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  Lassoing A Montana Heart

  Ramona Flightner

  Grizzly Damsel Publishing

  Copyright © 2020 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.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  11. Sneak Peek at Healing Montana Love!

  Never Miss A Ramona Flightner Update!

  Also by Ramona Flightner

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Bear Grass Springs, Montana Territory; January 1889

  Slims never expected to have his world turned upside down on a routine ride to town. The day had begun like any other. Caring for the animals. Mucking out stalls. And then readying the sleigh for the ride into town for supplies, as it appeared the good weather would hold long enough for him and his best friend, Shorty, to make it there and back before the next snowstorm hit.

  With the sleigh skidding along a thick pile of snow, Slims sat crammed beside Shorty as they drove toward town on a frigid, clear early January day in Montana Territory. As they slid again around a curve near the sawmill on the outskirts of town, Slims saw Leena Johansen, waving her arm from her front porch. “Whoa!” Slims called out to the fine pair of horses, pulling on the reins to bring them to a smooth halt. “What’s the matter, Mrs. Johansen?” he called out.

  Leena lived in a fine house near the sawmill—which her husband, Karl, and her brother, Nathanial Ericson, owned outside of the town of Bear Grass Springs. She also worked part-time at the bakery in town with Annabelle MacKinnon. In the nearby distance, he could see the steam rising from the sawmill chimney, indicating her brother and her husband were busy at work.

  “Do you need a ride into town?” Slims asked with a deferential nod.

  “Is Mette ill?” Shorty asked, inquiring after her young daughter, who was about eighteen months old.

  “No, I need your help. Come inside, please,” she said, as she smiled at them, her blond hair tied back in an elaborate braid and her blue eyes shining with worry. Although she spoke English well, she still had an accent from her native Norway.

  Slims and Shorty shared a long look but did not argue. Slims set the brake, tossing the reins to Shorty to tie them up. Slims pulled out two blankets to cover the horses, stretching as he worked. He followed Shorty up the steps and into the warm house, sighing with pleasure at the delicious scents wafting around him. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply. “It smells like heaven in here.”

  “Ja,” Leena said with a giggle. “That’s what my Karl always says to me.” She now held her daughter in her arms, shifting from foot to foot to keep Mette calm. Leena glanced at the kitchen table. “I made cookies today. Please have one or two.”

  Slims shared another look with Shorty, before snatching up a gingerbread cookie. “Truly heaven, missus,” he mumbled. After taking another bite, he asked, “What is the matter? What has you worried?”

  Leena nodded in the direction of the corner behind the door. “I don’t know what to do with her.”

  Slims spun and dropped the remainder of his cookie to the floor. “Ma’am—miss—ma’am,” he stuttered out.

  The woman in the corner had hair so blond that it seemed as pale as sunlight, her smooth ivory complexion highlighted by a smattering of freckles on her nose, with an air of fragility about her. She stood a little taller than Shorty’s five feet and clutched a jacket around her, as though embarrassed or ashamed.

  “I beg your pardon.” He tapped Shorty on his arm, but he merely grunted. Holding a hand out to her, as he did whenever he attempted to calm a skittish horse, Slims murmured, “You’re safe, miss.”

  “I dinna ken where to go,” she whispered.

  “You’re Scottish,” Shorty exclaimed. “Like Sorcha.”

  At Sorcha’s name, she edged toward them. “Aye.” She took a deep breath. “I was trying to reach a woman named Sorcha …” She paused and closed her eyes, as though recalling a name. “MacKinnon.”

  “She’s not a MacKinnon no longer,” Shorty said with a friendly smile. “She’s a Tompkins now. An’ she lives out at the Mountain Bluebird Ranch. Where we work.” He pointed at himself and Slims.

  The unknown woman took a step from the shadows, and Slims caught his breath at the desperation in her gaze. “You’ll be well, ma’am. Miss.” He swore softly for acting like a tongue-tied teenager. “If you’re a friend of Sorcha’s, we will bring you to the ranch. We’ll ensure nothing happens to you.”

  She stared at them, a fine quivering moving through her body. “I dinna ken how I can trust you.”

  “You’ve made it this far from Scotland,” Slims soothed. “The ranch isn’t but a short distance from here.”

  Leena took a step forward, her blue eyes shining with curiosity. “Are you the new cook they’re waiting for?”

  The woman met their expectant gazes, slowly shaking her head. “Nae,” she whispered. “Nae, I’m Sorcha’s cousin, Davina MacQueen. Come to meet her at last.”

  * * *

  Davina forced herself to move away from the corner of the room, determined not to cower like a recalcitrant schoolgirl. I’m almost forty! she silently chided herself. However, the man towering over a foot taller than her, with a muscular barrel chest, rendered her nearly speechless. His brown eyes appeared to gleam with concern, but she had learned caution was truly the better part of valor on her long journey from Scotland. Or was it discretion? She never could remember her schoolbooks with any accuracy.

  Her gaze skirted to Leena, the kind woman who had insisted she rest inside as she trudged past her house on the snow-covered road. Leena appeared at ease with the incongruous duo—the giant of a man and the tiny man beside him, who looked almost dwarflike in comparison. “What are yer names?” she whispered.

  “I’m Slims, and he’s Shorty,” the giant responded.

  Unable to fight a giggle, she covered her mouth to stifle her inappropriate reaction in her hope that she wouldn’t offend them.

  Slims nodded at her humor, not offended in any way by her reaction. “Yes, that’s how most respond. They also call us the Giant and the Dwarf.” He shrugged. “We far prefer our own nicknames.”

  “Who gave them to ye?” she asked, her widened eyes filled with curiosity.

  Slims shared an amused glance with the man who seemed a good friend, and he shrugged. “The latter names were given to us by a man who’s one of the greatest rascals I’ve ever met.” He paused, as a fondness flit over his expression. “And a fine man. Harold Tompkins. If you spend any time at the ranch, I’m sure you’ll meet him. He’s g
randfather to Sorcha’s husband.”

  Davina sobered, as she focused again on why she was here. “Aye, my cousin,” she breathed. “I was walkin’ to her home, but Mrs. Johansen feared I would lose my way.”

  Shorty stepped up to stand beside Slims, with his hands on his hips and his eyes flashing. “Walkin’ in the middle of winter from town? Are you mad, woman?” He grunted when Slims belted him on his chest. “I beg your pardon. I shouldn’t speak to the boss’s family like that.”

  Davina lost her battle with her smile and grinned at the two men. “I fear I’m actin’ like a fool, but you both seem harmless enough.” She watched as the giant choked at her word choice.

  “If you mean, we won’t attempt any mischief with you, ma’am, you are correct,” he said, although she reminded him of Sorcha with her show of spirit. “However, let me assure you that we are far from harmless.”

  She watched as the two men turned away from her in a huff to speak to the kind woman who had given Davina shelter for a few hours. She saw the giant, who called himself Slims, pick up the piece of cookie that had fallen and offer to sweep the floor. She watched the men converse with Leena for a moment, realizing they were acquaintances, if not friends, and Davina felt out of place, as she was not included in the conversation.

  Embarrassed, she rubbed one damp sock over her opposite ankle as she belatedly remembered her boots were by the stove. Hoping to move without garnering any notice, she slunk in the direction of the stove, stilling when she saw Slims watching her. She flushed and then shrugged, continuing her quest to don her boots.

  She tugged one on, but the second boot wasn’t as dry as the first. When her foot got stuck halfway into the boot, she slammed her foot down, in an attempt to force the boot in place. Rather than helping her, she lost her balance and careened to the side. Gasping with shock, she looked up to see Slims cradling her against his chest, as he prevented her from falling to the floor. “I dinna ken what happened,” she gasped.

  Davina’s gasp turned into a sputter as Slims quickly knelt, and his strong hands tugged on her sock and boot, easing her foot into place.

  “Don’t worry, ma’am,” Slims said with a wry smile. “Your cousin is a walking calamity too. Besides, you know I’m harmless.” He nodded to her in a deferential manner that also managed to be insolent, before turning to the door to exit the house.

  Davina shared a long look with Leena. “Thank ye for yer kindness, Mrs. Johansen.” She pulled her cloak around her as she moved to follow the men outside.

  Leena set a hand on Davina’s arm. “Any family of Sorcha’s is always welcome here,” she said with a smile, her gaze on the retreating backs of the ranch hands. “Don’t worry about them. They’re men, and they are offended by the smallest things.” She winked at Davina. “Tell Sorcha that I’d love for her to visit when next the weather is clear.”

  Davina nodded and followed the men to the sleigh, pausing to note the sleigh’s size. “Do ye no’ think it would be better for me to walk?” she called out. She heard the men sigh with disgust and mutter the word “harmless” again as she approached them. “There is no’ room for more than two on the seat.”

  Slims paused in patting the horses and praising them. “Where is your trunk? Your possessions?” He stared at her as she shrugged. “Come. Shorty will ride in the back, and you can sit beside me. We’ll have to share a blanket so Shorty can have one too.” He motioned her to him and eased her into the sleigh, wrapping the blanket tight around her.

  The sleigh heaved a little as Shorty hopped in the back, and then Slims got in beside her. “Sit behind her, Short!” he called out. When they were ready, he made a fine clicking noise and ably turned the sleigh around. With a final wave to Leena holding Mette, they sped away from the house on the edge of town.

  “I dinna think to ask why ye were about today,” she murmured.

  “About?” Slims asked. “Oh, you mean, what we were doing.” He shrugged. “We had hoped to go into town for supplies. Perhaps we’ll go in tomorrow, if the weather remains clear.”

  “Turn around, Mr. Slims. Ye can no’ change yer plans simply for me,” she protested, tugging on his large arm, although it felt as though she were yanking on an oak trunk and just as immobile. She gave a grunt of frustration as the sleigh continued on its forward progression in the opposite direction from town. “Sir,” she said in a serious tone that only elicited a chuckle.

  “If that’s what you sound like when you’re mad, you’ll never get anyone to do your biddin’, ma’am,” he said with a smile, as he peered down at her. “You sound like a disgruntled kitten.”

  “Perhaps, but kittens have claws, aye?” she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest, as she huffed out a breath of air, causing a puff of white to emerge in front of her.

  Rather than attempt any more conversation with the infuriating man, she thought about her long journey from Scotland. The harrowing carriage ride through the glens as she fled to Glasgow and its nearby port. The seemingly never-ending ocean crossing, where she had wished at times she would die rather than suffer any more seasickness. The ever-present fear that her name would not confer her the deference she desired, as men stared at her with lascivious interest. And the constant worry that her coins would run out.

  Upon landing in America, she realized her name meant little here, and none would proffer their respect due to a fear of retribution. Ever since she had arrived, a wariness had seeped into her very marrow, and she feared what would happen if she let her guard down for one moment. Even sleeping on the train left her vulnerable, although the conductors had worked to ensure she was undisturbed during the long journey west. Finally, after months of travel, she had reached Bear Grass Springs, unable to quell the ache in her heart for her homeland. Feeling fanciful, she gave silent thanks to the Fairy Queen for ensuring she arrived unharmed.

  Banishing her thoughts about her difficult journey, she focused on the scenery around her. All during the long train ride west, she had thought nothing could compare to the beauty of the Isle of Skye in Scotland. The place she had always called home. However, as she looked up and glanced at the mountains, fresh snow gleaming on their peaks, the sun beaming down on them so they glistened, her breath caught. Perhaps she had been wrong. For here was a place that could rival her beloved home.

  A cloudless blue sky overhead seemed to accentuate the pristine white of the snow blanketing the valley floor. Bushes formed an ambling path in the valley floor, as though following a frozen-over creek. In the distance, a few houses were visible, their plumes of smoke rising into the sky from chimneys. As she glanced at the mountains again, she saw an area void of trees from peak to valley floor, as though brushed free by a painter.

  “What happened to that part of the mountain?” she asked, as she pointed to the distant mountain.

  Slims squinted in the bright sunlight in that direction. “Avalanche.”

  She gazed at him with a disgruntled expression for his curt response. “Why is this land empty?” she asked, unable to fight her curiosity and to keep her questions to herself.

  “It’s good grazing land in the spring and summer,” Slims said. “Although we try to keep the cattle closer to home now, after the bad winter we had a few years ago.”

  She shook her head in bewilderment but didn’t ask any more questions. She relaxed under the blanket, subtly trying to huddle closer to his warmth. When Slims spoke, she stiffened.

  “Miss Sorcha never said she was expectin’ you,” he said with a glance in her direction.

  “Ach, well, that could be because I never wrote to tell her that I was comin’,” Davina said, her gaze on the distant mountains. “I thought I’d surprise her.”

  An uncomfortable silence settled between them as the horses sped down the road, before turning onto a smaller road upon reaching the sign noting Mountain Bluebird Ranch. She fought an unease that soon she would meet her cousin, gripping her hands together tightly on her lap. Silently she prayed her cousin was nothi
ng like her da. For, if Sorcha were like him, Davina would have nowhere to go. She shivered at the thought of being stranded in the middle of Montana Territory in winter.

  As Slims expertly brought the horses to a halt in front of the ranch house, he murmured to her, “A word of caution, ma’am. None here like deceit.” He hopped out and offered her a hand down.

  * * *

  As his name was called, Slims turned toward the barn, where they stalled the horses. With a muttered, “Wait here,” to Davina, he walked toward his boss, Frederick Tompkins. “Boss,” he muttered.

  “What are you doing back here so quickly? Was there trouble in town?” Frederick’s alert gaze looked over Slims’s shoulder, and he frowned at the sight of Davina. “Who’s the woman?”

  “She claims she’s Miss Sorcha’s cousin, come from Scotland,” Slims said in a low voice. “She had walked as far as the sawmill before Mrs. Johansen made her come inside.” He kicked at a frozen piece of dirt. “We never got far enough to town to get supplies.”

  Frederick waved away the concern about supplies, his gaze wholly focused on the newcomer. “Relation or not, I won’t have her upsetting Sorcha,” Frederick muttered, as he walked toward the woman. Frederick was the youngest of the Tompkins brothers and spent the entire year on the ranch, running it. His two older brothers, Peter and Cole, traveled to Texas to drive a herd north each year, although every year they said it would be the last time they attempted the journey.

  A handsome man, Frederick stood inches shorter than Slims. He had always charmed women but had never been truly charmed himself until Sorcha MacKinnon had won his heart. Now there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to keep her happy. As he approached the unknown woman, Slims noted that Boss pasted on an impersonal smile, outwardly friendly, but with an undercurrent of unease.