Montana Burning: Montana Lovers, #1

By L. S. Young

Jake Holloway's term as marshal in Bedford Creek, Montana is almost over, and he can't wait for the day when he's free to ride his horse and raise cattle on the homestead he abandoned when his wife died. He has decided never to remarry, but the unexpected arrival of his landlady's sister is a foil to his peace of mind. She's feisty, beautiful, and at times downright vexing. What's worse, he can't seem to stop thinking about her. 

 

Adeline Aldrich moves to Bedford Creek to work in her sister's boardinghouse and escape her mother's incessant matchmaking. Enraptured by Montana's wide skies and wild beauty, she has no intention of settling down or giving her inheritance to a man, no matter how often her sister hints she's in danger of becoming a spinster. But when she impulsively buys a horse and asks surly, inscrutable Jake Holloway to teach her to ride, her attraction to him grows into something much stronger. Something which threatens to set her aflame with desire.

 

Neither is willing to give up their hard-earned freedom, nor admit the extent of their feelings, but when they are trapped by a blizzard and a grifter vows revenge against them over a slight, can they overcome their doubts and face danger and an uncertain future together? 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Champagne Book Group
• Release date: Apr 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9781947128958

Book preview

Champagne Book Group

Presents

Montana Burning

Montana Lovers, Book 1

By

L. S. Young

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Champagne Book Group

www.champagnebooks.com

Copyright 2019 L. S. Young

ISBN 978-1-947128-95-8

April 2019

Cover Art by

Produced in the United States of America

Champagne Book Group

2373 NE Evergreen Avenue

Albany OR 97321

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This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not buy it, or it was not bought for your use, then please purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication

In memory of my dad who, given the choice, would have disappeared into a paperback western for good.

Acknowledgement

Thanks to Dawn Dowdle at Blue Ridge Literary Agency for believing in this book and showing infinite patience in finding it a home, and to Linda Workman-Crider and Cassiel Knight for their work on the manuscript.

Thank you to beta readers Hannah Starling, Steph Mcphee, and Jennifer Ridge. Thanks to Brittney Hinson for her positive support, and for loving Jake Holloway as much as I do.

A heartfelt thank you to two valuable critique partners: the talented and helpful E.L. Waters, and Catherine Merrick, a writer whose knowledge of language and historical accuracy is irreplaceable.

Chelsea Eades, for volunteering her knowledge and experience with horses (specifically Appaloosas) and equestrianism.

Thank you to my friend and bookstagrammer Tiffanie Kelly (@tiffersbooks) for her infectious enthusiasm and promotion of my work.

To my love, George, for listening to me obsess over this and every other story I create, for making funny and helpful recommendations for the narrative, and for the many other ways he has supported and continues to support my work.

Chapter One

Providence, Rhode Island, February 14, 1878

Adeline Aldrich sat on a bench in the ivy-covered gazebo in her mother’s back garden, listening to the distant crash of breakers and the cries of gulls. Spring being some weeks away, the ivy remained dead and snow was still on the ground, but her gentleman caller had requested privacy, and she had shown him to the only place free from her mother’s prying eyes. Adeline stared at the valentine he had given her, a paper doily adorned with hand-painted wreaths, roses, a fat cherub and the words Constant and True in swirling script. She swallowed with discomfort and ventured a glance at him.

He dropped to one knee.

Oh dear, she murmured. Mr. Cadogan, please…

Miss Aldrich. Dear Addie. Allow me to express my re—

Mr. Cadogan, I implore. A faint edge of irritation crept into her voice. She only allowed her sister Florence to call her Addie. From anyone else, it sounded childish, diminutive.

Speaking quickly, all a jumble, as if speed would hasten them toward the end he desired, he said, Will you have me as your husband?

"No."

The young man looked at her with an expression of shock. He had been calling on her for several weeks and attaching himself to her at parties for longer, and although she hadn’t encouraged him, he was not the first man convinced by her agreeable manner into thinking himself more to her than he was.

Having received and refused a quantity of marriage proposals does not give one an excuse to be discourteous.

I’m sorry, she said, how rude of me. I appreciate your offer, but I cannot accept.

Have I misunderstood you?

You haven’t, sir.

He rose, indignant, as his large blue eyes grew larger and rounder by degrees. You heartless…I have spoken to your father. Everything is arranged!

Adeline clasped her hands. My father will accept my refusal.

You know I’m set to move upward in New York? That I have a townhouse there, plus the brick manor here? Servants and a fine carriage at your disposal?

She nodded.

His ears went red. Am I so disgusting to you?

Yes, you pompous ass. The only man I wanted to marry has been buried six feet deep these six years. I simply don’t wish to marry you.

He gave her a look bordering on contempt. "You are what? Twenty-four? What else will you do?" His tone dripped with scorn.

Adeline returned his glare. She had not spent the past six years cultivating her freedom to hand it part and parcel to him, a man who saw her as no more than a stepping stone, a requirement to fulfill. But she did not expect him to understand.

What I will do is none of your business.

She stood and pinched the corner of the gaudy valentine between her thumb and forefinger as if it were a filthy rag.

And this is hideous. I’d suggest you give it to a more willing recipient, but the coal bin is the only place for it. Good day, sir. It’s cold. I’m going in.

She handed him the unwanted love token and tossed one end of her scarf over her shoulder. The bustled train of her fur-trimmed, royal blue day dress swept the floorboards as she brushed past him.

CHAPTER TWO

Bedford Creek Settlement, Montana Territory, May 3, 1878

Jake Holloway studied his hand of cards and fought the urge to chew his cheek—a dead giveaway he had a winning hand. The table where he sat with his poker mates stood beneath a chandelier fashioned of deer antlers, wreathed in smoke from pipes and cigarettes. The air was thick with the scent of Scotch, tobacco, and male sweat.

Jake rarely smoked. His mother had been an elegant woman, and she had hated it, called it a nasty habit when his father smoked indoors. He could still remember her muttering, "Ay, dios mío!" and waving her hand before her face at the lingering stink of a pipe in her parlor. So, he had avoided the compulsion. Instead, his vices turned to horses, cards and liquor.

He knew how to curb his passion for the latter two, but he had grown up on a ranch and his love for horses, both riding and raising them, knew no bounds. He glanced sideways through his empty glass at his friend, Nate Anderson, who sipped his bourbon and passed a hand over his thinning hair.

Nate signaled to the bartender, saying, Another, for him.

Jake shook his head. I’m well-watered as it is. Show ’em. He sensed himself drifting toward, if not drunkenness, at least its threshold.

A farmer, who had come into town to trade and been roped into the game when he stopped for a drink, laid his hand down. Pair a’queens.

Nate’s mouth twitched. Your woman’s gonna kill you, Fletcher. Full house.

Curses flew around the table. Cornwall Smith, who managed the mercantile for Nate, spat disgustedly at the spittoon and put his cards down, saying, Fold.

Jake?

Jake fanned his cards with a practiced hand. Straight flush.

Fletcher slapped his shoulder as he swept his winnings in and Nate muttered, You oughta be the one buying the liquor. He signaled to the bartender again, and Jake shook his head a second time, but Nate said, Take the drink, damn it.

Jake grunted, running fingers through his black hair until it stood out in every direction. It’s the anniversary of my becomin’ a widower, Anderson. This ain’t a bachelor party.

All the more reason to drown in liquor. Nate slid the fresh glass of whiskey across the table to him.

He was perhaps the only man brave enough to cross Jake when he refused something.

Jake had come to Bedford Creek to raise cattle and spend his days on horseback. That was how he had grown up, and it was in his very bones, but fate intervened to deprive him of such a life. His wife had died under terrible circumstances, and the loss had taken the joy out of ranching, and everything else. On a whim, he’d participated in a posse to round up a fugitive and shot the man’s gun out of his hand from forty paces away. This had led a friend who was a judge in Helena to recommend him for the appointment of marshal.

Sorrow drove him to accept. The term was for four years. When they ended, he accepted four more. Eight years had sounded like an eternity at the age of twenty-two. Eight years and, surely, I’ll have forgotten her, or I’ll be dead, too.

Neither had turned out to be true.

Jake picked up the glass of whiskey and bolted it in one swift motion, wincing as it burned its way into his gut.

~ * ~

Adeline peered out the window of the stagecoach at the town of Bedford Creek. At first glance it didn’t seem much to go on—the unpaved main street had turned to a quagmire of mud from recent rain and churned into nearly impassible ruts from wagon wheels and horse hooves. The entirety of downtown consisted of just a few false-fronts. There was a mercantile, hotel, saloon, and at the very end of the street, her sister’s boardinghouse, where she had come to work.

Adeline alighted from the coach and landed in several inches of deep mud. Oh, drat!

Beyond Main Street and the hodge podge of buildings and false fronts, a wide, open vista gave way to a meadow populated with wildflowers, leading to a far-off mountain range. Brilliant azure sky, shimmering lake and the snow-capped peaks of the Rocky Mountains beckoned to her in the distance.

Quit gawkin’, and get outta the way, woman!

Adeline jumped, startled, and found herself obliged to hop out of the way of a horse and carriage before it ran her over. The wheels splashed her clothing with more mud as it trundled past.

The stage driver’s boy gave a youthful laugh.

Adeline turned to him, rather shocked by his cheek. He was a lad of twelve with a halo of black curls standing out from his head, and his cheerful face made her give in to his amusement. I suppose it is rather funny.

He handed hHHkHeanded her a longbow, which she inspected with meticulous care. Satisfied it had made the journey in one piece, she slung it over her arm and made her way across the street. The boy trailed behind with her trunk balanced on his shoulders.

Careful, she said. I don’t care so much about the dresses, but it has my quiver and the rest of my archery things in it.

She did care about the dresses, rather, but she was determined not to start her first day in the northwest with persnickety northern manners.

~ * ~

The boardinghouse was a friendly-looking building with square columns, white paint, and a latticed porch. Florence had inherited it after her husband passed away the previous year and kept busy running the place and raising her two daughters alone. Adeline suspected Florence had invited her more to give her an out from Rhode Island than because she was in dire need of help—she knew her sister to be a hard-working sort of person, and the money left behind had been plenty.

As Adeline mounted the porch, she caught sight of a wizened face and two sparkling eyes peeking from behind the drapes of a window. The face disappeared as she rang the bell, and the curtain fell back into place.

No one answered the bell, so she saw herself in, leaving the door open for the boy carrying her trunk. The foyer was furnished with a hat rack and a desk against one wall, the door beside it marked with the number one, the abode of the nosy occupant who had peered from the window. A carpeted staircase curved upward to the recesses of the second story.

As she stood on the doormat taking in her surroundings, a girl of about seven ran down the hall chasing a calico cat. The cat streaked out the door Adeline left ajar. Intent on her pursuit, the child ran headlong into Adeline. An elder girl followed right on her heels. Pulling up sharply, she made as if to dump a glass of water over her sister’s head, but Adeline whisked her out of the way and received the christening down the bodice and skirt of her traveling suit, adding further disorder to the inches of mud soaking the hem. She made a sound of dismay as the cold water soaked through her bodice and into her corset.

The two girls were her nieces, whom she had not seen since they were small children. They stood staring at her, looking like two fiends in matching wincey. The younger girl’s eyes were round with awe, while the elder wore an expression of wry amusement.

A small, plump woman with dark, curly hair and a determined face entered the foyer, dropping the basket of clean laundry in her hands. Addie! I intended to meet you at the coach.

Adeline stood still, dripping water onto the doormat. Hello, Flor, dear. It arrived early.

What a mess you are! What happened?

Adeline said, Well, the mud, just as her nieces each pointed to the other.

Fine way to greet your aunt! Say hello properly and get upstairs. Florence handed Adeline a dish towel from the basket. Jerking her head at the staircase behind her, she told the stage driver’s boy, Room six, if you please.

"But, Ma. Kitty got out," cried the younger girl.

"She tore my dress playing bank robbers," said the elder.

Esme, Kitty will return in time. Perhaps if you didn’t torment her, she wouldn’t run from you! Now do as you’re told. I’ll mend your dress later, Rella.

The girls curtsied to Adeline, who barely noticed as she dabbed at her wet clothing with the dishcloth. The elder one handed her mother the empty water glass with a face not all together repentant before she left.

Adeline gave a quarter to the stage driver’s boy and followed Florence into the parlor. A large brindle wolfhound who had been watching the proceedings with benign interest from his place beside the door got to his feet and lumbered after them.

The parlor was a well-furnished room with a bay window, piano, mantle-piece draped in velvet, and square-backed settee. It led into a large dining room set up with tables for boarders. Florence strode through a side door, back down the hall and up the wide curving staircase, speaking quickly.

The first two rooms are on the ground floor—both occupants elderly. Mrs. Hurst lives in room one, she’s a widow, and Miss Pim in room two. She’s a spinster, but everyone calls them the widows—it’s simpler. Up here at the top of the stairs is my room. Mr. Holloway is in four and five is Mr. Banks, who runs the post office. You’re in six, across the hall, and I keep seven and eight open for travelers. Let me think… We have a chicken coop out back and a cow for milk at Nate and Nell’s. I send Rella for the milk mostly but might need you to get it some days. Any questions?

I may need you to repeat everything by tomorrow, but I think I’ve got it for now. Adeline removed her hat and gloves and Florence kissed her cheek.

You look lovely as ever. Mother relented, I assume?

She opposed me to the last and wouldn’t come to see me off.

Florence rolled her eyes. Ugh. That is just like Mother.

Yes. But Father bought the train ticket and paid for me to be fitted for more sensible clothes. He sends his love.

Florence smiled. I’ll leave you to settle in. I’m awfully sorry about your dress. We dine at six, but I can have something sent up if you wish to rest. I must go and make sure Cook hasn’t fallen asleep before preparing supper. She departed, looking distracted and slightly harried.

Adeline’s hopes of immersing herself in a hot bath were dashed when she found her room contained nothing but a hip bath and washstand. She removed her wet dress and hung it up, inspecting the rest of the furniture: a small bed with a quilt, a dressing table and a single chair beside the fireplace.

She sponged off and nibbled a bit of toast and tea before going to bed early. Despite her long journey and many nights spent in a cramped sleeper car or jouncing stagecoach, she had trouble falling asleep in her new bed, in strange surroundings. Instead, she lay thinking of her mother’s disapproval over her decision to move west.

At supper the night after Mr. Cadogan’s proposal, her mother had been perilously cross. He was thirty-two and worked in finance, a fact her mother deemed more important than Adeline’s aversion to him.

You won’t find a better prospect than Harold Cadogan if you wait twenty years! she’d railed. You think because you kept your looks you will bloom forever? You’re not eighteen anymore, Adeline.

Adeline had stared at the untouched dish of budino de limone on the table before her. I don’t want to marry him, Mamma. He’s dull and pompous. And has bad taste in valentines.

"Well, what do you wish, your highness?"

To marry whom I desire, if anyone ever comes along. And otherwise to be left in peace.

Mirabella Aldrich had lifted her chin and slammed her hand down next to her plate, causing her husband, who had been buried in his plate or behind his newspaper for most of the meal, to jump and look up. You will marry or leave this house. Frank, tell her.

Bella, be sensible.

"Sensible? Tell that to her. You’re the one who indulged her. She wanders the house, playing piano and shooting arrows in the garden. It has been six years."

After her fiancé’s death, Adeline’s decision to pursue things which brought her joy and made her feel fulfilled, like archery and sewing, had been the ultimate betrayal to Mirabella, who had raised her to use her beauty for a stunning match.

Adeline sighed at the recollection. As if her mother’s habits were any more tolerable to her. Listening for hours as the woman prattled over the difficulty of choosing new drapes for the parlor or furniture for the billiard room was not exactly her idea of fun.

Unable to bear her marital status turning into another bout of bickering, Adeline had blurted, I don’t wish to remain, not like this. I want to go to Bedford Creek in the spring.

Her parents had both turned to her in surprise, and Mrs. Aldrich had gasped theatrically, as if she had said, I want to join a convent.

But her father had smiled at her, the corners of his eyes creasing with affection. And it was his consent that mattered. But she had feared, eventually, her mother would bring her father around to her point of view: Adeline was better off married and overseeing her own home. Better to brave the untamed northwest.

~ * ~

Adeline at last drifted off to sleep around one but was awakened at three by the sound of the doorknob turning in its casing. She sat up with a start, trying to remember if she had slid the bolt home. I did. I must have, she whispered.

The doorknob rattled and Adeline heard someone humming in a deep voice.

What sort of establishment is my sister running, where men are free to roam about trying doors in the dead of night? After a moment of terrified indecision, she hissed, This won’t do! and hopped out of bed.

If a strange man was about, her nieces were right down the hall and might be in danger. Bending over the small lamp on her bedside table, she managed to light the wick.

She crossed the room and slid the bolt out, flinging the door open with much more audacity than she felt. In the circle of light illuminated by the lamp, she could just discern the pattern of the runner in the hall, the carved oak paneling and the form of a man leaning in the doorway across the passage with one long leg crossed over the other. His features were barely visible in the gloom, so she raised the lamp until she could see his eyes, dark hollows in the shadow thrown by her flame.

He stopped humming and said, Evenin’.

She didn’t reply and he continued, "Perhaps mornin’ is more accurate."

Sir, did you just try to enter my room?

Er, in the grip of strong drink, I seem to’ve mistook my left for my right…

He’s so drunk he can’t even speak plainly.

As his gaze traveled up her form, pausing on her face with detached interest, she realized she’d forgotten to put on a dressing gown and stood before him in nothing but a thin summer nightgown, leaving her arms and collarbone bare. The garment was shapeless, but being naked beneath it made her feel exposed. She caught a whiff of whiskey, and with no more thought to anyone’s safety but her own, she backed into her chamber and slid the bolt home.

As she smoothed her hair into a chignon before the glass the next morning, scowling at the bags beneath her eyes, Adeline almost wondered if she’d imagined the whole ordeal. Recalling the man in the daylight hours across the bleary plane of sleep made him seem like an apparition or a strange, somewhat improper dream.

Adeline had barely set foot in the dining room before Florence swathed her in a roomy white apron. Check-in isn’t until eleven. Replenish the coffee, will you? I’ve got to run and get the biscuits out of the oven. Rella burnt herself last time I let her do it.

Adeline began refilling coffee cups, smiling and bidding good morning to her fellow boarders. Mr. Banks, the boarder in room five, scowled and waved her away as she offered him more coffee. A man sitting at a small corner table with a newspaper in front of his face signaled to her with one finger, and she made her way toward him. He lowered his newspaper to thank her as she filled his cup, and she started at the sight of him, spilling hot coffee over the rim of the cup, into the saucer and onto the white tablecloth.

He pushed his chair back to avoid the scalding liquid, cursing.

You’re the man who frightened me last night! What did you mean by skulking in the upstairs passageway?

His eyes widened. Skulking?

Yes, at three in the morning!

He wore a bandana instead of a tie or cravat and had a mustache and shrewd, dark eyes. The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile, and a dimple formed in his cheek, contrasting with his angular jaw.

Adeline took the smile to be derisive, and felt herself justified in thinking so when he said, "Which was it, last night or this mornin’? And I might ask what you were a-doin’ to open your door at such an hour?"

His speech hinted at a drawl as he disregarded his g’s, and she realized what she had mistook for the slur of intoxication the night before was his accent.

Offended by the implications of such a question, she exclaimed, How dare you? You’re impertinent, conceited… She paused, taking in his simple attire, dusty boots and worn vest. You’re the most insolent vagrant I’ve ever encountered!

Vagrant?

He said this with even more incredulity than he said the word skulking. She wondered if he intended to repeat every word she said like a perturbed parrot. At this point, their fellow boarders had paused their morning repast to take in what was turning into a heated exchange. Adeline spotted Florence making her way across the room.

Is there a problem? She gave them both a smile that hinted at concern around her eyes.

This man was outside my bedroom door in the dead of night, intoxicated, and when I opened the door, he leered at me.

Now see here, miss! I can hold my liquor but admit I may’ve taken too many sips at the bar. I was with Nate Anderson, and he was buying.

Adeline crossed her arms, as she had no idea