Glorious Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series) (20 page)

Delia struggled to concentrate on driving the nail into the wood. Joshua had wanted to kiss her, right there in front of everyone. She’d seen the desire in his eyes, and her heart and body had responded.

And she hadn’t cared about other people watching, about her shameful secret. She’d wanted that kiss. . .ached for that kiss.

Even now, thoughts of Joshua wrapping his arms around her, pressing his mouth to hers, sent shivers of desire through her. As her mind grappled to control her desire, her body still tingled from her passionate thoughts.

Delia banged the hammer on the nail with more force than she needed, leaving a circular dent in the wood around the nailhead. Exhaling a shuddering breath, she reached for another one and positioned it. Then she drove it in and repeated the action, hoping physical exertion would calm her body. But nothing seemed to help.

She straightened, pushing back her straw hat and running her arm across her sweaty forehead, trying to cool her inner fire. Delia thought about going for a drink of water and lingering in the shade. But when she glanced at her father, she saw him watching her, a concerned expression on his face. He didn’t seem to be listening to Edith, who’d positioned herself in a chair on his other side and looked to be chattering away.

Can he tell my feelings? Is he displeased? Worried?
She didn’t want her father upset with her for being attracted to Joshua, and not Caleb. Well,
how
she felt about either man didn’t really matter. She could be with neither.

Avoid Joshua, avoid him, avoid him
, she chanted to herself in a remonstrating tone.

Easier to say than to do.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

M
icah stood under the big oak tree next to the schoolhouse, watching the other children play tag. He figured he could go ahead and jump into the game any time he pleased, but he’d had brought his slingshot to show Adam Barrett and waited until he could cut the boy out of the herd.

The students weren’t allowed to bring slingshots to school, nor could Micah bring his to church. After school, instead of staying to play, he’d always go visit Mr. Bellaire, telling him stories of Uganda and learning chess, so he hadn’t really had a chance to compare weapons with the other boy.

Adam ran past him.

Micah reached out and snagged his arm, halting him. “I brought my slingshot.” Turning his back on the other children, he pulled it out of his pocket and flourished it.

“Me, too.” Adam fished in a pocket for his and extended it to Micah. “Here, let me see yours.”

The boys made the exchange.

While Adam’s slingshot was a plain piece of wood in the shape of a Y, Micah’s was carved in the form of a sculpted male statuette with wide-spread legs. The sling tied around the ankle area. The torso was the smooth grip of the shaft. The figure’s arms were raised against the side of the head, so they framed the crudely defined face.

“Gosh!” the other boy exclaimed, his green eyes blazing. “I want one like this. And I know just who will help me.” Adam tilted his head toward the parsonage. “Mr. Walker’s our nearest neighbor on the forest side. His missus was a mail-order bride like my ma. He didn’t used to come into town, but now that he’s married and has a little girl, he’s much better about being around people, so he won’t mind talking to you. He and I are good friends. Come on.” He took off at a run, still holding Micah’s slingshot.

“Hey, wait!” Micah pelted after him. They ran down the street and around the corner of the church to the parsonage.

Adam skidded to a stop before a white-haired man, carrying a drawer from a piece of furniture.

Up close, Micah could see the man wasn’t as old as his hair made him appear.

“Mr. Walker, look what Micah brought from Africa!”

The man put down the drawer, propping it against his leg, and extended his hand.

Adam slapped the slingshot into the man’s palm.

Mr. Walker gave Micah a glance from pale silver eyes before he looked down at the object in his hand. He studied it, tracing one finger over the carvings and down the body. Then he held it up, closing one eye as if aiming. With a shy smile, he handed the slingshot back to Adam, who gave it to Micah.

Adam practically danced with impatience. “Do you think you could make me one like it?”

Micah didn’t want another boy having the same one as he and Kimu. That felt like a betrayal of his friend somehow. But he didn’t know what to say to stop them.

Mr. Walker ruffled Adam’s head. “My garden needs to be weeded.”

“I’ll be over tomorrow after school.”

The man laughed, the sound low, as if he wasn’t quite used to making the noise. “I won’t have made your slingshot by then. But I think you will take two days to finish the garden, so that should work just fine.”

“Oh, thank you.”

The man’s gaze slid to Micah. “Tell me about yours.”

Micah remembered Kimu’s father carving matching slingshots for them, and familiar sadness lodged in his throat. He swallowed, and then pushed out the words. “All my friends have slingshots. They don’t all look like this, though. Some don’t have these.” With the tip of his finger, he traced the grooves that outlined the arms. “Some have bigger heads, and rougher features. And others have one long body and the prongs of the Y come out of the head.”

Mr. Walker nodded. He studied Micah, his silver eyes thoughtful, before glancing at Adam. “How ’bout we make yours different from Micah’s?”

Micah liked that suggestion.

Adam tilted his head, obviously thinking. “I’d like mine having horns on his head.”

Mr. Walker ruffled Adam’s hair again. “Horns it is. Now, you two scoot along. I have to get back to work.”

“Let’s have a competition,” Adam suggested as they walked away. “Not against each other, but against our own selves. We’ll set up targets and use our slingshots to see how we do. Then we’ll trade. Be interesting to see if we can make the same shots if we’re not familiar with the weapon.”

Carried along by Adam’s exuberance, Micah joined the other boy in running down the street to collect some old cans from the garbage heap behind the saloon and then back to the parsonage to pick up some wood to set their targets on.

They chose an area close enough to the parsonage so if their fathers came looking for them, they could be easily found. But they’d still be out of the way of the workers and children playing.

With their purloined wood, Adam arranged six rusted cans in a spaced-out row on top of a rail propped up with bits of lumber. “You take the three on your side, then I’ll take the other three.”

“How ’bout I take all six? I need the practice. Then we’ll set them up again for you.”

“Sounds like a fine proposition,” Adam agreed in a businesslike tone.

Micah pulled out from his pocket a small, smooth stone, one of a set he’d brought from Uganda, and set it in the pouch of the sling. Feeling nervous, he pulled back, aimed, and let fly. The stone made a satisfying thunk, and the can tumbled to the ground.

Adam let out a whoop.

With a breath of relief, Micah quickly dispatched the other five.
Isn’t hard really. The cans aren’t moving like an animal.
“Hey, maybe we can go squirrel hunting some time.”

“Yes, let’s.”

The boys ran over to the cans, scooped them off the ground, and set them back up. Then they picked up his stones. Micah wasn’t about to lose any of his from Africa if he could help it. He was already missing one from the Swensen’s squirrel hunt.
I’ll have to find some other stones to use, instead of these.

When Adam took his turn, he also hit every can. Then he did a whoop for himself and a foot shuffle that reminded Micah of the natives’ dances.

Micah held out his slingshot. “You try mine now.”

The boys swapped.

Micah hefted Adam’s, feeling a slight difference in the weight. “Here goes.” He aimed, pulled, and released.

The stone sailed strong and fast, heading straight toward the can. But Micah could see the trajectory was too high. The stone flew an inch above the can and kept on going. With a sharp feeling of horror, Micah watched a big man who carried a glass window walk across the stone’s path. “Look out!” he yelled.

The man glanced their way, startled, then jumped out of the stone’s path. But he didn’t leap far enough to save the window. With a crack, the stone hit the clear surface, and the glass shattered.

The man let out an angry bellow that caught the attention of the workers and halted the sounds of hammers.

In horror, Micah stood rooted to the ground.

Adam groaned. “We’re in for it now!”

Over the noise of hammering, Joshua heard the sound of breaking glass and an angry yell. Startled, he turned to see a burly man hauling Micah by his ear toward his direction, a broken window in a wooden frame tucked under his other arm. Joshua inhaled a sharp sawdust-laden breath. He let out a sigh and strode over before the man twisted his son’s ear off.

“I’m sorry to say, this young varmint broke your window, Reverend Joshua.” He let go of Micah, set down the frame, and fisted his hands on his hips.

“I was using Adam’s slingshot.” Micah held up the offending object. “I wouldn’t have missed with my own.”

Joshua supposed that was true. The boy had a deadly aim. He held out his hands for the window. “Thank you. . . ?”

“Burns, Bob Burns.” The man handed over the window, ducked his head, and headed toward the house.

The sound of hammering resumed.

Adam Barrett shuffled up, his head hanging. “Whatever you do to him, you’ve got to do to me, too.”

Jonah Barrett hurried over in time to hear his son’s words. “Why’s that, Adam?”

“Cuz it was my idea to trade slingshots for target practice.”

“No, Adam,” Micah objected with a shake of his head. “I missed. That wasn’t your fault.”

Joshua exchanged looks with Jonah that said volumes about the difficulties of parenting active boys. He threw up his arm to add to the shade of his hat so he could see where the two had set up their target area. He had to admit that they’d chosen a good spot, a safe spot.

Jonah seemed to echo his thoughts. “Bad luck, really, that Burns was walking by with the window at that time. He should have known better than to cut in front of boys who are target shooting.”

Joshua gave his son a penetrating stare. “Did you see Mr. Burns before you loosed the stone?”

“No, sir.” Micah looked him straight in the eye. “I wouldn’t have done that on purpose.”

Micah always confessed to his mischief—like the time he’d stolen the cake to feed the starving family—especially if he believed he’d done the right thing.

Jonah took off his hat and slapped it against his leg. Dust flew into the air. He ran his hand over his head, obviously thinking. “I’ll pay for the cost of the window, Reverend Joshua. Adam will do extra chores to make up for it.”

Joshua made a negating motion with his hand. “I think this is just an unfortunate accident. It wasn’t their fault. They shouldn’t be punished for an accident.”

Jonah raised an eyebrow.

“They’re good boys, Jonah. Both owned up to their responsibility and were willing to take the blame for something that was really Burns’s fault, not theirs. That speaks to me of good character, which shouldn’t be punished.”

“Thank you, Father!” Micah gave Joshua a spontaneous hug—a quick flinging of his arms around the waist, releasing just as quickly.

Adam followed suit with his father, although he held on longer for Jonah to return the squeeze. Obviously, the two were more comfortable with physical affection. Astonishing, really, when Joshua recalled how Jonah’s drunken father had isolated his son from everyone when his wife died.

I don’t have any such excuse. I grew up with a father who was far more affectionate than most.
Joshua had allowed his wife’s disapproval of physical affection to impact his behavior with his son, although when the boy was younger, both he and Esther had cuddled and kissed their child.

Micah and I haven’t hugged in so long, we’ve gotten out of the habit. I need to change this now. Before it’s too late.

Joshua smiled at the boys. “It’s almost time to eat. You two take down your target area and go wash up.”

With a chorus of “yes sirs,” the boys ran off.

The two men watched their sons.

Jonah spoke first. “Do you ever feel grateful with your whole being for be a father? Sometimes, I watch my children and I’m awed by what a gift they are to me.”

Who’s the minister here?
“I’ve had those moments. More so when Micah was a baby.”

“You probably don’t know this. . .Adam’s mother, my first wife, died in childbirth along with our second son. Just about wrecked me, that did.” A muscle in his jaw ticked. “I might not be around today if Adam didn’t need me.”

“I know about loving your boy with a fierce ache. How having him gives you a purpose when nothing else does.”

“Then you understand.” Jonah opened his mouth, then closed it without speaking.

Joshua waited.

“Here and there, I try to stop and take time to
feel
my blessings.”

Joshua inhaled and exhaled a deep breath,
feeling
the meaning of Jonah’s words deep within him. Perhaps if he did this more often, he’d begin to fill the tired emptiness that still tended to drag him down. “Thank you for offering that wisdom,” he said quietly.

The clang of the school bell sounded. All hammering ceased. Some of the men stopped at the outdoor pump by the church and others kept going, no doubt headed for the one by the school.

Joshua clapped Jonah on the shoulder. “Let’s go wash up before those men beat us to the food and all we’re left with is dry bones.”

After a day of work, the parsonage had sprouted rooms. New wood gleamed in the sunshine.