Her Montana Man
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Once that happened, he would have control. All Eliza could do was bide her time and endure. Shelter her sister. Protect Tyler. And avoid this deplorable excuse for a human being until—until their situation changed.
She moved to the oven, took out the hot plate and set it in front of him while guardedly keeping her distance. Sometimes she was so angry with her father for allowing this to happen that she didn’t know what to do with those feelings.
“You’re quite transparent, Eliza Jane,” he said. “But resenting me isn’t going to do any good.” He picked up his fork and knife and sliced the roast. “We both know why you’ll comply.” He took a bite and chewed before looking up at her again. “But you’ve already figured that out, haven’t you?”
Her heart skipped a beat.
Anger distorted her vision for seconds and she clenched her teeth, unable to speak.
“You have no legal rights to Tyler unless you marry me.”
“You aren’t human,” she finally replied, venom lacing her tone.
“And you will marry me. Because I have knowledge that will hurt both of you. And you don’t want me to tell.”
“I could kill you in your sleep,” she said. And God help her, she’d already thought of it. But she was too much of a coward. What if she went to jail and left Tyler here alone?
Royce actually smiled, something he did rarely, and she suspected it was because one of his front teeth overlapped the other. “I shall remember to sleep lightly.”
Why should he sleep any better than she?
Once Jenny Lee was gone, Eliza would be forced to put her plan into action, take Tyler and escape. This house her father had built, the town she called home, all the precious memories, none of it mattered as much as protecting Tyler.
The bell on the front door screeched as a visitor twisted the handle. Relieved at the interruption, Eliza tossed down the towel and hurried to answer the call.
A young man in a flannel jacket and mended dungarees stood on the porch holding a fistful of white daisies. “Miss Sutherland?”
“Yes.”
“These is for you.” He thrust the bouquet into her hands and turned away.
“Wait!” she called, but he was already out the gate and running down the street, where dusk was turning 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 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!”
Chapter Four
Just 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 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.
“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 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 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 are the real workers. The ones who actually dig trenches and tunnels and drive spikes. Ones who harvest crops and fell trees.”
She nodded, showing her interest.
“Those kind of jobs move around with the railroad and with the seasons. Railroad, farmers, mine owners and the state all let me know when they need laborers. I sell vouchers for those jobs and the industry owners pay me commission when they hire.”
She didn’t respond, and he couldn’t read her expression. “I already know your brother-in-law doesn’t have any use for what I do.”
She glanced away and then back at him. “I don’t understand why he calls you a slave trader.”
“Maybe he wishes he’d thought of it first?” he suggested with half a grin. “Dunno. They aren’t slaves, they’re hardworking men. I’m doin’ ’em a service by locating the jobs. They call themselves hoboes, you know.”
“I didn’t. What does that mean?”
“Just means a migratory worker.”
“Not tramps.”
He shook his head. “Tramps and bums beg and don’t want to work. These men are the backbone of industry all the way from here to the Dakotas and up into Canada.”
“What about their families?”
“Most of ’em have never been married. Some are immigrants who left wives behind in other countries.”
Jonas glanced over and noticed Tyler had fallen asleep in her arms. He was a good-sized boy and must be getting heavy. “He’s asleep.”
She nodded. “I could tell. He was exhausted. He never sits on my lap anymore. The fact that he did today, not caring who saw, says a lot. Do you think you could help me?”
“What can I do?”
“I don’t think I can lift him from where I sit, and I’d never make it up the stairs. I’d hate to wake him to get him to his bed.”
Jonas glanced around, not spotting Tyler’s father. He stood and bent to take the boy from her arms, getting one arm behind his knees and another around his back. Jonas’s arms brushed Eliza Jane’s as she released Tyler, and she met his eyes.
Heat like quicksilver ignited in his belly at the combination of that innocent touch and the spark of her amber gaze. She noticed something, too.
She stood, smoothing her skirts, and touched his arm. “Upstairs.”
She led the way to the foyer and up the broad, carpeted staircase, her black skirts swishing. He glimpsed white lace above her heels with each stair she climbed ahead of him. He didn’t allow himself to look up, knowing her backside would be at his eye level.
He followed her along a hallway lined with polished mahogany doors and framed art until she opened one and gestured for him to enter ahead of her. The house smelled like candles and lemon wax.
He carried Tyler into a well-lit room with a heavy oak bedstead and bureau, a chest against one wall, and a row of wooden soldiers at attention along the windowsill.
Eliza Jane tugged at the drapery tassels, letting the material fall over the opening and cloak the room in semidarkness. Moving forward with a rustle of skirts, she pulled back the blue-and-white patterned quilt and a crisp sheet.
Jonas lowered Tyler to the bed, easing his head onto the pillow and straightening his legs.
His aunt removed his boots. Jonas reached to take them from her and set them aside. She pulled the covers up over Tyler and rhythmically threaded her fingers through his hair, as though she was in no hurry to leave him. Jonas couldn’t help noticing the pain and adoration on her face when she looked at the boy. She was hurting for him as well as for her own loss.
Bending at the waist, she pressed her nose to his hairline. Her lips touched the skin at his temple. Her eyes closed and Jonas caught the glimmer of a tear as it dropped on Tyler’s cheek. She wiped it away quickly and stood. Composing herself she touched her skirt with both hands as though pressing out wrinkles.
He recognized the gesture as something she did without thinking when she was uncomfortable. Following her out into the hall, he stood waiting as she pulled the door closed.
“I’d like to do that myself,” she said. “Lie down and obliviously sleep away the next several hours…or days.”
“Go ahead.”
She looked up at him. The hum of conversation from downstairs seemed to swell and fade. After a second, she shook her head. “The house is full of guests.”
“They would understand.”
“It’s a small thing to honor my sister and let people pay their respects.”
He’d been curious about her for months, watching her daily walks to the tea shop, wondering about her life. He suffered a twinge of guilt that perhaps part of his reasoning for coming today had been out of curiosity. It felt odd standing in the home where she had lived for so many years, seeing her in her surroundings, watching her with her nephew. Yet he still didn’t know her any better than before.
“This is interesting.”
Eliza Jane jumped and turned to face the man who’d spoken.
Royce Dunlap had apparently come up a back flight of stairs and was standing several feet away, looking as though he’d caught them doing something wrong.
Eliza Jane’s demeanor changed, her back straightening and chin lifting in a defensive posture. “Mr. Black carried Tyler to his bed. Tyler’s had a difficult time and needs to rest.”
Royce’s gaze slid to Jonas. “Why, how kind of you to assist my son, Jonas. You are a man of many talents. One never knows what you’ll be applying yourself to next.”
For years Jonas had locked horns with Royce in town council meetings. One discussion or another always led them to a disagreement. Royce had a bone to pick with him for some reason, and Jonas just plain held little respect for the man and his ill treatment of the workers in his employment. But this wasn’t the time or the place to air their differences. “I came to show my respects for your wife.”
“Yes, we’re torn over our loss,” Royce replied, but the words and his tone didn’t hold much sincerity.
Jonas didn’t like the impression he was getting. “I believe I’ll finish my coffee now.” He turned to Eliza Jane. “Miss.”
“It’s probably cold,” she told him. “I’ll get you a fresh cup.”
“No bother. I’ll help myself.”
Eliza watched his broad back in the black coat as he descended the stairs. She sensed Royce’s displeasure and heard him step closer. “He’s not our kind, and he’s not welcome in this house again.”
She frowned, but didn’t look at his face. “We don’t turn away kind folks who call to pay their respects. He’s a perfect gentleman.”
“He’s a slimy opportunist.”
“What are you talking about?” Turning away, she headed for Jenny Lee’s room. She and Nora had already cleaned it and replaced all the bedding with new, except for the wedding ring quilt that had been Jenny’s favorite. It lay folded over the foot of the bed. The sight made Eliza catch her breath.
She ignored the overwhelming recollections the room stirred up and went directly to the bureau, where she pulled open the second drawer. The wooden box that held Jenny Lee’s jewelry was gone. She looked under delicately scented scarves and handkerchiefs that tried to evoke more memories, but there was no jewelry box. Puzzled, she opened and searched each drawer.
Dawning realization kicked her heart into a frantic rhythm. She gave the room a quick once-over and then ran back into the hall.
Royce lounged on a chair that stood alongside a table with a vase. With a smug gaze, he watched her approach.
“Where is Jenny’s jewelry box?”
“Why, it’s in safekeeping, of course.”
“I want to give the jade necklace and earrings to Nora.”
He gave a snort of disgust. “Where would that old bag wear jewelry like that?”
Heated anger built in Eliza’s chest. “It’s of no concern to you where she would wear it or if she wore it at all. It’s a gesture of appreciation. Nora cared for Jenny Lee as tenderly as a mother would have. She’s like family to us. I want to give her a token of some sort. Something sentimental.”
“She’s not family. She’s not anything to us. Jenny Lee’s belongings are not yours to disperse.”
“That necklace was our mother’s. I want Nora to have it.”
Royce moved so quickly that Eliza had no warning. Grasping her upper arms, he pushed her against the wall. “Don’t defy me, dear sister. Not now. Not ever.”
He sidled closer, pressing his thigh between hers.
Eliza struggled to escape, but he raised one hand to her throat and applied enough pressure to cut off her air. “This isn’t a game. There are no choices. You’re going to marry me. What was Jenny Lee’s is mine, and what was yours will be mine.”
Her blood pounded in her ears, and she struggled for a much-needed breath. Royce pushed until the bones of her pelvis ached from being pressed between his body and the wall. “Let…go of me,” she managed in a hoarse whisper.