Debra Holland - [Montana Sky 02] (19 page)

Elizabeth’s laughing eyes telegraphed her feelings. “Dreadful little creatures, aren’t they?” She exchanged a reminiscing look with Pamela. “Remember when your brother”—she glanced at Samantha—“the youngest, Bobby”—and back to Pamela—“released those mice during your mother’s dinner party?”

Pamela laughed. “Mrs. Millicot fainted dead away, and Miss Florence climbed up on her chair and emitted those shrill shrieks.”

“We both fell to giggling like schoolgirls.”

Pamela reached over and touched Samantha’s hand. “At least this time one of our boys didn’t do it.”

Samantha managed a smile, hiding relief at their reactions. “Yes, we know they’re behaving themselves. I’m sure the Falabellas have all their attention.”

“The children have been eager to play with those little horses. It’s all they’ve been talking about for days.” Pamela leaned over to choose one of the
alfajores
baked by Maria. Her plump fingers fluttered above the cookies and settled on one.

Screams pierced the calm of the afternoon. Pamela dropped the pastry. “Sara.” In a flurry of skirts, she was off the couch and out the door of the room.

Now what?
Samantha flew after Pamela, Elizabeth right behind her. On the porch, she scanned the area: river, goat pen, Falabella corral, hen house, barn.

No children.

All three women hitched up their dresses, heading in the direction of the shrieks. The screams stopped, the silence feeling even more ominous.

Please, Lord, let them be all right.

Samantha panted, her breaths sharp and shallow from the constriction of her corset. Not for the first time, she cursed the fashions that so restricted freedom of movement.

The women reached the barn. No children in sight.

Pamela halted. She glanced around, her eyes wild and her brown hair falling out from its pins. “Where are they? Sara!”

“Mama.” The call sounded faint.

Samantha pointed. “Behind the haystacks.” She picked up her skirts and ran over. She rounded the refuse heap and slammed to a halt.

As if expecting condemnation, the children stood in a row, all of them covered from head to toe with manure and straw. Stench clung to them like a miasma. Only Lizzy, in her white lace dress, which had originally matched her sister’s, appeared unscathed.

Pamela stepped in front of Sara. “What’s happened here?” Her hand hovered, not quite touching her daughter’s shoulder. “Sara, are you all right?”

Sara nodded.

“Mercy sakes, child. Why are you all covered with…?” Pamela couldn’t seem to bring herself to say the words.

Now that she knew the children weren’t hurt, Samantha’s ire rose. What did they mean by playing in the refuse pile? How could they ruin her first tea party? She glanced sideways at Pamela and Elizabeth. Had their budding friendships just been severed?

Jack shuffled forward. “’Twere my fault. Us ’uns was jumping on the haystacks. I wouldn’t let Sara on ours.” He pointed to the nearest stack, now noticeably smaller, hay scattered around it. “We teased her. So she jumped on that there one. Didn’t know
what were under the straw.” He looked down, scuffed his boot in the dirt, then glanced up at Pamela. “I deserve a whippin’. But please don’t punish the rest of ’em.”

With a march step, Tim joined his brother, resolution gleaming in his green eyes, a stubborn tilt to his chin. “I’ll take the whippin,’ too.”

Although still annoyed with them, pride for the twins’ acceptance of responsibility and protection of the other children spiked through Samantha’s anger.

Sara gazed up at her mother in entreaty. Her white lace dress, no longer recognizable beneath the wet brown stains, clung to her sturdy body. Her lip quivered. “Jack saved my life. I almost got buried in there. I thought I was going to die.”

Pamela ran a hand across Sara’s head. “Thank the Good Lord you’re safe.”

Yes, Samantha echoed in her mind.
Thank you, God.

Pamela patted her daughter’s head. “You nearly scared me to death with your screams. I don’t know whether to hug you,” she sniffed comically, “or back away ten paces.” She looked over at Samantha. “What do you suggest we do now?”

Samantha studied the muck-covered children. The amount of hot water she’d have to heat to give them all proper baths boggled her mind. She glanced at the creek and shivered. The children would be blue with cold if they bathed there. “If the children do a quick rinse, soap, rinse in the river, we dry them immediately, wrap them in blankets, and sit them in front of the fire, they should be all right.”

Pamela patted Sara’s head. “That sounds like the best plan.”

Samantha pointed to the barn. “Boys, go find Manuel. He’ll have to help you. Sara, run to the house and have Maria bring soap and towels.”

The children scattered, following her directions. Lizzy scooted over to her mother and clutched her skirt.

Elizabeth covered her mouth with her hand, but a giggle leaked out anyway. “I’ve never seen such a funny sight. What a relief to know they’re unharmed. You realize this is a story we’re going to tease the children about for years to come.”

As Elizabeth’s mirth-filled blue gaze met hers, Samantha’s own laughter bubbled up inside. Everything was going to be fine. Maybe not today, but in the future, this would become a special story. Come to think about it, Louisa May Alcott had nothing this bad in her books. Maybe someday, she’d have to write her own tales about her wild boys. She tapped her chin.
Sam’s Boys.
She liked the way that sounded.

In the meantime, she’d have to survive raising them.

Wyatt headed down the narrow road leading from town to his ranch. Overhead, the plump June moon silvered the night into gray shades—enough light to trace the familiar route. But even the light of the moon couldn’t dim the familiar patterns of the stars. A bright one with a reddish cast seemed to wink at him. Bill flicked his ears at the distant hoot of an owl. Then silence, broken only by the clop of Bill’s hooves, settled around him.

The last time he had ridden away from dinner at the Livingston mansion, he’d been replete with food and feminine company, his thoughts lingering on Edith Grayson. Tonight, while physically satisfied, his emotions proved anything but. Edith’s presence had been as beautiful as ever, her lips still as sensuous. Only somehow, he’d lost the desire to kiss her.

Flame-colored hair danced across his mind. Samantha’s hair. That woman had proven difficult to banish from his thoughts. Elusive memories kept sliding through at odd moments. He’d gone over his last argument with her at least twenty times, often arriving at different, but equally satisfying, conclusions. The best involved them ending up without a stitch of clothing, no children anywhere in sight.

His fingers curled around the reins as though grasping a lock of her hair. Realizing what he was doing, he unclenched his hand around the leather. He needed to put that aggravating woman out
of his mind. Easier said than done. Somehow she’d embedded herself under his skin like a burr under a saddle blanket.

Lost in thought, Wyatt allowed Bill to pick his way home without much guidance. Maybe, if he talked to the annoying woman, explained himself, then he’d feel better. She wouldn’t continue to unjustly label him a potential child killer, his reputation would be restored, and he’d have some sense of resolution. Maybe then she’d stop haunting his thoughts and let him get back to normal. He doubted it, but it was worth a try.

Only he’d have to catch her in town. He wasn’t about to go back on his word and set one foot on her land. In addition, they’d need some privacy in case she lost that redheaded temper and started yelling at him for the whole town to hear. That was the last thing he needed.

Still pondering ways and means, he neared the ranch. The sound of galloping hooves, coming from the direction of the ranch, startled him from his musings. The hairs on his neck bristled; he sensed trouble.

No one should be out and about at this time of night. He pulled Bill to the side of the road, straining through the shadows to see the rider. He recognized Harry’s lanky form and shouted for the young man to stop. Even in the darkness, Wyatt could see Harry’s eyes, wide with apprehension.

Wyatt slowed Bill. “What’s goin’ on?”

“It’s Christine, Mr. Thompson. Mrs. Toffels sent me to find you. Christine ain’t come home.”

Fear grabbed Wyatt in a choke hold. He kicked Bill into a gallop, heading toward the house. He could hear Harry following behind.

Reaching the gate, he swung off the horse, tossing the reins at Harry.

Mrs. Toffels threw open the door, and gathering her skirts, rushed down the brick path. Panting, she drew herself up in front of him. “Christine didn’t come home for dinner.”

As if hoping his daughter would magically appear, Wyatt frantically looked around, seeing a thousand shadows that could hide a hurt child. “The men?”

“They’re out searching.”

“What about Samantha’s ranch?”

The housekeeper twisted her hands in her apron. “You forbade her to go there.”

“Maybe she didn’t listen.” As he spoke the words, certainty grew in him. He should have known Christine wouldn’t stay away from those Falabellas. “Harry, stay here. Search the barn and outbuildings again. Don’t miss an inch. If Christine’s found, come get me at Ezra’s.”

Harry bobbed his head. Dismounting, he handed over Bill’s reins.

Wyatt swung into the saddle and turned the horse toward the river.
Please, God, please let me find my little girl safe at Samantha’s.

Pulling her black knitted shawl around her shoulders, Samantha stepped onto the porch. She couldn’t shake a feeling of uneasiness. She sniffed the night air as if trying to find a source for her feelings. It wasn’t the boys. She looked over her shoulder through the lighted kitchen window. All four boys, homework finished, sat at the kitchen table playing a quiet game of checkers. Or at least right now it was quiet. Any minute, they’d start squabbling over a move.

Shrugging her shoulders as if to rid herself of her feelings, Samantha returned to the warmth of the kitchen. She chose a chair by the stove and picked up her basket of darning. The boys burrowed through their socks quicker than a gopher after the tulip bulbs.

Pounding on the front door startled her. The boys jerked to their feet. Before she could leave her seat, she heard the sound of the door being thrust open. “Samantha!”
Wyatt’s voice.

His boots clicked on the wood floor of the hallway, then Wyatt appeared in the kitchen doorway. He was dressed in a black suit, his wet pants plastered to his long legs, shedding slow water drops onto the plank flooring. His anxious gray gaze slid past her to the boys, before returning to rest on her face. “Is Christine here?”

“Christine? No.” Recognizing the fear in his eyes, her hand flew to her throat. “Is she missing?”

“Christine never came home tonight. I was hoping she was here.”

“No, I haven’t seen her since…since our…”

His shoulders sagged. He turned to leave.

“Wyatt, wait.” She grabbed up a blue blanket draped over a chair. “You’re wet.”

“The river’s risen. Must be a storm in the mountains. Didn’t take the time to ride to the ford.”

She handed it to him. “Dry off and tell me what you’ve done so far.”

“I wasn’t home. I was in town.” He passed a hand over his eyes.

Samantha could hear the remorse in his voice.

“When Christine didn’t come home in time for supper, Mrs. Toffels sent the hands out looking for her. When I got home, I was sure she’d snuck over here. I’d hoped…”

Samantha touched his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Wyatt. Let me get my coat. We’ll all help look for her.”

Jack cleared his throat.

Samantha looked over at the boys and saw identical guilty expressions on all four faces. “Boys,” she said, her tone ominous.

Jack lifted his chin. “She was here. Tweren’t the first time either. She likes playin’ with the little ones.”

Samantha fisted her hands on her hips. “Why didn’t I see her?”

“She stayed out of sight in back of the barn.”

Daniel piped up. “But she left when the supper bell rang.”

“The supper bell. That was hours ago.”

Samantha met Wyatt’s eyes; they didn’t have to speak. Each knew.

“We’ll talk about this later. Go get your coats. Then, Daniel, you get Manuel and tell Maria to come to the house in case Christine comes back here. Tim, run to the bunkhouse and get Ernie and Fred. Jack, gather all the lanterns, light them, and then help saddle the horses.”

Some of the bleakness had left Wyatt’s eyes. “There are enough of us that we can spread out within lantern distance and cover enough ground riding from here to my ranch.”

“Finish drying off. I’ll go change and get some extra blankets.” She touched his shoulder. “We’ll find her, Wyatt.”

He placed his hand over hers, curling his fingers around her palm. “Thank you.”

Samantha squeezed his hand in response, praying that her supportive words would come true. Feeling his chilled, callused hand, she had to quell a sudden urge to cry. This wasn’t the time to give way to her emotions. They had to find Christine.