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

“So I keep hearing. Hayden’s wife?” Brandon took off his hat and wiped his brow. “Are you kiddin’ me? First Holcomb and now Klinkner. What in the blazes went on in my absence?” He stared into the rafters for several seconds. “Seriously, I’m dumbfounded.”

“It all started with that advertisement that ran in the paper a few months back, springtime. The one about the mail-order brides. First, Chance sent for one. Then Ina liked Evie so much, she sent for one on the sly for Hayden. You should have seen it around here, Brandon. All heck broke loose.”

Brandon went over to a stool and sat down. “I’m sorry, I just had to sit. What in God’s name did Hayden do when he found out? I’m surprised he didn’t send her back.”

Morgan stiffened abruptly. “That’s my sister you’re talking about.”

“Sorry. Forgot that fact. It’s just that I know Hayden and he’d be the last person I’d figure to be set up with a woman.”

June stepped between the two well-matched men and put a calming palm on Morgan’s chest. Here was another reason to be dumbfounded. He’d never known the feisty blacksmith to have a relationship with anyone before.

“Heather is beautiful, Brandon. You’ll know her when you see her by her glossy black hair. She looks a lot like Morgan, but prettier.” She laughed, and the man finally cracked a smile. Maybe they would end up friends after all.

Brandon stood and secured his hat back on his head. This night was turning out to be darn entertaining. He’d make a visit out to the mill tomorrow morning and say hello to Ina and Norman. Hayden too.

“I best be on my way,” he said. “I want to take a quick walk down the street before everyone heads for home.” He shook Morgan’s hand again. “I didn’t mean any disrespect to your sister, Stanford.”

Morgan Stanford’s expression softened. He was as tall as Brandon and looked as if he’d been to the school of hard knocks, the same as him. “No harm done. I guess I’ll see you, then.”

“Good night, June.”

She looked content, Brandon thought. Taking over her father’s business after he’d passed on was the best thing for her. She seemed truly well suited to running the livery and forge, as well as living in Y Knot.

Why couldn’t he do that? Just be satisfied with his position here? Especially now that Charity had finally agreed to be his wife.

Perhaps the letter in his pocket was a rejection of his application for deputy marshal. That would sure simplify his life if the decision were made for him. Hope for that and hope that he’d gotten the job warred for space in his heart. A deputy federal marshal. Something he’d visualized since the day he met James Timberlake, the marshal who’d caught and killed the man who murdered Brandon’s parents. His parents dead—all for three dollars and a horse and buckboard. The outlaw would have killed Brandon too if his pa hadn’t pitched him from the careening wagon.

He’d never told a soul about that, not even Charity. Still, after twenty-one years the memory remained raw and hurtful. Maybe if he’d been in the wagon when the outlaw finally brought it to a halt, Brandon would have been able to do something to save his parents. Maybe, but not likely. A kid against a killer like that wouldn’t stand much of a chance. He’d never know now. That unanswerable question would go with him to the grave.

From that time on, Timberlake’s name had been burned into Brandon’s mind. He’d lost track of Timberlake for a while until reading his name in the newspaper in connection with the dissolution of the James-Younger Gang a few years back. The bond that should have belonged to Brandon’s father, if he’d lived, now fell to the Missouri lawman.

When he found out Timberlake was hiring two new deputies, Brandon had written to him asking for the job. It was on a whim, one of the occasions when Charity was having nothing to do with him, and he was tired of his feelings being trampled on. She could run so hot and cold, but darn, he loved her for it.

When he’d learned she was off to some charm school in Denver, he knew something else must be up. And it was a good thing he’d followed her. Saved her from the Comancheros, and they’d finally committed their love to each other. A long time coming, but it was worth the wait.

He fingered the envelope in his pocket. This letter, and the job if it happened, would be a true test for them. That was stone-cold fact. He didn’t like to think about what the outcome might be.

Chapter Six

A
soft knock sounded on Charity’s bedroom door. Finished with her nighttime toilette, she donned her favorite blue nightgown with the pretty lace trim, reached for her wrapper, and slipped it on. Her nerves, strung tight, were not going to let her get a moment’s rest tonight. Since Texas, she was used to having Brandon close by. Now he was all the way in Y Knot, where she couldn’t talk with him.

She frowned, thinking of his disquiet at dinner. Something was wrong. He was wrestling with something, she could feel it, sure as the air she breathed.

Knock, knock.

“One moment, Mother,” Charity called, and moved to open the door.

Her mom stood in the hall, also dressed for bed. In her hands was the carved wooden tray from Charity’s childhood. On it were two cups of tea and a small plate of cookies.

A feeling of home enveloped Charity.

Her mom smiled. “How did you know it was me?” She came into the room and set the tray on the bedside table.

“Because the house is big and lonely. Everyone’s moved out. Who else would it be?” She hadn’t meant to sound churlish, but this fear in the pit of her stomach wouldn’t let her be. “How can you stand it?”

“Charity, what’s bothering you? I felt it in the restaurant and your statement now has just confirmed my suspicions. This is not like you at all.” Her mother took her hands into her own. “Can you tell me?”

“Something’s wrong with Brandon. He’s acting strange.”

Her mother smiled and tilted her head. “This is a big step. You and Brandon have been dancing around it for years—and now that the day has almost arrived, you don’t know what to think or how to act. I believe you’re the one who’s nervous, not him.”

Charity sank down on her bed and her mother sat beside her.

“You make me sound like a two-year-old, upset over my dolly being snatched away. Of course I know how to act. I love Brandon. I never knew how much until I was locked away in that tiny cell with a rattlesnake—like I was in Rio Wells.”

Charity took a long cleansing breath to settle her nerves.

“All I could think about was him, Mom, and about all the time I wasted playing games. Well, I’m through with all that. I want nothing more than to become his wife. I thought he wanted that also, until he jumped at your suggestion to wait. On our way back from Texas, we promised each other that once we arrived we wouldn’t let anyone change our minds. The second you brought it up, he agreed. I think now that he’s home, he’s getting cold feet.”

“Oh, I see.” The color drained from her mother’s face.

Her mother had heard the complaint, but she’d also heard the blame.

Charity rushed to squeeze her hand. “Please, I’m not blaming you, Mother. I’m just questioning Brandon’s feelings for me—before it’s too late. Maybe they aren’t as strong as what I feel for him.”

“There is always one who loves more than the other. That’s true in every marriage. He loves you. I can tell by the look in his eyes when you speak with each other.”

Another knock on the door brought them both up straight.

“Claire, Charity, what’re you doing?” her father called through the door. “It’s late and Claire should be in bed. We have lots of plans to make come morning.”

The timbre of her father’s voice triggered a surge of emotion. Before she could stop them, tears filled her eyes. “Nothing, Pa. Mother brought me a cup of tea so we could talk. That’s all.” She exchanged a glance with her mother.

He cleared his throat. “But I feel left out.”

“Flood, you had plenty of private time with our sons before each one got married, and now it’s my turn with Charity. This is girl talk. Tomorrow, I’m sure she’ll take a nice long ride with you. See the ranch. You know how much she’s missed it.”

When her mother looked at her, Charity nodded.

“I’ll be in bed when I’m in bed.” A smile tugged at Claire’s lips. “And not a moment before. I hope you understand.”

A moment passed, then Charity heard him harrumph. “I do. And I’ll be counting on that ride tomorrow, Charity. How ’bout we ride up to Covered Bridge? You used to like that when you were little.”

“Sure, Pa, that sounds like fun.” And it did.

“Fantastic,” Claire said. “Now, off to bed with you and read your book. I’ll blow out the lamp when I come in if you’ve fallen asleep.”

“Fine. Good night, then, Charity. We’re happy you’re home.”

Unable to stop herself, Charity went to the door and pulled it open. “Thank you, Pa,” she said, slipping into his arms for a hug. “I’m glad to be home too.”
I may be staying.

His arms were strong and safe—and always chased away any fear she had. When she sighed, he drew her closer, as if instinctively he knew she was struggling with something.

He kissed her on the forehead, then set her away. “Charity?”

“She’s tired, Flood. Anyone would be after days of travel in a stagecoach—and arriving to a large dinner. Our family can be overwhelming even without trying. Be off with you now.”

“Our family is not overwhelming,” he grumbled, then made his way toward their bedroom.

Charity quietly closed the door and went over to the tray. She handed one cup to her mother and took the other for herself, settling back on the bed. Bringing the cup to her lips, she took a drink and let the warm liquid soothe her anxieties. “Thank you for that. I don’t think I could talk through this whole thing with Pa too.”

Her mother sipped her tea. “I do believe what I told Flood. Some of this nervousness stems from what you’ve been through. Brandon shared with me in private your harrowing experience. You’ve downplayed it for us. Being kidnapped and almost killed is not something you can just brush away. You would have died if Brandon and John hadn’t found you.”

“And Dustin.”

“Yes, and Dustin. Don’t you see? That alone has thrown your perceptions off. Then the long travel. The engagement. What I’m asking is that you give it a few days before you sound the alarm. I know you, Charity. You’re a very passionate young woman. You don’t do anything halfway.”

She stood and went over to Charity’s vanity. Opening the middle drawer, she drew out Charity’s pearl-handled hairbrush. “Would you like me to brush your hair?”

This time, tears did spill down Charity’s cheeks. Her tenderhearted mother remembered how much she enjoyed the gesture of love. She set down her tea and took the seat in front of the mirror.

With soothing hands, her mother gently gathered her hair to the back and drew the brush through. “All I’m asking, sweetheart, is for you to give it a little time. After a few days, you won’t even remember what was upsetting you.”

Charity gazed into the reflection of her mother’s wise eyes. Perhaps she’d made too much out of Brandon’s behavior tonight. He’d been through a lot of emotional turmoil himself in Texas, just as she had. This was supposed to be the happiest moment of their lives.

Yes. She would take her mother’s advice. For the first time in hours, Charity felt a smile blossom in her heart. Her beloved Brandon wouldn’t do her wrong. He’d never lead her on or hurt her. Never.

Charity reached up and took her mother’s hand, the brush still in her long hair. “Thank you, Mother. Now that I think about Brandon without the suspicion in my heart, I believe you’re right. I love him so much. And he loves me.”

She stood and curled into her mother’s waiting arms, happy.
Only one month and Brandon and I will finally be man and wife. Only one month and we’ll say our “I dos.” That’s not long to wait at all
. Warm tingles flittered through her.
Only one month
…

Chapter Seven

T
he street hadn’t gotten any less dusty in his time away. Still too keyed up to go home, Brandon crossed the deserted road and stopped in front of the sheriff’s office. The sun had gone and night was just around the corner. Oil lamps glowed in the shop windows.

His house. That was another thing that had troubled him. How would Charity take to living in town? The tiny place went to whoever held the sheriff’s job. It had been fine for him all these years, but was barely the size of the large living room at the ranch. She’d assured him more than once that she didn’t need the grandeur of the ranch. Brandon knew she believed that wholeheartedly, but saying and doing sometimes didn’t end up being the same.

Anxiety needled his mind, but he decided he’d think about that later, after he had a better picture of the town and what had transpired in his absence. Y Knot was his responsibility—one he’d let go longer than he should.

Crossing the street, he passed Berta May’s dark sewing shop and stopped in the entrance of the Hitching Post Saloon. Peering over the bat-wing doors, he noticed a few men he didn’t recognize amidst the regulars in the dimly lit hall.

Abe, the bartender, saw him and waved him in. “I heard you were back, Sheriff. Come in and wet your whistle.”

Brandon smiled and pushed through the doors. He strode up to the long mahogany bar and placed his boot on the brass footrest. “Good to see you, Abe. How’s business?”

Abe leaned on the curved edge of the bar. The skinny man’s red suspenders held up his pants, and a white apron circled his waist. “Pretty darned good.” Abe looked around and nodded. “But as you know, I don’t hold much stock in your deputy. If the McCutcheons hadn’t been here on a couple of occasions, Jack woulda lost control of the place. It’s mighty good you’re back. I’ll breathe easy now.”

Brandon felt duly appreciated. “I’ll make a point to stop by often so any cowboys looking for a high time will know I’ve returned. You had a lot of trouble?”

“Just when that mail-order bride got the men worked up. Then there was a shootout over a feller accused of dealing from the bottom.”