Runaway Montana Groom: Bear Grass Springs Book 12 Page 13

  Peter paled, rubbing at his head. “I had no idea it was that bad.”

  “Of course you didn’t. You’re a man who’s used to having a charmed life. You have no idea what it is to be a spinster, unwanted and spurned by society. Seen as fair game to any rogue.”

  “Your sister is not a spinster. And she’s not unwanted,” Peter snapped, flushing red at the description of the woman he loved.

  “That is exactly what she is in society’s eyes. I had hoped to start anew here. To have a flock who didn’t see us as a pathetic pair. But I can see we must always contend with the likes of you.”

  Peter paused. “That’s what bothers you the most, isn’t it? Not the pain Mena suffered but your loss of esteem. You no longer had the moral authority you desired over your flock, and you blame Mena for it. And me.” He paused. “Surely you knew this was my home. I’d spoken of it often enough.”

  “No,” Morris snapped. “You said you lived in the Montana Territory. It’s a big-enough place. I never thought we’d be unfortunate enough to actually settle in the place you called home.”

  Peter stared at him in stony silence for a long moment, disbelieving his answer but unwilling to argue with the obstinate man. “What should I tell your sister?”

  The pastor stood tall, his cheeks flushed with righteous indignation. “I wash my hands of her if she makes the unfortunate decision to align herself with you.”

  Peter nodded. “So be it.” He left without a backward glance, determined to find a way to ease his beloved’s heartache at her brother’s rejection.

  Later that evening, Peter sat in the café kitchen with Philomena. She had insisted on helping at the café that day, somehow coaxing his grandmother to sit at the table, while Philomena prepared the bulk of the noontime and supper meals. Rather than a worn-out elderly woman, his grandmother had appeared youthful and full of energy, as she departed for home.

  “I can’t thank you enough for helping today,” Peter murmured, his fingers playing with Philomena’s. “I’ve been so worried about my grandmother.”

  “She’s a wonderful woman,” Philomena said, with a sigh. She made a little sound of discontentment when he released her hand and rose. When he began to massage her sore neck, shoulders, and back, she sighed with absolute pleasure. “I dreamed of this.”

  “Of my massages?” he teased, as he bent forward to kiss her head.

  “No. Yes.” She giggled. “Of times like this. When it was just the two of us and we could talk. Support each other. Or when no words were needed.” She arched and moaned when he found a particularly tender spot. “That feels like heaven.”

  “Good,” he said in a voice as gentle as any caress. “I always want to bring you pleasure. And joy.” He continued his massage, quietly admitting, “I dreamed of this too.” When she stiffened under his soft touch, he made a soothing noise. “There’s no need to fret.”

  She reached back, grabbing his hand and tugging, so he moved to the side and sat on the bench, facing her. Her hand rose, scraping over his cheek and the stubble already growing back, even though he’d shaved that morning. “What was your dream?”

  He closed his eyes a moment and then met her gaze. “Until today, it was much like yours. A vague hope for a contented future.” He waited a moment, gathering his courage. “Now I want to run this café with you. To hear you singing as you cook and to know I can steal a kiss whenever possible. To know we share this dream.” He looked around the café. His smile faded as he saw her sober. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have presumed.”

  A tear leaked down her cheek, and she sniffled. Philomena grabbed his arm, preventing him from standing. “No, don’t go anywhere,” she said in a tear-thickened voice. She looked at him with pleading in her gaze, and she took the time she needed to rein in her emotions. “This baby is making me emotional.”

  A ghost of a smile appeared. “I’m glad. I like knowing what makes you happy. I like learning what upsets you, so I can correct those missteps and not hurt you again.” His expression grave, he said, “I want to make you happy.”

  She laughed and pressed forward, so she was inches away from him. “I am happy. I’m overwhelmed.” She looked around the café. “I never dared to dream I might have this. A man who cares for me. A baby. A business.” She bit her quivering lip. “I have a tremendous fear something will occur to ruin it all, and I’ll end up alone.”

  He groaned, pulling her into his embrace, his strong arms banded around her. “No, Mena. No matter what, you’ll never be alone. I promise you, never.”

  Tears coursed down her cheeks. “I have trouble believing in forever.”

  He leaned back and brushed away her tears with his thumb. “I know. I do too. Believe in tomorrow—and the tomorrow after that—and soon we’ll have our forever. That’s what my grandmother told me once. I didn’t believe her then, but I realize she was right. For I want all of my tomorrows with you.”

  Philomena sighed, resting her head against his shoulder. The kitchen acted as a cocoon away from the town, as the residents settled for the evening. Men hollered outside, a few wagons could be heard, and cats yowled as they staked out their territory. “What did Morris say?”

  He stiffened at her whispered question, continuing to run his hands over her back to soothe her and himself. “He won’t marry us.”

  She collapsed farther against him. “I knew better than to hope.” When she felt his tension, she pushed back to stare into his guarded gaze. “What is it?”

  “I’m sorry,” he breathed, his gaze filled with sorrow. “Morris told me how you suffered after I left.” He cupped her face. “I’m so ashamed.”

  “No,” she murmured, kissing his cheek and stroking a hand through his hair. “It’s behind us.” When he still didn’t relax, she asked him, “What more is it?”

  “You knew,” he whispered. At her perplexed frown, he said in a low voice, “You knew this was my home. You encouraged Morris to come here.”

  She flushed and nodded. “Yes. Now you know I’m a liar too.”

  He shook his head, as his brows furrowed. “You’re not a liar, Mena. I know you, and you must have your reasons.” When she remained quiet, he asked, “Why? You despised me when I returned here.”

  “I had hoped I was wrong. That you’d had some other reason for leaving me, other than following a herd of cattle north. I built fantasies in my head.” She paused. “I loved you, and I couldn’t kill that love.”

  “Don’t,” he rasped, his hands caressing her jaw. “Never stop.”

  Leaning forward, she kissed him softly. “I don’t think I can. And then, finally I learned there was another reason. Your mother.” She nodded, as he grimaced.

  “You lied to Morris,” he said, a hint of wonder in his voice. “You led him here.”

  “I did. I was insistent on leaving Texas. On traveling as far away as possible for a new start. One of Morris’s colleagues was to take this post. He also has a sister, who acts like a caretaker for him. He decided at the last moment he did not want to travel to such a wild place, and he wrote Morris, complaining of having agreed to such a commitment, not wanting to appear that he wasn’t a man of his word. I convinced Morris to take his place.” She shrugged.

  “So it is largely by chance we are together now,” Peter breathed. “If your brother’s friend hadn’t wanted to renege on his duty, he would have been here and not you.” At her nod, he breathed, “Dear God, no,” pulling her close. “I can’t imagine life without you, Mena.”

  She kissed his neck. “Nor I you, Peter. But who will marry us? There’s only the one pastor in town.”

  “I’d return to Texas if I needed, so I could marry you.”

  She giggled and flushed. “Let’s hope nothing so drastic is required.”

  Kissing her soundly, he forgot about their troubles and focused on the joy of holding her in his arms once more.

  Chapter 9

  A few days later, Philomena worked in the kitchen beside Irene. Although she was pl
eased with Philomena’s help, Irene did not appear eager to give up working in what she considered “her kitchen.” Smiling at Irene, as Irene whispered a trick of the trade for keeping the biscuits warm but not drying them out, Philomena hummed to herself as she worked. She had never felt such a camaraderie as she did these past days. Knowing Peter was in the café nearby, and eager to see her, soothed a restlessness in her spirit. Hearing him laugh or share a joke with a customer filled her with joy, as the reticent man emerged from his shell.

  “It’s good to see you smile, child,” Irene said, with a contented grin. “And I can’t say I haven’t noticed the number of times you glance to the doorway.” She chortled with glee when Philomena gasped, blushing with mortification. “There’s no shame in enjoying your beloved’s presence.”

  “I’d think you’d resent me,” she said in a low voice, as she washed dishes and set them on the drying rack. Her gaze darted to the door, but she heard a man start a tale, which she suspected would turn into a long-winded rendition of absolutely nothing of interest. The regulars had discerned that Peter was a compassionate listener and had started regaling him with all of their favorite stories.

  “Oh, he’ll be a while,” Irene muttered, confirming Philomena’s suspicions. “Harold forbade that man from speaking more than two sentences together. And one was what he wanted to order. He’ll go on for an hour, if Peter lets him.” She sighed and shrugged. “He’ll learn, as his grandfather did.” She tapped her spoon on the stew pot and focused on the woman who had ensnared her eldest grandson. “Resent you? Why would I?”

  “I spoke out of turn,” Philomena stammered.

  “You believe I’m upset that you and Peter want to take over the café?” Irene chortled with laughter. “You have no idea what I am, but upset isn’t it. I’m delighted. Scared. Relieved.”

  Drying her hands on a cloth, she approached the older woman, urging her to sit. The café was mainly empty, and few were clamoring for food. The evening rush wouldn’t start for a few more hours. She glanced outside to the beautiful sunny day, noticing that children played in the alleyway behind the café, while a dog lazed in the sun. “Scared?”

  “This is what Harold and I have done for over ten years. After we left the ranch, this has given our lives meaning.” She clasped her hands together. “It’s hard to imagine what life will be like if we’re not working.”

  Philomena bit her lip for a moment, before whispering, “Have you ever thought about what you want? Not what you need to do?”

  Irene stared at her for a long moment, her eyes glowing with admiration at Philomena’s astuteness. “You are nothing like his mother,” she whispered. “I will give thanks until my dying day for that.”

  Blushing, Philomena ducked her head. “Oh, I’m certain I am undeserving of any praise.”

  Irene moved her hand, so she clasped the younger woman’s, her gaze intent with its sincerity. “Oh, but you are. You have empathy for me. For Harold. For Peter. You see beyond yourself. That is such a gift, my girl.” She smiled at her. “A gift we’ve all sorely needed.”

  “I wonder that you can’t see that your family is what I’ve always needed,” Philomena said in a soft voice.

  “I can,” she said. “As for me, I dream of returning to the ranch, although that’s not possible. It’s Frederick’s now, and he doesn’t need to have his grandparents living with him.”

  Peter entered, his expression filled with an amused exasperation. He stopped abruptly at the sight of his fiancée and his grandmother sitting at the table. “Forgive me for interrupting your confidences.”

  Philomena rose, kissing him on his cheek. “It’s all right. I need to get back to work, if we’re to feed the men expected tonight.” She smiled at his grandmother, as Irene sat and watched the two of them work together, a distant gleam in her eye. After Peter had returned to the café dining room to continue chatting with the men, Philomena was unable to fight her contented sigh.

  “You remind me of us. Of Harold and me when we were younger. I can’t tell you how much that delights me,” Irene whispered. “For so long, I thought I’d work here until one or both of us died.”

  “No,” Philomena gasped, sitting again across from her. “Never that.”

  Irene squeezed her hand. “I fear it almost came true. Now I want something more than work. I fear that’s selfish.”

  Shaking her head, Philomena smiled at her, as she battled tears. “No, it isn’t. Speak with Peter and Frederick. They will want the same for you.” She rose again to continue working, while Irene spun tales about the early days in town, entertaining Philomena and distracting her. However, Philomena promised herself that she would not forget Irene’s wish.

  After clearing a table, Peter swiped crumbs off it, preparing it for the next café patrons. After chuckling at a regular customer’s ribald joke, he turned to see who had entered the café, stilling at the sight of his cousin Jane, standing beside a tall and proud-looking man. After a moment’s hesitation, Peter approached her, with a broad smile. “Jane. Finally you’ve come for dinner.”

  In an evergreen-colored dress that highlighted her subtle beauty, Jane stood proudly beside the man who Peter presumed was her husband. Her hazel eyes shone with curiosity as she stared at him, although there was a hint of trepidation. “Peter, this is my husband, Ben.”

  Peter held out his hand, sharing a firm handshake with the tall man with untamed black hair and a penetrating gaze. “Ben, it’s wonderful to finally meet you. Come. Sit and enjoy a meal.” He motioned for them to follow him to the table he had just cleaned. “We have a delicious venison stew for dinner, with corn bread.”

  Jane nodded, and Ben blinked his agreement. When Peter returned with their suppers, he glanced around, noting that none of the café patrons needed his attention. Pulling over another chair, he joined them at the table.

  Dipping her spoon into the stew and stirring it around to cool it off slightly, Jane looked at him, with unveiled curiosity. “I heard you are to marry.”

  Peter beamed. “Yes. I will marry Philomena Fitch.” His pleasure faded as his cousin and Ben stared at him. “I hope you will be at the ceremony and the party afterward on Saturday.”

  “Why?” Ben asked. “You’ve never much cared to include us before.” He took a bite of the stew and stared at Peter with open mistrust.

  Peter flushed and sighed. “I didn’t know about Jane. If Frederick told me, I wasn’t paying attention. I used to spend the majority of the year away from town.” He shrugged. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t as focused on family as I should have been.”

  “You dislike my father,” Jane said. “Why should you like me?”

  Peter froze, momentarily struck dumb by her question. “You’re family. Frederick and my grandparents adore you.” He paused when he saw his answer wasn’t satisfactory for her. “I’m coming to realize my anger toward your father is fading.” He took a deep breath. “You shouldn’t have to suffer for his mistakes.”

  “Nor should you,” Ben said in a soft voice. “Let the past go and find peace.” He shared a long look with Peter, who finally gave a terse nod.

  Appearing satisfied with his answer, Jane relaxed, enjoying a few bites of her stew. After a harmonious silence, she lowered her voice and leaned forward to whisper to Peter, as she had sensed a few of those at the closer tables were interested in their conversation. “Are you sure you should be marrying her?”

  Peter frowned and stiffened at the implied criticism in her voice. “Of course I am.”

  She bit her lip and cast a worried glance at her husband. “Her brother’s so rigid, and I worry she’ll be too … stern and cold. Just like him.”

  “You’re worried about me,” Peter breathed in absolute shock. “You don’t even know me.”

  Ben smiled at his wife, his hand reaching out to clasp hers. “It’s her way. She can’t help but be caring and generous.”

  Jane flushed and nodded. “If you’re anything like Frederick, you deserve a wom
an who will dance with you when there’s no music, challenge you without being mean, and never give you doubt about how much she cares for you.” She gripped Ben’s hand tightly, as she squirmed under Peter’s intense scrutiny. “Don’t marry the wrong woman merely because she chased you over a thousand miles.”

  Peter smiled and shook his head. “Mena is all of those things you wished for me, Jane. She’s been stifled by her brother, and, when you know her better, you’ll love her. I promise.” He sat for a moment in stunned silence. “I still can’t believe you’d worry about me, when you barely know me. When I’ve accidentally ignored you.”

  “Well, Ewan knows you, and he likes you, so that’s in your favor,” Ben said. “I’m his foreman.”

  “Ewan,” Peter murmured. “He befriended me for some reason on my first day in town.”

  Ben ate another bite of stew, before breaking up his piece of corn bread. “You should be thankful he likes you. Life is miserable for those he dislikes.”

  “Why?” Peter asked.

  “Oh, he sets Jessamine on them, and then she writes articles about them,” Jane said.

  Chuckling, Peter said, “Then how do you know he liked me? I’ve been her constant source of entertainment for weeks. I’d think they could build an addition to their home with how well her paper has sold because of her tales about the Runaway Groom.”

  Jane pushed away her empty bowl with a sigh of pleasure. “Tell Aunt Irene that was delicious.” Gripping Peter’s arm, Jane shook her head. “Jessie’s articles about you have been playful and lighthearted. If she or Ewan didn’t like you, she would have found a way to encourage the townsfolk to boycott your café.”

  Peter chuckled. “Well, that’s a relief then.” He smiled at his cousin, as he glanced around, and knew he needed to tend to other customers. “Thank you for coming in for supper. I hope we will spend more time together in the future.” He leaned over, giving Jane a quick hug before he clasped Ben’s hand. “Never doubt how happy I am to have another cousin.”