Moon Over Montana (McCutcheon Family Series Book 5) (18 page)

That worried him. He was sensitive to Flood, and what he was going through. His ma came out almost every evening. Luke would sit and watch this magical thing between her and Fox Dancing as his mother renewed her knowledge of the language amid laughter and, once in a while, tears. He couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ever asked Fox Dancing about his real father. But Flood, that was a different story. He hadn’t been out once.

“Oh?” he said to Chance. “Coyote or fox?”

“Neither. The critter unlatched the gate and caught Evie’s favorite laying hen. On the way out, they hooked the latch, trying to make it appear as if nothing had happened. The dog didn’t hear them and there wasn’t a track to be found.”

Luke dropped his gaze to where his hand still gripped the hayfork. “You sure? Are you saying a person came out to your place and stole your chicken? Couldn’t the hen have found a way out, a mole hole you missed or a portion where the wire isn’t tight to the earth? If she did, she’d have been caught by some animal and carried off.”

“Not likely. That coop is brand new. And I built it strong and made sure there was no getting in or getting out without unlatching the gate. What has me spooked is the lack of tracks of any kind. More like an Indian than a white man.”

Luke straightened. Here was the real reason for the visit. Any mention of an Indian, even an injured young girl, put people on edge. No one wanted trouble with the natives. The bloody conflicts hadn’t been that long ago—and prejudice still ran strong.

Chance raised a palm. “Hold on, Luke. You’re jumping to conclusions before I even finish what I rode out here to say. I may have wrote the hen off to circumstance, as you say, but Tobit had the same thing happen out at his place two days before. I know you have a guest, and also that she’s hurt, ruling her out as suspect. So just stop drilling me with that accusatory glower.”

Tobit stood back and let Chance do the talking. Luke had a history with Chance—the cowhand used to work for them and was more like a brother than a neighbor. But he hardly knew Tobit. He wondered if Chance’s neighbor knew his history and the fact that he was a half-breed. Probably did. Information like that was just too good to keep quiet.

The door opened and Faith came a few steps out of the house, a dishtowel in her hands. “Hi, boys,” she called and waved. “Would you like a slice of chocolate cake? It’s still warm.”

A sentimental smile curled Chance’s lips. “No, thank you, Faith. We’re just out here for a minute. But that sure sounds good.”

She tipped her head and Luke knew what was coming. He pushed back a stab of jealousy.

“You sure? When was the last time you had chocolate cake?” she asked.

Chance looked at Tobit.

“Been about six months for me,” Tobit said to Chance.

“I had some last week, Miss Faith, but it’s been half a year for Tobit here. Maybe we can stay a few extra minutes and partake.”

Her face lit up like the sun and Luke couldn’t fault her for being neighborly.

“Wonderful. When you’re finished with your business, come on in.”

• • •

Fox Dancing watched from the window as her brother and two other white men approached the front door. A pain in her upper arm pulsated, and she cupped her bandaged wound with her other hand. By the look on Luk’s face, he wasn’t pleased with the news the men had brought. When Dawn tugged on her hand, Fox Dancing looked down and smiled. This girl child, with hair the color of the sun’s shimmering rays, had stolen her heart. She felt no suspicion or fear from her. Just curiosity and love.

The door opened. The men stepped in and removed their hats, something she was getting used to seeing. Never one to run and hide away, she lifted her chin and gave them a long, solemn look. She was not afraid, even in her weakened state. She was safe in this house.

“Oh,” the first man said when he noticed her.

Luk cleared his throat, then gave her a small smile. “How’s the arm this morning, Fox Dancing?” He pointed to the bandage, as he did often.

She nodded. “Good.” At her word, Dawn grasped the hand of her uninjured arm and dragged her forward.

The newcomers looked between themselves.

“Hey, Dawn,” the taller of the two said. He put his arms out and the child hurried to him. He bundled her into a hug and she kissed his cheek.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” Faith called from the kitchen. “I’ll be right there.”

The three men left their hats on the rack by the door and sat at the table. Faith carried in a tray and set a generous portion of the light chocolate confection before each man, and a cup of coffee. One small slice she put next to Luk, then pulled a chair over. Dawn climbed up and sat on her knees. “The coffee’s just perked,” Faith said. “I have cream and sugar too, if you’d like.”

“Yes, ma’am,” both guests said.

“I’ll be right back.”

Fox Dancing’s mouth watered as she remembered the slice she’d consumed a few minutes before the riders appeared. It was soft and warm, and it tickled the insides of her mouth with what felt like a smile. She enjoyed the treat, as Faith had called it.

Her brother took a big bite and chewed, his eyes closing in pleasure.

“So, Luke,” one of the men said while eating, “getting back to the reason for our visit. We wanted to warn you. So you’d keep your eyes open.”

“What’s this about?” Faith asked as she put a small pitcher of cream and the sugar in the center of the table. Her brows pulled down as she gave a glass of milk to Dawn and ruffled her daughter’s hair. “You eat slowly. This is your second piece.” She looked to the man who was doing all the talking. “Warn us about what, Chance?”

“Just that we have reason to believe there may be Indians in the area, sneaking around. Tobit and I had some fowl stolen out of their pens in the last few days.”

Luk harrumphed.

The men kept their gazes trained away from her, but Fox Dancing still felt the unsaid accusation that hung in the air. She’d not drop her guard for even a second. Not all whites would be as welcoming as her brother and his family.

Chapter Twenty-Five

T
he soggy meat and potatoes Henry’s had offered as their Saturday night special sat in Brandon’s stomach like a bucket of lead nails. He stretched out on the small bed and tried to get comfortable. The meal had been atrocious. Not only did it keep coming back up, coating his mouth with an oily taste, but it had lightened his travel expense money by almost two dollars—even at half price.

He closed his eyes for a moment and thought about the tasty roast beef dinner at the barn party last Saturday night. The meat, so tender you could cut it with your fork, and side dishes almost made him whimper in need. The plentiful, mouthwatering desserts brought a deep longing. Now,
that
was a meal.

With the window wide open, the noise from the street sounded like it was right in the room. The tinny piano music from two doors down pounded out the same four songs per half hour. Loud laughter, as well as guns discharging every so often, had his nerves strung tight.

Brandon had tried closing the window, but the room was stifling. He’d stripped to his undershirt and long johns, but by now they were wet with sweat and stuck to his body like a second skin.

Who knew Kansas City would be so doggone hot and humid? When dust rained down into his face, Brandon glanced up at the ceiling beam that ran the length of the room to see a small mouse scampering across.

Agitated, he blew the particles from his face and stood, crossing to the dresser on the opposite side of the room. He poured a glass of water from the dented metal pitcher. Just as he raised it to his lips, a large bug floated in front of his face, feet up.

Disgusted, he slammed the glass down, sloshing water everywhere. Determined to get out of there, he pulled on his shirt, followed by his pants and boots. He needed some air before he suffocated. He’d tack his horse and ride to the outskirts, where he could get a little peace and quiet. Thinking of his bedroll on the back of his saddle, he was tempted to throw it on the ground and get a good night’s rest under the stars.

With his Colt .45 strapped on and his sheriff’s star in plain sight, he hefted his saddlebags and exited his room. The air cooled a mite as he descended the stairs, but he still missed the cool Montana nights.

It was nine o’clock. The lobby was empty. He stepped onto the street, into the throng of men and some women, most the not-so-genteel type. When a gun discharged—again—making him flinch, he wondered where the sheriff was, or Timberlake, or someone. He wasn’t going to get involved.

Surprised at the indifference he felt toward the town, he started down the alley to the stable. He couldn’t even muster the enthusiasm to see some sights, have a drink in the saloon, or talk to anyone. He supposed he’d feel different if Charity were here with him, but he’d never know now.

He had his horse saddled within minutes. Walking through the alley, he entered the main street, eager to get some space around him. Glancing up, he tried to gauge the stars, but the tall buildings all around made it impossible to see much, only a small patch of dark sky covered with wispy clouds. The directions the lobby clerk had given him popped into his mind, so Brandon decided to go in that direction, then continue until he hit some peace and quiet. He kept to the middle of the street. Getting killed now by some drunk, outlaw, or stray bullet would be a bitter pill when he had such a prize waiting at the end of the month.

His heart surged.

Charity.

Only a few days apart, and it felt like a year. The time they’d had at his house, with her sitting on his lap, had been just about the best day of his life. He’d been so discouraged that morning, having to leave without resolving their differences. It was a welcome sight when she rode up. What was she doing tonight? How were things progressing with Luke’s Cheyenne sister?

“Hey, mister,” a man called from the edge of the boardwalk. He swayed dangerously to one side, but caught the lamp pole just in time and stayed on his feet. “You got two bits to spare?”

Brandon took in his raggedy appearance. “Nope. Sure don’t.”
And if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you.

“Have a heart. I haven’t eaten for days.”

Yeah, right.

When Brandon rode past, the man’s pleasant smile disappeared and he spat out few choice words, which Brandon was happy to ignore.

Kansas City was not what he’d expected. But he wasn’t being fair. He had to give it time.

He removed his hat and swiped his hand across his wet brow, then replaced it with a tug. What a time to come to town. When he’d gone down to the lobby for a fresh towel, the gal had said they were having a heat wave, but that they usually didn’t last long, just a week or two. He ignored the sweat running down his temples as he rode and took stock of the Kansas City nightlife.

After making several turns, he came to Fillmore Street. Reading the addresses was difficult in the darkness, but some addresses were close enough to lampposts that he was able to make them out. Timberlake’s office must be around here somewhere. The street was an odd mix of houses, businesses, and open lots. He had the entire day tomorrow to kill, before reporting to the marshal’s office on Monday.

He tried to dredge up an increment of the excitement he’d felt on the train ride southeast—remembering his joy over Charity’s visit to see him off.

She’d been thinking of him, as usual, and didn’t want him to fret. Knowing him so well, she’d acknowledged he’d mull over their situation until he beat it dead and then some. She’d wanted to put his mind at ease. And she had, at least for a few days.

Now…he wasn’t quite sure. The farther he got away from Y Knot, and as the days passed, perhaps he’d been hasty to think he was still on firm ground with Charity.

He took a deep breath, expecting the freshness of the Montana air, but his chest clenched and he coughed. Coal dust was everywhere, a result of all the factories. He pulled up, looking at the buildings around him.

At least come Monday, he’d know the general vicinity where he needed to be. In the light of day he’d be able to find the marshal’s office.

With a satisfied nod, and the noise of the downtown growing farther behind him, he headed to the outskirts, where he’d be able to get a breath of clean air and enjoy the sound of the crickets. Once he met Timberlake, he was sure all the enthusiasm he’d felt when he’d first written to the lawman would return. This was a person who linked him with his parents, the only family he had. At that thought, all the long Sunday night dinners he’d enjoyed at the McCutcheon ranch popped into his head. The back of his eyes stung, but he pushed the sentiment away.

The image of his parents lying dead on the cold November ground almost stole his breath. At the time it happened, Timberlake was a young man, probably younger than his own twenty-five years, and yet he’d taken the time to comfort a small boy he hadn’t even known. Brandon remembered crying in his arms for a good long time.

The man had loaded his parents’ bodies, along with the outlaw’s, into the back of the buckboard and turned the conveyance around, then led the horses back to town. He’d let Brandon ride behind him on the horse. Brandon could still remember the feel of his fisted hands gripping the young lawman’s shirt. He’d cried again when Timberlake had left him with several ladies at the town church. And that had begun his life of moving from household to household until he was twelve, when he’d snuck away in the night. But before that, Timberlake would visit from time to time, say hello, take him for a meal. Brandon had lived for those moments.

Monday would be like that, just like old times, wouldn’t it? He looked up at the stars, finally far enough from town to be able to make out the Big Dipper.

Charity loved looking at the stars…

Chapter Twenty-Six

T
ired of moping around, Charity had decided enough was enough. She went out to the back corral to catch her palomino mare. She needed to get her emotions in check. Tomorrow would mark two weeks since she and Brandon had returned to Y Knot, filled with exciting plans for their future.