Glorious Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series) (16 page)

After the service, when Joshua and his parents knocked on the door of the Livingston mansion, Edith Grayson answered, giving them a cool smile and a polite welcome.

The lack of warmth toward his parents made Joshua inwardly bristle. With only a few exceptions, the people of Sweetwater Springs held his parents in great regard and gave them respect. He knew Mrs. Grayson was capable of affection, for he’d seen her display it to the Bellaires and her son.
Why disdain his parents?

She ushered them into the parlor, and Joshua reminded himself to remain warm but dispassionate toward the beautiful houseguest and seize every opportunity to access her nature.

He hadn’t been in the room before. When he glimpsed the piano in the corner, covered by a fringed cloth, he wondered if Delia played. With a stab of jealously, he imagined Caleb Livingston sitting here in the evening, watching her as she performed his favorite pieces. The thought was ungenerous. Joshua forced it away and began to greet the people in the room.

The other guests sat on the chairs and settees, cups of tea in their hands—Mr. Livingston, along with the Carters, Sanderses, Thompsons, Dr. Cameron and a redheaded woman who must be his wife, and one other couple he didn’t know. A woman dressed in men’s clothes and wearing a gun belt caught his attention. Joshua didn’t recognize her from his past, for he would have remembered her distinctive features and watchful gray eyes.

Dr. Cameron stood and gestured toward the pregnant woman with curly red hair. “Reverend Joshua, let me introduce you to my wife.”

Joshua took a step over to the woman and gave her a nod.

“You look very like your father, Reverend Joshua,” Mrs. Cameron said in a brogue like her husband’s.

Joshua smiled down at her. “I’ll accept that as a compliment, ma’am. There isn’t anyone else I’d rather take after.”

“Your father’s a dear man. A dear, dear man. And your mother, too.”

Dr. Cameron gestured to the rest of the group. “Do you know everyone, then?”

“He hasn’t met us.” The speaker stood, towering over the other guests. “I’m Anthony Gordon. Call me Ant.”

Joshua had never seen a taller man. Stretching a bit, his head might bump the chandelier. The nickname amused him. Dark hair and eyes and an angular face made the fellow rough looking; there was no mistaking his manly presence.

Ant turned. “And this pretty lady is my wife, Harriet, whom you might have heard of as the former Miss Stanton, the schoolteacher.”

Brown-haired Mrs. Gordon stood. Next to Ant Gordon, she was short. Intelligence shone from her eyes.

“Oh, yes.” Joshua smiled at Mrs. Gordon. “My mother’s letters mentioned Miss Stanton.”

Color flooded the schoolteacher’s cheeks. “Our marriage is recent, not yet a year.”

“My congratulations to you both.”

Ant winked at his wife.

The color in her face deepened.

To spare her blushes, Joshua changed the subject. “Tomorrow, you’ll have my nine-year-old son, Micah, starting school. At first, he’ll probably be subdued. But when he feels more comfortable, he’ll stop being so quiet. Quite the opposite.”

She laughed. “I’m sure I’ll manage him, Reverend Joshua. Don’t you worry.”

Mr. Livingston joined the conversation. “Gordon owns the newspaper and has the new building going up.”

Ant’s right eyebrow peaked, and his smile was crooked. “I hope you’ll allow me to interview you for the paper, Reverend Joshua. After nine years in Africa, you should provide me with plenty of material. Perhaps I’ll do a series of articles.”

Uncomfortable with the request, Joshua didn’t know how to respond. He hadn’t become a missionary for personal glory.

“People will be very interested in reading about your time in Africa,” Ant added.

Mrs. Gordon placed a hand on his arm. “I’m sure you’ll agree. . .anything that encourages people to
read
is a good thing. Why, some of my students who were never interested in books began to read the paper that Ant donated to the school. Eventually, they moved on to books and of course, the Bible.”

Mrs. Gordon might be small in stature, but she knows how to get her way.
“Your wife’s very effective,” Joshua said in a wry tone.

Mr. Gordon’s mouth turned up. “Harriet used a similar tactic to get me to donate the paper to the school.”

She laughed. “The big man toppled by the pushy woman.”

Ant touched her cheek with the back of his finger. “Toppled by the beautiful, determined woman,” he corrected. He looked at Joshua, “Perhaps tomorrow we can take time for my first interview with you.”

Joshua restrained a sigh. “That will be fine.”

“Wonderful. Then I can write it up in time for our next issue.”

Mrs. Gordon dimpled up at her husband. “Some educational articles about Africa—the natives, the customs, the landscape—would also be beneficial, dearest.”

As Ant looked down at his wife, the tenderness in his eyes softened the harsh angles of his face. “Of course. I already had that planned for you.”

Another obviously happily married couple,
Joshua thought with an ache for what he’d missed.
Seems Sweetwater Springs i
s crawling with newlyweds.
Well, perhaps some of them had been married for a few years, but to him they seemed to be newlyweds.

A movement in the doorway caught Joshua’s eye. With a little jump of his heart, he recognized Delia.

She stood framed in the doorway, hesitating. Her silk dress was the color of new leaves and appeared fresh and spring-like, but her hazel eyes hinted of shyness. She shifted as if to flee.

Her uncertainty moved Joshua. He strode over to her.
“Miss Bellaire. Do come in.”

Although her expression remained serene, Delia’s eyes filled with a sudden light. Her hand fluttered. “Edith mentioned you all were having an important meeting. I was going to have a tray in my father’s room so as not to disturb anyone.”

“You’re not disturbing us, at all. Come.” He waved her inside.

“I stopped to tell you. . .I mean your father, how much I enjoyed the service.” Her shy smile bloomed.

Unexpected warmth swirled through Joshua, and he had to restrain the grin that wanted to split his face. “I’m delighted to hear that. I don’t think you had a chance to greet my parents. By the time we’d left the church, you and the Livingstons were already walking away.”

“Yes, they were in a hurry to return home and prepare for company.”

Joshua wished he could touch her back to guide her to his parents, but with so many gazes watching, the gesture felt too intimate.

They walked the few steps to where his mother and father stood talking to the Carters, cups and saucers in hand, and exchanged hellos. Joshua moved back and let his parents ask questions about Andre’s health.

Joshua liked hearing Delia’s soft drawl. From his angle, he couldn’t see her eyes, but he saw the elegant line of her throat, the curve of her cheek, the thickness of her dark hair. He could have stood, mesmerized, but he didn’t want his interest in her to become obvious to the others. Instead, he stepped out of the conversational flow and crossed to the woman wearing men’s clothes, who sprawled in her chair in an unladylike slouch.

She rose to her feet, a big woman with brown hair woven into two thick braids. She wore denim pants, a leather vest over a crisp white shirt, and a black string tie.

Joshua imagined with her braids tucked up under a cowboy hat that she might pass for a man, and he wondered if that was her intent. Perhaps not, else she’d have cut her hair.

Mr. Livingston sauntered over, a strange smile on his face. “Reverend Joshua, I believe you haven’t met our sheriff, K.C. Granger.”

Sheriff!
About to utter the usual polite greeting, Joshua had to lock his jaw before his mouth dropped, hoping he didn’t look bug-eyed in surprise. Now, he saw the star pinned on her vest.

Sheriff Granger’s expression didn’t change. Nor did she show a hint of discomfort. Obviously, she was a woman comfortable with herself.

Joshua had to admire her attitude, although he’d need a while to wrap his head around the idea of a female sheriff. His jaw loosened. “Sheriff Granger, I’m pleased to meet you under social circumstances.”

She tilted her head. “As opposed to. . . ?” Her voice sounded husky.

“I have a very mischievous son. Micah’s not a bad boy. But he is apt to find himself in trouble.”

The sheriff’s eyes twinkled. “I heard about the toad. I’d left the social before then. And I saw the bee in church today. Neither is a hanging offense, Reverend.”

Joshua let out a sigh. “Toads and Micah were inevitable, I suppose. I just don’t know what he’ll think of next. I can assure you, he’s never been malicious. . .”

“You know the saying. . .boys will be boys. But thanks for the warning, Reverend. I’ll be on the watch to keep him safe.”

“Thank you, Sheriff.”

Mrs. Grayson entered the room. “Dinner is served. If you will all follow me.”

Joshua glanced at Delia, standing a few paces away with his parents.

“You must join us, Miss Bellaire,” his mother said. “I insist.”

“I don’t want to impose.”

Again her hand fluttered, a graceful gesture Joshua had noticed she used when she seemed anxious. He gave her a reassuring smile. “Please stay.”

Delia looked back and forth from his parents to Sheriff Granger to him. “As long as I’m not intruding.”

“Of course—” his mother began.

“—No imposition at all,” his father boomed over her words.

“We’re just discussing plans to expand the parsonage,” Joshua said. “We would welcome your opinions.”

A smile lit her eyes. “Shall I suggest an ironwork balcony on the second story?” she asked in a mock demure tone. “They are quite nice to sit out on.”

His mother’s eyes widened, and her hand rose to her chest. “Oh, I hardly think we’re adding on a second story, Miss Bellaire.”

“She’s teasing, Mother.”

His mother relaxed. “Oh, oh, of course.”

He and Delia exchanged amused glances.

We share a sense of humor
, Joshua realized. Something missing with Esther, and when he was courting, he hadn’t realized the lack. After all, clergymen should be serious, or so he’d often been told in seminary.

But try as he might, Joshua hadn’t been able to completely fit into that mold.

The more I’m around Delia Bellaire, the more I’m drawn to her. And I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A
fter church, the dreaded test about the sermon didn’t occur. Instead, Micah learned, to his relief, that his father and grandparents had plans to dine at Banker Livingston’s and then have a meeting about building rooms onto the parsonage.
I’ll be glad when I don’t have to share the lean-
to with Father. I’ll have a space of my own again.

Before they left the house, Grandmother dished up Micah a plate of stew, including a piece of apple pie that sent the smell of cinnamon into the air. He eyed the dessert, grateful he didn’t have to work for it.

Father set an open Bible on the table and tapped one side with his forefinger. “I want you to memorize a chapter while we’re at Mr. Livingston’s.”

Micah shot him a glance of resentment.

With a pained look, Father sat in the nearest chair. “You know Sunday is a day of rest, Micah, not a time to play. When your mother became ill, we lost the habit of quiet Bible study in the afternoon. But our time at the Maynards showed me that we need to return to a regular Sunday routine.” He stood and ruffled Micah’s hair.

Micah ducked away.

“Sundays aren’t always quiet. I think you’ll like how we often visit on Sundays. That’s when people invite us for dinner. Eating with the minister is a special occasion to them, so they serve their best. . .including dessert.”

“Why can’t I come with you today?”

“We will be talking business, and the children won’t be there. So, enjoy Grandmother’s pie and do your studying. I’ll allow you to choose which chapter you want.”

I’ll find a short one.

As if he’d heard the words, Father gave Micah an enquiring glance, but he didn’t say anything. “Behave yourself while we’re gone.”

With a surge of resentment, Micah realized that without Kimu and his other friends, he didn’t have anyone to sneak off and play with anyway. Not that trouble didn’t manage to find him when he was alone. . . . Micah gave a sullen nod of agreement.

As soon as they left, Micah ate his pie first, enjoying the taste of apple and cinnamon. He fingered the edge of the Bible, turning a few pages, looking for a chapter to read while he ate his stew. But his simmering resentment grew into rebellion. He didn’t want to stay inside the house and obediently memorize a chapter.
Father didn’t say I couldn’t leave the house.

Curious about the meeting, Micah decided to go to the Livingston house. Father had spoken of his visits with the Bellaires and repeated some good stories Mr. Bellaire had told him. He liked Miss Bellaire and was curious to see her father. The sick man would be in bed upstairs, not with the others. And if the Livingston house was like the Maynards, everyone would be cooped up in one room, and he could sneak past them.

He got up and ran to the front window, making sure his family was out of sight, then opened the door. He walked quietly across the porch, grateful he’d changed into his old shoes, which were much more comfortable than his clodhoppers, and peered over the rail of the porch. The coast looked clear.

He waited a while longer to give his father and grandparents time to get well ahead of him before moving down the path between the house and the church. He paused to make sure his family wasn’t in sight, then sauntered onto Main Street, trying to act like a boy who wasn’t lookin’ for trouble.

Which I’m not
, Micah assured himself. The last thing he wanted was to get caught.

Strolling down the street, he nodded to the occasional person he passed. When he reached the big brick house, Micah loitered by the corner of the fence. Not seeing anyone who appeared to be coming this direction, he dashed to the gate, opened it, and trotted up the walkway. At the door, he hesitated.
Should I go in?

Goaded by what his mother had called his
imp of mischief
, Micah gingerly turned the knob and eased open the door. To his relief, the hinges were well oiled and didn’t squeak. No one was in the hallway, one even grander than the Maynards’.

Careful not to make noise on the black-and-white tile, Micah tiptoed down the hallway, following the murmur of voices. He glanced inside a parlor, saw his father’s back to the door, and scuttled past, thinking to lurk on the stairs. He heard his father’s voice say, “Thank you, Sheriff.”

Sheriff!
With a clench of his stomach, Micah had a vision of the sheriff catching him in the Livingston house and hauling him off to jail.
Too late to back out now. They might see me.
He could only move forward toward Mr. Bellaire’s room and hope to hide in the house until after the meeting. He scurried up the stairway.

At the broad landing between the first and second floors, Micah heard the sound of footsteps and whistling. With a thrill of fear, he plopped his bottom on a bench that ran along the wall and was covered by blue cushions and long fringe that reached to the floor, trying to pretend he belonged there. He shoved his feet back, expecting to hit his heels on the wood and, instead, realized the long fringe covered an empty space.

Before he could examine the underside of the bench, he spotted an older boy trotting down the stairs. Micah had seen him at the ice cream social but didn’t know his name. He was almost man-size and had the same looks of the adults in the Livingston family. “Hey, it’s the toad boy. What are you doing here?” He stopped in front of Micah.

“I’m not the toad boy. I’ve left Fred at home.” Not wanting the older boy to think him babyish, he strove for a matter-of-fact tone. “I’m Micah Norton.”

“Everyone knows who you are. I’m Ben Grayson. This is my uncle’s house. He’s Banker Livingston.”

“My father and grandparents are in the meeting,” Micah explained.

“Oh, all righty, then.” Ben touched his head as if he was wearing a hat and continued down the stairs, whistling as he went.

Micah heard the older boy’s footsteps tap across the floor and the sound of the outside door opening and closing. With a rise of resentment, he realized no one was making Ben stay indoors and memorize a Bible chapter, and he was allowed to whistle on the Sabbath.
Not fair!

Once again, Micah wished he wasn’t a minister’s son. Not that he’d trade his family. But why couldn’t they be bankers or ranchers or shopkeepers? He toyed with various roles, trying to imagine what his life would be like if Father and Grandfather had different jobs.

Rapid footsteps sounded on the first floor, heading toward the stairs, jerked him from his daydream.
Uh, oh.
Micah dropped down to his knees, spread out the fringe and peered underneath the bench.
Just enough room
. He flattened himself and rolled underneath, brushing the fringes straight.

The black skirt and shoes of a woman passed by. She didn’t pause but continued to climb to the second floor.

Micah heard muffled voices, then the woman’s sounded clearer. “I’ll leave you then, Mr. Bellaire,” she said, thumping down the stairs.

He waited for the sound of her footsteps to fade away. Before he could move out from under the bench, he heard Miss Bellaire’s voice drift to him. “I’ll look in on you later, Papa,” With a light tread, she walked down the stairs. The green skirt of her dress swished by him.

Micah decided he still wanted a glimpse of Mr. Bellaire.
I bet he’s all by himself now.
He waited another few minutes, listening until he decided it was safe to emerge.

After rolling out from under the bench, he rose to his feet and tiptoed up the stairs. He took a moment to admire the large space of the second floor—about as big as the parsonage, perfect for playing games on rainy days—then slid around the corner, his back to the wall. When he reached the door, Micah slowly stuck in his head.

To his shock, the man in the bed stared back with piercing hazel eyes. He lifted a hand. “You there. Come here.”

I’m caught.

Although Delia tried to appear calm, talking to the sheriff made her uneasy. If she hadn’t been masquerading as Andre’s legitimate white daughter, she would have lingered in conversation, wanting to know more about the woman and her unusual choice of profession.

As they chatted about the weather, the lawwoman studied her with intelligent gray eyes that seemed to penetrate to her secrets.

I’m not committing a crime,
Delia told herself.
Am I? I’ll have to ask Papa if we could go to jail for our deception.

The idea was enough to make her stomach roil, and the thought of eating, especially with so many strangers made her uneasy. But since she’d already agreed to join them, Delia could hardly back out now.
I’ll just have to mind what I say.

In the dining room, everyone settled around the long table covered with a snowy cloth. Several cut-glass vases of daffodils and yellow irises were placed down the middle. Even with the thirteen gathered, there were still empty chairs. She wondered about place settings of blue and white china in front of two of the unclaimed seats.

Mr. Livingston presided at the head of the table, and Mrs. Grayson, elegant in navy blue and pearls, glided toward the foot.

Joshua pulled out a chair for Delia, then took the place on her right. His father sat on her left. John and Pamela Carter moved directly across from her. The sheriff was on her same side, but far enough down the table that she couldn’t see Delia. Being out of the woman’s line of sight somewhat relieved her anxiousness.

Mr. Cobb, accompanied by a short, stout woman, hurried in.

Delia shrank back, her heart beating rapidly, not wanting the man to see her.
What if he looks at me in a sensual manner again? What if everyone else. . .Joshua, especially. . .notices?
The thought made shame course through her.
Surely with his wife present, Mr. Cobb won’t make another inappropriate remark about women of New Orleans.

Mrs. Cobb explained that they’d had several customers to deal with before they could close the shop.

While the others nodded in tepid welcome, the couple took the unclaimed seats near the end of the table, across from the sheriff. They gave a cold greeting to the lawwoman, then snubbed her.

Delia felt a brief sympathy for the sheriff, then she reminded herself to be on guard with everyone present.

Mrs. Graves, looking as grim as her name implied, served the first course of fish soup.

Reverend Norton said grace, and they started to eat.

The conversation was desultory, as some of the men talked about ranching matters, mostly in regard to which horses were foaling, with a big dark man interjecting some questions, as if he was interviewing them.

Delia started to relax and sipped a spoonful of soup.

Reverend Norton looked over at the beautiful redhead whom Delia hadn’t had a chance to meet. “What about your little horses? I’m sure you have anxious buyers already lined up.”

The woman looked across the table at Delia. “We haven’t been introduced. I’m Samantha Thompson.” She tilted her head at the handsome gray-eyed man with a slightly aquiline nose sitting next to her. “My husband, Wyatt.”

Offering a faint smile, Delia nodded.

“Do you know everyone here?” Samantha asked.

“No.” Delia glanced at the few she hadn’t met.

Edith sent her an appalled look. “Delia, forgive me. I hadn’t realized you didn’t know everyone.” She made quick introductions around the table.

After acknowledging the other guests, Delia gave Edith a reassuring smile. “I haven’t been with you for every moment. How could you know?” She glanced at Samantha Thompson. “You were saying about your horses?”

“I brought Falabella horses. . .miniature horses, with me from Argentina.”

Miniature horses. They sound adorable.
Delia glanced at Joshua.

At the same time, he looked at her.

With the exchange of glances, she knew they both were thinking the same thing.
Micah would love to play with little horses.

“I’ll bet they didn’t have Falabella horses in Africa,” she murmured for only him to hear.

Pamela Carter leaned forward. “We have a Falabella for our children. Harriet and Ant have one for their nephew.”

Mrs. Cameron, whom Delia had met when the doctor had brought his wife to visit, beamed at her. “We acquired a foal before. . .” She touched her stomach. “Just because I wanted one of the little creatures. Perhaps our Falabella brought us luck.” She and Dr. Cameron smiled at one another.

“And we’re buying a foal for our daughter, Carol,” said Elizabeth Sanders, whom Delia had been introduced to before the church service.

Pamela’s eyes sparked with a sudden idea. “Lizzy’s birthday is in a few weeks. Why don’t we have a Falabella reunion? All of you can bring your horses.”

“I’d love to see all the Falabellas in one place.” Samantha set down her fork. “But I’m afraid the dams couldn’t leave their foals.”

Pamela’s expression fell. “Oh, that’s right.”

“But. . .” Samantha wrinkled her forehead, obviously thinking. “Maybe if I sent one of the cowboys ahead with them. . .made a journey of several days.” She glanced at her husband for confirmation.