Debra Holland - [Montana Sky 02] (25 page)

Edith, her arms still wrapped around her son, spoke up. “Well, he must be punished, Mrs. Rodriguez. Attacking my son that way. What kind of behavior is that?”

Wyatt glanced at Samantha. “Don’t worry, he will be.” His words sounded clipped. But worse yet was the glacial glint in his
gray eyes. “In the meantime, Mrs. Grayson, I’ll escort you two to your buggy. I know this has been a shock to your sensibilities. Do you need me to drive you home?”

Edith tilted her chin up, pursing her full lips. “I’d love to take you up on your offer, dear Wyatt. But I know you have enough troubles with Christine. I’m sure, for her own protection, you’ll want to remove her from this house as soon as possible.”

Wyatt couldn’t believe he’d actually started to trust Jack. Feeling betrayed and angry, he wanted nothing more than to escape and go somewhere he could sort out his thoughts and emotions.
Remove his daughter?
Edith’s words finally penetrated his feelings. Good idea. Maybe they could find a deserted island somewhere. Live like the Swiss Family Robinson.

But he couldn’t take her home today. Doc Cameron had said tomorrow at the earliest. He wouldn’t go against the doctor’s orders.

He glanced at Samantha, arms around Jack, like a grizzly protecting her cub. Her blue eyes sparkled with rage, and her cheeks flushed with angry color. If he took Christine home now, he’d hurt Samantha’s feelings. He didn’t want to examine why that was not an option, because right now he didn’t want to have any feelings for her. Too many problems came attached to Samantha.

Edith stepped away from her son, examining him.

“Ben, you’re all dirty.” She shot a dagger glance at Jack. “You nasty boy.”

“Mrs. Grayson.” Wyatt’s tone warned her to stop. “A boy’s gonna get dirty no matter what you tell him.” He leaned over Ben. With a few brushes and slaps, he cleaned the worst of the dust off the boy’s suit. “There.”

“Thank you, Mr. Thompson.” Ben flashed his angelic smile at Wyatt.

“You’re welcome.” He stiffly offered his arm to Edith.

With a grateful look, she slipped one gloved hand into the crook of his arm. She placed her other hand around her son’s shoulders. “Come, Ben.”

They headed toward her buggy. Wyatt stayed silent, letting Edith’s flow of complaints wash over him.

“It’s a scandal, that’s what it is. Allowing those boys to live here. Don’t you agree, Mr. Thompson?”

“I certainly do
.” Jack a thief
. Just when he was beginning to trust those boys, allowing them to play with his daughter, this happens. His error in judgment nagged at him. But he had yet to hear the whole story. There could be more to Jack’s actions.

“I agree with Mrs. Murphy. Those boys should be sent away to the orphanage. Someone should see to it.” Her upward gaze invited Wyatt to step into the role of her hero.

Yes, sent far away from his daughter.
But he didn’t like the idea of an orphanage for them. Maybe send them to a Midwestern farming family where they could make a fresh start.
Like he had.

“They certainly should not be allowed to attend school. My son should be getting an education with other well-bred children. Well, not all of them out here are well bred. I have half a mind to hire a tutor from Boston. Do you think Christine would be interested in sharing lessons with Ben?”

The question jerked him out of his ruminations. “What?”

“If I hired a tutor or governess, would you want Christine to study with Ben?”

“I—”

“So much better than a rural school. I’ve had doubts about it from the very beginning. But my brother seemed to think Miss Stanton would do, at least for a while. But I think I really will have to put my foot down. Don’t you agree?”

“Ah—”

“I thought you would. I’ll write to Boston first thing.”

Wyatt stopped short, turning to face her. “Mrs. Grayson, this is something I need to think about. I’ve been completely satisfied with Miss Stanton.”

“Provincial. Why the woman’s never been out of Montana in her life.”

Most people in this town haven’t.

“Christine needs the polish a governess will give her.”

A new dilemma. He resented Edith’s implication that Christine lacked polish. Christine’s manners were just fine, thank you very much. Another part of him immediately worried that he wasn’t doing his best by his little girl.

What would Alicia have wanted? Would she want a governess for Christine? But then again if Alicia had lived, she would have taught her daughter all she needed to know to be a lady. Not to mention that some of those highfalutin’ Eastern ways were unnecessary in Montana.

Apparently not noticing his lack of enthusiasm for her idea, Edith said, “Besides, this will keep her from running wild.”

Running wild? Christine?

She slanted a look at him and pursed her lips, obviously in better spirits. “You won’t have to worry about her.”

Could he stop worrying about her? No. But would the woman stop twisting him? First she yanked him one way and before he could think his way through his feelings, she’d spin him in another direction. He felt like a windmill. “I’ll never stop worrying about her. I’ll be an old man and still worry”—he stifled a groan—“only then I’ll have grandchildren too.”

They reached the buggy. He handed her up into the seat.

“Oh, and Mr. Thompson.”

Would the woman never stop talking?

“Perhaps you’d like to come to dinner sometime this week?”

Not if he had to hear any more talk.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. I won’t be leaving my daughter anytime soon.”

“I understand. Perhaps when she’s better.”

He gave her a noncommittal smile and touched his hat. “I’ll ponder it and let you know.”

As he watched her drive away, he knew he’d have to settle his windmill feelings. But first he needed to rescue Samantha from the clutches of the Widow Murphy. After that, he’d decide what to do about those boys of hers, and about his daughter.

Samantha turned her back to avoid watching Wyatt and Edith walk away together. Angry fire still crackled in her chest, but underneath hurt knotted in her heart. She tried to put Wyatt from her mind.

She glanced around the goat pen. The other boys had backed to the perimeter of the rickety wood-and-wire fence—as far away from Widow Murphy as they could get. Concern about them poked through her anger. Daniel looked wide-eyed and anxious, Tim sullen, and Little Feather impassive. She’d see to their needs later. First she’d have to deal with this situation.

Her hand resting on Jack’s shoulder, Samantha stared down at him. “I’d like an explanation.”

Jack scuffed one booted foot in the dirt. The goat butted her head against his knee. He ran his fingers over the brown fur on her back. “Done raised her from a kid. All my own.” His green eyes pleaded with her for understanding.

Compassion twined with her indignation. No matter what he’d done, she’d see he kept that goat.

Mrs. Murphy shook her head. Her wattle vibrated. “Makes no mind. I’ve come to take it back with me.”

Jack straightened up, his skin paling. “Ya ain’t takin’ my nanny.”

The widow shook her finger in the boy’s face. “The animal belongs to me now. And if this town had a sheriff, I’d have you locked up right quick.”

Samantha raised her hand in a stopping motion. “Don’t be ridiculous, Mrs. Murphy. No sheriff’s going to arrest a boy over a matter like this.”

“A spell in jail might do that boy some good.”

“I’ve heard enough.” Samantha would have gladly thrust the widow into a jail cell, locked the door, and thrown away the key. But she needed to find a more peaceable solution. “I’ll pay you for the goat.”

Like a chicken eyeing a fat worm, a greedy look crossed Mrs. Murphy’s face. “Five dollars.”

Wyatt spoke from behind Samantha. “A bit much for one scrawny goat,” he said mildly.

Samantha flashed him a
better keep out of this
look.

He ignored her, instead his gray gaze bored into the widow.

Mrs. Murphy shifted, an unbecoming flush staining her mottled cheeks. “The price of that animal don’t begin to cover what those boys cost me.”

Samantha pulled out some of the money Pamela had given her, slapping a few bills into the woman’s hand. “There. Now I think you’d best be going.”

“I’ll go all right.” Mrs. Murphy raised her chin; her wattle tightened. “But mark my words. Them boys are trouble.” Her
beady eyes darted a look at Daniel and Little Feather. “And them’s not much better. And you ain’t seen the last of it either.”

It took every last ounce of restraint for Samantha to hold on to her temper. She balled her fists to keep from slapping the woman. Like a locomotive pulling into a station, she thought steam might be puffing out her ears. Her body trembled with the effort of fighting against the feeling. Only her promise to Wyatt put the brakes on the words that wanted to tumble from her tongue. “Please leave.” She ground out the phrase.

With a sniff and a toss of her head, Mrs. Murphy scurried away.

Samantha glanced down at Jack, who’d dropped to the ground, hugging his goat to him as if he’d never let her go. He rested his cheek on the animal’s head. “Nanny, oh, Nanny,” he murmured into her ear.

Unexpected moisture pricked Samantha’s eyes, and a flood of compassion smoothed away her anger. She blinked back the tears, sliding a glance up at Wyatt.

He was watching Jack, the look in his eyes mirroring her feelings. She softened toward him. But before she could reach out a hand to touch his arm, Wyatt turned and stalked out of the goat pen, heading to the house.

Samantha watched him go, her insides churning. Perhaps it was just as well they kept their distance from each other.

Jack hugged his nanny goat to his chest with all the joy bursting from his body. He inhaled her musky smell and rubbed his cheek across the top of her bony head.

The goat bleated, then nibbled on his sleeve.

Miz Samantha touched him on the shoulder tender-like, then turned and left him alone with Nanny and the other goats.

He plopped into a cross-legged sitting position, and pulled Nanny onto his lap. She tried to wiggle away, but he wouldn’t let her go. He had to feel her realness for a while before he dared believe she was here to stay. The other goats shuffled around behind him. One nibbled on his hair, and he jerked his head away. “Ouch,” he said without any heat, ignoring them.

He stroked his chin back and forth over Nanny’s head. She squirmed some more, and he finally released her.

She scampered away, then stopped and looked at him as if to say, “Jack, is that really you? Are we really home?” She took two steps forward and butted his arm with her head.

“Yes, Nanny,” he told her, feeling the truth in his heart. “We’re home.”

An unfamiliar prickle of tears confused his vision, and he blinked and looked up at the sky. “Thankee.” He couldn’t put more words to his feelings, but somehow, he figured that God knew anyway.

The nightmare burned through Wyatt’s mind. Pain from his beating rendered him paralyzed, helpless to do anything but watch the scene play out before him. The fire blazed through the night; orange flames poured from the house and licked the black sky. Gray smoke smudged the stars.