A Love to Last Forever (9 page)

“Well, he doesn’t consider himself much of a boy anymore,” Lacy countered. “He’s got a bit of a swagger in his steps nowadays. He’s fifteen, and he thinks that pretty well qualifies him to be a man.”

“In much of the country,” Gwen replied, “I’m sure it does. Still, I don’t want to cause enmity between us and Rafe—at least, no more than already exists.”

Lacy picked up the bowl of frosting that Gwen had prepared. “I suppose we’ll know soon enough if they’re coming. I’ll get the cake frosted, anyway. Cubby’s a sweet boy. I intend to see that he has a nice birthday cake, even if his pa doesn’t want him to have a celebration.”

Nearly a week later, Lacy encountered Cubby as she led her saddled horse from the Lassiters’ to Gallatin House.

“Miss Lacy? I’m wonderin’ if we could talk, private-like, for a minute.”

Cubby seemed nervous and almost embarrassed. Lacy couldn’t imagine what might have happened to cause this, so she immediately halted the horse. “Of course. What’s wrong?”

Cubby looked at his feet and shook his head. “Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to . . . to . . . talk to you.” He glanced up ever so slightly. “I like talkin’ with you.”

Lacy smiled. “I like talking with you, too. Did you enjoy your birthday party?”

He puffed his chest at this and seemed to lose some of his shyness. “I sure did. It was the first birthday party I’d ever had. Pa said it was a waste of time, but I thought it was a lot of fun. Made me feel real special.”

It figured Rafe would try to ruin the boy’s good time. The man wasn’t happy in his own life, so it seemed he wanted no one else happy, either.

“I don’t think birthdays are ever a waste of time. They are a person’s one special day. I’m glad we could celebrate with you.”

“It was really nice of you and your sisters.” He acted as though he were noticing the horse for the first time. “You going riding?”

“I’m heading out to the Shepard place.”

“Wish I had a horse. I’d ride along and keep you safe. You can’t be too careful around here. I heard Pa and Wyman talkin’ just the other day about some highwaymen.”

“I doubt they’d bother with me. I don’t carry any valuables, and I seldom keep to the road. I’m usually cutting across country for a faster trip.” She smiled at his concern. “But thanks all the same for caring.”

“I do care, Miss Lacy. I’m fifteen now, and I figure it’s time I tell you . . . well . . . that I care. I care about you.” He held her gaze for just a moment, then looked at his feet once again.

Lacy didn’t know what to say. Here this scrap of a boy, all gangly-legged and baby-faced, was speaking of having feelings for her. “I’m flattered, Cubby—”

“Quennell,” he interjected. “My real name is Quennell.”

Lacy looked at him for a moment, flustered by the unexpected confession of his feelings. “I’m considerably older than you. You might have turned fifteen, Cubby, but I’m twenty now. An old maid, by most folks’ standards. At least around these parts.”

“You aren’t an old maid, and you aren’t that much older than me,” Cubby protested.

“Five years can be a very big divide. Besides, I don’t think much of men right now. Certainly not enough to want to keep time with them. They all seem full of boasting and false promises, or they’re mean-spirited. I don’t want to be bothered, and I sure don’t want to hurt someone like you.”

Cubby grew bold and stepped forward to within inches of Lacy. “You wouldn’t hurt me, and I wouldn’t hurt you. I care for you. I want to court you.”

Lacy could see just how serious the boy was. She felt helpless to say anything that could dissuade his affections and ambitions.

“I think you’re very sweet, but I am not going to court you.” Lacy took that moment to move away from him and mount her horse. She looked down at him with a sympathetic expression. “I’m not going to court anyone.”

“It’s because you think I’m not worthy, but I am,” Cubby said, coming alongside the horse. “I’ll prove it to you, and then you’ll see for yourself. I know you like me, or you wouldn’t have bothered to give me a present or have a party for me.”

“Please, Cubby,” Lacy said, nearly distraught. “I don’t want you to think I feel something for you that I don’t. I don’t feel that way toward anyone, and I doubt I ever will.” She urged the horse forward, not daring to look back. She felt horribly heartless for her words, but she knew in time it would all be for the best. There was no sense in letting him get his hopes up for something that would never happen.

She rode across the empty field and found the path she often took to make her way to the Shepard ranch. Lacy was glad for the time alone.

“Poor Cubby,” she murmured. “I never wanted that to happen. I just wanted to be nice to him.”

Why do men have to be like that? On one hand, they are always
looking for meaning where there is none, and on the other, they’re
oblivious to details when it matters.

Dave Shepard came to mind. He didn’t seem to realize that the death of her father had left Lacy with a driving need to make sense of it all. Dave knew that Lacy believed her father had been murdered rather than accidentally killed. But still he refused to pursue the case further.

Lacy straightened in the saddle and pushed her wide-brimmed hat back just a bit. She couldn’t explain in any reasonable manner why she believed her father had been purposefully shot, but she did. It was just a gut feeling, and it continued to nag at her. Despite her promise to Gwen to try and stay out of it, Lacy knew it was no good. She couldn’t leave well enough alone. Sure, her father would still be dead no matter who was to blame, but at least if Lacy could find his killer, justice would be served. Didn’t she owe Pa at least that much?

“Do you really suppose you’ll stay in Montana?” Beth asked Millie as they sat together, sewing in the front room of Gallatin House. Gwen had suggested the gathering as a way to chat and get to know Millie better, while also accomplishing some of their household tasks. Nearly an hour had passed, with Millie asking Beth and Gwen all sorts of questions about her new homeland.

“I do love it here,” Millie admitted. “I loved Kansas, too, but I must say it’s completely different here. It seems so far removed from everything else. I feel as if I’ve driven right off to the end of the world.”

Beth laughed and knotted her thread. “Sometimes it feels exactly like that. Especially during the winter.”

Gwen nodded. “It does seem a little bleak at times. At least many more of the stages and freighters are making it through. Used to be that winter signaled the stop of just about everything. Now the roads are being developed in such a way that so long as the drivers take a shovel or two along, they can pretty well dig their way out if needed.”

“Remember the stage that got stuck about two miles from here?” Beth commented. “That was about three years ago, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” Gwen replied. “They were on their way up from Virginia City, heading to Helena. The snows were so bad, they had to walk the last two miles because they couldn’t get the stage through. We had those folks with us for a week while the stage company dug out a path. Of course, it didn’t help that it just kept snowing.”

“Goodness, but it all sounds so exciting,” Millie declared. “I love a good adventure.”

Beth thought immediately of Lady Effingham. She, too, loved adventure and often commented about it. “I love adventure, as well,” Beth added with a smile. “And believe me, we get plenty right here.”

Millie laughed. “I’ll say. What with bears on the prowl and Indian attacks, it seems like this is the Wild West so many easterners talk about. But I wouldn’t trade it. I’m glad we came. Evan was always telling me about the letters Nick and Simon sent home after they first came here. He said the place sounded so raw and unspoiled. He’s wanted to see it for nearly as long as the Lassiter brothers have lived here.”

Beth saw this as a good opportunity to better know Nick, and posed a question. “I never have heard the story of why Nick and Simon settled in this area. Why did they leave Kansas, Millie?”

The younger woman shrugged and gave the slightest hesitation. “I can’t really say. I know there’s something of a mystery about it, but the family keeps it quiet. There was some sort of trouble—that’s all I know.”

“Trouble?” Beth prodded. “What kind of trouble?”

“Like I said, I don’t really know. I came from Missouri to teach school long after they’d gone. I do know it involved Nick more than Simon, but because Simon was older, he took on the responsibility for his brother and brought him out here.”

Beth was utterly intrigued. Nick had a mysterious past, just like Lord Wodehouse—who she’d just learned was actually a royal prince who had killed his best friend in a duel and was now on the run, hiding from his past. Could Nick’s life be similar in circumstance and situation? Oh, but the thought of it delighted Beth in a way she couldn’t explain. It thrilled her to imagine that Nick was someone or something other than he appeared to be. Perhaps he was hiding from an evil foe who planned to do him harm.

Beth’s imagination ran rampant as she considered all sorts of problems Nick might have encountered. It made him mysterious . . . alluring.

“Of course, Forrest said it will come in time.”

Beth suddenly realized she’d not been paying attention and had no idea what Uncle Forrest Cromwell was advising would come in time. The clock on the mantel chimed four, and Gwen quickly put away her sewing.

“I must get supper started. We have a stage due in at six if the roads in the mountains aren’t too bad.”

Millie nodded. “I should get home, too. I need to get supper started for my menfolk.” She carefully folded the dish towel she’d been hemming. “It was sure nice to get to sit and talk with you gals. I hope we’ll be good friends.”

Gwen smiled. “I think we already are.”

Beth, too, folded her sewing and put it back in her bag. Gwen would need her help in the kitchen, as Lacy still hadn’t returned from the Shepards’ ranch. She stretched and headed for the kitchen while Gwen saw Millie to the door. Pictures of Nick battling with a sword came to mind. Beth giggled at the thought until the dashing image turned to stare at her. The dream seemed almost real enough to touch.

“You certainly are given to daydreaming these days,” Gwen said as she bumped against Beth’s now-stopped form.

Beth looked at her sister oddly, then nodded. “I suppose I am.”

“Well, why don’t you dream a little while you climb down into the cellar and bring up some of that venison stew I made the other day? I’ll warm that up and make biscuits, and you can open some apple preserves and make pies. We’ll have a nice hearty meal.”

With both of them working, tantalizing aromas soon filled the air. Beth had just finished laying a fire in the front room when a knock sounded at the door. Since most of the freighters and stage drivers tended to just walk in, Beth couldn’t help but wonder who it might be. She went to open it just as the knock began again.

The sight of the handsome face caused Beth to stammer. “Adrian . . . I mean, Mr. Murphy.”

He smiled at her and shook his head. “I much prefer you call me Adrian. You know that.” He took off his hat. “Could you walk with me for just a moment? I know it’s getting dark. I can’t stay so we won’t go far.”

Beth nodded. “Let me get my shawl.” She hurried to the peg where her shawl hung. What was Adrian doing here? Hadn’t he returned to the railroad headquarters to discuss the survey plans?

Well, obviously he hasn’t,
she chided herself.
He’s here,
after all
.

She smiled as she made her way out onto the porch. “I can’t be long. We’re expecting a stage, and Gwen needs my help.”

“I understand. I just wanted to see you one more time before I left.”

“I thought you had already gone.”

He smiled and took hold of her hands. “We left behind some important instruments. I rode out here to retrieve them, but I knew I couldn’t pick them up without seeing you, as well.”

Beth thought of Lord Wodehouse, riding over thirty miles in the rain just to see Lady Effingham. She smiled. How romantic that Adrian should have done something similar for her. Of course, it wasn’t raining. And it was only fifteen or so miles.