Debra Holland - [Montana Sky 02] (23 page)

He traced a finger over her eyebrow, down her cheek, and along her jaw. Temptation trailed wherever he touched.

She shuddered as the battle raged inside her. “Wyatt…”

“Hmmm?”

His soft kisses across her chin sent a quiver throughout her whole body.

“I should be getting breakfast,” she whispered, flexing her fingers on his muscled chest. “The boys will come storming through the door any minute now.”

After one last brush of his lips across hers, he straightened, reluctance in his eyes. He squeezed her hand, as though hesitant to let her go. Then he stood up, pulling her with him. “You’re right. I guess I wasn’t thinking. With all I’ve been through, maybe I needed a little forgetfulness.”

Sam’s heart froze. Was that all it meant for him? A diversion. “Well, I hope I helped.” She forced herself to give him a light answer.

“I’ll be forever grateful for all you’ve done tonight. I’m beholden.”

Beholden.
Before, she would have been gratified to have Wyatt feeling he owed her favors. But now she wanted other things. What, she wasn’t sure. Her thoughts and feelings were like a ball of yarn the cat had chased around and tangled up. She’d need time to sort through them. And she certainly couldn’t think with the man standing right in front of her. Too distracting.

He waited for her response.

She forced herself to smile, walking a few steps down the stairs. “You told me once that people out here take care of their
own. You’ve helped me in the past, and I’m sure there will be opportunities in the future.”

He lifted one eyebrow in reply. “You can bet on that.”

But as Samantha started down the remaining steps, she wondered. Dare she take that bet?

Inside the barn, Jack finished currying Brownie and checked the hay level in the feed box. In the stalls on either side of him, his brother and Daniel groomed their own horses. Little Feather, who somehow always managed to know when the other boys had returned from school, helped Tim.

Jack had wiggled through school as though ants crawled in his britches, fidgeting more than Daniel at his worst. His thoughts kept wandering to the ranch, while his body sat cramped on the hard wooden desk seat. The only good part was when Miss Stanton led them in a prayer for Christine, and he’d joined in instead of shutting out the teacher’s voice like he’d done in the past. He still wasn’t sure about this God stuff, but maybe if the gal were all right, he’d start goin’ to church with Miz Samantha.

Suddenly impatient with waiting, he tossed a balled-up rag at his brother. “Hurry on up, you slowpokes. Do I need ta light a fire under ya?”

Tim looked over at him. “What are you in such a danged hurry about? Us ’uns being there won’t help the gal none.”

“Want ta know if she done died on us.”

Daniel dropped his comb. “Die? She isn’t going to die.” His eyebrows raised, and his lip quivered.

Jack rolled his eyes. “Now, don’t take on, Danny boy. You know Doc Cameron will help her.” He strode out of Brownie’s stall, into the one of Daniel’s mount. He bent over to pick up the
currycomb and gave the younger boy a comforting punch in the arm. “Come on. I’ll help ya. You get the feed.”

Daniel swiped his hand under his nose and followed Jack’s orders.

Soon they’d finished. Led by Jack, the four boys raced outside, across the yard, clattered up the steps of the porch and into the house.

Only Maria was in the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove sending a beef stew aroma around the room. She turned when she heard them, her round, brown face breaking into a smile. She said something in Spanish. Jack didn’t bother to have Daniel translate. Instead, he pushed aside the other boys and headed up the stairs to the big bedroom.

He stopped short in the doorway. Thompson sat in a hardbacked chair next to the four-poster. He’d propped open a book on the bed next to the little gal and appeared lost in its pages, his face tired even in relaxation. He looked up at Jack, one eyebrow raised.

She ain’t dead
. Jack relaxed his tight stomach muscles. “Please,” he whispered. “How is she?”

The eyebrow lowered, and the hard panes of the man’s face smoothed. He glanced down at Christine, and apparently satisfied, stood up. He stepped through the doorway and closed the door behind him. “Outside.”

The boys hustled back down the stairs and through the door. Out on the porch, they lined up against the rail. Thompson towered over them, his gray gaze boring through them.

Jack squirmed, remembering they’d done wrong to Christine, but stood his ground.

Thompson ran his hand through his hair. “Doc Cameron says she needs to stay in bed for a few days, but he thinks she’ll
be all right. Soon, she’ll be able to go home. Still might have to stay in bed, though.”

Beside Jack, Daniel shifted. “So she’s not gunna die?” he asked, his voice sounding small.

Thompson’s faint smile crinkled the corners of his mouth, but still his eyes looked tired. “No, Daniel. Thanks to you all, she’s going to be just fine.”

Jack wrinkled his nose. “Whadya mean? Us ’uns done her wrong. Kept her secret.”

Thompson muttered under his breath, but Jack caught the words. “Another one who blames himself.” Louder he said, “I think we all can share the responsibility. I’m talking about how you all worked with me to save her.” He glanced at Little Feather.

The Blackfoot shifted his eyes.

“I’m proud of you boys. You joined in the search.” Thompson lifted a hand in Little Feather’s direction. “Found her.” He nodded at Jack. “Held the guide rope, rode for the doctor.”

Warmth swelled Jack’s chest and rose into his throat. He’d never made a man proud before. He wanted to wiggle away from the feeling—sort of itched his skin or somethin’—but he also wanted to sit a spell and absorb the goodness.

Thompson glanced off toward the mountains, then back at them. “In a few days, maybe even by tomorrow, Christine will be able to have company. Can I trust you boys to take it easy with her? Maybe read to her or tell her about school?”

They all, even Little Feather, nodded.

Thompson seemed satisfied. “Good, then. You boys go about your chores. I have to get back upstairs. And stay quiet, hear. Mrs. Rodriguez is sleeping. She sat up all night with Christine.”

Thompson turned and went back inside. Behind him, he left silence, each boy seeming to need time to absorb the man’s words.

Daniel popped away from the railing, his eyes sparkling. “I’ll read to her from Mama’s books, one of the Louisa May Alcott ones.” His eager gaze swept the other boys, and he grinned, mischief animating his face. “I’ll read
Little Men
. That book’s like us—a bunch of boys living together”—he slanted a look at Jack—“getting in trouble together. She can be our Daisy, no, our Nan.”

Jack rolled his eyes. Sounded like foolishness.

Dan clapped his hands. “And we can bring the Falabellas in to visit her.”

Now that was a good idea. Sometimes Miz Samantha let one of the little ones into the house. Bringing in Bella would cheer the gal right up.

Solemn Little Feather surprised him by stepping forward. The boy, wrapped inside his favorite blue-and-gray-striped shirt, reached into his pocket and pulled out something closed inside his fist. He didn’t show it to them. “I will share my sacred stone. Tell fire stories of my people.” He put his hand back in his pocket.

The twins made eye contact. Jack expected his own skepticism to reflect in his brother’s face, but instead he saw Tim’s brow furrow. “When Ma was sick, she liked fer me to sing to ’er. But only when Pa wasn’t around.”

Daniel bounced on his toes. “You like to sing?”

“Ma taught us.” Tim grinned at Daniel.

Jack turned away and walked down the steps, remembering his mother’s sweet voice. She and Tim had sung together
many a time. Ma used to tease Jack about handing over all his singin’ ability to his brother. That’s why Tim had a voice like an angel, and Jack croaked like a frog. He hadn’t minded too much, until Ma took sick. She sure did love to hear Tim a singin’. Said it comforted her. Since her death, Tim hadn’t sung a word.

Jack shoved his hands into his pockets and scuffed his way across the yard. He didn’t have anything to offer Christine. At least when Ma took sick, he could bring her his nanny goat’s milk. Said it was better than a tonic. Got so that was all she et.

If only he had his nanny goat. Could give her milk to the little gal. He just knew it would help her get better.

He kicked a rock, sending it skipping across the packed dirt and bouncing off a wooden stake of the goat pen. The two animals in the enclosure only made him feel worse. It should have Nanny inside, just like the bigger corral held his Mariposa. Tweren’t right, that Widda Murphy keeping his goat. Weren’t right at all.

He’d been planning to do something about his nanny goat, but had gotten caught up in the business of his new life. Guilt panged him about his neglect. She’d probably been wondering where he’d been.

The time had come to steal back his goat. Christine needed that milk, and he intended to get it for her.

Wyatt’s callused hands played over her body, the roughness of his skin contrasting with his gentle touch. His mouth circled kisses around her breasts. Languid warmth weighed her limbs, and she
longed for him. As if sensing her need, his hands dipped lower. “Wyatt,” she whispered. “Please.”

“Please.” Samantha slid from sensuous sleeping to drowsy wakefulness, the word still on her lips. She drifted, her eyelids heavy, willing herself to return to her dream—to Wyatt.

Beside her a movement jerked her to awareness. She sat up with a gasp, then remembered Christine slept beside her. The low light of the lamp Samantha had left burning for the child’s sake softly illuminated her angelic features.

Good thing I didn’t say anything else.
For a moment, embarrassed heat flushed her. She lay back down, trying to calm herself.
I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not responsible for my dreams. And after this morning’s encounter on the stairs
…

Samantha replayed her fantasy, lingering on the sensations Wyatt aroused in her. The memory lulled her back to sleepiness. But still her mind refused to allow complete repose. Something was different about this dream…

Then the knowledge came to her. She hadn’t resisted Wyatt. She’d not only responded, she’d begged for him. Pleasure and embarrassment flushed her cheeks. Instinctively she knew something within her had changed. She was ready to move on from Juan Carlos.

At the thought, sadness arose, but not a painful sadness, more like a shifting of her heart. Juan Carlos would always have a special place in her heart and in her memories. As if in a vision, she could see her beloved husband. He smiled, his dark eyes full of love, one eyebrow cocked knowingly. He cupped her face with his palm, kissing her good-bye. She imagined him stepping back with a gallant bow, allowing Wyatt to come forward and take her hand. Juan Carlos would never entirely leave her, nor Daniel, but
now, Samantha knew there was space in her heart and in her life for a new love.

Samantha and Pamela Carter walked down the stairs and into the hallway, continuing a discussion about the Falabellas that they’d started when Christine fell asleep. They paused by the hall tree, its antlers hung with coats and scarves and Pamela’s tatted brown necessary.

Pamela untied the strings of her necessary, fished around inside, and pulled out some folded money, pressing it into Samantha’s hand. “I want to give you some money toward buying the foal.”

Samantha shook her head. “Pamela, we should wait until the foals are born.”

“No, I want to reserve one now. The others will probably be snapped up as soon as people get a look at them.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Edith Grayson mentioned to me that she might want one for Ben. And I’ll bet Wyatt Thompson takes one for Christine.”

Both women glanced up the stairway toward the room where Christine lay recovering from her cold. Pamela had brought a basket of food. While Christine napped, the two women took the opportunity to become better acquainted. Unable to resist Pamela’s warm friendliness, Samantha had found herself confiding in her new friend about the precarious state of the ranch’s finances.