Moon Over Montana (McCutcheon Family Series Book 5) (12 page)

Her brothers burst into laughter, giving him the opportunity to swing Charity around in his arms and kiss her. “Not near as well as I know
you
, missy! You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Back with the crowd, everyone gathered around and offered Brandon and Charity their good wishes for the upcoming event. Dr. Handerhoosen gave his congratulations, as did old Mr. Herrick, owner of the leather shop. All the while, Brandon paid close attention to the guests, taking note of who was where, and made sure everyone was accounted for.

Stories flowed for a good twenty minutes until Flood called them over to get their plates. “Come and get it. The best beef you’ll get
any
side of the Rockies.”

“Enjoy that status while you can, Mr. McCutcheon,” Chance joked. “Come next year, I’m going to have that claim.”

“With what?” Luke threw out, a big grin on his face. “Those fancy-pants French steers?”

“You bet your life. They’re maturing right nice. You wait and see.”

Brandon watched Chance’s new wife nod with pride and then rub his arm affectionately. They made a nice couple. And soon, there’d be a little Chance running around. Imagine that. Pretty hard to believe, considering.

Brandon warmed at the thought of having a son to hold, teach to ride, take fishing. He’d give that little man all the time he’d lost with his father—and then some. He was tired of being alone. He was ready to make a life with Charity and create a family to call his own.

After dinner and desserts of apple-gingerbread cobbler and sweet potato pie, followed by another hour of dancing, the party began to wind down. Several families gathered up their belongings and children and departed in groups. Ike, Lucky, and Smokey packed up their instruments and headed for the bunkhouse, all smiles after the night of waltzes and merrymaking. Roady lounged against the barn door opening and watched him and Charity take one more round on the dance floor to imaginary music. The women had gone inside to bundle up the sleepy children for the ride home.

Charity’s face rested in the crook of his neck. As he marveled at how good she felt in his arms, Roady pushed away from the wall and cocked his head. Listening to something. He went to the loft ladder and climbed up. Brandon didn’t think anything of it until Roady yelled down for some help.

“Charity, go fetch the others from the house,” Brandon said as he headed to the ladder, gun drawn from his holster and ready. “Roady,” he called halfway up. “What’s wrong?”

“Just get up here. I need your help.”

At the top, Brandon hoisted himself onto the landing, expecting the worst.

“I thought I heard something, so I came to investigate.” Roady squatted next to an Indian girl who was stretched out in the hay. He lifted her wrist, feeling for a pulse. “She’s barely alive. This wound in her shoulder looks several days old.”

Brandon holstered his gun. The girl was smaller than Charity and must be several years younger. Her buckskin breeches clung to her slim shape, and the talisman that hung off the side of her chest signaled she was a warrior. She had a large knife sheath tied around her waist with buckskin straps.

Roady looked around the dark interior. “Let’s get her down.” He gathered her in his arms.

Brandon heard the pounding of boots and men’s voices as they responded to Charity’s summons. The loft vibrated when someone grasped the ladder. Brandon called out, “Hold up. We’re bringing her down.”

“Her?” It was Luke’s voice.

“Yeah. She’s unconscious. Someone go catch the doctor before he gets too far down the road.”

Roady brought the girl over to the edge of the loft.

Brandon descended a few rungs and Roady placed her in his arms. The men below steadied him as he descended. Who was this young woman? Where had she come from? And most important, why?

Brandon hoped she would survive to provide the answers.

Chapter Sixteen

L
uke reached up and steadied Brandon as he came slowly down the rungs. Flood and Matt leaned in, offering their help. Luke blinked, not trusting his vision in the dim interior of the barn. Supple buckskin, with fringe running up the sides, encased the girl’s legs, and her silky jet-black hair hung over Brandon’s arms like a blanket. The girl he held was not a neighbor from the party, like he’d been expecting.

Charity gasped. “An Indian girl?” Her gaze sought Luke’s, drawn, he was sure, by his half-breed status. She blinked, then looked away, almost guilty at being caught. “What’s she doing in the barn?”

The question went unanswered. Roady came down a few rungs of the ladder behind Brandon, then jumped the rest of the way. Without a pause, he put out his hands, as if by being the one to find her, he’d staked his claim. Brandon shifted her limp body over to him. The cowhand gathered her wounded arm close to her body and laid it over her abdomen.

“Not just any Indian woman,” Brandon said. “A warrior.”

“Girl,” Luke corrected.

“That may be,” Brandon went on, standing eye to eye with him. “But I’ve heard they can be just as fierce as any male warrior—maybe even more so because they have more to prove.”

“What on earth?” Claire stepped forward.

Luke glanced over to see how his mother would take this unusual turn of events. Regret surged up in his throat, remembering her history of being abducted by Indians when she was a young woman, then living in the Indian camp for almost a year. He couldn’t imagine what she was feeling.

“Brandon, you think this could be the person you’ve been tracking?” Luke asked. An unusual sensation snaked down his spine, as if all their lives would never be quite the same after this night.

“Most likely.”

Fingers lingering on the soft buckskin shirt, Charity jerked her face up to Luke’s and then over to Brandon’s.

Faith and the other women slowly came forward.

“What do you mean, the person you’ve been tracking?” Charity asked angrily. “Brandon, why didn’t you tell me what was going on as soon as you arrived?” She looked from face to face. “All of us, for that matter? We’re not children.”

“Charity’s right,” Claire said, now standing at her daughter’s side. “It never astounds me how dense men can be when it comes to protecting their women. It’s downright irritating.” She laid a quivering hand on the girl’s brow. “She’s burning up. Let’s get her inside.”

Luke nodded and stood aside. “Take her up to the guest bedroom, Roady. Mark should be back with the doctor anytime now.”

• • •

“I don’t know if she’ll make it through the night,” Dr. Handerhoosen said once he’d examined her. “By the depth of her wound, she’s probably lost an incredible amount of blood. And she’s thin. I’m sure she hasn’t had anything substantial to eat for some time.”

Dark crimson swirled in the basin of water on the nightstand as he washed. He took the towel Faith offered him and dried his hands. After drawing the sheet over the girl’s limp form, he took his stethoscope from around his neck and put it in his medical bag and snapped it closed.

Luke and the rest of the family crowded inside the bedroom, watching. Colton, Billy, and Adam, the oldest children, were still awake. They stood in the doorway, worried expressions stamped on their brows.

“What do we do for her?” Claire asked. Something about his mother’s concern put Luke on edge. What was she thinking? She hadn’t stopped hugging herself since Brandon had carried the Indian maid down from the loft, as though a deep chill had settled in her bones.

“All you can do is help her fight the infection by feeding her fortifying food when she’s able to eat. I’ve cleaned and disinfected the wound.” The doctor glanced at her gauze-wrapped arm. “I’ll be out early tomorrow morning to check on her progress. It’s bleeding pretty good again from my probing and washing. Removing the bark and dirt was vital. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have healed until every wood particle festered out. By then, infection might have taken her arm, or her life.” He gave them all a stern look. “Her chances are iffy, at best. If she’d been found yesterday, the outcome might have been different.”

Charity stood on the opposite side of the bed, still holding Brandon’s hand. “She’ll wake up, doctor.”

The stubborn tilt to her brows, which Luke knew all too well, said she believed it.

When Dr. Handerhoosen had gathered his things and left, Flood stepped away from the wall. “Amy, Rachel, go gather the children. I’ll get the wagon ready to take you all home. I’m sure they’d like to wake up in their own beds.”

When he slung his arm over Claire’s shoulders, she gazed up at him. “I’d prefer to stay a while longer, Flood. Help Luke and Faith with the—” She shut her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, she stared at the drawn face on the pillow before looking to her husband. “I’d just feel better. If I go home, I won’t sleep a wink.”

Flood straightened up to his full height. His mouth turned into a hard, flat line. “You’re worn out, woman. First Charity, then this party. You’ll get sick yourself if you don’t take some rest.”

Claire stepped out from under his arm and walked over to the end of the bed, as if making her stand. “I’m staying—for a while longer at least. I’ve made up my mind and you won’t change it.”

Her tone was hard. This might be the only time Luke had heard his mother refuse a request.

Luke found Faith’s gaze, and her brows lifted. Rachel and Amy sought their husbands’ comforting arms. Tense moments between his mother and father were rare. Tonight had all of them on edge.

The rustling of the sheet snapped everyone’s attention back to the bed. The girl’s unharmed arm moved slightly on the white linen, then her fingers gripped the fabric, balling it in her fist.

Roady stepped closer to the bed, reached up and brushed back a strand of ebony hair that had fallen across her face. He gently tucked it behind her ear.

That odd feeling, the one Luke had experienced the night Roady came to tell him about the lumpy jaw, gnawed at his gut. The image of the door’s lock bar and what it represented to him—his mother’s abduction and her inability to save herself—filtered through his mind.

He swallowed, unable to drag his gaze from the girl’s flawless olive skin and the black lashes that fanned over her high-set cheeks. There was something about her that pulled him to her like a magnet. Was that happening with his mother too? Was she reliving her captivity in the Cheyenne village? Surely that was what Flood was doing.

“Look,” Charity said, leaning forward. “I think she’s waking up.”

Perhaps this scrapper would prove the doctor wrong. Luke hoped she would.

“There,” Faith said. “Her eyelids fluttered. She’s waking up. I’m sure of it.”

Roady went down on one knee next to the bed. “Wake up,” he said softly. Luke wasn’t the only one mesmerized. “Wake up. You’re safe. No one’ll hurt you.”

Like the wings of a hummingbird, her eyelids fluttered again, this time for all to see. His mother moved to the side of the bed next to Roady. She reached out and gently ran a moist cloth over the girl’s forehead, then smoothed down her hair.

“Wake up, Indian princess,” his mother crooned, taking in every aspect of their visitor with a careful eye. “Wake up and tell us who you are. And why you’re here.”

When she opened her eyes, Luke couldn’t look away. Her steady gaze—totally devoid of any fear—went around the faces until she came to his. She swallowed, blinked a few times, then, much to his surprise, the corner of her lips twitched, as if she were trying to smile.

Roady shifted, and she looked at him. “Hello,” he said. She took him in, then turned back to Luke.

“Who are you?” his mother asked. Then she did the strangest thing, something she’d never done, ever, in his recollection. She spoke several Indian words. The girl turned her head, seeking the source of their origin.

Chapter Seventeen

C
harity sucked in a breath when the peculiar words came from her mother’s mouth. Of course the whole family knew the story of how her mother had been abducted as a young woman, barely over the age of nineteen. How she’d spent a year in a Cheyenne camp before Flood located her and bartered for her release. How she’d come home pregnant by her Indian husband, and several months later Luke was born.

To Charity’s knowledge, her mother had never spoken about her captivity to anyone—surely the memories were just too painful. The topic was off-limits. Over the years, Charity had wondered all sorts of things but had never been brave enough to ask anyone, not even Luke. As time passed, she’d tucked her curiosity away, resigned that her mother had no intention of ever telling anyone.

Charity couldn’t stop herself from glancing at her father’s stricken face, and then at Luke’s.

“Mother,” Matt said in an abnormal, strangled voice, alarming Charity even more. What would this girl’s sudden appearance do to her family? Seemed no one was immune to the pain etched on their parents’ faces. “You’re tired. Let Father take you home.” He stepped forward and took her arm, but she gently pulled free.

“I’m fine, Matthew, and I’m staying. I don’t need to be coddled, so please just stop.”

The tension in the room made Charity want to disappear. Run out the door with Brandon and be alone with him in the moonlight. She’d never felt such division between everyone at the same time—all caused by three foreign words. Not even when Luke had pressed his difference into everyone’s faces, day after day. Defiant. Belligerent. Begging anyone to bring up his half-breed heritage and give him a reason to fight. Sometimes he’d pushed so hard, his brothers would fight him until their pa broke things up, but they never did what he was after, which was to call him a half-breed.

Thank God Faith had come into his life. It seemed after he’d met her and they married, that whole part of his past was put to rest. He seemed so much happier, content.

Now, this Indian girl would dredge up all that unpleasantness.

And Flood. Charity didn’t know how their father would handle the situation. Her heart broke for him the most.