Chapter 8   

Two weeks later Cookie drove the chuck wagon out ahead of the team as Robert, Timothy, and the rest of the cowhands saddled their horses. Jeremy rode out, driving the spare herding horses behind the chuck wagon. They’d meet up with several other ranchers to combine efforts and herds, then join the other ranch owners at the Helena stockyards after the cattle drive.

“Check in on the trail from time to time in case we need a fresh mount.” Timothy waved Jeremy off. “We’ll see you and Cookie at the camp, hungry for a hearty supper.”

Robert watched the boy handle five sturdy, spirited Morgans. “You done well with that kid, Timothy. He’s gonna make a right good wrangler.”

“He’s a quick study and suited for it.”

Tara met them on the porch steps with something wrapped in brown paper. “Don’t want you to starve, boys.” She grinned as she held out the packet to Timothy.

“I thought I smelled something good in there.” He brushed her fingers with his as he took the package. Lifting the top layer of paper, he found four turnovers still cooling from the oven. “Smells almost as good as you do.”

She blushed at the compliment. “They have apple filling from our trees.”

The words were out before he could capture them. “I didn’t know you could bake.”

“’Course I can bake.” Her matter-of-fact response tinged on indignant. “Had Cookie for a tutor.”

“Can’t wait to taste them.” His eyes focused on her lips.

“Just don’t go flashin’ them around out there. You might cause a stampede.” Her voice lowered. “I made ’em special for you.” Her eyes darted to an amused Robert. “And Pa.” Her cheeks deepened in color.

“I’ll take one right now.” Robert held out a hand. “Thank you, Mouse.”

Timothy obliged him. Then he turned back to Tara, lowering his voice as Robert left the porch for his horse. “I’ll keep mine for later and think of you on the trail.”

She dropped her gaze. “I’d like that.”

Robert mounted up for the weeklong ride ahead of them. “You’re sure about leavin’ Tumbleweed and Socrates out of this auction?”

Loath to leave Tara, Timothy stashed the packet in his saddlebag. “Yes, sir. They’re top-quality yearlings.” He checked his cinch, looking over his new western saddle at her. By her expression, he finally looked like a real cowboy in her eyes.

“If you and Tara trust my horse sense.” He turned to her. Did she trust him?

Her peaceful countenance encouraged him. He gave her a long, thoughtful look that ended in a contented smile. He could spend his life with her. “Those two will bring you more at auction in Kentucky than you can get in Montana, especially if they show good times at a special viewing.” He’d have to leave her a second time to secure the sale later this fall, unless he convinced her to come with him and her father. Would she ever get on a train?

He circled his arm in the air and pointed forward, signaling the men to release the corralled stock.

Robert kept his eyes on the cattle. “How do you know they’ll be contenders, Timothy?”

Dust swirled in the air around them, almost pink as early morning rays stretched ahead of the dawn. The lowing of cattle grew louder as they complained and pushed for freedom.

“Because I’m working them the same way I did Cumberland Meadow’s winner, English Fancy. She may not have won the Kentucky Derby, but she’s made a name in other prominent races. You have my word they’ll be ready by the time we take them to Kentucky in November, sir. We’ll get ahead of winter and give the new owners training time before the next season.”

With one last lingering look at Tara, he whistled to Peg. “Let’s get to work, girl.” He’d let her run off some nervous energy for the both of them before putting her in the chuck wagon. The sooner they made it to market and the Montana Stockgrowers Association meeting with the railroaders and the politicians, the sooner he could come back to Tara. He turned in his saddle and waved to her.

She stood in the courtyard, a wrap warding off the chill of the morning over a simple work dress, tendrils of her hair flickering across her cheek. She lifted a hand and waved back then tucked the errant lock behind her ear. He’d never seen a more beautiful sight as the sun broke across the mountains, bathing her in its light.

With a chuckle, Robert called out to Timothy, “All right, she’ll be here when we get back, son. Let’s get on the trail.” Robert nudged the flanks of his gelding, catching up with him. “You do what you do best, and when you say they’re ready, we’ll load ’em up.” He rode alongside Timothy. “Then we’ll maybe have a talk about my daughter.”

“Yes, sir!”

“We’ll send word before heading back to the hotel.” Robert tapped Timothy’s arm and pointed toward the short line at the telegraph office. “Tara will appreciate knowing things turned out well for us.”

Dismounting, Timothy tied off Freckles as Robert tied his mount. “That’s quite a splurge.”

Robert patted his pocket. “With what we earned selling the cattle and the ease it’ll give ’er, it’s worth the extra.”

“She’ll be tickled pink,” Timothy agreed.

“After the horses are transferred tomorrow, you’ll have a bonus. I think it’s time I had an adventure.” He rubbed his chin. “Let’s take that train ourselves and let the men head back with our mounts and the chuck wagon. Gotta live ’fore the livin’ is done. Feel like keepin’ me company?”

“A few hours versus a few days in the saddle?” Timothy thought of how quickly he’d see Tara. “Absolutely.”

Robert gave him a sly glance. “I’m sure that’s the reason.”

They moved to the telegraph clerk’s window. Robert nodded a hello and said, “Please send a message to Miss Tara Johnston, care of Silver Bow Depot.”

“Saved the ranch at the meeting too, did you?” The clerk adjusted his spectacles.

Both Robert and Timothy gave him a surprised glance. “Yes, sir.” They answered in unison, faces lit with satisfying success.

“Been a theme today. Sounds like they’re thinking of going the opposite direction, down to Copperopolis, next spring instead.” He looked up expectantly. “Message?”

Robert answered, “JBarF saved. Stop. Home on next train. Stop. Plan a big party Saturday. Stop.” He turned to Timothy. “Maybe we’ll have another reason to celebrate soon.”

The clerk’s attention was still on his pencil and paper. “Stop?”

Robert laughed. “No, siree, leave that last line out, or she might have my hide.”

Timothy leaned against the counter. “I’d rather you don’t set any more hurdles in my way, sir.” They laughed together. But Robert’s suggestion gave Timothy the feeling it was time to move forward, if Tara was willing. Her special care while he healed, the easy time together at the spike ceremony, and the apple turnovers she’d made just for him … If those apple turnovers didn’t say she cared, what did? He hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind since he met her. But now his favorite dessert would always be apple turnovers.

Not a crack in his demeanor, the clerk said, “That’ll be seven fifty.”

“Worth every penny.” Robert handed over the money. “You know she’ll embroider the words and frame it, right?” He clapped Timothy on the back as they walked out of the telegraph office on their way to the booking office.

“She knows how to embroider?” Run a ranch, ride herd, and rope and tie a cow was more than any woman he’d ever met before could do. But he’d just learned she could bake, and now this? What else could she do? “How?”

Robert looked at Timothy as if he were daft. “Every girl has to learn.” He untied his horse.

“Did you or Cookie teach her?”

Shock registered on Robert’s face. “The women’s circle at church.”

“Of course, I just thought since Cookie taught her to bake—”

“You thought I know how to embroider? Not ’less it’s done with rawhide.” He busted up into a chuckle. “Timothy, son, you lighten my load.”

Two tickets to the Silver Bow Depot handled, they rode out to the stockyards for the JBarF’s final auction. They spent the afternoon working transactions for fifty head of Morgans fit for ranching, riding, and breeding. With their plans in place for their men to head out the next morning, the trolley dropped them steps from the downtown hotel. A quick bite to eat and Timothy was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

The next morning an easy walk to the depot had them on the train in the well-appointed dining car, ordering mutton chops for lunch.

“Ain’t never seen a menu with such grand eats as this before.” Robert admired the elegance of the print on his menu.

“Wait until we take the two horses back to Kentucky. My mother is quite proud of her dinner parties.” His thoughts of home brought mixed feelings. He’d grown quite fond of the Johnstons. To the point of feeling more at home with them, even Cookie, than with his family.

“That’ll be somethin’. Imagine you come from good stock.”

“Well, sir, my father is the—” The waiter arrived with their mouthwatering meal. Steam still rising from the mutton carried a peppery aroma, the vegetables in a huge pile with butter pats melting down, mingling with the meat juices, and a roll on the side baked fresh that morning, from the flaky looks of it.

The train chugged through the mountains as they ate, nearing the track change at Whitehall.

“Good as Cookie can make, but don’t be tellin’ him I said so.” Robert winked. “I’ll let on you’re spreadin’ tales.”

Timothy chewed a bite of his chop and swallowed with a grin on his face. He relaxed, ready to tackle the future. He had no reason to believe Robert had changed his mind, or would when he learned of Timothy’s family background. After all, his children wouldn’t likely inherit any title.

Time to ask permission to court Tara properly—no matchmaking letters or unexpected surprises. This time they’d approach it the old-fashioned way. When he saw her next, Timothy planned to ask her to accompany him to the celebration, with everything out in the open. This time he’d have the jump on Jesse, since the men, extra horses, and chuck wagon wouldn’t be home for another two days. And, if things went well, he’d have Robert’s blessing on his intentions. “Sir.” He cleared his throat as his heart sped up.

Robert looked up from his plate. “What’s on your mind, son?”

“I’d like to be up front about my qualifications and intentions for courting your daughter.”

“Got qualifications, do you?” Robert put down his fork and knife. “Been wonderin’ if’n you’d get ’round to it one of these days ’fore one of those other fellas lassoed your filly.” He shrugged. “Never know what a gal sets her mind to.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “All right, let’s hear it.”

Timothy’s hands had suddenly gone clammy. He rubbed them on his denims under the table. “Well, I haven’t been as forthcoming as I should about my family.”

“There some kind of problem?”

“No, sir. Except maybe you’d like to know my full name before I say anything more?”

“It’s not Timothy Higgenbottom?”

“Yes, sir, but … I’m also the Lord of Cumberland, third son of the Earl of Cumberland.” He cringed at the officious sound the words made all strung together.

“I see. That’s quite a mouthful.” He searched Timothy’s face, spending a long moment in thought. “Does that somehow change how you feel about my daughter?”

“No, sir.” He swallowed before admitting the truth. “I love Tara completely. What I think you should know is that my family has a belief in societal conventions.”

“Uh huh.” His lips pressed together as he seemed to assess Timothy again. “If I’m hearin’ you right, your family won’t be approvin’ of Tara.”

“Sir, it’s not an issue for me. But I wanted you to know they might be less than enthusiastic.”

“I’ve learned to take a person on character, not wealth. Don’t know nothin’ about titles.” He lifted his coffee cup and drank. “But if you’re wantin’ my permission to court Tara—”

Screeching metal and the sudden jerk of the slowing train flung them forward then back. Coffee from Robert’s cup splashed everywhere. Instead of coming to a halt, the car careened sideways off the track, folding into other cars bucking the rail. Dishes, silverware, and serving carts flew through the air, smashing into windows, ceiling, and floor. Passengers screamed, grabbing for anything to anchor them, to no avail.

Seconds later people lay crumpled over the ripped wreckage like the broken fine china they’d been served. Timothy pressed his ribs, gathering his feet beneath him. Other than a few cuts and bruises, he seemed fine. The car had been shorn into jagged shreds with wood splintered everywhere. He couldn’t find Robert anywhere through the dust and smoke.

“Fire!” someone yelled over the mayhem. “Get anyone out that you can!”

Timothy shook his head, trying to regain a sense of equilibrium. “Robert? Robert Johnston?” He tested a table, pulled himself up, and saw the disaster. In the curling dust and smoke, Robert lay under another table broken from its base, with a blockade of five mangled chairs.

“I see you. Hang on. I’m looking for how to free you.” Then he saw the devastating situation. No matter what he did, Tara would lose her father to the massive injuries riddling his body. But Timothy had to try.

Wrenching twisted furniture piece by piece out of his way, Timothy managed to get to Robert. Shooting a glance at the black smoke, he gathered his gravely injured friend and picked step-by-step through the wreckage. His arms burned from the strain as much as his lungs burned from the smoke. It’d be much easier if he could use a shoulder carry. But he couldn’t, not with the damage to Robert’s chest. He’d smother before they were safely out.

Muscle-heavy from long years of physical work, Robert slid a little in Timothy’s grasp. Timothy fought to hold on as he lowered to the edge of the dining car—what was left of it—until he could lean against the edge to hop the rest of the way to the ground.

Robert groaned at the jolt, though Timothy did his best to soften the landing without falling over. Then he scanned the area for a safe place. Exhaustion shaking his knees, he managed to make it to the shade of a tree. He sank against the trunk, holding Robert tightly to him for fear of another jolt.

Breathy, his mouth foaming with blood, Robert fought to open his eyes. “Marry.” He dragged in a jagged breath. “My girl.” His eyes fluttered.

“I will.”

With all the strength he had left, he added, “Love her. She nee …” The pain in Robert’s face smoothed into serene peace.

“I will.” Timothy’s words were too late. He dropped his head against the rough bark, banging it a few times in helpless frustration. He lifted his eyes to God and choked out, “Receive Robert’s spirit, Lord. He’s been a good and faithful servant.” Then he closed his eyes and let the ragged loss flood his soul. Today he’d lost a man he admired and a friend who’d accepted him in a way Timothy had never known.

A cold shiver ran through him. He’d have to tell Tara her father’s last words and hope she believed him. “God, what am I going to say to her?”

Tara waited at the Silver Bow Depot wearing her prettiest Sunday-go-to-meeting dress. She’d pinned a pretty brooch at her throat that had belonged to her mother, tied a new satin sash around her waist, and given her hat a saucy tip to the side. Wouldn’t Pa crow like a rooster that she’d taken his advice? But she hoped to spark a light in Timothy’s eyes when they arrived.

“Why, Miss Johnston,” Josiah Dawson proclaimed. “I ain’t seen you look so pretty since the Easter cantata. You must be expecting someone special this time. Or are ya sweet on that English fella?”

Tara felt the heat rise to the roots of her hair. Everyone would know soon. Though for a short time longer, she’d keep and savor her secret. “We’re havin’ a celebration party, Mr. Dawson, down to our place this Saturday. You heard the railroad changed their mind on cuttin’ ’cross all our ranches.”

“Heard they was goin’ to build a short line to Anaconda instead. Worth a genuine celebration if there ever was a reason.”

“Bring your missus. Spread the word for the barn dance and potluck, will you?”

“Sure will.” He seemed about to say something more when the telegraph clerk ran out onto the dock. After reading the message, he paled as if suddenly ill. They spoke for a moment. The telegraph clerk hurried away.

She didn’t like to interfere, but things looked serious. “Somethin’ I can help with, Mr. Dawson?”

Rather than holler back and forth as they commonly carried on, the depot agent trudged toward Tara with a solemn air. “Miss Johnston, please sit with me a minute.” He held out an elbow.

Worry gathered crinkles at the bridge of her nose. “Someone take ill? You don’t look so good.” She sat with him on the wooden bench as the church bell began a mournful litany. The bell tolled through their conversation, calling the community together for an emergency.

“There’s been a telegraph.” He looked down the track toward the east. “The train coming north and switching east hit the train coming west. I don’t have more information yet on survivors. Since you was waiting for your pa and your sweetheart, I thought it best to tell you.”

“Where? Where did it happen?” The shaking started in her hands, crawled a cold line raising chills along her arms, and crashed into her heart. Her father and Timothy, the two men she loved most in the world, could be lying dead in a tangle of debris.

“Outside of Butte. I’ll know more soon.”

“I’ll go now.”

“They’ll bring everyone in as they clear up the site. Best wait here.”

“How long will that take? How long until I know if my people are alive or dead?”

He breathed in and out, releasing the air in a slow stream. Then he gave a minute shake of his head. “I surely don’t know that. I’m sorry.”

“I understand, but I’m not waitin’ around twiddlin’ my thumbs when I can be where I’m needed.” She popped off the bench, the need to take action sizzling through her veins. She had to know they were all right. “I—” She blinked back tears. “Thank you, Mr. Dawson.”

“I know you’re upset. I got no gripe if you stay or go. But—”

She laid a hand on his arm. “I know. I have to go to them, whatever I find.”

“God go with you, Miss Johnston.” He took off his hat. “I’ll be sending help as they come in.”

Tara ran from the depot, hitched the horse to the carriage, and hightailed it toward Butte. She’d follow the tracks until she found the train then follow her instincts. With the wilds of her imagination howling at her heels, Tara prayed with all her might, shouting to God as she drove. “Good Lord, send Your angels to minister to the poor souls needin’ Your help right now. Give heed to my words. Help my father. Help Timothy. Grant them safety or grant them peace. Your will be done.” She repeated the words over and over. What would she find? Her heart pounded in her throat like the beat of the horses’ hooves. Would God answer her desperate pleas?