Montana Snowfall
Montana Snowfall
A McCutcheon Family Novel
Book Seven
Caroline Fyffe
Montana Snowfall
Copyright © 2015 by Caroline Fyffe
All rights reserved by the author.
www.carolinefyffe.com
Montana Snowfall is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, or persons, living or dead, is wholly coincidental.
No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, recording, by information storage and retrieval or photocopied, without permission in writing from Caroline Fyffe.
Edited by Pam Berehulke
Beta Reader Kandice Hutton
Cover design by Kelli Ann Morgan
Interior book design by Bob Houston eBook Formatting
Proudly Published in the United States of America
ISBN # 978-0-9861047-2-5
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Other Books by Caroline Fyffe
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Excerpt from Texas Lonesome
Dedicated to my Dear Readers, with love
Chapter One
Heart of the Mountains Ranch, Y Knot, Montana Territory, September 1886
Roady Guthrie exited the bunkhouse, his overstuffed saddlebag thrown over his shoulder. Excitement mixed with a good dose of restlessness tumbled around in his gut. He stepped off the porch, strode to his horse tied at the hitching rail, and hefted the burden over the sorrel’s hindquarters, securing it behind the saddle. Next, he picked up his bedroll and tied it on top. Finished, he sucked in a lungful of fresh morning air and let it ease away his disquiet.
Across the ranch yard, the door to the main house opened and Luke McCutcheon stepped out. He crossed the distance between them, scattering a handful of chickens. “You ready to head out?”
“Reckon so.” Roady ran his hand down the rifle scabbard at his mare’s shoulder, then checked one more time to be sure he’d packed enough ammunition. His gaze strayed to the other rifle, the one that would stay in its case, the one he brought along just because.
“Sure you don’t want to go, Luke? Bear hunting’s a good diversion, especially when there’s a baby in the house. I’ll hold off if you want to grab a few things and saddle up.”
Luke chuckled, then gazed longingly at the mountains. “I’d ride along, but Faith just might come hunting me if I did.”
“The joys of bachelorhood,” Roady said with a cocky smile. “I can go and do as I like. No one to ask permission.” He gave his horse a firm pat on the neck. “Actually, I prefer going alone. It’s the only solitude I get all year. Living in a bunkhouse don’t afford much privacy—or thinking time. A few days in the woods puts things into perspective, and rights my soul.”
Luke arched a brow. “Talking pretty deep, aren’t you?”
He shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe this’ll be the year I bag Behemoth.”
“I wish you’d let the past go. Let me take that rifle to Waterloo with me when I go, consign it in the gun shop.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
Luke’s brows rose. “Can’t or won’t?” The moment stretched out. He grasped Roady’s shoulder. “Be careful. That man-hunting grizzly has earned his name. It’s been a handful of years since he’s been spotted. I’m thinking maybe he’s dead.”
“Could be, but I don’t believe so. He’s just playing it safe by staying up in the high country since he mangled his front paw in Taylor’s trap. He’s a clever one. Knows he’s easier to track.”
Francis came out of the bunkhouse, pulling his suspenders over his shoulders. He gazed around with eyes still dull with sleep and hair resembling the bristles of a broom. “Thought I heard you out here, Luke.”
Luke nodded.
Francis ran a hand over his lightly stubbled jaw as he took in Roady’s horse and camping gear. “I’d sure like to go along, Roady.”
“You’re needed around here, Francis,” Luke said. “Especially when I go to Waterloo next week.”
Francis’s chest puffed out, and he missed the thankful expression Roady sent to Luke. It wasn’t that Roady didn’t like Francis—because he did. A lot. Thought of him as a younger brother, and cared about him mightily. The fact that they had no blood ties didn’t matter. But going alone was important. There was just something about being in those mountains all by himself. He’d meant what he’d told Luke.
A gleam of interest lit Francis’s eyes. “I hear Matt and Mark are going to Waterloo with you, Luke. Should be an eventful trip.”
Luke nodded. “That’s why Flood will depend on you more than ever with most of the men gone, as will the women.”
The sounds of deep male voices and laughter filtered out from the bunkhouse. The hands who weren’t out on watch were waking up.
Francis glanced at Roady. “How long you staying out?”
“That’s tough to say. Probably about ten days.”
Francis leaned back against the hitching rail. “You’re not heading straight to the hunting cabin?”
“Not this time. Going to spend a day or two in the high mountains first.”
Luke’s face darkened. “Keep a watch on the weather. It can change in the blink of an eye this time of year.”
The bunkhouse door opened again and Lucky limped out, carrying a pail of water. He pitched it off the porch opposite the men. “Breakfast is ready. You best come get it before it’s gone.”
When Francis headed in, Roady turned back to Luke. “Care to join us inside?”
“Thanks, but no. I ate with Ma and Flood.” He patted his stomach but his smile faded. “I mean it, Roady. I want to see you back here in ten days, or a few days after. Don’t take any undue chances with that hide of yours.”
Luke’s concern touched him. They went back years; were best friends. They didn’t mollycoddle each other, either. This bear-hunting trip was something he did every year. To clear his head. Get back to his roots. But mostly, to try to collect on a debt long overdue.
“You know I won’t, Luke. I have too much to come back to.”
Really? Like what? A bunkhouse full of smelly men?
Roady pushed away a seed of loneliness, not letting it take hold. He’d been working for the McCutcheons so long it was darn difficult to remember when he’d started. He wasn’t complaining for the good life he’d been handed, it was just that he was starting to believe a man needed something more. Something to leave behind after he’d passed on to show he’d been a part of this world. The notion had started a year ago, and with each passing season the yearning grew. “Spring roundup will be here before we know it.”
Luke chuckled in his dry way, making Roady smile. “We have winter to get through first. Last year was a doozy.”
“You’re right about that.” He shrugged and headed for the bunkhouse door. He was hungry and intended to stuff his belly past full, enough to keep him stoked up most of the day. After which, he’d subsist on jerky and the other items he had packed in his saddlebag until he arrived in the mountains and set up camp. When his beans and biscuits ran out, he’d hunt for fresh game. The thought of a mouthful of fresh venison or a big fat turkey cooked by his own hands made his mouth water.
“You remember what I said,” Luke called as Roady went through the bunkhouse door. “Two weeks at the very most. If not, I’ll come looking.”
Chapter Two
St
. Louis, Missouri, mid-September
Ruined! The horrible word rolled around Sally Stanford’s head like a hot coal. She stood on the scarred wooden platform of the train station surrounded by her family, dressed in her best eggshell shirtwaist and her periwinkle grosgrain skirt. She was the picture of decorum; she just wished she felt it as well. Even her new small-brimmed straw hat, a gift from her mother, couldn’t calm her disquiet.
She gripped her mother tightly, wishing she could go back in time and change so many things. Turning her face away from the others, she corralled her burgeoning emotions. She’d not divulge the scalding heat of fear that burned within. If she could manage to get through the next few minutes without giving herself away, she’d board the train and be safely on her way to Waterloo, Montana Territory, no one the wiser to the secret she carried.
“Five minutes,” a porter in a jaunty uniform and hat called out.
She pulled away, loath to leave the warmth and security of her mother’s embrace.
“What in the world has you looking so serious?” her mother crooned, and laid her palm on Sally’s cheek, her thumb gently caressing. The gesture of love was almost Sally’s undoing.
“You’ve been planning this visit for weeks,” her mother said. “Have you changed your mind?”
Sally’s gaze roamed the beloved faces of her family before her. “Of course not. I’m just a bit melancholy. Three months is a long time to be away.”
Her mother’s concerned expression eased into a smile. “Is that all? With the cost of a ticket, it’s prudent you stay for a good long while. I’m sure Heather is over the moon, waiting for her baby sister to arrive. You be sure and write with all the news.”
“Tell us about Hayden,” Anita chimed in.
“Yes, Mother. And you know I will, Anita.”
Someone tapped her arm. Sally glanced down into Melba’s anxious eyes.
“Be sure to tell Heather I’m coming out next year,” Melba said with resolve. “I’ll be fifteen then and able to make the trip alone—if she meets me in Waterloo like she’s meeting you. It’s so exciting you get to ride in a stagecoach.”
The youngest of the family was bundled to the hilt in a long fur-lined coat, woolen scarf, and hat. Her tenuous health had steadily improved until she was able to make small excursions from the house on rare occasions. Everyone knew her plans to go to Y Knot were just wishful dreams.
“You won’t forget, will you?” Melba asked, her thin voice sounding like a bird’s. “That’s why I’m getting better and not going to heaven. I want to see a real live Indian, and the blue Montana sky filled with puffy white clouds.”
Sally smiled and chucked her baby sister under her chin. “You should be the writer, Melba, instead of me. That was beautiful.” After so many months of worry, it was lovely to almost have her back. “I won’t forget to relay your message to Heather. It will be the first thing out of my mouth.” She winked, feeling her mood lighten. “And you tell Aunt Tillie good-bye for me. I’m sorry she didn’t feel up to coming along this morning. But it’s wonderful she made such a quick recovery from her illness.”
Her mother ran a soothing hand down Sally’s arm. “She was disappointed but didn’t want to chance a relapse. Not with having to care for little Frankie. Now, you be careful, my beautiful little bird. You may be eighteen and think you’re grown, but you’re naive of the ways of the world. Three days alone on the train…” Her mother gave a long-suffering sigh. “I don’t know what I was thinking to give you permission.”
If you only knew! I’m not inexperienced of the ways of the world, or of men. She pushed her troubling thoughts away, knowing they would break her mother’s heart. Sally would do anything to spare her that humiliation. Even move away to a place she’d never seen and never come back.
“I badgered you.”
Her mother laughed. “That you did. Truthfully, I can’t begin to express how proud I am of you, Sally! First your job at the newspaper, starting your novel, and now your fearless, independent spirit.”
Sally glanced around at the nodding faces of her siblings, tendrils of shame threatening to choke her.
“We all are,” her mother went on. “I wish your father were alive to see what a lovely woman you’ve become. He’d be very proud as well. Now, don’t forget to send me a telegram as soon as you meet up with Heather and Hayden in Waterloo. If you don’t, I’ll worry.”
“I will.” The fabrication about her sister meeting her at the train station in Waterloo seared shamefully in her chest, but that was the only way to gain her mother’s permission. Not only was she ruined, but now she was a liar as well.
They all moved together for one large family hug.
“I love you,” her mother called softly as Sally turned and stepped up onto the train.
Sally took one last look. I may never see any of you again. “I love you too, Mother. All of you,” she amended quickly.
What would Heather do when she found Sally at her front door? And again, when the baby started to show? She didn’t want to disparage her older sister’s good status in her new town, but she didn’t know where else to go.
Chapter Three
The rough-riding train travel from St. Louis to Waterloo, the dank air thick with coal dust, together with all the starts and stops had triggered Sally’s motion sickness and taken the starch right out of her sails. All her good intentions about continuing on the same day she arrived at the Waterloo station had evaporated like a drop of sweat landing on the red-hot coals in her brother’s forge.
Yesterday, the moment she’d stepped off the passenger car and onto the train platform, her queasy stomach had almost made her run for an outhouse. Boarding the stagecoach to Y Knot had been unthinkable. Even though she hated to spend a penny of her precious savings, she’d searched out an affordable boardinghouse after taking in a bowl of soup in a nearby restaurant. Once in her room, she’d collapsed on the quilted bed, sleeping the time away from then until now.
Today, though, Sally was eager to head to Y Knot. She was rested and bathed, with her whole life in front of her. Optimism swirled within. With her resourcefulness, she’d figure out some way to support herself and her child. So what if she remained a spinster for the rest of her life? Her lot had been chosen by destiny—and there was no changing it now. Having sent the promised telegram to her mother, Sally exited the telegraph office. She stopped and looked at the Wells Fargo stagecoach across the street in front of the Oyster Hotel. The sight of the long, fuzzy ears of the mules hitched to the front actually tugged a smile onto her face.
She opened her satchel. Only ten Premium soda crackers left. I need to find more before it’s time to board. Without something to nibble on, my stomach will sour up and the trip will be miserable.
The door behind her opened, and the three men who had entered just as she was leaving came out.
“I’m glad to have that taken care of, Matt, Luke,” one of the tall cowboys said to his two companions. They smiled at her and doffed their hats as they passed by. The three stopped a few feet away. “Now all we have to do is ride out to Boucher’s, collect the horses, and return. If we don’t have any complications, we’ll have a day or two in Waterloo to enjoy our time unfettered.”
She glanced at the guns strapped to their thighs, then averted her eyes.
“Hey, McCutcheon,” a man called from a wagon passing in the street. Filled with hay, it looked like a muffin top as the fodder almost overflowed the sides of the rickety dray.
All three men smiled in acknowledgment. “Tarkington, it’s been years,” one called back.
“You stayin’ in town? I’d like to get together. Chew some fat.”
The cowboys nodded. “We’re riding out today, but we’ll be back with six head to stable, as well as our saddle horses. You have room?”
The wagon was almost gone. “Sure do. I’ll be lookin’ for ya!”
The wagon passed and the men started away. “What say we head over to the saloon and wet the back of our throats before we get a meal? We can ask around for the best establishment to get a steak and potatoes,” one said as they ambled off.