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  Montana Untamed

  Bear Grass Springs, Book One

  Ramona Flightner

  Grizzly Damsel Publishing

  Copyright © 2018 by Ramona Flightner

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems – except in the case of brief quotations in articles or reviews – without permission in writing from its publisher, Ramona Flightner and Grizzly Damsel Publishing. Copyright protection extends to all excerpts and previews by this author included in this book.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. The author or publisher is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Cover design by Jennifer Quinlan.

  To My Family, Who Shows

  Infinite Patience, Support

  And Love as I Lose Myself

  In the Worlds I Create.

  Mil Gracias.

  Contents

  What Readers Are Saying

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Sneak Peek at Montana Grit!

  Also by Ramona Flightner

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  What Readers Are Saying

  What Readers are saying about Ramona Flightner and her writing.

  “…what makes Flightner so unique; she writes with depth and passion of characters who are human... flawed and overcoming, but not in a saccharine fairytale. They bring history alive in a way that leaves me yearning for more.” Amazon Reviewer

  “I love novels like this dealing with earlier times and how those before us paved the paths we take for granted.” i-Books Reviewer

  “Never have I followed a series as I have "Banished". Thinking at the end of each book that I will move on has proved fruitless. I am intrigued by your characters, the progressive plot and the historical aspects of your stories. A total enjoyment.” Amazon Reviewer

  “Talented author… You will be captivated with the characters. Enjoy.” Google Play Reviewer

  “These books are exceptionally well written. I love the romance, suspense and history of the period.” Amazon Reviewer

  “Amazing story line…Once I finished reading the characters live on in my head and heart.” Amazon Reviewer

  Chapter 1

  Montana Territory, March 1884

  Annabelle Evans took a deep breath as she stood in front of the door to the General Store, or the Merc as the residents of Bear Grass Springs called it. She tugged on her wool navy-blue waist-length jacket that matched her dress as she fought panic. The man she sought information from would be inside. However, the gray day darkened the large glass windows on either side of the glass-paned door, as though curtains were drawn over them, preventing her from catching a glimpse inside. She ran a hand over her black hair pulled in a tight bun and pinched her cheeks.

  After another deep breath, she entered the Merc, the tinkle of a bell heralding her presence, and she smiled impersonally at the man behind the counter. She glanced at the organized shelves of merchandise, ranging from foodstuffs to linens to farm equipment. She squared her shoulders as she walked with graceful measured steps and approached him.

  “May I help you, miss?” the man behind the counter asked with curiosity and mild interest in his gaze. He was older, probably in his mid-forties, with broad shoulders, thick hands that reminded her of clubs, and an intent stare that missed little. His brown hair was shot with gray, and his beard held multicolored splotches.

  “Excuse me. I’m looking for my sister, Fidelia Evans.” She stiffened as the man looked her over from head to foot. She fought an instinctual blush as he focused on her bosom and hips, silently cursing that her prim clothes failed to hide her generous curves.

  “And who would be askin’ for her?” the man inquired, his thick eyebrows failing to hide a penetrating gaze.

  Or, she suspected, a sharp mind.

  “You don’t sound like you’re from around these parts.”

  “I’m Annabelle Evans, and I arrived yesterday.” She met his implacable stare. “I’m from Maine.”

  Before she could continue further, he smiled, pulling at one of the suspenders holding up his pants. “Your arrival was heralded by all and sundry. We’re just waitin’ to see which way you’ll go.”

  She frowned at his statement and barreled on. “I was advised by the front desk staff at the hotel that you’ve been in this town quite some time and that you’re the man I should speak with about my concerns. I’ve been unsuccessful in locating my sister. She wrote, informing me that she’s to be married to a Mr. Cailean MacKinnon. I’ve arrived in time for their nuptials as a surprise.”

  The inquisitive man appeared dumbstruck, the momentary silence broken by a deep, melodious voice with a hint of Scotland in it. “Like hell she is.”

  Annabelle spun to face the man who had been listening in. She had failed to see him, standing in the shadows, examining equipment for livestock.

  But now he approached her, standing taller than her late father—over six feet—and exuding a lanky strength. His penetrating gaze met hers, his hazel eyes lit with anger while he slapped a dusty hat on his legs.

  “Excuse me. Who are you, and why are you interrupting a private conversation?” she asked.

  He leaned forward, his low voice more menacing than a bellow. “I’m Cailean MacKinnon, and I’m not marrying a whore.”

  “How dare you suggest my sister …” Annabelle sputtered.

  “Charity is what she goes by,” the man behind the counter said, fighting a wry smile. “When she first arrived, she used her real name. But, for a while now, she’s gone by Charity.” He chuckled. “She’s had plenty of charity for the men of this town.”

  Annabelle balled her fists, reminding herself she did not believe in violence as she took a deep breath. She jumped as Cailean MacKinnon slapped a list onto the wooden counter next to her.

  “I’d appreciate you filling this while I finish my other errands,” he said with a nod to the General Store owner. “My brother or I will be by to pick it up later today.”

  “Where will I find my sister?” Annabelle demanded of Mr. MacKinnon, backing up and preventing him from leaving. Her gaze darted from the amused storekeeper to the irate Scotsman.

  “She’ll be sleeping off her night’s work at Betty’s Boudoir,” the General Store owner said. At Annabelle’s blank stare at the name of the business, he half laughed then attempted to mimic her accent. “Just ’cause we’re in the middle of nowhere doesn’t mean we don’t have culture.”

  Annabelle glared at him even while blushing beet red, unable to forestall her instinctive flushing. “And where might I find this … this hotel?”

  “Ha! That bawdy house of leisure is toward the end of Main Street. Near the bank, in case patrons think to overspend.”

  “Tobias …” Cailean said with a touch of warning in his voice. He motioned for Annabelle to precede him outside and closed the door firmly behind him, causing the bell to rattle.

  “Mr. MacKin
non,” Annabelle began after she took a deep breath, gasping as he gripped her elbow and hauled her down the boardwalk a few steps, out of view of Tobias’s avid gaze from inside the General Store. She opened her mouth to sputter a protest but clamped her jaw shut as she met Cailean’s irate glare.

  “Miss Evans, if you believed that lie you just told in there, why didn’t you seek me out?” He vibrated with barely leashed fury as his gaze roved over her.

  “I should have realized you lived in this town,” Annabelle stuttered.

  “What do you think you’re doing, coming here and spreading your vicious gossip to a man like him?” Cailean asked, bending at his waist as he met her shocked gaze. “We don’t need the likes of you here in our town. We’ve already your sister.” He pushed past her, the tattoo of his boot heels sounding on the boardwalk.

  She watched as he agilely jumped from the boardwalk and crossed the muddy street, entering the livery a little ways down on the other side of the main thoroughfare through town. She looked at the name above the establishment and sighed with resignation. MacKinnon’s Livery. She shook her head at her ineptitude and jumped again as the door to the General Store opened.

  “If I may, Miss Evans?” the man called Tobias said around a chuckle. “I’d wait ’til at least early afternoon afore seeking out your sister. She’s bound to have had a tiring night.”

  Annabelle glared at him, not bothering to give him her thanks before she marched down the boardwalk. When she reached its edge, she noticed the Sunflower Café and stumbled inside. Gingham curtains hung alongside polished windows. She collapsed in a dazed stupor onto a chair at a round table covered by a checkered blue-and-white cloth and topped with an empty vase at the center of the table. Scattered framed pictures—torn from magazines—of far-off lands hung on the walls.

  An elderly woman approached with a pot of coffee in one hand and a cup and saucer in the other. “You look like you need a cup.” She set it down gracefully and smiled at Annabelle. The woman’s gray hair was pulled into a tight knot, and her light-blue eyes shone with friendly interest. Her simple navy dress was covered by a white cotton apron. “I haven’t seen you in here before.”

  Annabelle shrugged before she attempted to muster a smile. “I just arrived yesterday.”

  “Welcome.” The woman stood there a few moments and then nodded. “I’m Mrs. Irene Tompkins. My husband and I run this café, and you’ll meet my nephew, Mr. Sutton, at the General Store.” When she saw Annabelle grimace, she laughed. “I see you’ve already met him.”

  “He wasn’t as welcoming as you are.” Annabelle glanced around the empty room. “Can you sit for a moment?”

  Irene beamed at her and settled into the chair across from her. “If there’s one thing lacking in this town, it’s female friendship. I hope you’re not planning on up and leaving too soon.” At Annabelle’s blush, she frowned.

  “I’m uncertain you’ll want to associate with me when you realize who I’m related to.” She blew out a breath and met Irene’s curious gaze. “If your nephew is correct, my sister works at a place called the Boudoir.”

  Irene’s eyes widened, and she murmured, “Oh my.” After a moment, she patted Annabelle’s clenched hand. “I’m afraid Tobias is rarely wrong. Or kind.”

  “I feared that was the case. I’ve never seen a man so angry as Mr. MacKinnon when I proclaimed he was to marry my sister.”

  Irene sputtered out a laugh. “Mr. Cailean MacKinnon?” When Annabelle nodded, Irene shook her head. “That man will never marry. And he’s not one to visit the Boudoir with any frequency.” She swiped at her eyes. “Whatever gave you such a foolish idea?”

  When Annabelle blushed but remained quiet, Irene said, “I wish I had something other than coffee to offer. However, our baker recently quit, and I don’t have the energy to run the café and cook meals, breads, and desserts too.”

  Annabelle watched Irene with interest for a moment. “There is need for a baker in this town?” At Irene’s nod, Annabelle’s look turned contemplative.

  “I know the town doesn’t look like much, but we’re growing. And there’s a sizeable miners’ camp a few miles up the mountain and not far from town. It’s called Obsidian after the dark cliffs bracketing the camp. Anyway, those men don’t tend to cook much, which is why I started a café, even though I’d promised Mr. Tompkins I’d given up the business when we left Fort Benton. The only compromise was that it be in town rather than at the camp.”

  “Is he angry with you?”

  Irene laughed. “Heavens no. It’s more of a resignation to the fact I can’t sit at home, content to care for just him.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Now I’m no gossip, like that nephew of mine. But I do like to know the goings-on in town—especially before I hear it from him—something that would be hard to come by if I were cooped up at home.”

  Annabelle laughed, the tension easing from her shoulders for the first time since she had left all that was familiar in Maine. “It seems you have a unique marriage.”

  “Oh, you’ll come to know him well. He’s a rascal but a good man. Nothing he wouldn’t do for you if you needed help.” She pinned Annabelle with a hard stare. “As long as he thought you worthy of it. Now tell me a little about yourself, Miss … ?”

  “I’m Annabelle Evans, and I’m from Maine.” She paused a moment, picking at the tablecloth. “My father recently died, and I wanted to find my sister who I haven’t seen in years. I thought she … I thought she was a seamstress.” She flushed at Irene’s indignant snort. “I had no reason to doubt her letters.”

  Irene sighed and glanced down the street before shaking her head. “You keep in mind when you see that sister of yours again about what must have occurred for her to succumb to such a life. No woman dreams of working in a place like the Boudoir.”

  Annabelle nodded. “I’m afraid I won’t believe it until …”

  “Well, I wish you luck, Miss Evans, for I fear you are bound to be disappointed.” Irene rose when the door rang as noontime customers strolled in. She motioned for Annabelle to remain seated. “I like to think we’ll be friends, Miss Evans. Come again when you want a good meal and a friendly ear.”

  Annabelle lingered a few minutes over her coffee as she thought about her sister. Fidelia was four years older, and she’d been a talented seamstress whereas Annabelle had enjoyed baking. Where she had black hair, Fidelia’s gleamed a rich chestnut color in the sunlight. Annabelle smiled as she remembered her envy of her sister’s beautiful blue eyes. She took a final sip of coffee as she refused to remember the last time she had spoken with her sister and stood to make her way to the Boudoir. Would five years have eased Fidelia’s resentment?

  Annabelle poked her head into Betty’s Boudoir, her eyes adjusting to the darkened interior. The slightly faded burgundy walls showed their age as nicks in the paint highlighted the previously soothing yellow walls. The chips were most common in areas where chairs rested against the walls. A lone overhead lamp shone, enhancing the shadows in the corners. She imagined this was to give the room a sense of intrigue, but, to her, it made the room look worn and tawdry.

  Chairs filled the entranceway, a few wooden and stiff backed, many plush and comfortable. Only one had arms. Annabelle frowned at that detail before she focused on an overly rouged woman walking on the faded, dilapidated carpet. A tall, burly man with a forbidding expression followed behind the woman, as though accustomed to his role as her silent shadow. Annabelle sneezed at the overwhelming combinations of perfume, cigar smoke, and sweat.

  “May I help you?” the woman asked with an appraising smile.

  Annabelle watched as the woman took in Annabelle’s fine clothes, young face, and soft hands, and the woman’s smile spread as though she had just struck an ore lode. Annabelle opened her mouth and then shook her head, her words momentarily silenced.

  The older woman tapped Annabelle’s hands clasped together in front of her, earning Annabelle’s full attention. “Never fear. I understand your ne
rves. I had them too, the first time I stepped into such a place. However, soon this will seem like your home. You must call me Madam.” She attempted a French accent for the last word.

  “I fear you’re misinformed. I’m hoping I’ve been misinformed.” Annabelle straightened her shoulders and disentangled her hands from the Madam. “I’m looking for my sister. Fidelia Evans.” At the woman’s blank stare, Annabelle ground her teeth together. “I’ve been told she goes by Charity.”

  “Ah, Charity. She’s sleeping off another successful night. She is one of our favorites and is always quite in demand. I’m surprised you’d call so early.” The woman’s attempt at a cultured accent failed as her long vowels sounded forced. “And I’m disappointed you won’t take the opportunity offered to you. I could make you the most popular woman in town.”

  Annabelle’s jaw tightened as she met the Madam’s beseeching gaze. Then she cringed. “I thought two in the afternoon was late enough.”

  “Considering she didn’t seek her bed until after breakfast …” The older woman smiled indulgently as she shrugged, her violet dress slipping off one shoulder. “You can understand why she’d be tired.”

  Glaring at the woman and ignoring the man hovering in the shadows, Annabelle gripped her hands together as she was unable to fight a bright blush on her cheeks. “If you would be so kind as to awaken my sister and advise her that I’m here?” She glanced around the interior again and raised her chin. “I’ll wait outside.”