Her Montana Man (5 page)

Silver Bend to shades of gold and deep lavender. She glanced at the rocky buttes in the distance, then

down at the flowers she held.

“Who was it?”

Royce stood behind her. She turned to meet his thunderous expression. He spotted the bouquet. “Who

sent those?”

“I don’t know.”

She spotted the small note tucked between the blooms at the same time he did. He snatched the card,

catching several delicate white petals that fell to the polished wood at their feet.

Royce read the note, then his ominous gaze rose to level on her. He set his mouth in a disapproving line

and grabbed the bunch of flowers from her hand. “Don’t be getting any ideas. You’ll be sorry if you

cross me.”

He threw the daisies to the floor and crushed them beneath the heel of his boot, grinding until stems and

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petals and leaves were a mass of ruin.

With deliberate intimidation, he tore the note into pieces and tossed it onto the debris.

“I want coffee in the study after I’ve eaten.” He turned and walked back toward the kitchen.

Confused, Eliza looked down at the trampled flowers. She would have to get a broom and dustpan.

Kneeling, she picked up the strewn scraps of paper and fitted them together on the floor like a jigsaw

puzzle.

The handwriting was square and neat, unfamiliar.

“Hopefully these will make a better impression,” she read. No signature. Nothing that should have

angered Royce to the degree it had. But then he didn’t need much prompting.

She tucked the bits of paper into the pocket of her skirt. No signature had been required for her to

know the daisies had come from Jonas Black. He’d already thanked her for telling the marshal what

she’d seen. This gesture had been unnecessary…but she found it touchingly kind.

There was no way Royce could have known who sent the bouquet. He’d have been even angrier if he’d

suspected they’d come from the “slave trader,” the man she’d seen fighting in the street that day.

Jonas had sent flowers. She didn’t know what to make of that, but she didn’t have the time or energy to

figure it out. She had too much to handle right here. A faint regret for what she could never have, tried to

edge its way into her thinking.

The rapid echo of bare feet in the upstairs hall drew her attention, and she lifted her gaze to see Tyler

slide to a halt and grip the banister. “Aunt Eliza!” he called down, his young voice squeaking with

urgency. “Come quick! It’s Mama!”

ust because Eliza had known the time was coming didn’t make her sister’s death any easier to accept.

She hadn’t had any close friends since grade school; Jenny had been her friend. They had shared

everything—or nearly everything. There at the end, Eliza had kept Royce’s true nature a secret. She

suspected Jenny had been disappointed, but she’d been as brave about her disenchantment with her

marriage as she had about her illness.

The past two days had been a blur. Now that the funeral service was over and she’d ridden home with

Tyler and Royce, Eliza remembered that she hadn’t eaten that day. She tried to recall if she’d eaten the

day before and assumed she must have. Upon hanging up her shawl, she hurried past the rooms where

furniture had been moved and chairs arranged, to the back of the house. A few of the ladies from church

were already setting out food.

The aromas of savory beef, apples and cinnamon, and freshly brewed coffee would normally have

teased her appetite, but today they made her feel queasy. She surveyed the abundance of food on the

table. “Oh my goodness!”

“I think everyone in town brought something.” Penny Wright stepped close. Eliza and Penny had

handled many a meal such as this in their duties as members of the Ladies’ Aid Society, but Eliza couldn’t

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remember seeing this much food since her father’s funeral. The Sutherlands were well thought of. She

pressed a hand to her midriff as if the touch could hold back the pain of loss and the poignant

appreciation for her neighbors’ thoughtfulness.

Penny wrapped an arm around Eliza’s shoulders, giving her a comforting squeeze. Realizing she’d never

hug her sister again, Eliza’s chest throbbed with a hollow ache. Pulling a lace-edged hankie from her

pocket, she dabbed her nose and focused on the dining room table with all the leaves in place. The ivory

lace cloth that had been her mother’s was now nearly hidden by steaming casseroles and

delectable-looking cakes and pies. This was the day she had dreaded and welcomed at the same time.

Footsteps sounded behind her, and Eliza turned as Nora entered the room, carrying yet another covered

dish. Penny scurried to make a spot for it.

Nora took Eliza’s hand and squeezed her fingers. Her pale face and puffy eyes showed evidence of the

strain she shared. Eliza used the same strength Penny had offered to give her friend a hug. They’d already

heard a plethora of trite things people said at a time like this. Jenny Lee’s suffering was over. She was in

a better place. But mere words couldn’t fix the pain or emptiness left by this unfair loss, so they shared a

silent moment of grief.

A rap sounded on the front door. Eliza straightened and tucked her hankie into her sleeve in preparation.

Two and three at a time, the men and women of Silver Bend arrived in their Sunday best and milled

about waiting for the reverend to pray over the meal. Reverend Miller finally parted the crowd in the

parlor and gave a brief blessing. Penny directed mourners to the sideboard, which was stacked with

plates and flatware.

Nora cupped Eliza’s elbow. “Let’s get you a plate.”

“Tyler—” Eliza began.

“Marian is taking care of Tyler.”

She allowed Nora to walk her through the line and fill a plate for her. The woman ushered her to a chair

in the parlor. “Now sit and take some nourishment.”

Eliza accepted the plate without noting what it held. As always, Nora’s presence was a blessing. It

would be impossible to thank her for all she’d done for their family, but Eliza would have to find some

small way to show her appreciation. A special and meaningful gesture was a must. She scanned the

gathering and found Tyler sitting on the wide brick hearth with Timmy Hatcher and Michael Kopeke.

Miss Fletcher sat nearby, wearing a smile and engaging them in conversation.

His life would go on. Eliza’s life would go on. They had to learn to make that happen without Jenny Lee.

And some way—without Royce.

From the other room his voice broke through her reverie. The mere sound made her skin crawl. He was

talking about the Horace Vernet painting in the hallway, the one her father had purchased during a trip he

and her mother had taken abroad many years ago. Royce spoke of the French painter and the history of

the piece as though he had something to do with it. As though it was his.

Nora had always admired that painting. Eliza took a bite of Delores Cress’s signature stroganoff,

knowing it tasted better than sawdust, but she had no appetite.

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“Miss Sutherland.”

She drew her gaze upward from a pair of polished black boots to pressed black trousers, past a

matching tailored coat and smart bow tie before recognizing Jonas Black. She set down her fork. “Mr.

Black.”

Eliza Jane attempted to rise, but Jonas stopped her with an outstretched hand and seated himself on the

chair beside hers. Her usually luminous skin was pale and her eyes showed she hadn’t slept. She

probably hadn’t eaten, and here he was interrupting her meal.

“I’ll get a plate and join you.” He hurried through the wide opening to the hall and found the dining room,

returning a few minutes later. “You won’t have to cook for a week.”

“Everyone feels helpless,” she answered. “They want to do something.”

He nodded and took a bite of chocolate-frosted cake, even though there was plenty of other food on his

plate. He caught her looking and grinned sheepishly. “Sweet tooth.”

Side by side, they ate in silence. He finished, and Delores Cress came by to take his plate and return

with a cup of coffee. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Eliza held her half-empty plate out to Delores.

“Would you like coffee?” the other woman asked. “I have water on and can make you some tea.”

“No, thank you.”

Jonas sipped the brew, then turned to find a spot on a side table to set the cup. He leveled his gaze on

Eliza.

“When my father died, you were one of the ladies servin’ food and coffee.”

She didn’t meet his eyes. “I remember.”

He looked away, searching his mind for words. “I recall your kindness that day. You told me that my

father was a good man and that you would miss him.”

“He was a good man.” Her gaze rose to his then.

“And I’ve missed him. He was kind to my family. Diligent. He always came out day or night, rain or

shine to take care of Jenny or my parents.”

“That day…I knew you understood,” he told her,

“that words were inadequate. You didn’t say all the things people normally say at a time like that. You

had already lost your mother.”

Eliza shrugged. “Words are cheap. It’s what we do that determines who we are.”

Her straightforward manner surprised him, but he admired her practical philosophy. He wondered if she

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was thinking about him fighting Baslow in the street the other day, wondered if she thought that scuffle

defined who he was.

Her gaze was steady, sending the same disturbing feeling it always elicited across his nerve endings. Why

was it her presence made him look into himself with questions?
Did
that fight define him?

She unsettled him.

“Thank you for the flowers.” Her cheeks turned pink, bringing fresh color to her pale complexion. She

held his gaze only a moment longer, then glanced away, confirming her embarrassment.

“Appreciate that you spoke up,” he answered.

“You’d already thanked me.”

He had. But the words hadn’t felt adequate. Well, truth was he’d groped for an opportunity to paint

himself in a better light in her mind. Why in tarnation he gave it a second thought was a concern, though.

Across the room, a woman spoke to a youngster, and he rose from where he sat on the hearth to leave

with her. The remaining platinum-haired boy stared after them, then his gaze moved across the people

crowding the room toward the hallway. Jonas sensed confusion and fear. Finally, the child spotted Eliza

Jane. He got up and crossed the room to them. “Aunt Liza?”

She reached out to place the backs of her fingers against his cheek in a loving gesture. “Your friends

left?”

He nodded, his blue eyes wide and shining. Then so softly that Jonas could barely hear him, he asked,

“Could I sit on your lap for a little while?”

Eliza Jane’s composure must’ve been tested, because she pursed her lips and tilted her head, but

recovered and answered swiftly, “Of course you may.”

She smoothed the skirts of her black dress, and the boy raised one knee and sidled onto her lap. Her

arms came around him, one hand smoothing his hair from his forehead. She pressed a kiss against his

temple, and her eyelids drifted closed as though his very scent was a comfort. He snuggled against her.

Jonas’s chest got a tight feeling. Her sister’s child. When he’d heard the news of Jenny Lee’s death in

town the day before, he’d also heard clucking and lamenting about the poor dear child and grieving

husband she’d left behind. He knew what it was like to lose a mother.

Jonas halted that train of thought. “Your nephew?” he asked.

“This is Tyler. Tyler, meet Mr. Black.”

Tyler obediently sat straight and looked at him.

“How do, sir.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, young man.”

Tyler looked to Eliza for approval, and she smiled. He tucked himself right back with his head under her

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chin. “Are you sleepy?” she asked.

“Only a little.”

“All this company is tiring, isn’t it?”

“Are they all Mama’s friends?”

“They came because they cared for her, and they want to show that they care about you, too.” She

rubbed his shoulder. “Why don’t we go upstairs? You can change out of your suit jacket and lie on your

bed for a little while.”

“I don’t want to go yet,” he answered.

“All right then. You may sit with me a while longer.”

Jonas thought perhaps he should go, but just as he was about to excuse himself, Eliza spoke. “How is

Miss Holmes?”

“Good, I reckon. She’s a fine worker.”

“Housekeeping you said?”

“Uh-huh.” Oh, he was a witty conversationalist.

“Do you employ a number of people?”

“About twenty.” He explained about the operations of the hotel and the saloon and how many it took to

keep both businesses running. “Handle the employment vouchers myself.”

“How does that work exactly?”

“Well. You know a lot of men have been lured West by gold or adventure or the dream of land. Reality

of it is most of ’em end up needin’ jobs. Oh, a few strike it rich and are the moneymakers, but the rest