Debra Holland - [Montana Sky 02] (9 page)

Coward, Jack thought.

Thompson touched one of the metal hooks set into the fence. “Hang your clothes here.”

“
Sí
, I mean, yes, sir.”

Jack cleared his throat. “I told ya, I ain’t takin’ no bath.”

“You want to eat?”

“Rather starve.”

“Too bad. You’ll miss Mrs. Toffels’s chicken and dumplings. And I’ll bet she’s made apple pie for dessert.”

Jack wavered. Apple pie didn’t cross his path too often, but he sure did remember those times it had. Birthdays mostly. His ma had always tried to make a pie for the twins’ birthday. Been a long while since he’d had himself a piece of one. “I’ll wash my hands and face,” he conceded. After all, his ma had always made him wash up before dinner. He might as well do it here too.

The big man dropped his hand onto Jack’s shoulder and squeezed. Not hard or painful like his pa would have done. But Jack caught the warning. “Look at it this way. You have a choice. Either you strip off your clothes and wash all over, or I’ll do it for you. And I have a heavy hand with the soap and scrub brush.”

Footfalls on the porch of the bunkhouse, a jangle of spurs, announced the arrival of several wranglers. A short, stocky man with buckteeth stepped next to Thompson. “Well, what have we here?”

Thompson eyed Jack, sending him a silent message. “Company. About to have a bath.”

Jack took in the three other men flanking Thompson and knew he was outnumbered. He could maybe escape Thompson, but not all the rest of the hands. The idea of being wrestled down, stripped, and thrown in that trough burned his neck like a noose. He’d go along with this bath thing for today—have himself some of that apple pie. But too much soap and water might make him grab hold of Tim and light out for the hills.

A feeling of peace began in Samantha’s stomach, like the glow of a coal uncovered from the ashes, sending relaxation through her. With a contented sigh, she leaned against the back of the rose velvet wing chair in Wyatt’s parlor, relishing the warmth from the blaze in the fireplace. Tomorrow would bring its challenges. But now, clean and well fed, with the children tucked into bed, she could savor these few minutes before she retired to sleep.

Across from her, the matching wing chair held a needlepoint pillow with cabbage roses worked in pinks and reds. Roses also decorated the vases perched on the enormous mahogany mantle. But it was the portrait above the mantle that caught her attention.

Christine’s mother. It was evident by the curling blonde hair and big blue eyes. The pink full-bustled dress she wore matched the roses she carried in her hands. Did Wyatt still miss her? Samantha envied his having a portrait of his wife. Juan Carlos had never sat for a portrait, nor had a photograph taken. They’d always meant to—

The sound of measured footsteps interrupted her contemplation.

Wyatt.
She already knew the sound of his tread. He entered the room, balancing a cup and saucer in each hand. Before the meal, he’d helped the boys take baths and had bathed himself. With his dark hair slicked back behind his ears, and wearing a clean gray shirt that silvered his eyes, he brought a masculine presence into the feminine room.

Samantha looked away, uncomfortable with her heightened awareness of him.

“I thought we should celebrate your first night with a cup of hot chocolate.”

“Hot chocolate.” She sat up. “Oh, I haven’t had that in so long.”

“Good.” He handed her the cup and saucer before stretching out in the wing chair opposite her. A mischievous smile brightened his face. “Don’t tell the children. Christine would never forgive me for leaving her out of the treat.”

Samantha laughed. “Nor would Daniel.” She lifted the cup to her lips and sipped. The rich cocoa taste trickled around her tongue, evoking sweet memories from the past. “The last time I had hot chocolate was the Christmas before my husband died.”

“I hope I haven’t brought back sad memories.”

“On the contrary. We seldom had hot cocoa in Argentina. But as a child in Germany, I drank it quite often.” She smiled at him. “Germans make the best chocolate. Unbelievably delicious. At the time, I took it for granted. I didn’t realize how spoiled I was.”

“Germany, Argentina. You’ve been quite a traveler.”

“My father was in the diplomatic corps. I’ve only spent a few years in the United States.”

“Life on a ranch in Montana will be quite different for you.”

Something about his tone made her cock her head. But his friendly expression didn’t change. “I’m looking forward to it. It shouldn’t be too different from what I’m used to. I’ve spent the last two years on my father-in-law’s ranch.”

Silence fell while they drank their hot chocolate.

Samantha savored the last few sips before she set her cup and saucer down on the marble-topped side table. “That was wonderful. So different from the yerba maté Argentineans drink all the time.”

“Yerba maté?”

“Yes, it’s a dried herb. It’s made as an infusion in a gourd and sipped through a silver
bombilla
—something like a straw with a mesh on the end.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s often shared. A person will drink and pass it on to someone else. I never acquired a taste for it.”

“Perhaps if we were to make hot chocolate in a gourd…”

“Actually, only the workers used a
maté
gourd. We used silver ones.”

“I like the idea of sharing.”

“Not with my father-in-law, you wouldn’t.”

A half smile played across his face. “I meant sharing a
bombilla
with you…sipping chocolate…”

At the intimacy of his suggestion, the peaceful coal in her stomach blazed into a flame. She could feel her cheeks redden and hoped, in the fire-shadowed room, he wouldn’t notice. “Thank you for the chocolate.” She stood up. “It’s been a very long day. I should retire.”

He slowly unfolded his long body from the chair.

She scooted sideways to the door, trying not to appear as if she were fleeing. After all, from what could she possibly be fleeing?
Or whom?

Amusement glinted in his eyes, then seeped into his smile. “I hope you find the bed comfortable.”

“I’ll sleep well on anything that’s not rocking.”

His smile widened.

Flustered, she nodded. “Good night.” She hurried through the doorway. Once in the hall, she pressed her hands to her cheeks but didn’t slow down. All she’d been through in the last few days had certainly unsettled her. Hard work should bring her back to normal. And she certainly had enough of that before her. No time for her handsome neighbor to distract her.

The next day, Samantha dropped the scrub brush into the tin pail of dirty water and wrinkled her nose at the sight of her red, water-pruned hands. Living on the estancia had softened her skin. The last few hours, while she’d worked, she’d ignored the sting of the lye soap, but now the irritation increased.

She straightened and pressed her fists into the small of her back. Finally, she’d cleaned the kitchen to her satisfaction. Tiredly, she surveyed her new home. Everything was as neat as soap and water and two pairs of women’s hands could make it. How much more gratifying to work on her own house rather than relax in the luxurious prison of her father-in-law’s estancia.

Across the room, Maria’s shy gaze met hers, and the two women exchanged silent acknowledgment. “It’s fit to live in again,” she told Maria in Spanish. “We can begin in the parlor after we eat.”

Samantha assessed the space. It looked bigger now that Wyatt and Manuel had moved Ezra’s bed and chair to one of the bedrooms upstairs. Coffee in a pot of Wedgwood blue enamelware simmered on the newly blackened stove, inviting them to sit and have a cup. Sunlight sparkled through clean windows, lighting up the whole room. A white linen tablecloth covered the scarred pine table, now set with the Blue Willow dishes.

Early that morning, Christine had gathered an armful of red tulips for Samantha. The bouquet filled her mother’s cut-glass vase in the center of the table, brightening the kitchen with color. Samantha had kept the vase packed away during her years on the estancia
.
Now, at last, it had a place to shine.

She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat, remembering her mother arranging flowers in that vase. A familiar sadness
misted her eyes, and she wished her mother were here with her. She’d have loved Montana.

Samantha lifted her chin, inhaling the soap and ammonia-smelling air. She comforted herself with the thought that perhaps her mother still watched over her and Daniel. Sometimes, she fancied she could even sense her mother’s presence.

A flurry of hammering drove her to the window to peek out at Wyatt. This morning he’d offered to fix the bridge. When she’d demurred, insisting that he’d already done enough for them, he’d pointed out that he didn’t want Christine to be riding across an unsafe bridge or hurting herself running across the rotting wood of the porch. Of course, Samantha had to give in to his reasoning.

Bending on one knee, Wyatt pounded down the new planks. Even from this distance she could see his back and arm muscles move with every stroke of the hammer. Her heartbeat thudded to his rhythmic movement. As if he sensed her scrutiny, he stopped, flashing her a smile before resuming his work.

Flustered, she turned away from the window. “Pour the coffee, please,” Samantha said to Maria. “The men and boys will be hungry. I’ll call them in, and we can open Mrs. Toffels’s basket of food.”

She walked out to the front porch, stepping gingerly. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she called out, “Time to eat.”

Around the corner of the house, the boys beat the dust from the rugs. She heard Daniel’s whoop and yell. “Come on. Let’s go eat.”

At the bridge, Wyatt nodded at her. “Be right there,” he called.

Samantha smiled and walked back inside. In a few minutes, she’d have a hungry horde descending on her. But Mrs. Toffels had packed enough food—fried chicken, baked beans, sourdough
biscuits, tiny new carrots, a jug of lemonade, and two apple pies—to feed an army.

She held her breath as she heard the clatter on the porch. Only a few more hours and she wouldn’t have to worry about someone falling through that rotting wood and breaking a leg. Wyatt’s help was an unexpected blessing. Somehow she’d have to repay his kindness.

The three boys appeared in the kitchen. She smiled and released her breath. “Wash up, please.”

Daniel piped up. “We washed in the horse trough.”

“Well, you can just do it again. Properly. With soap and clean water. And a towel.”

Both twins looked rebellious.

“Mrs. Toffels made apple pies for us. Sure would be a sin to waste them because you boys hadn’t cleaned up.”

Wyatt’s voice boomed out, “Wouldn’t go to waste. Manuel and I can eat the boys’ share.” He exchanged an amused glance with her.

Daniel slid past her, heading toward the sink. “I’ll wash right up.”

Samantha put her hands on her hips, eyeing the twins. “Well, boys?”

Jack nodded, walking around her to follow Daniel. Tim lined up behind him.

There. Firm persuasion and a hint of bribery. Works every time.

Samantha set out the chicken and the rest of the fixings, while Maria poured coffee and lemonade. The boys hurried through their washing up and scrambled for chairs. Manuel and Maria settled down between Tim and Jack.

Wyatt pulled out a seat for Samantha, and she smiled at him. “Thank you.”

Jack reached out to help himself to chicken.

Samantha touched his hand. “Grace first.” She looked over at Wyatt. “Mr. Thompson, will you do the honors?”

He nodded, clasping his hands and closing his eyes.

As his sonorous voice recited a simple prayer, Samantha’s heart filled. She had a good neighbor, plentiful food on the table, and her son and the first two of her boys around her. Her dream was coming true.

From underneath her lowered lids, she glanced across the table at Wyatt, warmth swelling in her breast.
If only it could always be this way.
She didn’t dare let herself continue the thought.

As if they hadn’t eaten for years, instead of earlier gorging on Mrs. Toffels’s abundant breakfast, the twins dug into the chicken and beans. In a few days, she planned to work on their atrocious table manners, but for now, it was more important to put some meat on their skinny bones, and let them know they’d never again go without sustenance.