Debra Holland - [Montana Sky 02] (7 page)

The woman’s hand rested on Jack’s shoulder, gentle-like. His father or other men tended to grip his muscles in a squeeze, reminding him who was boss. Her touch tweren’t that different from his ma’s. His shoulder twitched at the memory. The pain of Ma’s death two years ago still burned like a boil on his heart.

He didn’t much care that his pa had passed on. He missed his nanny goat more than he missed the old drunk. ’Cept now they were stuck in the care of do-gooders, and that was worse. Widda Murphy had complained all the time, words spilling out of her pinched mouth like water from a pump. All them words wore on a boy.

His foot scuffed against a clod of soil, sending dirt and a pebble through the slashed-open leather in the toes of his boot, and reminding him of his cold feet. He winced, but refused to stop. His gaze slid to the man, dressed in a pressed white shirt and denim pants, complete with almost new lookin’ boots. Better to limp along rather than shame himself by drawing attention to the outgrown footwear.

The lady glanced down. “You all right?”

Jack nodded, tearing his gaze away from the concern in her soft blue eyes. He sensed her look away, and he dared a quick upward glance trying to take in her beauty. Never did see hair like that before. Alive, like a crackling fire, not like his ma’s limp browny-gray. But he’d overheard people say that marrying his pa had sure taken away his ma’s looks—aged her and all.

Feelings more bitter than willow bark tea clogged his throat. Tweren’t fair that Ma had it so hard. Tweren’t fair that this lady with her soft eyes and skin had the raisin’ of them now.

He tried to catch his brother’s eye, but Tim plodded along like their old mule, his gaze on the dirt ahead of him. Tim had always been the quiet one, keeping his thoughts to himself. Too
often, Jack had to stand up for his brother. But Jack could tell by the set of his twin’s shoulders that he too had his guts churnin’ to butter.

As the four of them continued toward the barn, worries gnawed on Jack’s mind like a beaver on a tree. Would the lady be like Widda Murphy, always talking bad at them? She didn’t look like she’d lash out with a fist like Pa had. But Widda Murphy had gotten in a few stingin’ slaps until the twins had learned to dodge. The hand resting so soft on his shoulder could as quick slap across his face. Well, if necessary, he could move faster than a calf twisting to avoid a lasso.

He tensed his body. As long as she remained this close, he’d better be ready.

As the afternoon faded, the warmth of the spring sunshine slipped away. Samantha shivered. When they approached the barn, she could see it looked as run-down as the house. Her spirits sank. Paint had flaked off, exposing weather-beaten gray boards. The remains of last autumn’s leaves banked in piles against the walls, no doubt rotting the boards. Cobwebs dangled from the eaves. Samantha gave a wide berth to a brown spider scurrying up a web.

Wyatt pushed the half-closed barn door all the way open, and then with a flourish of his hand, waved her through. Samantha stepped inside. As she waited for her eyes to adjust to the gloom, she inhaled the familiar barn scents: horses, fresh hay—

Fresh hay?

She hadn’t ordered any. She’d planned for their sacks of grain to last until she could get into town and order more feed. And the
interior of the barn looked suspiciously clean. She glanced up, checking for spiderwebs, but couldn’t see any. She looked over at Wyatt. “Are you responsible for the hay?”

He nodded. “Sent some men to clean and stock the place.” A teasing glint lit his gray eyes. “Course, I didn’t expect a bunch of midget horses. Would have sent over half the amount.”

“Falabellas,” she corrected automatically, feeling a glow kindle in the vicinity of her heart. “I appreciate all your help.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Come on, boys, let’s meet the horses.” She ushered them closer to the stalls.

From the other side of the barn, Daniel pelted down the aisle, followed by Christine. “Mama.” At the sight of the twins he skipped to a stop, his eyes widening in curiosity. “Hello.”

“Daniel, this is Jack Cassidy”—she patted Jack’s shoulder—“and his twin brother, Tim. Remember how we’ve talked? They’ve come to live with us.”

Daniel eyed the boys and then met her gaze. “They’ll be my brothers?”

She smiled at him. “That’s right, son.”

“Good.” He seized Jack’s wrist. “Come on. Meet Chita.” Daniel turned, preparing to drag the boy down the aisle.

With a growl, Jack jerked away. Fisting his hand, he punched Daniel in the shoulder.

“Ow.” Daniel was no stranger to being picked on. Before Samantha could react, he’d hit Jack in the stomach.

With a wuff of expelled air, Jack doubled up, but quickly recovered, clenching both hands in front of him. Ready to fight, Tim sprang forward next to his brother.

Wyatt stepped in between the boys, grabbing one of Jack’s fists and blocking Tim with his hip. “That’s enough.” He stared
down at Jack. An unspoken communication seemed to pass between them, and Jack dropped his hands. Tim relaxed his arms.

Wyatt glanced over at her, a sardonic look in his eyes. See, he seemed to say.

Samantha avoided his gaze, instead focusing on Daniel. Her heart squeezed at the tense way he’d drawn his brows up—the hurt look in his eyes. She’d seen that look many times when Daniel’s cousins wouldn’t play with him. In her fantasy, she’d imagined having to win her orphan boys’ trust, but it had never occurred to her that Daniel would have to go through a similar process. She hadn’t intended for her son to suffer from adopting wayward boys. Had she made a mistake in taking in the twins?

She suppressed a sigh at the thought of all the work awaiting her. The excitement and freedom that had buoyed her up for the last few hours seeped away with each new obstacle, until now she felt as flat as an empty pillow casing. Not wanting to communicate her exhaustion to anyone, she struggled to keep her step light, and prayed for some extra energy. They all needed her to be strong—to be in control.

Wyatt looked at Jack and gently nudged his shoulder. “I think you should go with Daniel and Christine.” A hint of steel slid under the suggestion in his words. He softened his command by grinning. “I think you’ll like what you find.”

Christine slipped her hand inside her father’s and leaned against him. She studied each twin. “Please come see the little horses,” she coaxed. “You’ll like them.”

Jack glanced away, then back again, his gaze caught by Christine’s blue-eyed appeal. Samantha watched the resistance fade from his face. He stiffly nodded his head.

Christine’s answering smile would have been hard for anyone to resist. She dropped her father’s hand, waving for the twins to follow.

Samantha suppressed a smile. In a few years, Christine’s suitors would be cluttering up the porch of Wyatt’s house—unless he was the type to stand guard with a gun. She noted the harsh set of his face as he watched the children and had her answer. Definitely the protective father-with-a-gun.

Turning to him, she cocked an eyebrow. “Let’s see if the Falabellas can work their magic.”

“Midget magic. That’ll be somethin’,” he said, his tone wry.

In spite of her tiredness, Samantha refused to have Wyatt’s poor opinion of the twins bog her down. With time she’d be able to help them. Then he’d see…She fell into step behind the children.

Daniel unlatched the first stall door, holding it open for everyone. “This is my mare, Chita.” The little black horse nuzzled Daniel’s hand.

Tim stepped forward, gently touching Chita’s back, then ran his palm across her side, dislodging the dust of the journey. “I’ll be damned.”

Daniel’s eyes widened, and he looked at Samantha in inquiry.

She bit her lip, shaking her head at him in silent communication.
Don’t say anything.
Now that Tim had finally spoken, she didn’t want to reprimand the first words he’d uttered. She was sure there’d be plenty of other opportunities to teach the boys proper language.

Jack remained mute, but the eager look in his eyes went straight to her heart. She leaned over and touched his shoulder. “There are more.” She smiled at both boys. “Chita is Daniel’s
mare. Chico’s my favorite. You each can pick out a horse to be your own friend.”

Wary disbelief froze their faces, as if they were afraid to trust her.

She held up an admonitory finger. “But they will be your responsibility to care for. Including the mucking out.”

That seemed to reassure them. Silently they went from stall to stall, running their hands over each small body, and making soft clucking noises. Without a word, Tim ended up on his knees in Bonita’s stall, his arms wrapped around the little chestnut mare. Jack crouched next to Mariposa, stroking the dusty gray coat and murmuring low words into a twitching ear.

The scene tugged at her emotions, and Samantha blinked back tears, already feeling a mother’s connection with the boys. Relief pushed away some of her weariness. Watching the gentle way the twins interacted with the horses, she relaxed.
My new sons. There’s good in them. I know it. I’ll just have to bring it out.

Wyatt rode next to Samantha’s small buggy, his mind whirling. Behind him on the horse’s rump rode Jack Cassidy, loosely clutching Wyatt around his waist. On the other side of the buggy, Christine chattered away to Daniel. Trailing behind them, Tim doubled up with Manuel.

He shook his head, still amazed at his impulse to invite his new, unwanted neighbors to stay the night. How could he keep the Cassidy twins at a distance from Christine, when he’d gone and welcomed them into his home? He’d have to worry about that later. In good conscience, a man couldn’t let them sleep in Ezra’s dusty, dilapidated house.

The sun descended behind Copper Mountain, fading the blue sky to purple and coating their surroundings with gray shadows. An aspen grove sheltered a small fenced cemetery plot, the shivering of the new leaves in the breeze providing an accompaniment to any spirits who might linger to chat. He never rode past without thinking about Alicia. When time permitted, he liked to stop, sit on the wooden bench next to her grave, and talk to her about the ranch, her garden, and especially their daughter. A little girl growing up without her mother. He wondered what Alicia would say about his day…about Samantha.

Wyatt tried to sort through his feelings. He’d started the morning frustrated that the widow had taken Ezra’s ranch. He’d been annoyed by her midget horses, had almost quarreled with
her, and then had felt an unexpected attraction. He’d ended up guilty about the thought of riding away and leaving her on that run-down ranch with those rapscallion Cassidy boys. Now he hauled those very boys to his home. He didn’t want to think about what the evening might bring…

A vision of Samantha in his bed, firelight playing over her naked white skin and burnishing a tendril of auburn hair curling over her breast, rose to his mind. He imagined brushing aside the hair, touching the softness of her breast with his fingers, his mouth—

“Mr. Thompson? Mr. Thompson!”

He snapped to attention, the heat in his groin leaping up to flush his face. What was he thinking? To invite a lady over for the night, offer his hospitality and the protection of his home, then think lewd thoughts about her…He was a gentleman, not a cad. He only hoped his imaginings weren’t written on his face for Samantha to read. Or for Alicia’s spirit to see. “Sorry, my mind wandered.”

Her upturned face reflected only curiosity. His relief washed away the embarrassment.

“I was wondering how much longer before we reach your ranch?”

“We’ve been on my land for a while. I should have told you when we crossed the boundary.” He pointed. “Round that clump of trees we’ll see the house and barns. Then it’s only a few more minutes.”

“Thank goodness.”

Although fatigue shaded her eyes, she sat erect on the buggy seat, shoulders straight. A shaft of admiration pierced him. She’d traveled a long way and put up with who knows what kind of inconveniences and hardships. When she’d arrived, she received
an unfriendly welcome from her nearest neighbor, found her new home to be too run down to spend the first night there, and was now on the way to a strange house. He had no doubt that tomorrow she’d be up to her elbows in soapsuds, scrubbing her home from floor to ceiling. She didn’t seem like the kind of woman to leave all that work to Maria.

Wyatt admired that quality. He leaned closer. “You must be tired and hungry.”

“Very.”

“I’m sure you’d like to get cleaned up.”

She sighed. “Yes. And the boys could certainly use a bath.”

He cleared his throat. “Won’t be a problem. Had a bathing room installed in the house last year. You can enjoy a bath”—he pushed aside a vision of her soaking in his tub—“while the boys bathe at the bunkhouse. I’ll see to them.”

“The twins might make it difficult for you.”

“I’ll handle them.”

“Thank you.” Appreciation lightened the weary look on her face. “Just being able to sleep in a bed that doesn’t move will be a treat. Are you sure you have enough room for all of us?”

He grinned. They rounded the last cluster of trees. “Just look.”