Painted Montana Sky: A Montana Sky Series Novella (2 page)

Mrs. Murphy’s house was a two-story clapboard. Pepe took her around to the side and through the door into the kitchen, where he deposited her carpetbag and portfolio on the table.

“You sit here, Señorita.” He waved to a chair at the kitchen table. “I’ll go get your trunk and carry it upstairs. Do you want the crate there too?”

“Yes, Mrs. Murphy might not appreciate coming home to a big box in her kitchen.”

She took a seat, and, while Pepe left to get her belongings, Lily perused the letter from Mrs. Murphy more carefully. According to her instructions, the woman had left a plate of oatmeal cookies on the table as a snack.

Lily looked up to find a blue-checked napkin covering a plate. She peeked under the cloth, found the cookies, and took one, breaking off a piece and putting it in her mouth. The cookie tasted moist and chewy, just the way Lily liked them.

Dove looked up at her with begging brown eyes.

“No, baby,” Lily told the dog with a shake of her head. “I’ll feed you later.”

As she ate, she continued to read the letter. Supper, according to Mrs. Murphy, was in the icebox, and she’d made an apple pie for dessert and left it in the pie safe.

Lily offered the plate to Pepe when he came back into the kitchen after he’d finished with taking her possessions upstairs.

The man’s eyes lit up.

“Help yourself. There’s plenty.”

“I’ll take one. But can I also take a cookie for my wife?” The infatuated look on his face when he said “wife” showed that he adored her.
 

“Certainly.”

He pulled a red handkerchief from his pocket and unfolded it. “It’s clean.” He shook his head, an amazed expression on his face. “Having a wife means clean clothes all the time.” He grinned, his teeth white against his dark skin. “Although I dirty them up quick enough.” He picked up a cookie and wrapped it in his handkerchief. “Thank you, Señorita.”

“You’re welcome, Pepe. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He left, and silence settled in the house.
 

Dove nudged her leg.

Lily petted her head. “Let’s get settled, sweet Dove. For tomorrow we have a deadline to beat.”

~ ~ ~

The next morning, absorbed in painting a pioneer violet, Lily barely noticed the warmth of the spring sunshine. The breeze tugged at her wide-brimmed straw hat, ruffled her hair, and teased her with the fragrance of new grass and flowers. The nearby river made a rushing sound as it flowed by, a calming noise that relaxed her.

For several hours, Lily had been painting. Pepe had dropped her off and would return for her in the late afternoon. She’d promised him a drawing for the new house he was building behind the livery stable in return for him carting her about for the week.

Lily had already inked in the flower and had tinted the yellow blossom with her watercolor paints. She leaned forward on her campstool, swiped her brush on the green paint on her palate and dabbed a dot of green on a leaf, then with a tiny flick of the brush, spread the paint to the tip.

Straightening, she eyed the picture with satisfaction. Only a little more of the flower to finish. She’d caught the image she wanted after two failed attempts, which now lay crumpled in the grass. The relief of finally painting competently lifted her spirits.

She glanced at Dove, frisking along the bank of the river. The dog leaped after a bird, and Lily shook her head. Dove loved to chase birds but had never succeeded in catching one.
It’s good for her to run and play after being cooped up for so long yesterday.

Dove gamboled back to her mistress and thrust her nose under Lily’s arm for some attention. As soon as she felt the animal touch her, Lily lifted her brush off the paper. She’d ruined several pictures before training herself to keep some small part of her awareness on Dove and not become so absorbed in her painting that she didn’t sense her pet’s presence until too late.

“Not now, Dove. I’ll play with you when I finish this one.”

Her pet let out a sigh and collapsed at Lily’s side. The dog dropped her nose on her feet, looking the picture of dejection. Then a bird chirped and flew by, and Dove jumped up and chased it.

For a moment, Lily paused and took a deep breath of the grass-scented air. Just sitting here, surrounded by the beauty of nature, filled her heart and soul.
If only I didn’t have to go home to Chicago. After Montana, how can I be content with just painting in parks and gardens?

Lily dipped her brush in the paint and delicately applied the tip to the paper. She continued adding color, shading, fleshing out the beauty of the flower. She narrowed her eyes, trying to decide if she should dab on a dot of black.

A yelp and a splash jerked her attention away from the painting.
Dove!
Her heart shot into her throat, and she spun around on the campstool, searching for her companion. She ripped off her hat to see better.
Where is she?

Lily jumped to her feet, saw Dove being carried downstream by the swiftly moving water, and screamed. The current swept the dog out of sight behind some bushes that screened the river.

“Dove! Dove!” Lily screamed, her voice sharp with fear. She hitched her skirt and hurried downstream, angry at the limp that slowed her to a shamble when she needed to race.
This is all my fault. I should have paid attention, not let her run free by the river.
 

On the other side of the bush, Lily plunged into the water, wetting her skirt to her knees. She made a grab for the dog paddling toward her, but missed.

The current carried Dove beyond her reach. Lily lunged to follow. Her soaked skirt weighed her down, tangling in her legs. She tripped and plunged to her neck in the icy water. The chill took her breath away, forcing her to gasp for air.

Gathering up her skirts, Lily fought the flow of water back to the bank, and crawled out. Struggling to her feet, she ran along the river to catch up with the dog.

Her corset cut off her breath. Despair forced her on. Her foot caught on a tuft of grass and she stumbled and almost went down. Lily barely felt the wrench of pain in her hip as she forced herself to keep going. “Dove!” she cried.

A clump of western alder blocked her view of the river. Would she never get around them?
Dear Lord, please! Please save her!

Her breath wheezed. And as hard as she tried, Lily couldn’t move her crippled leg faster.

I’m not going to reach her. She’s going to drown!

CHAPTER THREE

A day couldn’t get any better.
Tyler welcomed the warmth of the sun on his shoulders, the scent of new growth in the air. Although he usually took the beauty of his ranch for granted, on a fine spring day after a long winter, he couldn’t help but appreciate God’s handiwork. The distant mountains, still snowcapped, a velvet-green spread of new grass, a blue, blue sky, and a rushing river, swollen with snowmelt and full of trout…
Yes, I’m blessed, indeed.

He eyed his horse and Oliver’s pony grazing under some cottonwoods, and then checked on his son who’d tossed a net into the water, making sure the boy kept his feet planted on dry land. At age six, Oliver enjoyed playing with a net better than using a fishing pole. Not that they could use poles today, anyway. In snowmelt water, deep and swift, the fish couldn’t see the bait.

Behind him, a campfire burned, sending puffs of smoke into the air, ready to cook their meal and warm them up if they became wet. And judging how he’d grabbed Oliver a time or two before he unbalanced into the river, getting wet was inevitable. Already three trout swam in the tiny pool Tyler had dammed up on the side of the river, enough for a meal.

A woman’s scream split the air.

What in tarnation?
Tyler jerked his net out of the river, dropped it on land, and grabbed for the rifle he’d propped against a convenient rock nearby his feet. “Stay here,” he ordered Oliver.

Another scream, this time with words that sounded like a name.

Carrying the rifle, he started toward the sounds.

“Pa, look!” Oliver yelled.

Tyler whirled and glanced at his son.

The boy pointed at the river.

Far upstream, a dog struggled in the water. The current swept it against a rock, and the animal clawed and struggled to find purchase before slipping back in.

Poor creature won’t last. Not in that freezing, raging water.

“Save him, Pa!” His son turned his way, an expression of entreaty on his freckled face.

“I will.” His thoughts raced as he developed a strategy to rescue the little varmint.

Tyler set down the rifle and pulled off his hat, tossing it to the ground. “Stay out of the water, son. Build up the fire. Have a blanket ready.”

Oliver rushed to obey.

Needing enough of a head start so he could cross to the animal before it sped past him, Tyler ran down river. Judging the distance, he almost stopped to pull his boots off but reasoned he’d need them to protect his feet. He splashed into the river. The icy water overflowed into his boots, weighing him down. He winced as the frigid cold bit at his feet and legs.

The deeper Tyler went, the more he had to brace against the power of the river. He stumbled over a hidden rock and almost fell. He straightened at the cost of a wet side and arm.

The dog paddled to stay afloat, long ears dragging, panic in its brown eyes. Didn’t seem to be a big dog, and Tyler could tell by the sluggish movements of the animal’s legs that it wouldn’t last much longer.

“Here, boy,” he called, extending his arms and leaping another foot closer.

The dog obeyed, trying to swim in Tyler’s direction. Too exhausted, the animal barely angled an inch.

But that was enough. With one more leap that soaked him to his chest, Tyler grabbed the nearest leg, and then worked his hands up the animal’s fur to the neck. He grasped a collar, towed the animal his direction, and then yanked the dog to him.

Hefting the dog, which must weigh an extra ten pounds wet, Tyler struggled to keep upright. The current pulled at his legs and the soles of his boots slipped off slimy rocks. Submerged branches tripped him. The cold water numbed his limbs, making it hard to move. Tyler’s ribs squeezed his lungs, and he gasped for air.
 

I’m a damn fool to put my life in danger for an animal when I have a son to take care of!

The dog shivered in his arms, but, thankfully, didn’t try to escape. Carrying an animal that fought him probably would have unbalanced them both.

No use trying to wade back, so Tyler let his body go with the current, angling toward the shore.

Oliver ran along the river, yelling and flapping the blanket. But the sound of the rushing water drowned out his words.

The closer Tyler got to shore, the heavier the dog became. He burrowed his hands into the thick fur lest his numb fingers let the animal slip.

Almost there.
His muscles convulsing, he waded to the shallows, breathing in panting breaths, the dog almost too heavy in his arms.

“You got him, Pa!”

The hero worship on his son’s face was enough to give Tyler the extra energy to stagger out of the water, carrying the waterlogged dog.

Oliver wrapped the blanket around the shivering animal. “Can I hold him, Pa?”

Tyler had to force out the words. “Let’s get back to the fire first, son.”

Another high-pitched scream of “Dove! Dove!” made Tyler look up. He’d forgotten about the woman.

She rounded the stand of trees and bushes, a young lady in a soaked lavender dress, moving with an ungainly gait. Her anguished expression made Tyler straighten so she could see he held her dog, though both of them were shaking.

With her next step, she tripped and fell to the ground, sprawling into the grass.

Tyler shoved the dog into Oliver’s arms and hobbled to her, his legs too numb to function well, the waterlogged boots slowing him down.

The woman tried to rise but couldn’t. Instead she crawled, whimpering, “Dove, Dove.”

“We got him. Don’t worry!” Tyler called to her. “Your dog’s safe.” He reached her side and, without waiting for permission, crouched down and put his arms around her. “We’ve got him. He’s safe,” he repeated.

Her gaze went beyond him, to Oliver who’d sunk to the ground, no doubt because the blanket-wrapped animal was too heavy to carry.

“See,” Tyler said, looking down into violet eyes, dazed as if she couldn’t absorb the news.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, almost sobbing out the words.

Tyler took a deep breath, tightened his stomach muscles, and lifted her. He carried her to Oliver, knelt, setting her next to his son, but he kept an arm around her thin shoulders.

“My baby!” She gathered the dog to her body. “I thought I’d lost you.” She kissed the top of the animal’s head. “This was all my fault.”

Dove whined and gave his mistress a feeble tongue lick.

When the woman looked at Tyler again, her eyes shone with unshed tears. “Thank you. Thank you.”

Something about those tears, the look of gratitude on her face, touched a place in his heart that had hardened when his wife left.