Debra Holland - [Montana Sky 02] (6 page)

Looking around, she shook her head. The faded beauty of the room pulled at her heart. The marble-topped mahogany tables and sideboard looked like a good polishing would put them to rights, but mice had made homes in the green velvet sofa and matching chairs. In several places, the William Morris wallpaper dangled in shreds. No pictures hung on the walls, nor were
the usual kind of knickknacks scattered on the tables. Ezra must have planned for his fiancée to lend the finishing touches and, after she’d died, had never changed anything.

Wyatt spoke from behind her. “Never saw Ezra use this room. He lived in the kitchen. Lately, he even slept there.”

Samantha’s throat constricted. She should have written to Ezra about her circumstances. Guilt squeezed her chest. If only she’d swallowed her pride…Ezra might have sent for her and Daniel. Then his last years wouldn’t have been lived in loneliness and squalor.

Wyatt seemed to sense her emotions. He touched her shoulder. “He was a cantankerous old man. A real loner. He wouldn’t accept help. I sent my housekeeper over, but he wouldn’t let her in the door.”

She risked a look up at him and saw only sympathy in his eyes. “But I’m his niece. It would have been different.”

“I doubt it. He could have sent for you. He just wanted to be left alone.”

Samantha brushed a finger over the marble top of a side table, leaving a dust trail like the wake of a boat. “If I tell myself he’s at peace in heaven, reunited with the woman he loved, I don’t feel so guilty.”

Why was she confiding in this stranger, a man she’d almost quarreled with earlier? But somehow she knew he understood what she felt at that moment. Too bad he hadn’t been as understanding about her horses. Not willing to reveal anything else, she turned away. “I should check the kitchen.”

She crossed through the hallway and entered the right-hand door. Ezra’s kitchen had the lived-in look lacking in the parlor. A pine table, scratched and gouged from long use, dominated the middle of the room. On one side of a black cast-iron stove sat
a worn leather armchair. On the other side, a narrow bed piled with quilts testified to where Ezra had slept. A shelf above the stove held some pots, pans, several blue splatterware plates and mugs, and an old coffee can. A battered coffeepot perched on the stove, ready for a morning cup of coffee.

Wyatt walked over to the sink and pushed the handle of the pump. “The water here’s good to drink.” Rusty water poured through. “Although you wouldn’t know it by lookin’.” He continued pumping until the water ran clear. “That’s better.”

“Thank you.”

Samantha continued her inspection. Cobwebby strands of dirty lace curtains hung on the windows. She circled the table, crossing to the grimy side window, and glanced out.

A peeling whitewashed fence surrounded what must be the vegetable garden. She’d have to get busy with the planting. Her fingers curled in anticipation. At the home she’d shared with Juan Carlos, she always had a garden, but at the estancia only the servants worked the land.

The sound of the children’s footsteps clattered down the stairs and out the door. She concentrated on the room again.

In contrast to the rough surroundings, a china cabinet next to the window held blue dishes. She picked up a plate, rubbing her gloved hand over the dust-gray surface. Blue Willow. Ezra probably had never used them. Samantha carefully set the plate back in place.

Samantha inhaled, and exhaled a deep promise. She’d take this house, clean it, restore it, and make it into a home. She’d use the china and everything else. Then she’d fill this house, haunted with Ezra’s final lonely years, with boys who’d only known lonely lives. There’d be no more loneliness. For any of them.

At the sound of a carriage, Samantha hurried across the kitchen to the window overlooking the front.
Who could possibly have come to call?
Through the dust-smeared glass, she could see an older white-haired man in a black coat climbing down from a rickety old buggy. He turned and ordered the two ragtag boys in the buggy to step down.

Wyatt joined her at the window. “Reverend Norton. And those two Cassidy hellions he’s been trying to find a home. Told him to hold off ’til you’re settled. Place won’t be safe with them about. Probably burn the barn down before the week is over. You’d best send them away.”

Samantha stifled a gasp. Her initial dismay at having unexpected callers fled.
How dare he tell her what to do. She’d had enough of that from her father-in-law. Especially about children.
“I’ll do no such thing.”

“Wait, Samantha.” He touched her arm. “Those boys are nothing but trouble. They’ve fought, stole, set fire to Widow Murphy’s haystack, and that’s only what we know for sure. No one’s willing to adopt them.” His voice softened. “I think you have enough to handle right here without takin’ on anything else.”

“Every child deserves a home and a loving family. I prayed that the Lord would give me the opportunity to raise some orphans. Now that God has answered my prayers, I’m not going to turn my back on those boys just because you disapprove, Mr. Thompson.” Samantha whirled out of the room, down the hall, and out onto the porch.

The minister towed the two reluctant boys up the steps. He flashed the boys a reproving look before smiling at Samantha. “Ah, Mrs. Rodriguez. I’m Reverend Norton.”

“Reverend Norton, how nice to meet you.”

The minister nodded. “I see Wyatt’s been helping you. No problem with those Faleebelles?” His blue eyes twinkled at Wyatt, who’d followed her onto the porch.

Wyatt’s jaw clenched, and he ground out, “No problem at all, Reverend.”

“Good, good. Well”—he smiled at Samantha—“I know you aren’t quite settled in yet, but your letter said you’d a mind to start taking in orphaned boys.”

The boy Norton gripped in his right hand tried to twist away. The minister’s body swayed, prompting the second boy to start a struggle.

“That’s right, Reverend,” she said.

Wyatt stepped forward, grasping a shoulder of each boy. “That’s enough.” He used a firm tone that lacked the hostility Samantha would have expected given his words in the kitchen. “Stand up and mind your manners.”

The boys stood acquiescent under his hands. Samantha took a moment to study them. Identical twins, maybe about eleven years old. Dull brown hair worn too long, thin faces and bodies, as if they’d never had enough to eat; clothes threadbare and far too small. Identical surly looks.

Samantha’s heart beat faster. Could she do it? Take these boys and heal their misery? Before she’d even settled into her new life? She remembered
Little Men,
and Jo March’s struggle with Dan. Samantha would have
two
. And she didn’t have a husband like Fritz Bhaer to help her. Wyatt stepped back, releasing the boys. She caught a flash of fear in one pair of green eyes, a
glimpse of sadness on the face of the other twin. Then, like a hand brushing over a pattern in the sand, the fleeting expressions vanished, replaced by sullenness. But that proved enough for Samantha.

“Hello, boys.”

Their gazes dropped to the tips of their muddy, scuffed boots, sliced open to accommodate their cramped toes.

The minister touched the boy on his right. “This is Tim Cassidy.” He nodded at the other. “Jack Cassidy. Their father died last month. They’ve no relatives, and if you won’t take them, I’ll have to send them to the orphanage.”

An orphanage. In a flash Samantha shrunk to six years old, peering through a rain-smeared windowpane, as a woman in a black coat dragged her newly orphaned friend, Günter, down the steps of the house across the street. She’d never forgotten the look of despair on his face.

“Of course I’ll take them.” Since the boys didn’t look up from their boots, Samantha made her voice as warm as possible. “I’m afraid we’ve just arrived, and the house is a mess. We’ll have makeshift conditions for a while.”

No response. Samantha studied the twins, trying to find a way to tell them apart. Both wore patched tan denim pants several inches too short and coats awkwardly made from an old green blanket. Tim’s worn cotton shirt had once been blue, while Jack wore a faded brown one. How to tell them apart? If the boys were in the habit of switching shirts to fool people, she’d have problems. The faint scattering of freckles across their faces gave her a clue. Jack had a patch of freckles on his right cheek similar to the stars that formed the constellation of Pleiades.

She smiled in satisfaction. “Why don’t we go out to the barn so you can meet the other members of the family?”

Reverend Norton nodded. “Good idea. I’d like to see those Faleebelle horses everyone’s talking about. But I have to make another call.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Samantha saw Wyatt grimace.

The minister nodded, “I’ll be back in a few days to check on everything. I’ll see the toy horses, then.”

Samantha stepped forward to grasp his hand. “Good-bye, Reverend Norton. We’ll see you on Sunday.”

A pleased smile crossed his austere face. “I was wondering about that. We’ll be glad to have you worship with us.” He waved at the twins. “Bye, Jack, Tim. You two mind Mrs. Rodriguez now.”

Neither boy replied. Samantha put an arm around each boy’s shoulders. “Let’s go to the barn and see the Falabellas.”

Wyatt’s gaze met Samantha’s. “I’ll collect my daughter. We have chores waiting for us.” He fell into step beside Tim, continuing to look at her. “Ezra has a team of horses and a saddle horse. The team’s broke to ride. I’ve been running his cattle with my own. He never had a big herd. His two men have been working for me. I’ll send them back tomorrow with the cattle.”

“Thank you.” Samantha said, overwhelmed by the responsibilities piling up around her.

He pointed to a small building, weathered gray like the others. “The bunkhouse. The men bed down there. There’s also a cabin behind the barn a ways. It could be fixed up nice for Maria and Manuel. In better days, the foreman used to live there.”

Maria would be thrilled to have her own little house instead of sharing the servants’ quarters of the hacienda
.

“And the chickens and goats.”

“Goats?” Under her hand, Jack’s shoulder twitched, and she caught a fleeting glance of interest. She asked him, “Did you boys ever raise goats?”

Jack flicked a brief look upward. “Yep. Nanny and her two kids. Good milk.”

“Thank goodness,” she murmured. At least Jack would talk.

Wyatt nodded. “Ezra also kept goats for the milk.” He pointed to a small corral made of barbed wire with sticks threaded through and anchored in the ground to form a flimsy fence. “The goat pen.”

“Oh.” Samantha was familiar with goat milk and cheese from her childhood when her family had lived in Germany. Daniel would probably like having goats. How did one make goat cheese? She’d have to learn. She added the task to her evergrowing list. Fatigue dropped onto her like a heavy cloak. She sighed. What she wouldn’t give to throw herself down on a soft clean bed and sleep for days.

Wyatt stopped. Something glimmered in his eyes, gone too soon for her to identify. He echoed her sigh, pulling off his hat and rubbing his head. “Look. You’ve just arrived and are exhausted. Why don’t you all come home with me? Get a good night’s sleep and start fresh in the morning.”

“Why…thank you.” The heightened awareness of his presence, which she’d been trying to ignore, sprang to life. Spend the evening with him, sleep under the same roof? Her heartbeat quickened at the thought. “But we couldn’t possibly intrude.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile. “My housekeeper will be there. It’ll be proper, and you’ll be quite safe. Mrs. Toffels will welcome you with open arms and a warm meal.”

Samantha opened her mouth, intending a firm refusal, but to her surprise and chagrin, a yes slipped out.

His grin widened, showing straight teeth. “It’s settled, then. Let’s go round up the children.”

Samantha sent up a little prayer of gratitude that Don Ricardo wasn’t here to see the decisions she’d made in the last few minutes. Her father-in-law might have made good his often-uttered threat to permanently lock her in her room. She slanted a glance up at Wyatt.

Freedom.

Right or wrong, she had made a choice. Excitement threaded up her spine. She could even choose this man.
Not,
she hastily reined in her thoughts, that she would pick
him.
Or he, her for that matter. But still, no one would ever again tell her what to do. She resisted flinging wide her arms.
Montana. My own ranch. A whole new life.

Passing the empty goat pen, with its long shadows stretching across bare dirt, Jack Cassidy couldn’t help feeling a twinge of interest as he imagined goats running around the empty enclosure. But caution kept him from allowing his feelings to show. He’d learned all too well how a flicker of expression could earn him a blow. And with the woman’s hand on his shoulder, unless he twisted away quick-like, he’d be an easy target.

Behind his impassivity, his thoughts jumped around like fleas on a mangy dog. Maybe he could find a way to steal his nanny goat back. Maybe the lady’d let him keep it here. She was new in town and all. She wouldn’t know Widda Murphy had kept his goat, claiming the animal was payment for the twins’ keep.