Moon Over Montana (McCutcheon Family Series Book 5) (20 page)

Without warning, the door swung open. The man who came in wasn’t old enough to be James Timberlake. He pulled up, surprised.

“Who’re you?”

He wore guns, a vest, and a star. He must be a deputy.

“Brandon Crawford, sheriff of Y Knot, Montana.”

The man hung his hat and went behind the desk. He started pushing papers around as if looking for something.

“You’re a long ways from home, Sheriff,” he said, looking up briefly. “What brings you out our way?”

They weren’t expecting him? Anger pricked Brandon’s mind. “James Timberlake. He here?”

As if exasperated, the deputy scraped the junk off the chair and it clattered to the floor. He sat down. “Feel free to do the same,” he said, and pointed to a chair.

“No, thanks. Just need to see the marshal. Is he inside?”

“Inside?”

“His house.”

Seemed to take a few seconds for the deputy to pick up on his meaning, and then he barked out a laugh.

“He don’t own no fancy house like that, just an old farm eight miles out of town. If you want to ride out there, I’m sure you’ll find him and his missus—probably working the fields.”

Farming! Brandon struggled to wrap his head around the deputy’s statement.

“He never mentioned me, or that I’d be arriving today?”

An eight-mile ride out of town sounded as appealing as a poke in the eye with a sharp stick. Not after hanging around all day yesterday, fighting the crowds, breathing dank, heavy air that burned one’s lungs, and feeling as comfortable as a fish in sand. “To discuss the deputy job?”

The deputy stood, shaking his head. “Damn the old codger. He talks about hiring a few new deputies about every other day. Never has as long as I’ve been here, and that’s a good six years.” He made a face. “I think it’s the opium eating away at his brain.”

Several moments passed as the meaning of the deputy’s words sank in. Timberlake wasn’t the man he remembered as a boy—far from it, it seemed.

Disappointment ripped through him, but turned into anger almost immediately. Not at Timberlake, but at himself. For not seeing what he had right in front of his face. How stupid could he be, chasing a dream and throwing away all that he held dear? No, he’d not ride a foot farther to talk with a man he hadn’t known for years. He didn’t want to stay in this cramped city where the buildings blocked out the stars, and where some bum waited to knock you on your head and steal you blind. He could never bring Charity here. She belonged in the high mountains of Montana with her family.

Was he too late? Charity was everything to him. Much more than a remembered feeling about his parents. As much as it had haunted him, it was the past. Where he’d now let it die, while he moved on with his life. He prayed to God Charity would still have him. He wouldn’t blame her in the least if she told him to go to the devil. How fast could he make it home?

“You gonna go out and see him? I’m sure he’d like to at least talk to you, since you’ve come so far.”

Brandon shook his head. “No. I’ll not waste any more of my time.”
Charity.
“If Timberlake happens to remember about me and ask, just tell him Brandon Crawford went back to the clean air of Montana where he belongs.”

He realized with satisfaction that he’d come to that decision almost as soon as he’d stepped off the train, he’d just been too mixed up to see it.

“I can see you’re plenty put out, Crawford, and I don’t blame you. Timberlake means well, and gets the job done when needed. He just has a bit of a problem focusing on what his objective should be each given day.”

Brandon turned on his heel and made for his horse. All his belongings were packed and with him. That was one plus, that he didn’t have to go back to the inn. He’d head straight to the station and hope there was an early train leaving west this morning. West, Y Knot, home…
and
Charity.

Now that he’d finally come to terms with his unsettled past, he couldn’t return fast enough to his future. He just hoped that, after all his shenanigans, he still had one.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

L
uke slid the chute gate open and signaled for Charity and Colton to push the next heifer into the narrow slot. Only a few more head to go and they’d be finished for the day. Most of the beef had made good progress since they’d undergone the iodine treatments.

“Bring in the short one, Colton, the one behind you,” he called. “She’s quick, though, so be ready.”

“Sure thing, Pa,” he called back. That boy loved ranching. He’d taken to it like a natural, and Luke couldn’t be prouder of him if he tried. The boy was still mounted on Firefly, the old mare Luke had given him on a cattle drive three years ago. As much as Colton loved the old horse, he was ready and capable enough for a new mount. Maybe not War Bonnet yet, but Luke would make sure the spirited gelding was good and broke before he handed the horse over.

When the heifer darted in, Luke jammed the gate into place behind her hips and stood back, wiping his gloved hands down his legs. She rattled the wood as she banged around, looking for a way out. Not finding one, she quieted.

Charity climbed directly from the back of her horse onto the fence, and down the other side. She went to the front of the chute with Smokey, Roady, and Pedro. Flood stood behind the group with his back to a pine, watching.

“Give me a second,” Charity said. She scooped a glob of molasses onto a clean wooden tongue depressor, large enough for the bovine, and got into place.

Luke was keenly aware of Fox Dancing’s gaze as she watched them work from the bare back of her Appaloosa mare outside of the corral. Whatever they were doing, she was never far from his side—and it warmed him. Amazing how he’d actually found part of his heritage, or how it found him. Considerate of Flood’s feelings, whatever they were at this point, he’d kept his Cheyenne sister away from the ranch house for as long as he could. But the work wouldn’t wait any longer. There were things to get done.

“Ready, Charity?” Smokey drawled. He stood beside the chute by the heifer’s head. Pedro and Roady were positioned on top, ready to grab the nose and jaw to keep it open so Luke could peer inside. If they needed another dose of iodine, it would be done now. Doctoring an animal this size wasn’t easily accomplished. The molasses distracted the animal, while making it smack its mouth.

Charity held the long tool with the gooey, dark glob in front. “Ready!”

Smokey nodded. “Here goes.” He dug his gloved thumb inside the heifer’s mouth, into the gum, making her open just wide enough for Charity to slip in the sweetness. The moment the cow tasted the molasses, her tongue wagged out. Pedro and Roady both grasped her head and nose and pried her mouth open.

Luke squatted in front and peered in. “One more second, boys. Hold on, hold on. There! Good.”

The cowboys let go and jumped down. The heifer, none the worse for it, kept smacking her mouth, enjoying the treat.

“She looks good.” He pulled open the front gate, and the young cow bolted out and bucked a few times before Billy and Adam, Matthew’s two sons, herded it toward the gate of the small pasture, where the rest of the recuperating animals grazed.

The day couldn’t end fast enough for Luke. He had plans to take Faith and the children into Y Knot and to the Biscuit Barrel for pie, the family-oriented restaurant’s Wednesday night special. Most of the McCutcheons made a habit of it, and practically filled the small restaurant if everyone showed. He’d been debating whether he would take Fox Dancing. She’d made a good recovery and had been up for several days, and riding the last few. But was taking her into town a wise move? He’d feel a whole lot better if Brandon were back.

Flood came forward. Luke hadn’t seen his parents in the same place, at the same time, since the night of the party. Something had to be done.

“I say we call it a day,” Flood said. “Get cleaned up for tonight. Won’t hurt the few remaining steers to wait a day or two.”

Luke was beat. He’d been up since four thirty. And Charity was putting on a good show, but he could tell the last few days had taken their toll. He didn’t want to think about the outcome of Brandon’s trip. He couldn’t imagine this place without his sister. It wouldn’t feel right. But if she had to make a choice, he felt pretty sure she’d go with Brandon.

“Sounds good to me. Gives a little time to get ready before Faith and Dawn start clamoring to get moving to the Biscuit Barrel. Who all is—”

Francis’s shout came from the barn.

Luke turned, as did the other hands. When another shout went up, everyone started for the structure. Before they got there, Francis and another fellow, locked in an embrace, careened through the dark opening into the bright afternoon sunlight. They landed in the dirt with a thud.

The two young men rolled. Luke caught a glimpse of a shirtless Indian, dressed much like Fox Dancing. The youth and Francis were evenly matched—except for the wicked-looking knife the native gripped in his hand. Francis grappled with the arm holding the weapon, pushing the Indian’s wrist back. Both men shook as they strained forward.

Luke held back Roady when he went to help. “Wait! You may get Francis killed.”

Fox Dancing, appearing at his side, yelled angrily at the two, yet didn’t try to stop them either. Her heated Cheyenne words drew no response.

The two rolled through the dirt, wrapped together like two sides of a clam. The warrior’s long hair tangled behind him. Next to some bushes and the watering trough, the brave made a quick scramble, issued a loud war cry, and bolted, disappearing into the trees.

“Do you want me to go after him?” Roady asked, looking toward his horse tied at the hitching rail.

“No, let him go.”

Fox Dancing moved to follow, but Luke grabbed her wrist, holding her back. She looked back and forth from the path the brave had taken to Luke, her eyes flashing with anger and something else, plainly torn about what to do. Another loud cry came from beyond the pasture. Only a horse could have gotten away that fast.

Francis climbed to his feet. “I found him hiding in the back stall,” he said, dusting the dirt from his clothes. A line of blood ran from his split lip down his chin, and a raw, dirt-filled abrasion on his face looked painful. Hay and dirt clung to his hair.

“Didn’t realize he was an Indian until I went into the stall to see what was going on.”

Flood placed both hands on Francis’s shoulders, taking stock of their youngest cowhand. “I’m glad you came through that.” It would be a sad day if anything ever happened to Francis. After satisfying himself that Francis would be fine, his pa said, “Go have Lucky clean you up.”

“What in blue blazes is going on out here?” Lucky stepped out onto the bunkhouse porch just as Francis approached. He gaped. “You been tangling with a broken-tailed badger? I hope the other guy looks worse than you.”

Lucky glanced around as if expecting to see another man with a bruised and bloodied face. Even though his words were teasing, Lucky’s brows pulled down and he limped forward to help Francis when he wobbled.

Francis stopped halfway across the barnyard. “Who was the Indian, anyway?” he asked, turning back to Luke and Fox Dancing. “Does anyone know?”

Roady whistled. “Not certain, but sure was a strong cuss, Francis.” He gave a little chuckle. “You should have seen yourself, though. You’re stronger than any of us thought.”

This was a fine can of worms. How many more Cheyenne would Luke have showing up now that Fox Dancing had arrived? Was that Fox Dancing’s brother, and so his too? A warm surge of curiosity tickled his mind. A completely new world had opened to him. By the look on Fox Dancing’s face, and her desire to follow the Indian brave, it was a sure bet that she knew who he was.

Luke chanced a look at Flood and saw his father’s shoulders slumped. He couldn’t remember seeing that in all his years, and it troubled him more than he’d like to admit. The ranch house door opened, and his ma came out. She went about cutting flowers, unaware of being observed. Flood’s gaze watched each step she took, a somberness enveloping him. Whatever threatened the family or the ranch, the man who’d raised him usually took any problem straight on and didn’t look back. Luke’s heritage was once again bringing tension down on everyone.

“Pa, can I speak with you for a moment?” he said quietly while Charity went into the barn to stable her horse, with Fox Dancing following slowly behind.

Flood gave him a quizzical expression. “Sure, son.”

Luke gestured with his head and Flood followed, as if they were going over to the pasture’s edge to look at the cattle.

Flood gazed out at the land, avoiding Luke’s gaze. “What’s on your mind?”

It had been a good long time since Luke had consulted his pa for advice. The last important talk he could remember was when he was having doubts about Faith and her inability to trust him, to tell him the truth. Flood had directed Luke to give her time to come around, not to push too hard. Luke wondered how hard he’d have to push today.

“I think you know.”

Flood nodded slowly and removed his hat, running his large, work-worn hand through his hair. “Yep, I suppose I do.”

He turned and looked into Luke’s eyes. Lines in his pa’s face had deepened over the year, and the gray hair at his temples and salted through his still-thick brown hair had multiplied. “Are you thinking about going to meet your real pa?”

Surprised, Luke stepped back. He’d been so wrapped up in the relationship between his parents, he hadn’t had a chance to consider his father’s feelings toward him. He hadn’t realized that besides worrying about his wife, Flood might be lamenting the loss of his son’s love.

“I’d be a liar if I said the idea hadn’t crossed my mind. And maybe I will someday. But not now. Discovering I have another sister, and actually meeting her, is enough change for me. My main concerns now, and always, are Faith and my family, and of course you and Ma. You’re my father. There’s no confusion in my heart over that fact.”

For the first time ever, Luke noted the color as it came up in Flood’s face.