come her way.

Surely this spot of bad luck she'd been caught in for the past year couldn't last. At least it was easy to think she might be in for a turn of fortune with the sweet breezes snapping in her skirts and the robins swooping through the fields.

After giving her uncle his slice of pie from her basket, she let Ella skip ahead. Prairie dogs popped out of their dens to scold them, their sharp chatter blending with the music of the plains.

A creek gurgled through the fields. A white-tailed deer bolted from the bank as Ella hopped from one rock to the other.

“Look at me, Ma!” Her twin braids flew as she leaped. “We don't have to get mud on our shoes.”

“You usually like getting mud on your shoes.” It was easy to laugh when the sun was shining and her worries felt so far away.

Midstream, Ella continued to jump from rock to rock. Then her arms shot out as she fought for balance
on a slippery-looking rock. Her skirt swirled around her knees. “Look! I didn't fall.”

“You're doing great, sugar.” Sarah held her breath as her little girl made one mighty jump and landed safely on the grassy bank.

It was like a gift, seeing her like this. A year ago Ella had been bedridden, suffering from illness, her future uncertain.

Now she was skipping across the field like any healthy little girl.

Every sacrifice, the long work hours and everyday hardship had been worth it.

“That wind is still a little cool.” Sarah took the shawl hung across her arm and laid it over her daughter's too thin shoulders. “I don't want you to pay any mind to what Aunt Pearl said about Mr. Gatlin. He's no drifter. Look, there's his wagon.”

“Maybe he's got kids?”

“He didn't tell me if he does. And if he doesn't, then you'll make friends when you start back to school.”

“Oh.”

How one single word could hold so much sadness, Sarah didn't know. She ached for her little girl. “Remember how much you loved school?”

Ella nodded slowly, her braids bobbing. “I wasn't behind then. A whole year, Ma.”

“It won't take long for you to catch up.”

“Yeah.” But the fear remained.

Sarah wrapped her arm around Ella's shoulders and pulled her close. “We won't be stuck living with Uncle Milt forever. Things are changing, even though you might not know it. Pretty soon we'll be living
somewhere else, and all these worries about school will be behind you.”

“And maybe I could get my own horse?”

“In the grand scheme of things, maybe.”

“Look, someone's comin'.”

Sure enough, there were two riders—Gage Gatlin, strong-shouldered and tall, and at his side a little girl, her face hidden by the brim of her sunbonnet. Her twin braids bounced in time with the small mare's gait. Could it be? Was Gage Gatlin a father?

“Hello, Miss Redding.” He tipped his hat. “Don't tell me you brought baked goods. I can smell that cherry pie from here.”

“I thought it might be the neighborly thing to do. And it's ‘Mrs.'” She lifted the basket lid to show off the pie's golden crust. “Fresh from the oven.”

“Yum.” The girl rode closer. She was button-cute and lean, her neat braids as black as ink. She had Gage's sparkling eyes and his quick smile. “You brought a whole pie just for us?”

“That's right. To welcome you as our neighbors. We live on the other side of the creek.” Sarah lifted the basket so the girl could see. “I'm told I'm not a bad baker, so I hope you enjoy it.”

“I bet it's real good. Thank you, ma'am.”

“Call me Sarah. And this is my daughter, Ella. When I met your father earlier, I didn't know he had a little girl. That's a very pretty mare you have.”

“Thanks, I'm Lucy and I'm a great horseman like my pa.”

“I'm pleased to meet you, Lucy.” Sarah held the handle so the girl could grasp the basket—it wasn't too big or heavy for the child to carry.

Ella took a step closer, unable to take her eyes off the mare. “What do you call your horse?”

“Her name is Scout and she's an Arabian. Wanna take this to the shanty with me? Pa says it's a real eyesore.”

Ella nodded, and Lucy dismounted. The girls headed off across the prairie, side by side. Sarah felt warm clear through watching them.

“So you're a missus
and
a mother.”

“Are you surprised?”

“Considering you told me you weren't married.” Leather creaked as he dismounted.

“I'm not anymore.” She steeled her heart, but it still made her sad to remember.

He looked sad, too. “Lucy's mother died when she was three. Scarlet fever.”

“I'm sorry. Ella and I have been through a tough bout with diphtheria, so I can only imagine.”

He fell into stride beside her. “I suppose that's why you're living with your uncle.”

“For now. I had to give up my housekeeping job when Ella became ill. In these hard times, it was difficult finding relatives who would take us in.” She fell silent, feeling his gaze intent on her, and she blushed. She'd said too much. “Now that Ella is stronger, we'll be moving on soon.”

“Is that so? Where to?”

“I have no idea, but I'm certain the right opportunity is waiting for me. I only need to find it.” Sarah swept a grasshopper from her skirt and noticed Gage's jaw tighten.

His mouth became a hard frown. “Opportunity?”

“Don't worry. I wasn't talking about marriage.”

“You got me nervous.” He winked, knuckling back his hat. “A man can't be too careful.”

“You're safe from me.” She liked the way his mouth curved in the corners, not quite a grin, but enough to make the laugh lines in the corners of his eyes crinkle. “I'm looking for love. That's an entirely different thing.”

“You'll be lookin' a long time.”

“You don't believe in love?”

“Let's just say I believe in something more practical.”

The shanty came into sight over the rise, and Gage could see Lucy's mare standing in the shade. The two girls burst through the shadowed doorway and into the sun. Gage's daughter held the reins while her new friend petted the mare.

Sarah looked happy watching them, lit up from within. “Our girls seem to be getting along.”

“Sure do, with their heads together.” He was glad to see that.

Lucy was quick to make friends; she had to be, always moving from place to place, always the new girl. Now was her chance to make lasting friendships like other kids her age. That was one of the reasons he was here.

Marriage wasn't one of them. He couldn't deny his great relief to know the pretty woman at his side was only being neighborly. “It was thoughtful of you to bring the pie.”

“That isn't the only reason I'm here.” The gray brim of her sunbonnet shaded her soft face, and she blushed as she kicked at the bunch grass at her feet. “There's something you should know. Milt isn't happy you bought the place.”

“He's about to lose his stolen water supply.” Gage hadn't met Mr. Owens, but he'd asked around enough to know the kind of man he was. “I can handle your uncle.”

“I know you can. But it's always better to be prepared. He said something about making sure you weren't here long.”

“Then I'll have to show him how wrong he is.”

“Good.” Her chin came up and it was easy to see the strength in her. The steel.

He could imagine how well she'd cared for her daughter, all alone, and endured hardship to do it. And yet it hadn't embittered her. He admired that about her and something else—the way she walked. She was all gentle beauty. He couldn't help noticing how her pale cotton dress skimmed her slim, very attractive curves—and that troubled him.

Of all the women he'd come across over the years, why was he noticing this one?

Just lonely, he figured. Last night in his bed at the inn, he'd felt alone. Endlessly alone. Maybe it was simply being in town—he hadn't stayed in one for years—where all those houses were spread out in orderly rows, windows glowing cozily in the dark.

Memories of better times had sailed over him. Of how good it felt to come home to find baby Lucy crawling across the polished floor and his wife smiling a welcome.

For one instant it was easy to want that again. The comfortable companionship after the supper dishes were done, joining his wife to read in front of the fire until bedtime.

Nice memories, but they came hand in hand with the bad. The evenings that hadn't been pleasant. The
woman who'd looked at him with hurt in her eyes, with anger and resentment. Remembering how hard he'd tried to make things right and failed, put to an end any wishing.

Loneliness ached hollow and cold, but it was a better state than marriage.

As they neared the house they could hear the girls's happy chatter, bringing him back to the present. To the woman standing before him.

“If there is some trouble between me and your uncle, will it cause problems for you?”

“No. I'll be fine.” Her problems weren't his, after all.

They'd reached the shade of the shanty, where stacks of new lumber glowed like honey against the earth. A handsaw was tucked safely in the back of a battered wagon.

He was an industrious man, by the looks of it. He'd probably been up at dawn working to accomplish so much. “You plan to repair the shanty?”

“Repair it? More like demolish it and start from the ground up. It's likely to tumble over any minute.” He tossed her a wink that made her miss a step.

His hand shot out to steady her. His fingers seared her skin. Even though she was upright and both feet were square on the ground, she still felt as if she were falling. There had to be something wrong with her—and now she knew why she'd been jumpy earlier.

Attraction for Gage Gatlin tingled through her like a fever.

“I'd best collect Ella and be on my way,” she said as an excuse. “I can see you're busy, and we have errands to run.”

“You're walking to town? It's a long way. If you'd
care to wait, I'll be heading back in a couple of hours.”

His offer was kindly spoken, neighbor to neighbor, but he'd done enough for her. “I can't wait that long, thank you just the same.”

Behind her, she heard steeled horseshoes clomping on the earth. She turned around in time to see a sleek black mare, neck arched and mane flying in the breeze, pulling a polished buggy along the rutted driveway. Sarah recognized the two young women perched on the shaded seat. The banker's daughter and the daughter of a well-to-do neighbor.