Read Debra Holland - [Montana Sky 02] Online
Authors: Starry Montana Sky
Debra Holland - [Montana Sky 02]
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Text copyright ©2012 by Debra Holland
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance
P.O. Box 400818
Las Vegas, NV 89140
ISBN-13: 9781612184678
ISBN-10: 1612184677
This book is dedicated to my father, Robert Holland, who encouraged my love for horses. I know you’re still with me, Dad.
I have many people to thank for supporting me through the process of writing this book:
Leeanne Banks for brainstorming the plot.
Louella Nelson, writing teacher extraordinaire.
My first critique group: Alexis Montgomery, Diane Dallape, Erika Burkhalter, Janis Thereault, Kelly Vander Kay, and Judy Lewis.
Kathleen Givens
Jill Marie Landis
Kelly Mortimer
Romance Writers of America, especially my local chapter of Orange County, California
CHAPTER TWO: Sweetwater Springs, Montana
Modern miniature horse breeders and owners would be dismayed to have these delightful little horses called “midgets,” yet that fits the historical context of the 1890s. Also, while the Falabella breed of miniature horses was present in the 1890s in Argentina, it did not become a recognized breed until the mid-twentieth century. I’ve taken the liberty of calling the miniature horses in this series “Falabellas,” even though that name might not have been used in the 1890s.
Argentina, 1894
Samantha Sawyer Rodriguez read the letter from her uncle’s banker, the words first blurring into illegible chicken tracks. Then the meaning trickled through the haze of her disbelief.
Freedom.
Not only could she escape the restrictions and unhappiness of her current situation, but also fulfill her long-held dream of raising orphaned children—just like her favorite heroine in
Little Men
and
Jo’s Boys
. Her son, Daniel, would finally have the brothers he’d always wanted.
She pushed her well-worn Louisa May Alcott novel off a brocade-covered chair, collapsed into it, and reread the letter, barely able to concentrate over the excited beating of her heart.
Finishing, Samantha clasped the telegram to her chest, staring out a glass window framed by red velvet curtains. She barely registered the familiar vista of the miniature Falabella horses grazing in the grassland around the estancia
.
She offered up a prayer of thanksgiving, her heart too full of gratitude to even utter any words. But she knew the Lord understood.
Nine-year-old Daniel came into view, frisking with his favorite horse. Little black Chita, only thirty-six inches high,
trotted next to the boy. The two kicked around a brown leather ball stuffed with rags. Samantha smiled at the sight. The playfulness of the tiny horses never failed to amuse her.
Eager to share her excitement, Samantha bounced off the chair and rushed through the door of the ladies’ parlor into the marble-tiled entryway. Then, realizing her haste might be witnessed and chastised by her father-in-law, Don Ricardo Rodriguez, she smoothed her black silk skirt and schooled herself to a more ladylike walk. Her outward appearance might exhibit the feminine compliance demanded of her, but her heartbeat danced with an elation she didn’t dare let her feet show.
Throwing open the carved wooden doors, Samantha blinked from the strong sunshine. She crossed the brick courtyard and hastened around the corner of the estancia to the grassland where the Falabellas grazed.
As she neared her son, the late-afternoon sun caught the auburn highlights in Daniel’s dark hair and burnished his golden skin. His blue eyes sparkled with laughter, and he leaned over and hugged the little black horse around her neck.
“Daniel!” She waved the letter. “I have news,” she called in the English she always used with him.
Her son straightened up from the horse. “What, Mama?”
Eager expectancy glowed in his blue eyes, and for a moment he looked so much like his father that a familiar pain pierced her heart and tempered her excitement. From long practice, she shoved her sadness aside. “I’ve inherited Uncle Ezra’s ranch in Montana.”
A puzzled look crossed his face.
Samantha laughed and hugged him. “My uncle Ezra moved west when I was a child. I vaguely remember him as having a long
beard and carrying me around on his shoulders. We exchanged letters every Christmas. He died and left his ranch to us.”
Daniel’s blue eyes clouded over. “Died? Like Papa?” He tilted his head, studying her. “Are you going to cry?”
Samantha swallowed the lump in her throat. She leaned over, pulling her son into her arms and resting her cheek against his silky hair. “Not like Papa. Uncle Ezra was very old. And he wasn’t very happy the last few years of his life. Now he’s at peace with God in heaven.”
“With Papa?”
“And with Papa. And with your grandmother and grandfather.” She hugged him. “Now we’re going to live on his ranch, except it will belong to us.”
“Will
Abuelo
come too?”
She saw the wariness in his eyes. “No, your grandfather will stay here.”
Relief washed over his features, only to be replaced by fear. He twisted in her hold. “Will
Abuelo
let us go?” His voice quavered.
Sudden anger knotted her stomach. “It’s not for your grandfather to say. We’re going.”
Once again, she’d be butting heads with that domineering old man. He’d never forgiven his youngest son’s choice of a Protestant American for a wife, so he continued to treat her with disdain. Samantha hated every minute of her cloistered life. Now she had the key to her gilded cage. And no matter what, she was
not
going to let Don Ricardo stop her and her son from flying free.
For three days Samantha had plotted, planned, and worried so all the details of their escape would be in place before she faced her formidable father-in-law. She paused outside the carved wooden door leading to Don Ricardo’s study, mentally girding herself, then tentatively raised her hand to knock. Over the last two years she’d learned to use her imagination defensively, keeping her true self protected from the bitter barbs the arrogant old man hurled at her.
Today, instead of entering Don Ricardo’s male bastion with sinking spirits, she felt buoyed up by the letter in her hand, knowing she’d be able to face the coming encounter with a stronger heart than she’d shown in the past. But she still dreaded the interview. Her father-in-law wouldn’t easily relinquish control over her and Daniel.
Soon
, she promised herself.
Soon these scenes will be only bad memories.
With resolution goading her, she knocked on a smooth circle edged by carved rosettes.
“
Pase
,” he called.
She pushed open the door and stepped into the room. Don Ricardo sat at his large mahogany desk perusing some papers, the inevitable gourd-shaped silver
maté
of his favorite yerba maté tea resting near his elbow.
Samantha had never acquired a taste for the bitter Argentinean beverage, especially when passed around in a communal
maté
and sipped through a tube-like
bombilla
. With her father-in-law, she knew she’d be spared the ritual. He had never favored her with the social privilege of sharing his yerba maté.
She waited for him to notice her—not that anything escaped him. Don Ricardo often made her wait like a servant until he saw fit to acknowledge her.
It’s the last time.
That thought kept at bay the anger she always felt in his presence. Sometimes the effort of containing her feelings would cause her to fidget, bringing a rebuke to his lips and putting her at a disadvantage.
But not today.
Samantha studied him. The same aristocratic features—high cheekbones, thin nose, and winged eyebrows that she had so loved in her husband’s face, and now her son’s—had withered in the older man’s features to skin over bone. A true reflection of the unforgiving spirit dwelling within. Her Juan Carlos would never have aged in the same manner. Even as an elderly man, he would have had laugh lines around his eyes.
Don Ricardo looked up, a frown crossing his face. “I’m extremely busy.”
“This won’t take more than a few minutes.”
He nodded permission.
“I’ve received a telegram from Montana informing me that my uncle Ezra has died and willed his ranch to me.”
The frown lines between Don Ricardo’s eyebrows smoothed. His face eased into the first hint of approval she’d seen directed at her in a long time. “This is good news indeed. Give me the information, and I’ll make arrangements to have the property sold. I’m pleased Daniel will receive an inheritance.”
That’s because you don’t want to provide one for him. Only for your other grandsons.
