Page 9 of Beyond Montana's Sky
The daring Edith felt over rejecting propriety temporarily eased her aches, so she belted out a few more bad words, enjoying an odd sense of freedom. She giggled. Anyone who knew her would be scandalized to hear such disgraceful speech from a lady who always behaved with rigid propriety.
Giggled.Edith hadn’t giggled since…. She had to think back. Since with Nathaniel in the earlier days of their marriage. Not that she’d giggled mucheversince going to live with Aunt Agatha, laughter being in short supply in a family who valued decorum, especially in Black Jack Livingston’s daughter. But Nathaniel brought out a playful side in her.Until he became ill….
Her mood dropping, she let out a sigh.So many years have passed since that time.
Edith had forgotten what shared laughter with an attractive man felt like, even though she’d observed Caleb and Maggie often enough, usually amused by something the baby did to charm them. Indeed, Charlotte charmed themallto laughter—the last time being when she’d tried to gnaw on Ben’s nose.
The musing about her cussing and giggling engaged Edith’s mind enough so she arrived at the boundary of the ranch before she knew it. Two narrow Corinthian columns topped by two tiers of acanthus leaves held up a wrought-iron banner that arched over the road.Driscoll Ranchproclaimed the curving black letters. She recognized Bethesda Jane’s work. The Morgan’s Crossing man was an artist with metal, and, along with the mason Frey Foster, had created the fence around her brother’s property.
Toward the left, she saw a rider heading in her direction on a black horse. As he drew closer, Edith recognized Cai Driscoll. His sudden appearance caught her off guard, for she hadn’t expected to see the man until she reached the ranch house, when she would be braced for meeting him again.
Her stomach clutched. Edith pulled the horses to a stop. As Cai approached, her heartbeat sped up in rhythm to the hoof beats. She transferred the reins to one hand and self-consciously, touched her hat. The black velvet topper, with a dashing feather tucked into a beaded band, just arrived last week from her favorite milliner’s shop in Boston, was firmly anchored on her head by jeweled hatpins. Then she smoothed the front of her coat of navy wool, the collar, cuffs, and hem edged in mink. A matching fur muff lay on the seat near her hip.
Mr. Driscoll urged his horse to a canter, riding up beside her instead of circling his mount in her direction. He reined in, his horse facing the opposite direction, giving her a good view of his face.
Mr. Driscoll touched his hat. “Well, who have we here?” He drawled the question, his grin mischievous. “A beautiful damsel. One lost in the wilderness, perhaps?”
Her cheeks heating at the compliment, Edith pretended their recent, awkward encounter never occurred. “I’ve come to deliver a wedding invitation for you and everyone on your ranch,” she said stiffly.
“Well, I have a few hands who won’t go anywhere near a wedding. Ahab, whom you sort of met the other day, being one. However, the Andersons—more than a few work here—will be happy to take advantage of your brother’s hospitality. I hope he’s stocked plenty of vittles. I know from experience those Vikings eat their weight in food and drink.”
“And you?” The question slipped out before Edith could censor herself. She held her breath, waiting for his answer.
“That depends—” he drew out the moment, a teasing expression on his face “—on whether you’ll dance with me at the reception.”
Edith hadn’t thought to dance with anyone outside her family. She’d learned from an early experience at a rare ball in Sweetwater Springs thatoneacceptance of an invitation to dance subsequently meantanyman—no matter how humble his circumstances—could ask her. A long line of them had, often to the detriment of her toes. Not a pleasant experience, nor one she’d care to repeat.
“A waltz.” His eyes twinkled.
“Well…” She thought through the list of obligatory dances. Her brother, of course. Uncle Atticus and Cousin Oscar from Boston. Peter Rockwall, hotel manager and friend of the family.I can avoid dancing with anyone else by claiming hostess duties.“Very well.Onedance.”
“Onewaltz. I promise my mama taught me well.”
The thought of being held so intimately by this man made her shiver. Edith didn’t know whether to look forward to such a dance or dread the experience.
* * *
Riding up to the surrey, his chest tight and breath hitching, Cai felt like a horse had just planted a hoof in his midsection.I can’t believe Edith Grayson took my dare.
He desperately hoped his expression didn’t reveal his shock. He preferred to appear coolly composed when greeting his unexpected visitor instead of gaping.When he’d tossed out the invitation after leaving the saloon, he’d never expected the snootiest lady in town would condescend to visit his ranch, not to mention coming by herself.
Darn fool woman.Yet even as he mentally criticized her choice to drive out alone, Cai couldn’t help a feeling of warmth trickling into his heart.
He gestured toward the road. “Lucky for you, last week’s rain dampened the dust, but enough time has passed so you’re not driving through mud.”
She raised her eyebrows in a haughty look. “I took the state of the road into account.”
“Obviously didn’t take much else into account,” he muttered, still irked with her. The Anderson women would ride or drive to town. But hard work made them strong. They were familiar with the roads and went armed. He doubted Edith Grayson carried a rifle underneath the seat of her shiny surrey.
Edith’s eyebrows didn’t lower. “Are you saying I’m unwelcome?”
“No, dang it. Don’t put words in my mouth. Youarewelcome.” More welcome than he wanted to acknowledge.And, whether or not you know it, you’re staying a spell.But already he knew enough not to say so aloud. He sensed she’d be contrary enough to turn and head back to town without allowing for a rest, which wouldn’t be good for her or the horses.
Leading this filly to water will be difficult enough, much less making her drink. Diplomacy is called for. Surely, I can dredge some up.
Cai dismounted and tied the reins to the saddle horn. Sensing he was under her scrutiny made him uncharacteristically fumble-fingered. To recover, he patted Rascal’s neck. The gelding knew his way home, and he’d follow the surrey to the ranch house. He moved around the horse to the surrey. “Slide over and let me drive.”
Her chin lifted.
