Montana Rose (13 page)

Cassie saw Wade’s weasel eyes shift to Red. “I often wondered what she did for Griff that he’d let her walk all over him like that. Tell me, Dawson. Does she earn your favors like a real fles-hand-blood woman? Or is she as cold as the china doll she seems to be?”

Red suddenly moved, and Cassie felt his anger at Wade’s crudity. She caught him with a quick backward move of her hands.

She said clearly, so clearly that it was possible Mort Sawyer could have heard her out at the ranch, “Remember we’re in church, Red. And remember the man who won has to be big enough to stand a few temper tantrums from the loser.” She looked over her shoulder and smiled sweetly at Red.

He glared down at her for a second, obviously frustrated, then he relaxed. “Only ’cuz we’re in church, Cass. The ‘temper tantrum’ comment from you wouldn’t have saved him any other time.”

“Saved me?” Wade blustered. “The day a man can hide behind a woman’s skirts and that’ll stop...”

“Enough, Sawyer. We’re in the middle of church.” This was from Norm York. “Your pa wanted Cassie’s spring and he paid a fair price for it. You Sawyers got what you wanted. You’ve no call to come in here insulting a fine woman and threatening Red. You’re standing in front of dozens of witnesses to your actions, and you can’t get away with starting anything. And if something happens to them any other time, you’re the first one we’ll come looking for. So you’d better pray they don’t even accidentally get hurt. If you want to stay and hear the preaching, we welcome you.”

Suddenly Mr. York’s voice became very sincere. “We do, Wade. Forget all this anger and stay. We have God here with us, and you need to hear about Him. There is always room for anyone who wants to worship the Lord. But the store is closed on Sunday and always has been, as you well know. We need to get back to services.”

Cassie noticed that every man in the place squared off against Wade, some moving to place themselves between Wade and her until she couldn’t see him anymore. Even though anyone from out of town would have a rifle on his horse because of the dangers along the trail, none of them brought a gun into church. Wade was the only one armed.

Seconds stretched to a minute.

Cassie leaned sideways to see Wade. His eyes, burning with anger, shifted from one man to another. He flexed his fingers as if fighting the urge to destroy anyone who thwarted him. His eyes connected with Cassie and they held. Under the anger and hunger, Cassie saw something else. Some deep longing that told her Wade wasn’t just fighting because he was a troublemaker. Wade’s desperate yearning aimed straight at her made her shudder deep inside.

With a sneer, Wade’s hand dropped away from his gun. “This isn’t over, Dawson. You got what’s mine and I aim to get it back.”

She couldn’t see him anymore, and she stayed behind Red, not wanting Wade’s eyes on her. But she heard the obsession in his voice, and icy fingers of fear crawled up her spine and grabbed at her throat.

She saw him again as he turned and wrenched the door open, slamming it behind him so hard the glass rattled.

The congregation stood silently for a moment. Cassie saw fear on many of the men’s faces. She knew the ruthless Sawyer bunch had made dreadful enemies.

Finally Red broke the silence. “Let’s bow our heads and pray for Wade and his father.”

Several people turned sharply to face Red, their faces revealing they were not ready to let go of their anger or fear. Most nodded soberly.

“He’s so lost,” Muriel said.

Cassie couldn’t believe the gentle murmur of agreement. Not a minute ago a fight brewed that might end in the deaths of some of the people in this room. Now they were praying for a man they so obviously feared.

She thought of her practice with Griff ’s gun and her own desperate plans to protect herself. Never for a second had she considered praying for Wade. This was a kind of Christianity that Cassie didn’t understand.

A peace settled over her as Red’s comforting voice started talking to God in a way that made it seem God was a personal friend.

Cassie prayed that God would be her friend, too.

Cassie wondered about the papers in Red’s pocket as the church service wound down, the general store was put back to rights, and she and Red prepared to head for home.

He lifted her onto his horse, and she decided to get settled into Buck’s gallop before she asked.

She awoke when he swung off the horse in front of their house. He was still holding her.

She insisted she could walk.

He just nodded. “I know you can, Cass honey.” He carried her inside and set her on a chair.

“Thank you, Red.” She didn’t admit it, because it made her feel like a burden, but she was secretly glad she hadn’t needed to use her shaky legs.

She sat on the chair, letting her head clear for a few seconds. And then she remembered Wade. “What was it Wade tore up?”

“Let’s see.” Red pulled the wad of paper out of his pocket and smoothed it.

Cassie recognized it. “My family portraits and the painting of the countess.”

Tears burned sharply across her eyes. She forced herself to say what Griff would have wanted to hear. “It’s ... it’s only portraits. It’s all frivolity.”

Red lay the mangled pieces of paper and canvas side by side on the table. “They’re not frivolous. We’ll fix ’em. They won’t be nice like before, but we’ll remember what your family looked like, and that’s the real point of portraits, right?”

Cassie thought of how lovingly she’d cared for those paintings all of her life and her mother before her, so there was never any damage to the canvas and no sun faded the color. But what Red said about remembering lifted the dark sorrow from her heart. Griff ’s voice, accusing her of childish longing for unimportant things, faded.

“You’re exactly right. The portraits are important.” She smiled up at him as he bent near her shoulder, arranging the portraits. Red knew
why
they were important, and that reason wasn’t lost because of wrinkled paper, nor was it frivolous. She felt immensely better and began helping him put the pieces together like a jigsaw puzzle.

Red produced another paper from his pocket and bent over her shoulder to smooth it out on the table. They had copied all her ancestors’ names out of her old family Bible. As they worked on the torn portraits, Red asked, “Did you mean it about the Bible, Cass? You weren’t just being brave? It’s a beautiful old book. I’ve never seen one so big and grand. If you want to keep it, we can think of something.”

“It’s not even in a language we can read.” Cassie shook her head. “Of all the things we might save from my past, I think the Bible is the least important. And Mr. York seems to think he might get more from it than even the mortgage price. I like your Bible better. Maybe there’s a place in it for my family’s names.”

Red glanced sideways at her and smiled. “There is. I got this Bible new so I’ve never written in the pages set aside for that kind of thing.”

The smile warmed Cassie’s heart as their gazes held for a long moment. Then Red turned back to the tabletop. The portraits began to take shape in front of them. “These folks are your mother’s grandparents, right, Cass? And the oil painting is the countess?”

“Yes, my grandfather was one of the original executives who began building the railroad.” Cassie pointed to a stern-looking man with a slight twinkle in his eye. “My grandmother was one of the finest hostesses in New York. Mother always said I looked just like her and she looked like the countess. I just barely remember them. They came to visit us in Illinois several times, but Grandfather died the year after my father, and Grandmother just a few years after that.”

“Do you know stories of your ancestors, Cass?”

Cass looked up from her scraps. She’d been enjoying making her grandparents emerge from the mess. “Oh, yes. Mother talked about them all the time.”

“I can see our children putting these portraits together just like this and you telling them about their heritage. We’ll do it as often as we can. We can tell them about my ma and pa and my brothers and sisters, and your great-grandma, the countess, too. We’ll hand down more than portraits to them, Cass. We’ll make sure they know where they came from.”

“They?” Cass said, her voice faint.

“Sure. I want to have a big family. Don’t...” Red’s voice faltered as he looked away from the work he was doing. “D–Don’t you?”

They looked at each other before Red straightened away from her, his cheeks turning as red as his hair.

Cassie knew what a big family meant. It meant she was going to have to really be married to Red. Her first reaction was dismay, but after she had a second to think about it, she knew she’d agreed to a real marriage when she took her vows. And she remembered how he’d almost kissed her just before Wade barged into the church service, and how much she’d wanted him to. Yes, she’d be willing to have a big family if it would make Red happy.

All she said was, “I hope they all have red hair.”

Red smiled and rested one hand on her shoulder. “That’s fine for the boys, but I hope the girls are all as beautiful as you. I’d like to stay and help you get the portraits finished, but I’ve got chores waiting.”

“Oh, let me help, Red. I want to share the work with you.”

Red hesitated, and Cassie guessed he was thinking how tired she was. It made her feel like such a burden to him. He was always making excuses why she didn’t have to help.

“I’ve been thinking, Cass. I want you to help, but I haven’t been taking the time to teach you. Now I want you to milk Rosie today and feed the chickens and Harriet, but I don’t want you to start without me. I know you’ve been trying to do these things to save me time, but at first it’s gonna take
more
time because learning always does. Now, I’ve got to water Buck and Rosie before anything else. Don’t start without me.” He shook his finger in her face. “Promise me. Not even with the chickens. There’re a couple of things I want to show you about them I didn’t get to before.”

“I’ll wait, Red.” She thought taking direct orders was the safest thing in the world. She longed for Red to tell her just what to do.

“And don’t start a fire in here yet. I don’t have time to do it, but it’s tricky. I’ll teach you how to do that, too. It’ll be chilly for a while, but we’ll just have to wait for a fire even if that makes dinner late.”

She nodded, elated to be obedient. “I promise I’ll sit and work on these portraits until you’re ready for me.”

“Good, yes, that’s a good idea.” Red bent quickly down to his Bible and opened it to a paged lined but with no writing. “And put your family names in here while you’re waiting. I’ll hurry. I should be ready to milk Rosie in fifteen minutes. I’ll call out when I’m back from the stream.”

Cassie smiled at him, her heart soaring.

Red grabbed his hat from a nail beside the door. He glanced back to see her still smiling at him. His hand faltered as it reached for the wooden peg that latched the door shut. Something passed over Red’s face that transfixed Cassie. He stood there frozen for a long minute.

Suddenly, he jammed his hat crookedly on his head, took two broad paces toward her, and lifted her out of her chair by her shoulders. He kissed her hard and quick, then set her back in the chair and left without looking back.

Cassie sat dazed, feeling his strong hands on her shoulders and his warm mouth on hers. It was over so fast that she hadn’t really felt anything while he was kissing her. But after he left, she started tingling until her whole body was buzzing with the pleasure of Red’s abrupt kiss. She forgot all about her grandparents’ portraits and her ancestors’ names and sat daydreaming. She wanted him to do it again. They’d have a lot of children, because Muriel had explained what caused babies, and she knew kissing led to that cause, and she’d liked his kissing very much.

Cassie almost hummed she was so happy thinking of the future and all the kissing she and Red were going to do.

He was wrong to kiss her like that, and it wasn’t going to happen again! Not until he was sure Cassie wasn’t doing it out of a need to be submissive.

Red rode the buckskin to the spring, berating himself for his rough treatment of his sweet, kindhearted Cassie. He pegged Buck there and went back for Rosie, who was her usual cranky “you’re-late-milking-me” self. Rosie didn’t like not being milked until the afternoon on Sundays.

He tied Rosie so she could drink, led Buck home, and went back for Rosie.

Rosie was cranky about being dragged home. “I know I’m hurryin’ you, girl, but I’m afraid Cassie will forget her promise and start helping in some dangerous way or other.”

Rosie jerked her head and almost pulled Red over backward. He turned and thought he saw skepticism on her long face. “Okay, the truth is I just want to get back to her. I want to hold her again, gently this time, not like the ham-handed ox I was earlier.”

Rosie mooed loudly and Red realized what he’d said. “Well, I didn’t mean any offense to oxen, of course. That’s your family, I know. But I’m not supposed to act like one. And anyway, I can’t kiss her again.”

Red glanced back as if maybe Rosie could give him some advice. “I can’t. It’s too soon for her.”

He wanted a real marriage in every way with Cassie. Almost like watching a flower unfold from its bud, he could see Cassie blooming. It was as if she’d hidden her real self to be a perfect wife for Griff.

Cassie didn’t even realize how Griff had used her. Griff had abused his position of trust to marry her. Then he’d squandered her wealth and left her at the not-so-tender mercies of the men in Divide. The things she’d said about Griff calling her unclean and the money Griff had spent on foolishness made Red so mad he wished Lester Griffin were here so he could beat some sense into him.

But if Griff were here, then Red wouldn’t be married to Cassie. His breath caught on the delight of having her waiting for him in the house.

Red had even put aside his worry about Cassie’s faith. She bowed her head with him at every meal and she’d seemed content to attend services with him. Red had the sudden unsettling thought that maybe Cassie was trying to turn herself into a perfect wife for Red Dawson, just like she’d turned herself into a perfect china doll for Lester Griffin.

Red’s heart panged at the thought and he froze in midstep. Rosie plowed into him and shoved him along until he was walking again.

Cassie had agreed so sweetly to wait for him to do the chores. Red had told her to sit in that chair, and suddenly he was sure that she wouldn’t even stand up the whole time he was gone. She’d said, “I’ll be proud to obey you, Red,” right out loud at the church service. He didn’t want Cassie to twist and turn herself around trying to become whatever Red wanted her to be. That made him no better than Lester Griffin. He wanted Cassie to feel safe enough to be herself.

She’d been living by someone else’s wishes since she was fifteen. No, since she was twelve, because that’s when Griff had first gotten charge over her.

Red remembered seeing Cassie sitting perfectly still in the carriage waiting for Griff. He thought of the times he’d seen her, her hands folded in her lap, the unnatural look of composure on her face. She had been out there because Griff had insisted she stay, like a trained dog, confined to that carriage as surely as the horses had been tied to the hitching post.

With a flash of insight, Red knew no one learned to be so submissive without a harsh taskmaster administering the lesson. He thought of the fear that flashed in Cassie’s eyes every time she thought she might have displeased him. Once she’d even flinched away from him.

Sickened by the direction of his thoughts, Red knew that there’d been more than scolding and insults involved in Griff ’s discipline. It took a hard hand to wring that kind of fearful obedience out of anyone—man, woman, or child.

At that moment Lester Griffin was fortunate to be dead and beyond Red’s reach.

Red contrasted Cassie’s detached serenity in her Mrs. Griffin days with the girl who had pitched in and helped Muriel yesterday. Was that what Cassie wanted to do, or was she just following Red’s example?

Red knew then that teaching her all of the ranch chores would be easy, and he knew he could have the perfect little ranch wife, hurrying to do his bidding. And he could kiss her as often as he liked and have a dozen children if he wished. And he’d never know if any of it was what Cassie wanted.

He also realized he couldn’t know if Cassie’s faith was real. Red the husband could fumble around and do his best with Cassie, but Red the preacher couldn’t settle for letting Cassie’s soul be neglected.

Red decided to start out teaching her because she really did need to learn, but what he wanted was for her to defy him. He wanted Cassie to look him in the eye and say, “I’m doing enough around here. Do it yourself.”

He tied Rosie up in her stall and started for the house. He thought ruefully that at least he no longer wanted to grab her and kiss her senseless. She’d just go along with that, too.

As he reached his soddy, he realized that his mind had led him in a big circle that took him right back to where he started.

Until he was sure what her wishes were, he was never going to kiss her again.

Wade scuffed his foot against the bedding of pine needles as he waited impatiently for Dawson to go into the house. He was learning their schedule.

Morning chores. Ride out to check the cattle. Noon break. Ride out for slightly longer to check the cattle. Evening chores. Supper. Dawson always stayed inside after supper. Always hurrying, always working.

Wade knew better than to leave much sign of his passing. Although Dawson never scouted around the highlands behind his cave, he did move like a man who had lived in wild country. He would study the landscape. Take time to look at the sky. Pay attention to any ruckus set up by his horse or his stock. Wade wondered if that was how Dawson always acted or if he was suspicious for some reason.

Wade knew his pa was suspicious. Pa had never paid much attention to what Wade did. There were plenty of hands to take care of things. But Wade had taken to leaving before first light almost every day and riding for over an hour to set up his lookout of the Dawson ranch, and Pa had noticed. So far Wade had defied his father’s curt questions about Wade’s comings and goings. The defiance felt good and added to the visceral pleasure he got from watching the china doll.