Montana Legend (Harlequin Historical, No. 624) (8 page)

“Charity case? Where in tarnation did you get that notion? Because I paid for your postage? It was a dollar.”

“That's not your only offense.” She snatched the basket from the shade and kept going. One look at Gage would make the burning behind her eyes worse. She wanted to forgive him. She wanted him to like her.

“Wait one minute. I'm not in the habit of letting a woman toting a food basket walk away from me.”

“There is a first time for everything.” She
had
to stay angry with him. She bit her tongue and kept going.

“What's in that basket? Another one of your great-tasting pies?”

“Wishful thinking. If I had one, I may or may not share it with you.”

“What do you need? Bribery? A horse? Cold hard cash? I'd do just about anything for a slice of your pie.”

That made her stop and stare. What a sight he was, with that saucy glint in his eyes. He thought he was funny. Thought he was charming her.

He was wrong. She
refused
to be charmed.

“An apology might be in order,” she hedged.

“A dumb man may need to know what he's apologizing for.”

Astounding. Her chest felt near to cracking in two with the shame. And he didn't know.

“You asked me to dinner in front of Louisa Montgomery.” It seemed silly and shallow, but he'd hurt her pride. “You made it seem as if you were doing me a favor. Feeding the poor widow.”

“Oh, Sarah.” All of his jesting vanished like smoke on the wind. He closed the distance between them, one hand taking the hoe, the other snaking around her waist to rest on the small of her back. “I never meant it that way. You know I was grateful to you.”

“There was no need. I enjoyed helping Lucy. That isn't what upset me.”

“And that you helped Lucy isn't the only reason why I asked you to dinner.” His eyes went black and his gaze swept down her face to land on her mouth.

Her lips tingled. A wild sensation whiplashed through her.

Then he blinked and dropped his hand from her back. “I did it for the girls. Lucy is glad for a friend. I thought she'd like to have Ella stay a little longer that day.”

“The girls. Of course.” She ought to feel relieved. Be glad Gage Gatlin wasn't looking for a
convenient
woman. Trouble was that the tingle of want remained, she beating rapidly and shivery in her blood.

“The girls are friends,” she managed to confirm.
“I suppose we should be, as well. Since being near you seems unavoidable.”

“Good. What do you think about my proposal?”

“What proposal?”

“To pay you for—” He paused, glancing past her shoulder. “Who is it this time? Will those women ever stop calling?”

Oh, no. Sarah took one look at the fancy buggy rolling to a stop in the driveway. The banker's daughter. Again.

Susan climbed down from the vehicle, her goal clear. She wanted Gage. Her gaze slid from Sarah's homemade sunbonnet to the tips of her patched shoes. The dismissive look said it all.

Sarah swept the dirt from her skirt, feeling plain.

It shouldn't hurt. It was only vanity. Beauty is as beauty does, but that didn't change her feelings. She didn't need a well-groomed, flawlessly gowned banker's daughter to tell her that her days of youthful beauty were gone.

Looks like I'm stuck with you.
Milt's often-spoken words resounded through her thoughts.
With your looks, I'd have to pay someone to marry you and take you off my hands,
he often told her.

Deep down, she feared Milt was right. What if she was never loved again?

Susan carried a fine basket, covered with an embossed lace cloth. “My father told me how you were giving up the hotel room and roughing it out here without hired help.”

Gage hardly looked at her. “Don't see that it's your father's business.”

“Well, I certainly care that you have a decent meal.”

He felt like a rabbit being chased by a pack of hungry wolves, and he didn't like it. Not one bit. He didn't much care for the cold shoulder the banker's daughter was giving Sarah.

“Sarah, we aren't done with our discussion.” He thought it best to remind her, because it looked as if she was trying to fade into the scenery.

“We can talk later. It's fine with me.”

She moved fast, he had to grant her that. Why was she leaving? When she was the only woman he wanted to stay?

“I'm sorry.” He turned to the banker's daughter. “But as you can see, I have what I need.”

“I see that you
hired
Sarah to prepare meals for you—” Susan's eyelashes fluttered, sidling closer.

“I didn't hire her.” Gage stared at the girl long and hard.

Realization stole over her face. “Fine. I thought you were a man of culture—”

“I'm a horseman, lady.” He left it at that. She stormed off, but he paid her no mind. He'd long stopped caring what other people thought.

Now, where had Sarah gone off to? She was almost at the creek when he caught up with her. Swinging her basket in one hand, her hoe with the other, her slender back was perfectly straight. It was hard to miss her elegance, her grace.

She was ten times the lady Susan Lockwood was. Twenty times more beautiful. Not that he should notice. He was running after her because of Lucy. Ella and Lucy were friends. It was important for parents in such a situation to get along. That was all.

“Sarah. Wait up.” He was likely to turn an ankle chasing after her. Couldn't believe his eyes when she
actually stopped, watching him approach with a frown shaping her pretty mouth.

Not that he ought to notice her mouth was pretty.

“I thought you would prefer Susan's company.”

“So you left me alone? I'm not about to forgive you for that, Sarah. Not when I need protecting from misguided young women. The more I ignore them, the worse it gets.”

“I suppose you get this all the time, at every ranch you worked at.”

“Sometimes, but they accept defeat after a while.”

“You must have a lot of money to make all these young women from wealthy families set their caps for you.”

“Here I thought it was my charming good looks.”

“Hate to tell you, Gage, but that's not it.”

“Now I'm a broken man.”

“You don't look like it.”

“Looks can be deceiving. I'll feel better if you accept my offer. Come on, help a man in need.”

“You could have asked Susan Lockwood. She looked eager to do whatever you wanted.”

“I'm not interested in her.”

Sarah's chin lifted, and she was no longer teasing. “That surprises me. I thought you were interested in something more convenient than love. What could be more convenient than marrying for practical reasons, like social position?”

He winced, recognizing his words. “I didn't mean that. Is that what you think? That I want—”

He blushed and had to look down at his boots. Hell, did he really sound like that? He was sorry he'd given that sort of impression. “I only meant I find it convenient to remain unmarried.”

“Oh.” She pursed her mouth, that perfect mouth he kept noticing.

That was easily explained. He was a man with longstanding unmet needs, and she was a woman he liked. A lot. Wouldn't mind kissing to find out what it would be like between them.

Which reminded him. He'd decided to stay away from her. Far away. Self-preservation and all that. His willpower seemed a little weaker when she was anywhere in the vicinity. He'd encourage her to go. That's it. He'd be polite, but firm. Because he kept wanting to kiss her. Wanting to know if her satin-soft lips were as captivating as they looked.

“Can you stay for a bit?” Why in blazes had he said that? “We can talk about your fee.”

“My fee?” The corners of her mouth smirked.

“I heard loud and clear when you got all mad at me in town that it's possible to hire you for say, canning. Or maybe planting a garden.”

“I was only intending to furrow it, and I don't want your money. You've been helping me out of pity, Gage, I know it. You know it. I can't stomach it.”

“See what happens when you listen to folks? You might get the wrong outlook on things. If you listened to your own judgment, which was the correct one, you'd know I helped you because you helped me. Because that's the way I am.”

“You didn't help Susan Lockwood.”

“She doesn't need my help.”

“I do?” The fury was back. “I survived just fine before you rode into my life—”

“Sarah.” He tugged the bow at her chin. “Let's be friends. Just friends. We have daughters in common.
We've buried loved ones. It would feel good to have someone who understands, and I think you do.”

“I do.”

Her sunbonnet slipped from her head and a cascade of blond hair tumbled over her shoulders to caress the enchanting curves of her breasts.

Not that he ought to be noticing that. Not at all.

Gage reached for the basket. “Allow me.”

“I'm not sure I should,” she teased, and in her smile he saw something he hadn't believed in for what seemed a lifetime. Hope.

“D
id I hear right? Are you moving out of the inn?” Sarah asked as she set the plate of sugar cookies on the step between them.

“Yep.” Gage grabbed a cookie and bit into it. “Figured the time has come for me to start keeping an eye on what's mine.”

A chill sluiced down the back of her neck. “Are you having any problems?”

“Maybe. Hard to tell.” He bit into the cookie. “There's only one way to know for sure. I would appreciate it if you didn't mention this to your uncle.”

Milt. She couldn't stop the bad feeling settling into her midsection like a bad batch of oatmeal. “What kind of trouble?”

“I'll let you know when I'm certain.” He shoved the final bite of cookie into his mouth and stole another. “These are good.”

“It helps to keep the cookie jar full with nine children in one house.”

“
Nine?
Suppose that's why Milt let you move in. Don't hold it against me for saying so, but it looks like he demands a lot of work out of you.”

She winced. “I told you. I'm grateful.”

“A woman alone with a child to raise…” He took the cup she offered him. “How did you do it?”

She closed her thoughts, banning the painful ones as she filled a second cup with sweet, cool cider. “I was lucky, I had a house and land to sell. An extra set of horses and a buggy. I had some savings, and I found a job as a cook at the logging camp where David used to work. I did well enough, between renting a room and paying for another widow to watch Ella.”

“I know how hard that had to be.” He swallowed, staring across the new-green plains to where Lucy was teaching Ella how to bridle Scout. “When my wife died, it was tough. I had to be away at my job, and Lucy had already lost one parent. I traveled a lot then, and decided to quit. It was a rough time for her.”

“I understand. As little as Ella was at the time, she knew she'd lost her papa. She cried through the night, heartbroken, waiting for the gentle man who cuddled her and comforted her and tossed her up at the sky.”

“You missed him, too.”

“Yes.” The day didn't seem as bright or the sun as warm when she thought about it.

“You loved him.”

“You sound surprised.”

“After meeting you, I shouldn't be.” His mouth pulled down into a mix between a smile and a frown. “Maybe I'm too cynical in my old age. Or, it could be that marriage broke my heart in a way it won't ever be fixed again.”

He bowed his head. Sarah stared at him. He looked wounded. Lost. What kind of marriage had he had? Is that why he thought love didn't exist?

She laid her hand on his broad back. He felt strong
as a myth, as if nothing could harm him. She knew better.

“I'm sorry, Gage.”

“The past is done.” He shrugged. “Whatever my regrets, there is one I will never have. Here she comes.”

Sarah didn't need to follow his gaze to know what he meant. Lucy and Ella were running, first Lucy in the lead, then Ella, then Lucy again. Their laughter preceded them, sweet on the fresh spring winds, and they tumbled onto the rickety steps.

“I won!”

“No, I did!” they argued, out of breath and giggling.

“Cookies!” Lucy dove into the plate first. “Thanks, Sarah,” she added around her bite of cookie. “It's real good, ain't it, Pa?”

“I've had better.” He reached for another.

Sarah stole the plate away from him. “Maybe I'll just take these, since you don't appreciate them.”

“I suppose I can choke another one down, as rotten as they are. If you'd be kind enough to pass me the plate.”

She kept the plate out of his reach. “I'd hate for you to suffer. Maybe I'd better take the cider, too—”

Lucy stole another cookie from the plate. “Sarah, Pa's just sayin' that so I don't get ideas. He liked your pie the best of all.”

“Tattletale.” Gage winked as he hauled his daughter onto his lap.

Lucy shrieked in delight. “Don't punish me, Pa. I'll be good.”

“I doubt that.” He gave her a resounding smooch on the forehead before he let her go.

Sarah's heart melted like fresh butter, warming her from the inside out. A father's true love. She hadn't seen it, not up close, since her David died. Since he snuggled little Ella in his arms and blew raspberries until she giggled and giggled.

Ella stood staring, mouth open, cookie forgotten in her hand.

One day, sweetie, she yearned to tell her girl. One day we might have that beauty again. If we're lucky.

There was the crux of it. Luck. She was starting to think she'd run out of it. Began fearing that real love was as rare as everyone kept telling her.

That she'd never find it again. Ever.

 

It was near midnight, and no sign of trouble. Gage fished for the battered tin coffeepot in the darkness. Lucy was asleep and he didn't want to wake her. Heat radiated from the cookstove he'd dismantled from the shanty and set up in the new house. Or what would be the new house. He'd hung canvas tarps over the framed walls to keep out some of the night air.

They moved as the wind did, like ghosts in the dark, but that wasn't the reason for the odd shiver he felt. Or the sensation that he was being watched.

Yep, no sign of trouble—yet. But he was prepared. He leaned the Winchester against his thigh as he fumbled for the pot and refilled his cup.

The rich scent of strong black coffee perked him up and helped to keep his eyes wide open. His muscles protested, not a lot, but enough to remind him he wasn't twenty years old anymore.

Lucy sighed in her sleep and rolled over. It was too dark to see her, but she would be safe here. He'd make sure of it. He'd made promises to her. Promises he
intended to keep. That's why he was awake tonight and heading for the fields, with a rifle and a cup of coffee to keep him company.

Listening to the sounds in the night, he hunkered down on the knoll, looking out across the prairie—and the creek where his property ended. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the skeletal structure of his new house. All was calm. He propped the Winchester against his knee and tried not to let the chill of an early spring night settle into his soul.

The coffee tasted like turpentine—just the way he was used to it in the old days. Strong enough to strip the hide off a bear. Bitter enough to sear the bumps off a tough man's tongue. Likely to keep him up half the night.

Good thing, since the night prairie had a beauty to it, reverent and lulling. The sky seemed to whisper, the grasses sing, and an owl glided low, wide wings spread, sailing over black fields beneath diamond stars. Easy to relax, to lose his vigilance.

Up ahead, a doe's head shot up. Ears straight, nose scenting. In a flash, she was gone, loping with four others at her side. The deer blurred across the dark prairie until it swallowed them whole, keeping them safe.

Gage drained his cup and reached for his rifle. Cocked it. Waited.

Sure enough, there was movement. Hard to see with heavy clouds rolling in from the west, and he didn't dare stand up and expose himself to get a better view. Then a crack of wood against wood, man-made and threatening, rang through the stillness. There went a section of his fence.

Just like he figured. Gage watched, gun ready, anger
growing as Milt Owens and a boy maybe fifteen or sixteen strolled through the pasture, lassos in hand.

A dozen cattle and two Clydesdales passed through the creek and onto the Owenses' property. Gage's anger grew silent and strong. He watched the man and boy replace the rickety fencing with a few blows of a hammer and disappear into the night.

 

A rasping sound woke Sarah from a deep sleep. Whispers in the kitchen, low and rough, told her it wasn't one of the children searching for a drink of water. Something was wrong.

The mantel clock's tick-tick echoed in the dark front room as she sat up, careful not to roll off the narrow sofa. The door snapped shut, and Milt's harsh “Shh!” didn't sound drunken. But it was hard to tell.

Her stomach tensed into a hard ball. Hearing a cupboard door squeak open, she lay back down and tucked the blankets beneath her chin.

“I'll take care of it first thing,” Junior's whisper knifed through the silence.

There was a chime of tin cups clanging together. “Make sure you get a decent price for them horses. If the stockyard won't take 'em, they'll be others—”

What horses? She leaned forward, straining to hear more, but their whispers were masked by the clink of a glass bottle and the splashing glug-glug of pouring whiskey.

It would be impossible for Milt to sell his only team. He needed the big draft horses for fieldwork.
No drifter is gonna take what's mine.
Isn't that what Milt had threatened?

What had he done? Stolen Gage's livestock?

“Sarah? Is that you?” A shadow filled the doorway,
black against black. “What the hell are you doin' home?”

She realized her pillow had tumbled to the floor and retrieved it. “It's not my night to work.”

“Damn it! Did you hear anythin'? Did you?”

Her stomach clenched. His anger felt as threatening as a weapon.

“Don't you say nothin'.” Milt lumbered closer, towering over her in the dark. “Do you hear me? Not one word against me, or I'll toss you and your daughter out of here so fast it'll make your head spin. Do you hear?”

“Yes.” She lied. Let him try to intimidate her all he wanted, because he wasn't going to be successful.

“You just think, missy, where that daughter of yours will be without a roof over her head. Dead, that's what. You owe me—”

His beefy fingers scraped along her chin. How dare he? She struck his arm and leaped off the sofa. “You're drunk and disgusting. Go back in the kitchen.”

The fireplace utensils were a step away. She sidled closer and reached for the iron poker.

“You just mind what I said.” He retreated, as he always did, to pour more whiskey and drink with his son.

Sarah collapsed onto the sofa before her knees gave out and laid the poker on the floor so it was handy. The room was cool, and her blankets were still warm. Her exhausted body longed to lie down and sleep, but how could she?

The sound of a muffled cough had her off the sofa and opening the door to the girls's bedroom. A series
of coughs led Sarah to Ella's side. Tucked in with three of her cousins, she was toasty warm.

“I'm all right, Ma.” Ella's whisper was broken by another cough.

“You don't sound all right.” Sarah eased onto the edge of the mattress. “Need some water?”

“Yes, please.”

Sarah found the cup that was always on the tiny table by the bed and held it for her daughter. Ella drank, and her coughing eased.

“Just thirsty, I guess.” Ella curled onto her side.

“You don't feel hot.” Sarah took comfort in that. “Does your throat hurt?”

“No, Ma. I'm fine.”

“That's all that matters.” Sarah tucked the blankets into place, savoring the sweet warmth. “Pleasant dreams, baby.”

“'Kay—” Ella was asleep, her breathing steady and clear.

All that mattered was Ella. Sarah thought of Milt out there, drinking with his son. She gathered her courage and left the room, closing the door tight behind her. A faint light shone from the kitchen, but she wasn't afraid. If she had to, she could handle Milt.

A bang on the door shattered the quiet. In Pearl's bedroom, Baby Davie began to cry. Sarah reached for her house robe as the kitchen door flew open.

“What the hell?” Milt boomed. “You can't—”

“Quiet, Owens.” Sarah recognized the sheriff's voice as she tied the sash around her waist. “Remove your revolver and lay it on the table for me. You, too, son.”

Sarah peered around the corner into the room that held four men. The sheriff, who cocked his revolver,
and Gage. He filled the threshold, his hand on his holster, as if to second what the sheriff had to say.

His gaze shot to her. “Sarah, I was hoping you'd look after Lucy for me while your uncle and I sort a few things out. I have her right outside.”

“Of course I'll take her.” Sarah slipped behind the sheriff, who was watching while Milt and Junior disarmed themselves of guns and knives.

The cool wind wrapped around her ankles and she shivered. Only then did she realize she was barefooted.

Gage didn't seem to notice as he disappeared into the inky-black night. The air held a mist of rain and the board steps felt slick beneath her feet.

Lamplight tumbled through the kitchen window, spilling over Gage as he lifted a drowsy Lucy from his saddle. Wrapped in a blanket, the girl settled against his chest, as relaxed as a rag doll.

“Pa, I can…s-stay…awake,” she mumbled, fighting to keep her eyes open. They drifted shut as she snuggled against her father, safe in his arms.

Tenderly, Gage brushed a kiss across the crown of Lucy's head. Sarah swallowed, surprised to find a lump in her throat and a catch in her breath.

I'm in trouble now, she thought as she led the way through the kitchen and into the front room. Trouble because she had a weakness for tenderness in a man. For a man who loved his child.

I'd be foolish to let myself fall in love with him.
She pulled back the blankets and exposed the sheet spread out on the sofa. Moved aside so Gage could lay his child on the cushions.

Falling in love with him would be foolish for at least ten reasons she could think of. Sarah stood stal
wart, vowing not to watch as Gage tucked the blankets around his sleeping daughter. Refusing to let his gentleness break down the defenses around her heart.

Reason number one: he's wealthy. Reason number two: he wants to stay unmarried forever. Reason number three—

“You sleep, darlin'.”

Sarah couldn't move. Couldn't blink. Couldn't breathe. There was just enough light from the kitchen to watch him smooth his big hand over Lucy's brow.