Montana Dawn (15 page)

L
YING
in bed the next morning, Faith didn’t want to take the chance of getting up and have Mrs. McCutcheon send her off someplace with Luke, beautiful or not. Her nerves, worn out from yesterday, needed a respite. After everyone was gone she would venture down.

Dawn was snuggled peacefully beside her, happily fed and dry. The baby gurgled and cooed good-naturedly, seemingly content with her mother’s decision of solitude. Much earlier, Faith had heard Luke rise across the hall. The squeaking floor marked his every move as he dressed and prepared for the day; then his door opened and she’d heard him leave. She’d longed to peek out for a small glimpse of him, but she refrained, remembering how she’d been caught in the hall yesterday by Matt.

Restlessness crept over her as she admired the room in the dawn light. She’d never before just lain in bed. There were always things begging to be done; the rigors of farm life didn’t allow a body to luxuriate in such fashion. Even on Sundays, hungry animals waited to be fed. And, of course, there was Penelope. She got downright fussy if she wasn’t milked. Sighing, Faith hoped someone was tending to the old cow.

Forcing the memories away, she played with one of Dawn’s little hands. Nobody would miss Faith here. She had no responsibilities except, of course, what she was doing right now. Looking at her daughter, the same wonderment washed through her. Dawn certainly was filling out. Her milk seemed to be doing a fine job keeping the baby satisfied.

Thinking about feeding Dawn made her breasts tingle in that strange manner she was finally getting used to. Every time
Dawn cried, her body responded in that delightfully painful way, producing milk. The first time she’d felt the pinprickly heat she’d been surprised and a bit more than worried, thinking something was wrong with her. Now she understood it was just one of the funny quirks of motherhood.

Looking underneath her night rail, Faith couldn’t stop a small smile from lifting the corners of her mouth. Her breasts had grown considerably since she’d given birth. She hadn’t ever given much thought to her smallish breasts, but now, filled with milk, they were downright impressive.

A giggle escaped her. She marveled at their firmness, running her hand over her gown. Then she sobered, relieved Samuel wasn’t here to see. She knew what he’d think of her new shape.

“Thank you,” she whispered to the empty room.

Shouts from outside drew her attention. Faith hurried to the window and looked out. A group of men was herding a bunch of horses into the double corral next to the barn. Several riders flanked the gate, making sure none broke free. Billy, Adam and Colton stood well out of harm’s way, jumping up and down in a wagon, hollering their encouragement.

Thundering hooves covered the area in an immense billow of dust, and the shouts of cowboys shattered the serenity of the morning. But before long, the last horse darted in the corral and Francis flung the gate closed. Rugged and wild. These looked nothing like the sleek, well-fed horses she’d seen on the ranch.

One mustang with a colt by her side pinned her ears back and lunged at the rail where Smokey stood grinning from ear to ear. Luke galloped up. His mount slid to a stop, lathered and hot. Luke threw his leg over the horse’s back with the ease and grace of a dancer, and he dismounted, a grin marking his face as if he, too, had just come from the grandest adventure. Leaning his arms on the top rail of the corral, he admired its occupants.

Faith hurried to dress. She wanted to be out there, too. Excitement coursed through her as she splashed her face with water and used her tooth powder and brush. Pulling half her hair up, she hastily braided the top and let the rest hang free down her back, as she’d seen Charity do last night. It felt good. Looking in the mirror she smiled. The new look seemed to suit the way she felt inside.

Downstairs, sitting by the fire, Mrs. McCutcheon was reading. As Faith came down the stairs, she looked up and smiled. “Good morning.”

Faith returned the greeting, feeling the urgency to run out to the corral but not wanting to be rude.

“You slept well?”

“Oh, yes. That’s about the most comfortable bed I’ve ever been in.” And it was by far the biggest. Her small bed back home seemed pint-size in comparison.

“And Dawn? Did she fare better last night?”

Faith rocked the baby in her arms. “Yes. She slept the whole night through.”

“Good, dear. How about some tea and toast?”

“No, thank you.” Faith looked longingly toward the door.

Mrs. McCutcheon laughed. “Let me hold her.” She stood and reached for the child. “Go on now. She’ll be fine.”

“No, I couldn’t impose,” Faith said.

“It’s one of my favorite pastimes. Ask Rachel. I can’t wait for the new one, and now I have Dawn, too,” she said warmly. She swayed back and forth with Dawn, smiling into the baby’s face. “You best hurry before you miss all the fun.”

“If you’re sure…?”

“I insist.”

Faith didn’t argue. She rushed out the door, a feeling of freedom enveloping her.

“Don’t worry. She’s in good hands,” she heard Luke’s mother call.

Outside, Faith hesitated. She wanted to run over and watch
Smokey fight to blindfold an angry black horse in the connecting corral, but Luke was standing directly in front of her. His boot, resting nonchalantly on the first rail, caused his worn leather chaps to pull snug across his strong thighs. He was laughing at Smokey, who’d just jumped out of the way of a flashing hoof. Her cheeks warmed.

This was foolishness! She wasn’t going to let him run her life as she had let Samuel. If she started worrying over what he was thinking about all the time, that’s just what she’d be doing.

Marching over, she looked through the rails. Chance had joined Smokey in wrestling the horse. The two men were having a heck of a time trying to get the blindfold around the colt’s eyes. Chance had hold of the animal’s ear with one hand and the halter with the other. Smokey, one arm slung around the black’s neck, struggled with the bandanna.

“Gol-darnit,” Smokey yelped when the horse’s hoof nicked his leg.

“Watch yer mouth,” Lucky called from the bunkhouse porch. “We got us a lady present.”

All the men turned. “Mornin’, ma’am,” they said in unison.

Smokey and Chance, looking toward Faith, were both flung from the horse’s head, and the mustang ran the perimeter of the corral kicking and bucking, the rope trailing him like the tail of a kite. Both men leaped the fence to get out of his way.

“Morning, Faith,” Luke said, tipping his hat. He smiled that slow, heart-stopping smile. “I wonder what distracted them?”

She didn’t speak. Nodding curtly, she focused her attention back on the men in the corral, who set about recapturing the charger. There was new purpose to their efforts now that they knew she was watching.

The blindfold finally in place, Smokey threw on a saddle and cinched it tight. The horse snorted and madly shook his head, pinned his ears back and struck out with his forelegs.
Smokey prepared to step on anyway, but Chance grabbed him by the shoulder and slipped his boot in the stirrup himself and mounted. Smokey shrugged and pulled away the blindfold.

The black vaulted into the air. Faith heard an audible snap of Chance’s neck and she sucked in her breath, wondering how he could take such punishment. The horse came down with crushing force but Chance hung on, his face grim, eyes squinted nearly shut. One arm flapped wildly and the other hand gripped the lead rope as the bronco bucked. Finally, with a mighty twist, the horse flung Chance off. The cowboy landed on the hard ground with a thud.

“Chance!” Faith climbed up the two bottom rails. The unmoving cowboy must be dead.

Smokey had caught up the mustang and restrained him. Faith started to climb the remaining rails, but something stopped her. Luke had a hold of her belt and was pulling her back. “He’s all right. Just got the wind knocked out of him,” he said, his voice uncompromising.

“Are you sure?” Faith asked, frightened.

Chance rolled to his knees and smiled wanly up at her. He shook his head. “Just stunned me is all, Miss Faith.” He winced as he stood, brushing at the dirt on his clothes. He took off his hat and beat it across his thighs. He turned back to the black.

Faith gasped. “You can’t ride him again, Chance. You’re hurt!”

The cowboy was playing it for all it was worth. Nothing got to a woman faster than worry, and Faith’s concern was shining in her eyes. Luke rolled his eyes and taunted, “See if you can stay on that crow bait this time, Chance. I bet Adam here could fork him longer than you just did.”

Crimson crept up Chance’s face as the men chuckled. Faith turned on Luke, fury in her eyes.

“What?” he asked innocently.

She didn’t have time to answer before Chance was again bobbing around the corral, whipped viciously here and there by the horse. His hat flew off, landing in the dirt, leaving Chance’s tawny hair to fly around his face, resembling a scarecrow. The boys in the wagon whooped their approval, and Adam clapped his small hands so hard he teetered on the buckboard seat and almost lost his balance.

Then Chance hit the ground again. For a few moments he didn’t move. Smokey ran out and helped him, saying, “You’d better ketch yer breath ’fore you try him again.”

The black stood nearby, sides heaving, head tossing defiantly. Luke steeled himself. “Let me have a go at that mealy-mouthed outlaw.” He pulled his black Stetson down snug on his head. Nothing he hated more than losing his hat.

Chance struggled against Smokey, who said, “Ah, give Luke a go. He’s feeling awfully big for his britches this morning.” Chance shrugged and limped out of the corral.

Smokey and Ike got the horse blindfolded again, and they held tight as Luke mounted. Nodding to Smokey, who pulled the covering off the horse’s eyes…but the horse just stood quiet.

Luke looked to Faith, a pleased smile on his face. He shrugged. Instantly, the mustang dropped his head low to the ground and flung his hindquarters toward the sky. Luke stayed on but was thrown forward, jarred down his spine. The horse leaped again, this time almost turning over in midair.

“Look, he’s ’bout belly up!” Lucky shouted out.

The men cheered and shouted. Luke thought he heard Faith gasp as the horse maliciously fell sideways into the fence, trying to crush his leg. Reacting swiftly, he had just enough time to bring his knee up out of the way.

Changing strategies, the devil spun, dropped his head again and bucked. Luke relaxed, starting to enjoy the ride. Passing a group of men on the rail, he got a quick glimpse of Chance, whose face was clouded and glum. Part of him felt
like laughing in triumph, even though he knew it was a totally juvenile reaction and he should feel ashamed of himself for it.

Rallying, the mustang did a quick series of crow hops, ending with an explosion Luke had never felt from any horse. If he hadn’t been trying to see if Faith was impressed with his riding skills, he’d most likely have been able to ride it out. As it was, he suddenly felt himself flying like a bird. He hit the fence, fell to the ground in a cloud of dust, then rolled until he stopped on his back.

He choked. Finding even one thimbleful of air left in his lungs would be a miracle. Damn! His body hurt like hell. From half-closed eyes he watched Faith quickly scale the fence, a flash of white eyelet lace brushing against her long, shapely calf. Running to his side, she didn’t even waver as the colt, sweaty and hot, snorted at her and pawed the ground.

Hiding his smile, Luke groaned. He lay still, absorbing her concern.

“Luke,” she cried, reaching out and touching his cheek. Running her hand along his face, she turned to the others. “Help me, please. Luke’s hurt.”

The desperation in her voice almost undid his resolve, but not quite. He would enjoy it a bit longer. Perhaps he’d been wrong. Being distracted might not be such a bad thing.

The men didn’t move, just stood there smiling, so she glared at them. “What’s wrong with the lot of you? Can’t you see Luke’s hurt?”

“He’s gonna need some serious help when you figure out he’s just lyin’ there enjoyin’ your frettin’,” Lucky called from the porch. “I’m thinkin’ he’s found himself betwixt the ground and a hard spot, and he don’t know a way out.”

The men all laughed.

Faith turned slowly back toward him. Opening his eyes, Luke winked.

Y
ou…you…” Faith stammered as Luke watched her face change from a pretty shade of pink to candy-apple red. “I’ll get you for this, Luke McCutcheon.”

“Now hold on, Faith,” he said. “I just wanted a little of that attention you were showering on Chance. And…I
am
hurt.” He raised up on one elbow, dust and dirt falling from his back and arms. “You saw how I hit that fence. My back hurts something awful.” He reached around and felt for an injury.

She glared at him, probably too angry for words. Standing, she brushed the dirt and horse manure from her skirt and hands and promptly marched away.

Trying to stand, Luke’s knee buckled under him and he crumpled back down to his hands and knees. Hearing the commotion, Faith turned and ran back, helped him stand. This time Roady was there, too, slinging his arm around Luke’s waist and helping him hobble to the gate.

Leaning on Faith, Luke snuggled her closer. Her sweet scent drifted up to needle his guilty conscience. He should feel ashamed of himself, but he didn’t. The horse had punished his leg some, but not bad enough that he couldn’t walk. He didn’t know why he’d pulled this stunt a second time. One brick shy of a full load, his brother Matt would say. Maybe he’d just needed to feel Faith in his arms after last night and all his uncertainties.

“Sit here, Luke,” she said, patting the wooden seat of a bench. “I’ll get you some water.” She was gone before he could tell her he didn’t need any.

Whistling, Roady removed his hat and ran his arm across
his sweaty brow. His eyebrows were raised in question. “You sure you know what you’re doin’?” he asked quietly. “For pity’s sake, Luke, when she finds out you’re bluffin’ again…she’s gonna have your hide.”

“How did
you
know I wasn’t hurt bad?”

“Because I know you. You’d just best hope nobody here spills the beans. I hate to think what she’ll do if she finds out.”

“Well, hush now, here she comes.”

Luke took the dipper she offered and drank until all the cool water was gone. Wiping his mouth he smiled. “Thanks, honey. That was real refreshing.”

She looked at him kind of funnylike, then turned her attention to the men who were roping another horse. The work had continued.

“Can you make it to the house?” she asked, her focus back on him, concern etching her face.

“I’m sure I can with help,” he answered. When Roady reached out, he waved the man off. “The leg’s feeling a bit better. Faith here can help me.”

In the house Faith fluffed another pillow and placed it behind Luke’s back. She’d raised his injured leg and propped it on the stool as she waited for Mrs. McCutcheon, who’d gone into the kitchen for some doctoring supplies.

“I keep trying to tell you my leg is fine. It just stung for a moment. There’s nothin’ wrong with it now.”

“Hush. We’ll be the judge of that when your mother returns.” Faith sat down facing Luke. He was such a rugged man; he looked silly, out of place, sitting in such a pretty chair. His dusty leather chaps stood out against the fabric.

The moments dragged on, and Faith felt a little awkward with nothing to say. To occupy herself, she picked up the Bible Mrs. McCutcheon had left sitting open and ran her fingers down the listing of contents.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Luke smile. “Have you ever read my book?” he asked.

Faith looked up. “Your book?”

“The book of Luke, in the New Testament.”

He was talking about the Bible. “No, I haven’t,” she answered, amused. They shared a smile.

“Go ahead and turn to it. It’s towards the back.”

Thumbing through the heavy volume, Faith noticed all sorts of things placed lovingly within its pages: small pressed flowers, notes and calling cards yellowed with age. Even a small photograph. She pulled it out and looked.

“That was their wedding day,” Luke said, leaning forward.

Faith gazed a long time at the two pictured faces. Most people looked so serious in photographs, but not these two. She took note of the beautiful lace dress, fine in detail, that Mrs. McCutcheon wore—the same one she’d so generously lent to Amy. Her hair was swept up, and she held a bouquet of tiny flowers.

Emotion welled within Faith. It was a wonderful picture. This was what love was like. Sweet. Simple. She returned the photograph to the place she had found it, in Proverbs, and continued.

“There it is,” Luke said. “Go back a few pages.”

Faith saw. The word was typed in elegant script and stood out bold on the empty page.

“ ‘Luke,’” she read. “You were named from the Bible?”

“That’s right. Here, let me show you.” Reaching for it, he set the book on his lap. He looked comfortable with it, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And he must have noticed her surprise because he said by way of explanation, “Ma had us all read it when we were younger. Three pages a day, not counting Sundays. Took a couple of years, but we all finished.”

Faith was impressed. She’d read from her family Bible in bits and pieces, but not nearly enough to know what all was there.
The thought of reading it through was daunting. And here, surprisingly enough, this rugged cowboy had done just that.

“Come on over here and sit with me. This chair is big enough for a herd of buffalo.” He laughed at her look of surprise. “Not that you’re any bigger than a mite.”

She was tempted to do as he asked. There was a truce hanging between them, sweet and warm, and she felt him drawing her toward him again, against her better judgment. He patted the cushion, looked at her expectantly.

Her leg pressed his as she sat next to him, the chair molding to her shape. A slow smile stole across his mouth, reminding her of when they’d kissed. There was something remarkably exciting about sitting so close to him, but she tried to block it from her mind. She reminded herself to breathe.

“Here,” Luke said, pointing. He seemed intent on drawing her attention away from their touching legs.

Looking down she read, “Matthew, Mark, Luke and…”

“John,” he finished for her. There was a difference in his eyes, a tenderness that stole her breath. “My ma was trying for twelve, but…”

Mrs. McCutcheon appeared at the swinging door. Faith was embarrassed at her boldness in sitting so close to Luke, but the older woman didn’t seem to notice at all. “How does your knee feel?”

“I think it’s fine, Ma,” Luke said. “Just getting my weight off of it was all it needed.”

Nodding, she headed for the stairs. “I think I’ll just go check on Dawn. She’s been sleeping for some time now.”

They were alone again.

Mrs. McCutcheon surely didn’t want her son involved with a widow with two children. Did she? Someone running from the law? Luke had so much to offer a wife: home, protection, an extraordinary family. She had nothing. Just herself and the young’uns. A passel of trouble. Why would she leave them alone, so incredibly close?

Out of the corner of her eye she could see Luke eyeing her lips. Was he thinking about the kisses they’d been sharing all too often as of late? They possessed
her
waking thoughts. Was he feeling the same?

Faith was about to bolt out of the chair; Luke could feel it.

“Were you scared when I got thrown?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Picking up her hand and lacing her fingers through his, he chuckled.

She nodded.

He said, “If I hadn’t been watching you and was concentrating on what I was doing, I wouldn’t have been pitched off.”

“Is that so?”

“That’s so. I guess I’ve been preaching to the choir about letting you be a distraction. Actually, I’m starting to think it’s not so bad.”

She giggled happily. He leaned a little closer, noticing the fawn-colored freckles sprinkling the bridge of her nose. The flecks of amber and possibly some green in her toffee brown eyes. He watched her stay her first impulse to pull away from him, saw her skittishness, watched her eyes go dark. He hurried to say, “Faith, I would never hurt you.”

Her answer was barely a whisper. “I know.”

It was getting almost impossible to listen to reason, which kept telling him to keep his distance from her, to watch and wait until he knew what it was exactly that she was trying to hide. For the hundredth time he reminded himself that this attraction was clouding his usual good judgment. If he got involved, he couldn’t be objective.

She jumped up, pulling away from him as Colton ran through the door. “Look, Ma!” the boy said. “Look what Uncle Ward gave me!” He held out a knife encased in a leather sheath. It was covered with many different colored beads, the work intricate and extraordinary.

Luke stood and took the knife from the boy’s hands, turned it over and over. It was heavy. Colton wasn’t going to like him for this, but the boy was much too young to have it. Not such a dangerous weapon.

Seeming to recognize the direction of his thoughts, Colton frowned. Luke pulled the knife from its protective covering, and the wicked blade winked in the light.

“You can’t keep such a knife, Colton,” Faith gasped. “It’s much too big and sharp.”

Colton turned pleading eyes on her. “Pleeeease, Ma,” he begged.

Luke saw Faith waver, so he interceded. “No. I’ll find you a knife suited to your age,” he promised. “Your ma will keep this one until you’re older.”

Glaring, Colton turned and ran from the house.

Luke reached out and stopped Faith from following. “Give him a little time. He’ll come to see the truth in our words. In the meantime I’ll try and hunt up a knife he can’t hurt himself with.”