Debra Holland - [Montana Sky 02] (24 page)

Samantha exhaled. “Well, selling the foals would certainly make a difference. I won’t have to worry so.”

“It’s a pleasure to help a friend and find the perfect Christmas gift for my children at the same time.”

“It will be hard keeping it a secret for so long. Let’s hope your children all favor the same foal.”

Pamela rolled her eyes. “Well, if they don’t, Lizzy’s choice wins. The other two will go along with her.”

“I’m sure they’ll love it.”

“They’ll be over the moon.” Seemingly on impulse, Pamela leaned over and embraced Samantha. “I’m so glad we’ve become friends.”

Warmth flushed Samantha’s body, bringing moisture to her eyes. She’d been so ostracized by the women at the hacienda that it had been a long time since she’d had a close confidant. “I am too,” she whispered, blinking back the tears and returning the hug. “I am too.”

Pamela lifted a brown knitted shawl off another antler. “I’d love to stay and visit longer, but I’d best be getting on home.”

With reluctance, the two women parted.

Samantha watched Pamela’s dusty buggy pull away until it disappeared around a tree-shaded bend in the road. For a few minutes, she savored a feeling of contentment, reflecting on all her blessings. Her long-held dreams were finally coming true. She and Daniel had their own home. She’d gathered together her orphan boys, and they seemed to be doing well. She’d made friends. Christine would be going home tomorrow. The sale of the foals would secure the future of the ranch. And Wyatt…

A smile tugged at her mouth at the thought of him. He’d gone back to his ranch, but should be arriving here soon. In the last three days, he’d made it a point to spend the late afternoon with his daughter and had always ended up staying for supper. They hadn’t continued their physical intimacy, but a connection
slowly wove invisible bonds between them. Samantha tried not to think beyond that. Having unrequited deeper feelings for Wyatt could only cause her pain. But it was hard to ignore her growing attraction to him.

A buggy driving around the bend in the road interrupted her thoughts. For a minute, she wondered if Pamela had returned, but sunlight sparked off the shiny black equipage. Two people sat in the front seat. The wheels clattered across the bridge over the river, and she recognized Edith Grayson driving with her son, Ben.

How nice, Samantha thought. I’ve wanted more female companionship, and here I’m getting two visits in the same day.

They pulled the buggy to a stop on the hard-packed earth in front of the house. Ben, dressed in a brown suit, jumped out and secured the horses before going around to help his mother down.

Samantha walked over to the edge of the porch to greet them.

Edith Grayson straightened her feathered navy-blue bonnet, a match for her dress of soft wool challis, and took a wicker basket from the buggy. “Mrs. Rodriguez, I hope you don’t mind that we’ve come to call.”

“How nice to see you, Mrs. Grayson.” She smiled at the boy. “Hello, Ben.”

His sweet smile lit up his limpid brown eyes. “Hello, Mrs. Rodriguez.”

“We’ve come to inquire about Christine.” Edith held up the basket. “And our housekeeper, Mrs. Graves, made a chocolate cake.”

“How kind.” Samantha accepted the basket. “Ben, the boys are in the barn with the horses. Why don’t you join them?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded, heading in the direction of the barn.

“Remember what I told you,” his mother called after him. “Don’t get dirty.”

“It’s hard for boys to keep from getting dirty on a ranch.”

“Ben knows better.”

“If you say so,” Samantha murmured, skeptical. Not much fun for him, though. Well, maybe the boy would just sit on a hay bale and watch the others. “Won’t you come in and have some tea? I’m afraid Christine’s asleep, and I don’t want to disturb her.”

Edith hesitated. “Tea would be lovely.”

Samantha led the way into the parlor, then excused herself to tell Maria to prepare for another visitor. Luckily, Samantha had baked a chocolate and cherry cake earlier.

Maria brought in a tray with the violet tea service. Samantha poured the tea and cut a slice of the torte for each of them. Tucking a silver cake fork on the plate next to the piece of cake, she then handed it to Edith.

The two women chatted about commonplaces while drinking their tea. Samantha felt more reserved with Edith Grayson than with Pamela Carter. Although she and Edith certainly had more in common—both widows with sons. However, Edith lacked Pamela’s warmth. Perhaps it would develop when the two women became better acquainted. She certainly hoped so. She needed friends in this new land.

Edith set down her cake plate. “That was wonderful. I’ve never had anything like it.”

Samantha flushed with pleasure. She prided herself on her baking. “This cake is popular in Germany. It’s always been my favorite. The whipped cream and cherry preserves add an extra flavor to the chocolate.”

“I’m sure Wyatt would like it. He’s very partial to chocolate. Why the other night, when he dined with us, he had two servings,” she said in a proprietary tone. “And that’s not the first time. He just loves Mrs. Graves’s chocolate cake.”

“The other night?” Samantha’s stomach clenched.

“Yes, the night Christine had her accident. I feel so dreadful it happened when Wyatt was visiting me. That poor child.”

“A terrible ordeal for her.”
Wyatt had been visiting Edith when Christine was lost.
Samantha’s hands trembled, and she placed her palms on her lap to still them.

“I shudder to think of it. I almost fainted when I heard.” Edith’s delicate hand drifted to cover her bosom. “Why, I feel for that child almost as though she were my own.”

So do I.
“She’s a lovable girl.”
One I’d begun to imagine as mine.
Her heart cracked. She remembered Wyatt and Edith talking after church. Was he courting her?

Edith leaned forward. “I want to drop a discreet hint in your ear, dear Mrs. Rodriguez. There’s been some talk in town about the amount of time Wyatt has been spending here. I have been careful to scotch any rumors of impropriety. However, you should be warned to have a care for your reputation.”

Samantha was caught off guard by Edith’s words; her cheeks burned with shame. “Surely everyone understands the circumstances. Christine—”

“A woman can never be too careful, my dear Samantha, may I call you that? A reputation is so easily lost.”

“Yes of course, however—”

“Just be careful, my dear.” Edith stood up, bringing the visit to an end.

Samantha felt like a fish swimming peacefully downstream who’d been hooked and tossed up on the shore. Her breath
squeezed, and her mouth wanted to open and close in protest to Edith’s allegations, only she didn’t know what to say.

Still feeling unsettled, Samantha walked with Edith out to the porch. Outside, she saw Wyatt walk Bill into the yard. Her heart gave a happy bounce, before she remembered Edith’s admonitions. She smoothed her black skirt, trying to compose herself.

Wyatt dismounted, looking handsome and virile. He flipped the reins to the porch rail. Wearing a crisp gray shirt and clean denim pants, he’d obviously washed up and changed from the day’s labor.

He paused at the steps, touching his hat. “Mrs. Grayson. Mrs. Rodriguez.” He held Samantha’s gaze, a question in his eyes.

“She’s fine. Sleeping.”

He relaxed his shoulders and smiled.

Edith stepped forward. “I’m so glad Christine’s doing well. Such a horrible occurrence—what she went through, poor child.”

“Thank you.” Wyatt lifted his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “Must have given me hundreds of gray hairs.”

“Nonsense,” Edith trilled. “I don’t see any, my dear Wyatt.”

“Well, I feel years older.”

“Perhaps my chocolate cake will help.”

He grinned. “Chocolate cake. My favorite. Christine’s too.”

Samantha shifted, left out of their byplay. Was it her imagination, or did Wyatt seem happy about the beautiful widow’s visit? She should have asked Pamela whether Wyatt was courting Edith—although the thought gave her a pang. Jealousy?

A wagon appeared on the road. More visitors, Samantha thought, not entirely pleased to have to undergo a third round of tea.

The wagon drew almost to the door before she recognized the woman driving. The Widow Murphy. Samantha had met her several Sundays ago.

Mrs. Murphy climbed down from the wagon and hustled over. A black straw bonnet perched atop gray hair piled into a haphazard bun. A wattle of skin drooped over the ribbons tied under her chin. The faded red apron she wore over a gray calico dress matched her ruddy complexion.

Samantha suppressed a smile. With her sharp nose and thin lips pursed into a frown, the woman looked like one of Samantha’s least favorite hens when she wanted to peck at anyone audacious enough to take one of her eggs.

Samantha stepped over to welcome her. “Mrs. Murphy, I’m sure you’ll be glad to hear Christine’s doing better.”

The woman flicked her a glance of disdain. “That’s not why I’m here.” She nodded at Wyatt. “Though I’m glad your daughter’s on the mend.”

“Thank you.”

Mrs. Murphy looked back at Samantha. “I’m here because of those Cassidy twins of yours—most likely that Jack.”

“Jack?”

“A thief, he is. No better than he should be.” She pressed her lips together. “He and his brother should have been shipped off to that orphanage. Get them out of town. But Reverend Norton’s too softhearted.”

Samantha’s temper simmered. “Perhaps you could explain why you’re accusing
my
Jack of stealing.”

“Stole my goat, he did. Right out of my yard.”

“Did you see him?”

“No need to. I know him.”

Samantha’s anger bubbled hotter. “Perhaps the goat managed to get out on its own.”

The woman drew herself up. “Mrs. Rodriguez, I insist you stop wasting my time. I’ve come for my goat.”

“The boys are in the barn. We’ll just go see about this goat business.”

Samantha inclined her head to Edith and Wyatt. “If you’ll excuse me.” She sailed down the porch steps.

Wyatt fell into step next to her. “I’ll come along.”

Edith lifted a haughty eyebrow. “I shall get Ben.”

Samantha could guess from the tone of Edith’s voice what she was thinking. The idea of her precious son interacting with a possible
thief
was intolerable.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Wyatt stop and offer an arm to Edith.

She quickened her pace, not caring if the others followed. She used the time to try to bring her temper under control. Just three days ago, she’d promised Wyatt she’d change. Now she faced her first test. She spared a thought for the irony of the situation.

Samantha rounded the clump of bushes screening the goat pen. The boys clustered together inside the smaller enclosure. That’s odd, she thought. Jack was usually the only one who played with the two goats. As soon as she thought the words, trepidation followed. There could only be one reason why all the boys were inside the small corral.

She stopped short, hesitant to face the facts. Through the rickety wooden poles threaded with wire, she could see Jack kneeling beside a brown goat, petting its back.

The others caught up with her.

“See, see.” Mrs. Murphy pointed. “What did I tell you? There’s my goat.

In the pen, the boys appeared to be arguing. Jack sprang up, punching Ben in the stomach. The boy doubled over, then righted himself and kicked Jack in the leg. Jack launched himself at Ben, knocking them both to the ground. They scuffled, rolling together in the dirt. The other boys cheered Jack on.

“Ben!” Edith cried.

Samantha shook off her paralysis, striding toward the pen, but Wyatt beat her to it. He flung open the gate and charged through. Reaching down, he grabbed the back of the boys’ shirts, pulling them apart. “What’s going on here?” He kept both boys dangling on the balls of their feet.

Edith rushed forward. “Let him go.”

Wyatt released both boys.

Edith grabbed her son, clutching him to her bosom. “Ben, are you all right? What did that terrible boy do to you?” She ran her hands over his head and down his arms.

Samantha reached Jack’s side and took his arm. He avoided her gaze.

Behind them, Widow Murphy’s voice shrilled. “I warned you. Ruffians they are. Thieves. Should be jailed.”

Samantha’s temper boiled over. She whirled on the woman. “Will you be silent!”

“I will not.” Mrs. Murphy bristled “There’s the evidence. They’re thieves.”

Jack shook off Samantha’s hand. “You’re the thief, ya old biddy. Done stole my goat. I were just takin’ her back.”

Mrs. Murphy’s ruddy face darkened to puce. “You hellion. How dare you call me a thief!” She thumped her scrawny chest with the palm of her hand. “Me, a God-fearing woman who took you in out of my own charity.” She cast a look at Wyatt, which she
probably meant to be appealing, but it made her look more than ever like a chicken. “This is how I’m repaid.”

Jack balled his hands into fists. “Ya are too a thief. Took my nanny goat, which I done raised from a kid.”

“I kept that goat in payment for your keep. And not just your keep. The sheets you ruined. My grandmother’s serving dish that you broke. The flower beds torn up by the two of you. The fire you set to the henhouse that killed my best layer. The goat can’t begin to repay me for taking you two in for a month.”

“I didn’t start no fire.”

She bounced forward, slapping Jack’s face. “And a liar to boot.”

Samantha gasped. “How dare you hit him!” She pulled Jack into a protective embrace. “Touch him again and I’ll slap
you
.”

Wyatt stepped between Mrs. Murphy and the boy, holding up one hand to stop the widow.

Mrs. Murphy shook her finger at Samantha. “The boy’s a thief and a liar. Burn your house down. Murder you all in your beds someday. Mark my words.”

Jack straightened away from Samantha. “We didn’t start no fire.”

Widow Murphy threw a suggestive look at Wyatt. “He deserves to have someone take a hand to his backside.”

Samantha iced her voice to cool her anger, drawing a defensive circle around herself and Jack. “
I’ll
be the one who decides how Jack is disciplined.
No one
will touch him.”