Montana Snowfall, page 7
part #7 of McCutcheon Family Series
Her eyes widened. “Of course.”
“They’ll be okay for a few more days. I have a little sorghum I’ve been rationin’.” He shook his head, sorry for the animals’ plight. “It’s really just enough to wet their whistles and get their stomach juices goin’. I don’t know what’s worse, nothing to eat or a hummingbird-sized meal.”
“Is there anything I can do while you’re outside? Set the table, maybe?” There was still an edge of distrust to her gaze, but at least she was awake and talking.
“Sure, you can. Over in those crates you’ll find a couple of bowls and cups. Spoons too. Don’t know how clean they’re gonna be.”
He stood. “I have a mind to hang a blanket so you can have some privacy. Would you like that?” Her bright eyes were his answer, and he chuckled. “Fine then.”
From the crates where he’d gotten the matches, he retrieved a hammer and some nails. Taking one of the blankets, he tacked it on the opposite wall by the end of her cot, and a foot above his head. Pulling it tight, he tacked it along one of the ceiling beams, then to the other wall kitty-corner. It barely fit, but was better than nothing. Since she’d remained on the cot, now he couldn’t see her.
“You still in there?”
“Yes.” The blanket muffled her response.
“That’s good. Just wanted to make sure you hadn’t run off,” he joked, feeling a bit self-conscious. “We’ll just have to get you down the hill to Y Knot as soon as possible—to your sister and brother. They must be worried sick when your stage didn’t arrive.”
“Not really. They aren’t expecting me.”
“What?” That surprised him. He turned and looked at the blanket, wishing he hadn’t put it up quite yet. “They’re not expecting you?”
Sally pushed the blanket back and looked out. “No. I wanted my arrival to be a surprise.”
That was strange. Was something else going on here that she wasn’t saying? He felt her clothes. “Your things are dry. You can dress when I go outside. Desperate times call for desperate measures. No need to feel embarrassed.” He gathered her garments and handed them to her. “Can you manage on your own, or do you need help?”
“I can manage.” The words tumbled over themselves so quickly he was surprised they came out in order.
“Good. I won’t be back for at least ten minutes.” Going to the fireplace, he carefully took the pot of water off the iron rod and carried it to the door. “When I return, we’ll eat supper.”
The cold blast of air in his face was as welcome as a dip in the creek on a hot summer day. He might be a gentleman, but curbing his overactive imagination about Sally would take some doing. A few minutes outside was sure to help.
Chapter Sixteen
“I wonder what everyone will think once we make it into Y Knot?” Sally said softly, the quiet of the thick snow-covered forest blanketing the night.
The question was never far from her mind. To stay unchaperoned with a man in a cabin was just as damaging as shouting from the rooftops that she was with child. She let her hand fall under the table to caress her stomach, now delightfully full. It brought her peace of mind to know the baby had something to eat.
The fire popped, and a spark flew out. Mr. Guthrie reached out and squished it with his boot.
“Don’t matter what they think. What matters is what we know. There’ll always be folks who believe the worst—and that’s a fact. Nothing you can do about that now, so you’d best prepare yourself.” He scooped a spoonful into his mouth and chewed heartily.
The dinner was good, and warm. Sitting across from Mr. Guthrie, she tried not to watch him as he ate, but with little else in the cabin at which to direct her attention, that was near impossible to do. He was enjoying his meal immensely. The noises coming from his throat attested to the fact. Along with the good-sized grouse concoction, he’d managed to whip up some biscuits and cook them in a pan of drippings he’d saved while roasting the hens last night. He did know his way around a cooking fire, and for that she was grateful.
“What’s Y Knot like?”
“You coming to visit or planning to stay?”
How strange. “Does the answer depend on a defining variable? I’d think the characteristics of a town wouldn’t rest upon the visitor, but the hard facts.” She scraped her empty bowl one last time, then licked her spoon.
His eyes widened in surprise. “Why, sure it matters.” He took a moment to wipe his mouth, using the square of fabric she’d placed in the middle of the table for them to share as a napkin. She’d taken it from her saddlebag, where it had wrapped her loaf of bread. They were saving that treat for tomorrow.
His teasing expression made her smile. “A visitor’ll want to see the sights, find out which eatery makes the best pot roast, and visit a place to pick up some trinkets to take home. Where a person who plans on staying a while starts to look for a place to nest, acquaints himself with the friendly and the cantankerous, so they can woo the one and avoid the other. They inquire to which side of town the water never runs dry, and which merchants are swindlers and which are straight shooters. All the important stuff.”
She nodded, conceding that he had a point. She’d never thought about it in those terms before. “I see what you mean.”
He eyeballed her bowl. “You want some more? There’s plenty. It’s been a while since you had a square meal.” He put the rest of his biscuit into his mouth and chewed. “I can always go hunting.”
She smiled again. “Yes, thank goodness for that. I think I’ll pace myself.” Her tummy felt full, and a sense of peace surrounded her. She was waiting for the queasiness to hit, but it didn’t.
His brows arched in disbelief. “If you say so.”
“When do you think we’ll be able to leave?”
He looked up from spooning in the last of the broth from his bowl. “As soon as it stops snowing. I’m not sure when that might be.”
“How long does it take to get to Y Knot?”
“A full day and into the night. But that depends on the snow as well. You climbed a distance into the mountains. The trip back down’ll be tedious and slow. More difficult than traveling the road.”
She couldn’t imagine climbing back onto Dolly with her sore legs and aching back. Until she had to actually do it, she’d put that thought out of her mind.
He held out the last biscuit. “Eat this, Miss Stanford. You’ll need the fuel in your belly to stay warm tonight when the temperatures plummet even more.” He charmed her with his smile. “I insist.”
“I’m much too full, Mr. Guthrie. You take it. Tomorrow we have my bread.”
Reluctantly, he set it back in the pan he’d cooked them in. “We’ll just save it in case you change your mind.”
The coffeepot set deep in the coals had been perking for a good five minutes. Roady grasped the handle with a folded cloth. With jerky movements, he set the scalding pot down quickly on the table, then snapped his hand away, shaking off the heat. A happy grin split his face. “Tomorrow, if the storm still hasn’t let up, I’ll go hunting. See what I can bring home.”
Sally fingered the cuff of her once pretty eggshell shirtwaist that extended from her rolled-up coat sleeve. She’d saved her salary for three months to buy it at Conner Place Clothing, the most talked-about women’s apparel store in her neighborhood. Thoughts of the newspaper made her heart squeeze, bringing to mind her home, her family—and the baby she’d have.
A surge of sentimentality rushed up into her throat, and she knew if she opened her mouth to speak, she’d embarrass herself. Heat scalded her face. Mr. Guthrie hadn’t yet noticed, but he would. Nothing seemed to get past him. When she felt her eyes well with tears, she scooted down the bench to go to her cot, but he stopped her with one word.
“Miss?”
She turned and peered into his earnest eyes.
“Did I upset you? Sometimes I run my mouth like a thick-skulled youth.”
Sally wanted desperately to be able to close her eyes and pretend none of this had happened, that she was back home in St. Louis before she’d ever thought of working for the newspaper. All she wanted was to lie down and rest.
“No, it’s nothing you said. I’m just tired, and…well…” She glanced away. Emotional. Homesick. And worried about my future.
Chapter Seventeen
After checking on the animals one last time, Roady pushed open the door and stepped back into the blessed warmth devoid of any wind, then dropped the bar back into place.
Sally stood in front of the fire with her hands behind her back, clearly soaking up the warmth of the flames. Golden light from the lantern shimmered in her eyes. She looked so young, was so young. He often saw traces of Heather, as well as her brother Morgan, in her expressions. Especially her smile.
As if she’d read his thoughts, she smiled. “I was just going to open the door and call you. You’ve been out there a long time. You must be frozen.”
“Just taking care of the stock.” By the door, he stomped the snow from his boots, then started the arduous task of removing his snow-covered outer clothes. His hands were a bit unresponsive, and he fumbled several times.
“Are they all right? I hate to think of them going without food.”
“So do I, but it can’t be helped.”
Her gaze followed his actions as he stripped off his coat. “Did you get any of the snow cleared away from the ground?” she asked, her brows still drawn together in concern.
“Tried, but the forage that was there before the storm hit has been trampled by their hooves. Looks like the snow’s about run its course, though. It’s barely coming down at all anymore.”
She heaved a sigh of relief.
Actually, if the weather cleared, they could even head down the mountain tomorrow. He was worried about her family, and what they would think about the days they’d stayed together unchaperoned. With his wet clothes off, he went to his bedroll on the floor and picked up a blanket, tossing it over his shoulders. He glanced at the fire.
“There’s room for you, Mr. Guthrie,” she said, stepping to the side.
“You sure? I don’t want to crowd you.”
“I’m happy to share the warmth.” There was kindness in her eyes.
“This is going to feel so darn good,” he mumbled, stepping over until they were shoulder to shoulder. “Mmm.” He closed his eyes and basked in the wonderful heat radiating through his pants and long johns to his cold legs. Feeling generous, he crouched down and tossed two more logs onto the flame.
“We won’t run out, will we?”
He shouldn’t have looked up. The flames and lantern light reflected in her eyes wove magic through the cabin. She must have brushed her hair when he was outside because it lay across her shoulders and down her back like a coffee-colored shawl. The wind had calmed into a light whisper, gently moving the branches against the side of the structure. The world seemed to close in around them.
He wasn’t like Luke and Brandon and the rest of the men, needing a mate to plan a life with—a future. At least, he’d thought so up until this point. But now, looking up into Sally Stanford’s trusting gaze, he felt a chink in his armor.
“No, there’s plenty more where this came from.” He jerked his gaze away and stood. “Are you warm enough?”
She nodded. “With the food and the fire, I believe I’m going to make it after all.”
“Make it?” He laughed. He hadn’t thought she’d been that worried. “That’s mighty good to hear.” He strode over to the counter and the crates stacked beneath it, willing the picture of her from his mind. Taking the top crate off the second, he shuffled through it, knowing he had her undivided attention. At the bottom, he found what he was looking for. He went back to the table and moved the dirty bowls aside.
“What’s that?”
“Something to pass the time.” He went about setting up the battered old checkerboard. “You want red or black?”
“Checkers?” Her voice rallied, bringing another surge of emotion within him.
“You betcha.”
“I’ll take red.”
Sally seated herself across from him and began setting out the whittled wooden spheres. Some were cracked or chipped, then dyed to create a reddish tint. Her delicate fingers and well-tended fingernails kept drawing Roady’s attention. He had to force himself to concentrate on what he was doing.
With his brownish-black pieces all lined up and ready, he glanced at her and smiled. “I didn’t know you were such an enthusiast,” he drawled slowly, still enjoying the heat from the fire as well as her excitement.
Her brow arched. “How do you know that I am?”
“Because you jumped at the chance to play. In my recollection, womenfolk don’t much cotton to board games. Believe they belong in a saloon.”
“I have six brothers and three sisters. At my house, there’s always someone who wants to go a couple of rounds—the womenfolk included.”
“Fine then.” He waited for her to make the first move. “I won’t go easy on you.”
“You better not.”
When she just sat there, he looked up. “Ladies first.”
“Smoke before fire,” she corrected.
So, she wasn’t teasing about her abilities. He thought about the flask of whiskey he had tucked away in his saddlebag for cold nights away from home, but knew better than to bring it out.
With his finger, he pushed one of his men forward and waited for her to do the same. Several turns went by quickly as they moved closer to the opposite side. She got the first jump, and for some reason that pleased him. Her face was triumphant in the lamplight.
He smiled back. “There you go.”
She nodded. Some strategic setting up played through the next few moves. When he jumped three of her men, her smile faded.
“King me.”
She looked up in astonishment. “I didn’t see that coming, Mr. Guthrie.” She studied the board as if she wanted to remember what he’d done to surprise her.
“Call me Roady.”
Her lips curled. “All right, Roady. And you can call me Sally.”
A wolf howled from somewhere far off. When she lifted her gaze to his, fear shadowed her eyes.
“Just a wolf. Can’t get through the door.”
She pulled the blanket more tightly over her shoulders and went back to studying the board.
“Are you married, Roady?”
Surprised, he finished his move and glanced up at her.
“I’m sorry if that’s too personal,” she added quickly. “It’s just that I’ve been telling you all about my family, and you already know Heather and Morgan, but I don’t know much about you. Just worried what your wife, if you had one, would do when we got back.”
“No, I’m not married, but I’m not opposed to the binds of matrimony. The opportunity just never presented itself.” He leveled his gaze on her, thinking she sure looked pretty tonight after her long rest and a belly full of food. He liked her quick wit and her love of the game. “Guess I’ll know when the right gal comes along.”
Her brow drew down in consternation. “You sound like my oldest brother, Travis. He isn’t married yet either, although he came very close this year. Since my pa’s gone, my mother would like to see him settle down. Morgan too.” She shrugged and then pushed her man onto the next square. When she talked about her family, her posture relaxed as her wariness seemed to fade. “I’m the third youngest, with two little sisters. Anita is sixteen, and Melba fourteen. We know exactly how to drive our brothers to distraction.”
“And you’re sixteen and a half?” he said in all seriousness.
She scoffed. “No. I’m eighteen.” She narrowed her eyes. “You’re kidding me again!”
Her laughter reminded Roady of a flock of sparrows in spring.
“How old are you?” she asked.
He raised a brow, wondering at her curiosity. “I’m twenty-eight. Not quite old enough to be your pa, but almost.” He shifted uneasily in his seat, thinking he’d best steer this conversation in another direction. It was making him a mite edgy.
“Heather sure is proud of you, Sally,” he said, jumping one of her pieces. “She always has something nice to say about her smarty-pants baby sister who works for the newspaper. Even said your boss has taken you under his wing and is showing you the ropes of being a woman reporter. That’s pretty darn impressive.”
Sally’s hand jerked, and the piece she had under her finger flew off the board and hit the floor with a pop.
Roady bent over, searched around until he found it, then handed it back. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.”
“What’s his name?”
Shadows lurked behind her eyes as she glanced up at him. “Who?”
“Your boss in St. Louis.”
Sally put the piece back onto the board. “Mr. Greenstein.”
Roady nodded and gazed back at his men. When he took another of her kings, she barely reacted. It took three more captures for her to perk up.
“I don’t know how you’re doing this,” she finally said. “I’m usually much better.”
He chuckled, although her mood had changed. Her smile was gone, as well as the light in her eyes. “It can’t be that I’m just good enough to beat you?”
She quickly conceded the point as if she realized just how stuffy her statement sounded. “Of course it can—and you are,” she replied. “Better than any of my brothers as well.”
Roady stood and went to the counter to pick up the two mugs they’d used earlier. He returned to the hearth and poured them each some coffee, then settled back onto his chair.
As he lifted his own mug to his lips, he studied her over the rim for a moment, considering. She was hiding something. Whatever it was, she’d not confide in him, he was sure.
