Debra Holland - [Montana Sky 02] (31 page)

Samantha smiled, and met his eyes. A sense of parental connection flashed between them, then deepened into an attraction that wrapped around his rib cage and spun her to him
. One of these nights, he’d have to see about lassoing up the moon and stars for Samantha.

Daniel grinned. This time his eyebrows winged with relief.

Another lesson, Dan. Making them happy makes a man feel as big as a mountain.
He hoped the boy was payin’ attention.

Christine reached over and clasped Daniel’s hand. Under the boy’s olive skin, red flushed his cheeks, but he didn’t let go.

This time it was Wyatt who shivered, looking down a short path to the future. Sooner than he’d like, his daughter would be grown up. Some man, maybe even this one, would come a courtin’, and she’d be gone, leaving her father behind.

Despite the reminder of the embers smoking in front of her, Samantha glowed with a quiet sense of pleasure. Her body still resonated from the emotional connection with Wyatt. Anticipation fluttered her heartbeat and warmed her cheeks. She wanted to snuggle close to his side and feel the strength of his arm around her.

It was amazing how a strong, capable man could be reduced to jelly by female tears. She shook her head. Listening was most of the solution. You’d think eventually men would catch on to that. The bewilderment in his eyes over Christine’s tears, and the helpless look on his face had appealed to all her maternal instincts. The child needed her—
he
needed her.

She enjoyed watching Wyatt go from befuddlement to gratitude as much as she received satisfaction in helping Christine sort out her feelings.

In many ways, girls were easier. They cried and talked. But boys had to hold it all in, be strong. A mother had to continually keep her instincts open, spot the needy crumbs they sparingly dropped when they were upset—or when they were up to something. Even then it often wasn’t enough. A mother needed extra mind-reading skills with sons. When she got to heaven, she was going to complain to the Almighty about that deficit.

With reluctance, Samantha released her gaze from Wyatt and instead observed her son. Watching Daniel and Christine hold hands brought tears to her eyes. The two children had formed a bond that extended deeper than mere childish friendship. Daniel had been so isolated and lonely on the estancia, and she had ached with her child’s pain. She glanced over at the twins, standing shoulder to shoulder, identical pleased grins on their faces. Daniel was developing a circle of companions, and Samantha was glad.
No matter what comes of it.

“Come on. We’d better get inside.” Daniel towed Christine away. The twins followed.

Wyatt cleared his throat. “Mrs. Toffels was so proud of the boys’ work here yesterday that she said she was going to bake them a cake to celebrate.” His gaze flicked toward the ruin.
“Although celebratin’ might have to be postponed, I don’t think chocolate cake should be.”

“That’s so kind of Mrs. Toffels.”

“How ’bout I ride it over this evening?” He held her gaze, his gray eyes silvered with a deeper unspoken question.

“That sounds wonderful.” She lowered her lashes to hide the spurt of joy that flared up. What if she was misreading his offer?

“Then I’ll be by after supper.”

“Will you bring Christine?”

He lowered his voice. “A man doesn’t bring his daughter when he goes a courtin’, Samantha.”

“Oh.” She studied the clump of grass at her feet, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks.

“Well, I never,” a woman’s voice huffed from behind them.

Edith Grayson. Would the woman never leave them some peace?
Samantha turned slowly, hoping that the red in her cheeks could be explained by indignation over the burning of the outhouse. She smoothed the palms of her hands over her black dress to keep them from rushing to cover her face.

Edith Grayson stood with her hands on her hips, full lips pursed in obvious disgust. Her white shirtwaist dripped with lace threaded with maroon ribbon. A straw bonnet tied under her chin with matching ribbons. A maroon feather quivered against her cheek. “After the way my son slaved to build that thing, someone had the gall to burn it down?”

Wyatt rubbed his hand through his hair, his demeanor darkening. “Looks that way, Edith.”

“Well, this time Ben certainly will not participate in constructing a new one.”

“Won’t be askin’ him anyway.”

Something in Wyatt’s tone must have warned the woman of his mood. Edith’s brown eyes softened, holding a touch of flirtation. “Now, Wyatt, you mustn’t think I was belittling all your hard work. I just can’t believe anyone would do such a thing.”

Samantha’s chest tightened with jealousy.

Wyatt looked at the destruction of his work. “Me neither.”

Edith’s gaze slid to Samantha, and her eyes narrowed. “Your twins did this.”

“What!” Samantha clenched her jaw, fighting the impulse to claw out the woman’s doe eyes. “My twins built this—with pride. They’d never burn it down.”

“Where were they last night?”

“In bed where they belong.”

“Did you check on them?”

Samantha gritted her teeth. “They are neither babies, nor ill.” She enunciated each word. “Of course I didn’t check on them.”

Edith sniffed. “Then you don’t know.”

“I do know. I know my boys.”

“You’ve barely had them for three months. They’re probably pulling the wool over your eyes.”

Wyatt stepped in. “The twins were too dang proud of themselves to pull a stunt like this, Edith. But don’t worry. I’ll rebuild the outhouse.”

“Who’s to say those incorrigible boys won’t torch the place again?”

“Edith,” Wyatt warned.

Samantha could tell by the tightening of his jaw that he was keeping a tight hold on his temper.

Edith lifted her chin. “Say what you’d like, Wyatt Thompson. I’m going to speak to Reverend Norton and my brother. It’s time we called a town meeting to deal with this situation.”

On the road leading from his ranch to Samantha’s, Wyatt drove his surrey up a small hill and caught his breath at the beauty of the large crescent moon dangling just out of reach over the crest. A full moon would have been plump with luminescence. Yet the pearly surface of the sickle still cast enough light to shadow his surroundings and seemed close enough that, once he drove to the top of the hill, he’d be able to touch the bottom horn—or at least toss a rope around it.

He slackened the reins, slowing the horse, knowing that the higher he climbed, the sooner the illusion of closeness would disappear. And he wanted to preserve for a moment the fantasy that the moon was within his grasp.

The stars, by contrast, were distant pricks of diamond light, farther out than a man could dream. He sighed. Life as a rancher, or as a rancher’s wife, was not moon and stars easy or romantic.

What would put stars in Samantha’s eyes? Probably for him to be a father to that pack of boys of hers. A few months ago, the idea would have been unthinkable. Now he was starting to wrap his mind around the possibility. Those four had a way of getting under a man’s skin. Most times that thought felt like a burr under a saddle, something to be bucked off, but other times, there was a warmth at the thought of being a pa to them, giving what he’d never gotten.

He glanced over at the chocolate cake, resting in a wicker basket on the seat next to him, remembering the times when he’d
shared with Samantha the bond of parental affection about their children. Different from the tug of sexual attraction he experienced whenever he came into her presence, or the love that had been growing as he watched her rear her boys and wrest a living from a tired old ranch, until he was awed by her beautiful, feisty spirit.

Did she feel the same? She hadn’t answered his comment to her about coming courtin’. What would she have said if they hadn’t been interrupted by Edith? His stomach clenched with nervousness. This beginning courtin’ business wasn’t easy on a man. You’d think the second time around would be different, seeing as he’d had experience and all. But it wasn’t. The same sweaty palms, racing heartbeat. The same wonder of what she’d look like in his bed.

Although this time it would be different. Samantha wasn’t a virgin to be carefully eased into lovemaking. She’d been well loved before and wasn’t a stranger to passion. Could he ignite hers enough to burn past the pain of her husband’s memory? He imagined her bare of her widow’s garb, with her fiery hair spread across his pillow, her breasts…

His groin tightened. Flicking the reins, he sped up the horse. Eventually the boys would have to head up to bed. Would she allow him to linger? He could hardly wait to find out.

The sooner he reached her ranch, the sooner he could see her.

As he drove downhill, the moon moved up in the sky. He’d have to bring Samantha outside to see it, give them a chance to be away from the boys. Steal a kiss or ten.

Finally the ranch was in sight, the old house a gray block against the darker shadows, yellow light beckoning from the kitchen window against a backdrop of stars sparkling in a great swath through the heavens.

He pulled up in front of the house. For a moment, Wyatt remained in the buggy, content to watch.

In a circle around the kitchen table, the four boys bent over their books. White roses nodded from a vase set in the center between two glass lamps. In the glow of lamplight, Samantha sat next to Little Feather, pointing to the book spread out in front of them, her lips moving. She must be teaching the Indian boy to read.

The lamplight burnished her hair to a copper glow. He itched to pull the pins out from the bun at the back of her head, releasing the fiery cascade, and wondered what it would feel like to run his hands down its shimmering length, feeling her naked feminine form beneath…

He shifted on the buggy seat. To calm himself before he knocked on the door, he stared at the night sky, imagining his body as cool as the distant stars. It took effort, but eventually he climbed down from the buggy and tied up. Scooping up the basket with the cake, he strode up the stairs and across the porch to the door.

He rapped four times, his heartbeat thudding to the sound of the knocking. Hearing rapid footsteps in the hall, he stepped back a pace, waiting.

Samantha opened the door, one lamp in her hand. When she saw him, her smile glowed.

An answering warmth kindled in his middle. “Good evening, Samantha.”

“Good evening, Wyatt.”

“As promised, I brought you the cake.”

Even in the flickering light, he could see a blush spring into her cheeks.
Ah, perhaps the lady wasn’t indifferent to his courtship.

“The boys have been looking forward to it. I promised them all a piece, then it’s to bed for the whole bunch.”

She’d arranged to spend time alone with him. His breath shortened in anticipation.

“Please come in. The boys are just finishing their schoolwork.”

“Even the extras?”

“Even the extras.”

Wyatt liked to think she had hurried them on account of his visit. He followed her two steps into the darkened hall, then turned into the brighter kitchen. “Evening, boys.”

“Evening, Mr. Thompson,” they chorused. Even Little Feather added a low voice to the greeting.

A paternal feeling kicked up, surprising him. Later, when he was alone, he’d have to examine his reaction. He held up the basket. “Mrs. Toffels’s compliments on a job well done.”

Daniel’s face crumpled from eagerness to woe. “It got burned down.”

“That doesn’t take away from the effort that went into the building of it. Life’s like that. Build something, plant crops, run cattle or horse herds—storms, or varmints, or thieves come along and ruin all your hard work. Just need to pick yourself up and go on. You all are learnin’ that hard lesson early.”

One side of Jack’s mouth pulled down. “Done learned that lesson already. Our ma’s dyin’ ruined everything.”

Daniel’s eyebrows drew together. Tim stared down at his plate.

Wyatt reached out and ruffled Jack’s hair. “I know, son,” he said around the sudden pain in his gut. “Loved ones dyin’ does that worst of all.”

Jack stared down at his book, his shoulders slumping. “Can rebuild outhouses, plant new crops,” he said, his voice low. “Can’t bring back them’s that passed.”

“That’s right, boy. It’s a hard fact.” Wyatt didn’t know what else to say. Weren’t words to cover the deep, dark hell of the death of a wife or a mother. He wasn’t a preacher to offer up comfort with the ease of familiarity. But he sure wished he had something more to offer the boy.

Samantha stepped into the breach. “Your ma would be proud of you boys, just like I am. I’m sure she’s watching you from heaven, pleased at your willingness to work hard here at home, at school, with Mr. Thompson and Mr. Sanders.”

Jack straightened his shoulders. He didn’t look up, but he nodded several times, as if Samantha’s words were sinking in.

Samantha reached over for the basket. “Everyone ready for chocolate cake?”

The mood in the room shifted. The boys set aside their books, and Samantha cut and dished up the cake. Wyatt pulled an empty chair to the table and sat down. Silence reigned while the boys ate with quick bites and reverent expressions on their faces. Made Wyatt think that Reverend Norton might make more of an impression on the young ’uns if he partnered up with Mrs. Toffels and served cake during the sermon.