Debra Holland - [Montana Sky 02] (13 page)

“I can understand your emotional attachment to the property. Perhaps when you’ve had a chance to think more rationally on the subject…”

Biting back an acerbic reply, she said, “I’ve already given it much thought. But thank you for your concern.”

She retained her calm facade while they closed the conversation, and Mr. Livingston ushered her out of the office.

Out in the street, she expelled her breath in a huff, then started making a mental list of all she needed to do. She’d show these men that a woman could work a ranch!

Sunday morning, Jack, dressed in the crisply ironed clothes Samantha had laid out for him, crossed his arms across his chest and rocked back on his heels, as if digging his new boots into the wooden floor. The early sunlight shining through the kitchen windows played across his freckled face. “I ain’t goin’ to no church,” he said, his mouth set in the stubborn look now familiar to Samantha.

She paused in the act of pouring milk into the glasses on the table. Behind her at the stove, Maria continued swirling batter around the bottom of a frying pan to make the crepe-like German pancakes. Samantha couldn’t wait to introduce the twins to her favorite Sunday morning breakfast.

In the last few days, the twins had been quiet and obedient. Yesterday the three boys had groomed the horses, mucked out their stalls, cleaned the wagon they’d use to drive to church today, and taken baths without a fuss. Samantha had begun to think they were settling in. Jack’s words of rebellion caught her off guard. She glanced over at Tim, already sitting at the table next to Daniel, catching the distressed looked he aimed at his brother.

She set down the pitcher. “Why not?”

Jack tightened his arms across his chest. “I just ain’t.”

Samantha inhaled a deep breath of the bacon-and-pancake scented air. “Church is a special place where we worship the Lord.”

“There ain’t no God.”

As she read the painful meaning behind the boy’s words, Samantha’s stomach tightened. She motioned for Jack to join the other boys.

Without uncrossing his arms, he thumped himself down next to his brother.

Smoothing the blue-striped cotton apron she’d tied over her black cashmere dress, she took her seat. She looked at Tim for confirmation. “Do you really believe there is no God?”

He looked down at his plate. “Not for me,” he mumbled.

“Why do you think that?”

Jack interjected, “We prayed when Ma was sick. She died.”

Daniel’s blue eyes lit up in understanding, and he bounced in his chair, eager to share. “When my papa was hurt in the accident, I prayed for him to get better. I sure was mad at God when my papa died.”

Samantha nodded in agreement. “I was too. I also lost my mother and father in the same accident.” She reached over to touch Tim’s shoulder. “I still miss them very much, just as I know you two must miss your mother. I tell myself that we all have to die at some time. It’s hard to lose the people we love. We can’t always know why bad things happen. But I do know, most times, I see good things coming out of bad.”

Jack’s mouth firmed. “Our ma dyin’ weren’t no good.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Our pa was a mean cuss.”

“But you’re here now with Daniel and me. I hope you think that’s good.” She held Jack’s gaze, until he ducked his head. “I know it’s a tough change. With time, it will get better.”

In silence, Maria glided over to the table with a platter of the wide, thin pancakes and handed them to Samantha. She took one and set the platter on the table. “Sunday breakfast before church is always special. I used to eat these as a child.” She spread butter over the pancake, then reached for a jar of Mrs. Toffels’s strawberry jam. “First butter it, then add the jam. After that, roll it up.” She demonstrated.

Daniel’s winged black eyebrows rose, and he wiggled, reaching for the platter. “I remember how, Mama.”

“Even after two years,” she teased.

“Yep.”

“Well then, go ahead.” She passed him the plate.

“Thanks, Mama.”

Samantha smiled at Jack. “I’ve been looking forward to today. Daniel and I haven’t had a chance to attend church for quite a while. Having you two attend with us will make me very happy.”

Jack’s set mouth relaxed, but his arms remained crossed.

Samantha handed the platter to Tim. “Help yourself.”

Jack sat in silence for another few minutes.

Samantha cut up her pancake and proceeded to eat a few bites. “Could you just go for me?”

“No, ma’am, I cain’t do it.”

“You’re sure?”

“Ain’t goin’ to no church.”

“What about you, Tim?” She held her breath waiting for his answer.

Tim avoided Jack’s gaze. “I’ll go,” he mumbled staring down at his plate.

Jack looked like he’d been struck. He opened his mouth to say something.

Although pleased with Tim’s acquiescence, Samantha shook her head at Jack, warning him to remain silent.

Jack slumped in his chair.

“You’ll stay here and help Manuel.”

“How come they don’t have to go?”

She fixed him with a stern gaze. “Maria and Manuel are Catholic. They have to wait for the traveling priest to arrive before they can attend a service. Although they are welcome to worship with us, they aren’t comfortable with the idea. That’s why they aren’t going to church.”

With a furtive sideways glance at her, Jack picked up his fork and began to eat. In a few minutes the militant look on his face faded to normal boy-with-an-appetite, and he dug into his breakfast.

Samantha wished she could feel as calm as she tried to portray. The boys’ revelation of their lack of religious convictions disturbed her. Her faith had been the one thing she could cling to when life seemed too painful to go on—a solace the twins had never found. Somehow she’d have to help them find faith, in her, in themselves, and most importantly, in the Almighty.

Wyatt glanced one more time into the looking glass in his bedroom, making sure his black tie sat straight. A darned nuisance, but a necessary part of Sunday attendance. Besides he was going courtin’ today. A man needed to dress the part.

The navy broadcloth suit fit snug across his shoulders, and he knew his gray shirt matched his eyes. Alicia had certainly told him so. She’d bought him his first gray shirt. Ever since, he’d worn them in her memory. Humming a snatch of tune, he flicked a speck of lint off the lapel.

Ready.

In the hall, he could hear the clatter of Christine’s boot heels as she skipped down the steps. Mrs. Toffels had made her a new blue dress, and she’d chattered away all through breakfast about how excited she was to wear it to church today.

With a smile, he strode out of the room to follow his daughter. It pleased him to spoil her—giving her everything he’d lacked as a child. She would never have to do without, never be abused, never be hurt. He’d see to that. His daughter would never need anything.

Except a mother,
a little voice whispered in his head.

Well, he’d been planning to remedy that ever since he’d met Edith Grayson, the banker’s sister. He’d been attracted to her cool dark looks, calm ladylike demeanor, and how well she’d raised her son. She’d be the perfect new mother for Christine. It was time to implement his plan and begin courting her.

An image of Samantha Rodriguez rose in his mind. Opinionated and temperamental, what with her ridiculous toy horses, determination to collect wayward boys, and a fiery beauty so different from Edith’s, she’d been a difficult woman to banish from his thoughts. His body started to respond to his picture of Samantha, how it would feel to kiss her, to…

It’s Sunday—not a day to think of physical pleasures.

Wyatt ran his hand across his face, as if trying to erase his fantasy. Although the good Lord who’d created Eve for Adam would surely understand, for his own peace of mind, he needed to put Samantha from his thoughts. It had been too long since he’d seen Edith. Once he was in her presence, things would be back to normal.

He strode into the kitchen, sniffing in appreciation at the scent of the apple pie resting on the stovetop. “Ready?” he asked Mrs. Toffels.

“Just let me finish packing the food for the Nortons.” Wearing her best black silk dress, a froth of lace pinned to the collar with a pearl bar pin, the housekeeper leaned over a woven basket set on the table. “I know Mrs. Norton has been ill this week and probably hasn’t been up to cooking. Let’s see…” She touched her finger to the side of her cheek. “Cold chicken, cold potatoes, a jar of my pickles”—her finger tapped with each word—“and the apple pie.” She turned toward the partially opened window and let out a cry. “My pie!”

Bustling over to the window, she threw up the sash and leaned out, apparently searching the ground. “It’s gone.”

Wyatt pointed to the stove. A pie rested on the top. “There it is.”

“No, that’s the one I made for Sunday dinner. I set the Nortons’ pie on the windowsill to cool before I put it in the basket.”

As he surveyed the kitchen, looking for the missing dessert, Wyatt felt his brows pull together. If they lived in town, he’d have assumed some of the boys had stolen it. Certainly that had been the only way he’d ever tasted sweets. But here, the hands had already left for the south pasture.

“We don’t have time to look for it, or we’ll be late for church.”

Mrs. Toffels’s mouth rounded, crinkling her face in distress.

“Just give them the other one. We can do without for one Sunday.” He opened the door and stalked outside and over to the window. He looked around, checking for footprints that would account for the missing pie. Everything looked fine. If a human or animal had stood by the window, there was no sign of prints among the tulip bed. He shrugged his shoulders and headed for the barn.

Pushing open the barn door, he blinked in the dimmer light. “Harry,” he called.

The boy poked his head up from the nearest stall, placing the currycomb he’d been using on the top of the wall. “Yes, Mr. Thompson?”

“You know anything about Mrs. Toffels’s apple pie?”

Harry squinted his hazel eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end like an orange feather duster. “Her pie?”

“It’s missing from the kitchen windowsill.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “I didn’t take it.”

Wyatt studied the boy’s face, but saw only honest bewilderment. “You see anything unusual?’

“No, sir.”

“Well then, it seems we have us a mystery. Go get your gun belt. Keep your Colt with you. Keep an eye out, hear?”

“Yes, Mr. Thompson.”

“Now go get the team and help me hitch up the buggy, will you?”

The boy turned and with his gangly gait loped down the aisle.

Wyatt stepped back to the open barn door, staring at the house, disturbed by the implications of the stolen pie. An honest wanderer would have knocked at the door and asked to be fed.

Varmint.

Human or animal? Most likely human. An animal would have left the remains of the pie. And Wyatt Thompson didn’t cotton to varmints on his property—around his daughter. He’d take whatever steps needed to protect what was his.

Samantha approached the white frame church, trepidation tightening her stomach. What would these people be like? Would they accept her Catholic son?

She resisted reaching for Daniel’s hand as he half walked, half bounced along next to her. Her son had passed the age where he wanted to hold hands with his mother. On her other side, Tim radiated reluctance with every heavy step. She wondered how he’d fare without his twin by his side.

She could see people clustered around the outside of the building, a white clapboard with a bell tower, a cross spiking the sun-drenched blue sky. It was clear the congregation enjoyed mingling in the balmy spring weather before the service. She tried not to allow herself to scan for Wyatt; nevertheless, her gaze searched for a tall, dark man.

When she reached the first group, she recognized Nick Sanders, standing with another man and two women. Dressed in a black suit, he had a protective hand placed on the back of
a blonde woman whose blue lace shirtwaist and skirt aroused Samantha’s immediate envy. She smoothed down her hated black dress. That must be his wife, she thought.