Montana Wildfire
Montana Wildfire
by
Rebecca Sinclair
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ISBN: 978-1-61417-078-5
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© 1991, 2011 by Rebecca Sinclair
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To:
Matthew—For his superb guidance,
Courtney—For making me proud beyond words,
Adam—For never ceasing to amaze me with his wisdom, timing and humor,
& Crystal—For all his help and his grace under pressure.
"My children, my children. In days behind I called you to travel the hunting trail or to follow the war trail. Now those trails are choked with sand; they are covered with grass, the young men cannot find them. Today I call upon you to travel a new trail, the only trail now open—the White Man's Road."
~ Wovoka, Paiute Chief
Chapter 1
Montana Territory, 1878
Amanda Lennox sucked in a deep, steadying breath, gnashed her teeth, and glared at the infuriating little brat who sat on the riverbank.
The cuffs of the boy's too-large pant legs were rolled in sloppy bunches to his knees. The wet, pale expanse of his calves and ankles disappeared beneath the river's surface. He made splashing circles with his bare feet, circles that, all too often, rained water over Amanda's already-wet face and hair. With another child she might have thought her periodic dousing accidental. But not with this boy. Oh, no, with this boy she knew the splashes were intentional—in the same way she knew he knew there wasn't a thing she could do to stop him.
Her gaze lifted, sharpened. Lemony sunlight peeked through a ceiling of rustling leaves. The golden rays sifted over the boy, making the blond hair that clung damply to his scalp resemble a shimmering halo. Tight curls framed his brow, emphasizing the hint of baby-roundness still evident in his ten-year-old cheeks. Though his gaze was down, fixed on the pile of rocks stacked beside his hip, Amanda knew when he looked up she would see eyes bluer than a summer sky, wide and round, ringed with ridiculously long, ridiculously thick lashes.
It wasn't the boy's golden curls so much as his big blue eyes that gave him a cherubic appearance. Unfortunately for her, in his case appearance was only skin deep. Amanda knew better than anyone the sly, pampered little brat lurking beneath that sweet exterior. Plain and simple, the boy was a holy terror.
As though to prove it, he picked up one of the fist-sized rocks from his pile and tested the weight of it in his palm. His gaze lifted, focusing on Amanda's forehead. His grin didn't hide the nasty turn of his thoughts.
And why should he hide them? Who was there—besides Amanda, of course—to see? They were alone out here in the wilderness. The bitter cold water swirling around her numb thighs reminded her that she was in no position to climb up the sandy bank and administer the spanking the brat so justly deserved.
With fingers water-wrinkled and shaking from the cold, Amanda swiped the wet, golden blonde bangs from her brow, then tugged her water-heavy skirt out of the way. She gave her right leg a good yank... and winced. Pain shimmied up her leg, immediate and sharp enough to convince her not to try twice.
She was stuck. On what, she didn't know, nor was she clear on how she'd managed to get herself stuck in such a way. One minute she'd been wading into the river, coffee pot in hand, past the bank to where the water wasn't so muddy. The next thing she knew she'd felt something solid and rough on the river's bottom, something with a hole carved in it that was the perfect shape to swallow her foot up to the ankle. The second she'd moved, that was exactly what it had done.
While her foot had sunk into the hole easily enough, getting it out was another matter. An impossible one, in her estimation. Her initial pulling and twisting had made her ankle swell, but it hadn't won her her freedom. Now instead of the cold roughness down there merely encircling her leg, it bit into her throbbing, swollen flesh.
The only thing saving her from any real pain was the water's frigid temperature. Her feet were numb. She'd long since lost feeling in her toes. The sharpest pain was in her legs, just below the water-line, but even that was dulling rapidly.
Only a fool would think this situation was not serious, and Amanda Lennox was no fool. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than she felt a sharp sting in her left shoulder. Her gaze snapped up in time to see Roger Thornton Bannister III's malicious grin. His hand was glaringly empty of the rock.
Amanda decided then and there that she must be a bigger fool than she thought. Hadn't she willingly taken charge of this little monster? That should say something about her intelligence... or lack thereof.
"I hope you aren't planning to stay in there all day, Miss Lennox," the brat said in his haughty, annoying whine that went up Amanda's spine like chips of broken glass. "I'm getting hungry, and I'd like my breakfast now."
"Go fix it yourself. I'm stuck, remember?" She saw his chin inch up an imperious notch, and her green eyes narrowed. The first time she'd met Roger, Amanda had been reminded of a story her father had told her when she was little. Something about a wolf in sheep's clothing...
"I don't see why you can't just get yourself unstuck," he countered snobbishly.
Amanda's hands clenched into fists. "I could, if you'd help me a bit."
Roger's eyes widened, his gaze skipping over the water that swirled around her thighs. He shook his head hard enough make the curls clinging to his scalp bounce. "Surely you don't expect me to put my hands down in all that," his freckle-dusted nose wrinkled, "mud."
Amanda met his horrified glare with a furious one of her own. "You will if you want your breakfast anytime soon."
Shaking his head with even more force, he picked up another rock. As he'd done before, he bounced it in his palm. "I'm not that hungry. Take your time getting out of there, Miss Lennox, but see if you can't get free before lunch. Father won't be pleased when I tell him you made me skip meals. He isn't paying you good money to starve me, you know."
He isn't paying me to thrash you to within an inch of your miserable life, either, she thought harshly, glaring at him, but I'm considering doing that, too. Your father be damned!
The boy's eyes looked too round, his brow too smooth for her liking. Her palm itched to slap him. Odd, that. She wasn't a violent person. Quite the opposite, in fact. And she loved children: but other children, not this one. The little monster perched on the riverbank brough
t out the worst in her.
The brat should thank his lucky stars she was stuck, Amanda thought, because she was dangerously close to losing what little patience she'd ever had with him. He'd been pushing her hard for the past two months, and she'd just about reached her limit with him. She knew that if he came close enough to reach she wouldn't hesitate to grab him by the collar and yank him down into the cold water and mud with her. Lord knows, he deserved all that and more! A good spanking would not be out of order.
The rock clinked atop the pile when Roger set it aside. Balancing his elbows atop his thighs, he leaned forward but, true to form, was careful not to get too close to her. He was a monster, yes, but he was a smart monster. Roger knew when he'd pushed a body too far, and the angry glint in Amanda Lennox's pretty green eyes said he'd pushed her too far weeks ago. However, since she was admittedly stuck—and he was obviously free to run—he didn't fear retribution. Not right away at least, and Roger never worried about any punishment that wasn't immediate.
A spark of mischief shimmered in his clear blue eyes as he lifted his feet out of the water. He lowered them fast and hard, making a resounding splash.
Amanda saw his aggravating grin—a split second before she could see nothing at all. Frigid water pelted her face and eyes, blurring her vision. Roger's splash plastered her damp hair coldly to her scalp. Spitting water from her mouth, and sputtering angrily, she swiped the wet hair back from her face. Her glare was cold enough to make Roger's feet freeze, poised in the act of a repeat performance.
Shivering, she hugged her arms around her middle for warmth. Gooseflesh puckered the skin on her forearms. A chill iced down her spine. Her right leg, she noticed worriedly, no longer hurt as much as it had. That in itself was a major concern.
"Go ahead," she snapped through chattering teeth. "Splash me again. Just remember, brat, I won't be stuck here forever. And when I get free..." She let the threat hang between them, knowing it was more frightening because it hadn't been finished.
To the best of Roger's recollection, this was the first time anyone had ever called him a brat to his face. Added to that was the fact that this was the first time Miss Lennox had threatened him. Worse—much worse—she looked as though she meant it.
Roger swallowed hard. Shock that the woman—an employee!—had dared so much gave her words an extra sting. He dipped his feet into the water slowly, with nary a ripple.
Amanda eyed the boy cautiously. To her surprise, he looked genuinely concerned. She swallowed back a grin, deciding to press her advantage while she still had it. Lord knows, she'd never gotten this much of his attention, this quickly, before.
Forcing her teeth not to chatter, she fixed him with a stern glare. "Very good, Roger. Now I want you to get out of the water and put your shoes and stockings back on. Then, you are going to go out there," she jabbed a shivering, water-wrinkled index finger at the pine trees that formed a natural wall to the clearing behind him, "and find someone who can help get me out of here." The tip of her rigid index finger swerved, pointing now at his narrow chest. "I swear to God, if you even think about coming back here alone, your eleventh birthday will be nothing but a wishful dream. Did you hear me?" she demanded when he just sat there, staring at her in open-mouthed astonishment. Warily, he nodded. "Good. Well, what are you waiting for? Don't just sit there... do it!"
She arched one golden brow as he scrambled to his feet in record time. Good God, the child was actually obeying her! This was a pleasant first, she thought, and made a mental note to threaten him with bodily harm hourly from this moment on.
The apprehension hadn't faded from Roger's eyes when, two minutes later, he stood on the sandy bank shifting from foot to expensively shod foot. "There's—um—no one to get, ma'am," he said, his voice unnaturally high, unnaturally nervous.
"And whose fault is that? I wasn't the one who scared off the guard your father hired to escort us. You did that all by yourself, young man, and because it's your fault our guard isn't here to offer assistance, I think it only fair you take on the responsibility of finding someone else who can." Her gaze narrowed, and she was pleased to see he had the decency to flush and look guiltily away. Although he didn't, she noticed, look too guilty. "I mean it, Roger. I don't want you to come back here unless you've found someone who can help me."
"And if I c-can't find anyone?"
"Then don't come back," she snapped through gritted teeth. Amanda meant every word. At least, she meant them when she said them. It took a good fifteen minutes for her anger to cool, and for regret to sink in.
Dear God, what had she done? What if Roger couldn't find help? It was more than possible. They hadn't passed a soul in days; the chance of him finding someone today—someone strong enough to get her out of here—wasn't promising. And what would he do if he couldn't find anyone? Would he take her at her word and not come back? Worse, what would she do if that happened—besides rejoice in never having to see the brat again, of course.
Aside from the obvious, there was a distinct disadvantage to not being able to move. It gave a body far too much time to think. While Amanda's thoughts were distracting—they kept her from dwelling on how cold and wet and pained she was—they were also more than a little disturbing.
Dammit! She shouldn't have let Roger get her so angry. Now if he didn't return, it was no one's fault but her own. It went without saying that if Roger didn't return, Amanda was in a great deal of trouble. Edward Bannister hadn't hired her to lose his son in what could very well be hostile Indian Territory.
To Amanda's way of thinking, that only went to prove the man couldn't know Roger very well. But that wasn't the point. If she turned up in Pony, Montana without Roger, it would be to face the brunt of Edward Bannister's wrath. The thought was more hideous than spending time alone with the man's son. Amanda didn't know much about her employer, but she'd heard rumors. She knew enough. Losing Edward Bannister's son could prove hazardous to her health—especially since she was the sole person responsible for the safety and well-being of the heir to Edward Bannister's recently-acquired fortune.
That fact would have been laughable, were it not so true.
Amanda closed her eyes and groaned when she remembered the stories she'd read in the newspaper last year about Chief Joseph and his turbulent trek toward Canada. How did she know that, at this very moment, there weren't bloodthirsty savages out there slicing off Roger's scalp? Her stomach churned at the mental picture that thought conjured up! The thought that she was the one who'd sent the poor boy out to such a fate was unbearable. She didn't like Roger, but still…
There were two ways to look at this situation; Amanda, having more than enough time and a desperate need to occupy her mind, looked at it from both angles. The good news was, there was a chance—a small one, but a chance all the same—that the land they were on was as safe as what they'd left behind. The bad news was, the safety of the region had yet to be determined. She would need to know exactly where they were in order to establish how hostile the territory was... and they'd been lost for weeks.
Again, Amanda wondered how she'd gotten herself into this mess. Again, the only answer that sprang to mind was, blind stupidity. When the need was great, people resorted to desperate measures. She would have preferred to think herself above all that, but the unpleasant memory of Roger Thornton Bannister III's hateful little smirk proved she was not.
Not for the first time, she cursed the ad she'd seen three months ago in the Boston Times. The job had seemed like a godsend. She had needed to return to Seattle and the small horse ranch her father had left to her after his death, but she'd had no money for the trip. The ad had seemed like an answer to her prayers. To her way of thinking, the only thing better than immediate money was easy money. And how difficult could it be to escort a ten-year-old boy from Boston to Montana?
It had sounded so simple. Truly, she should have known better.
Being hired for the job had been part luck and part ingenuity. She'd fudged her qualifications
. A wilderness expert? Her? Not likely! Of course, she hadn't said that. She'd told the lawyer who, with obvious misgivings, had hired her, that she had vast experience foraging through the woods for months at a time. It wasn't a complete lie, although only by severely stretching one's imagination could the extensive gardens behind Miss Henry's Academy for Young Ladies be considered "woods." As for the "months at a time" part... well she'd exaggerated. But she'd been desperate.
The lawyer, whose name she couldn't recall, hadn't believed a word. That hadn't stopped him from hiring her on the spot. Apparently, the man had been as desperate to find someone to take Roger off his hands as Amanda had been to get the job and put the finishing school and city she abhorred behind her. Of course, once she'd been introduced to Roger, she knew why the lawyer bit back his reluctance and hired her despite her obvious lack of skill. The salary was more than generous... but a fortune wouldn't have made an otherwise sane person consider spending time with Roger Thornton Bannister III.
The trip had been delayed four days while the lawyer found a man as insane as Amanda to act as their guard.
Yes, she thought now, getting the job had been a blessing. Keeping it, however, had proved to be a curse that now weighed heavily on her cold, wet, shivering shoulders.
Ten more minutes passed, during which time Amanda convinced herself Roger would not be back. Ever. A worrier at heart, she decided that if savages didn't get to the boy, a wild animal would. Roger possessed no more wilderness skills than she did. It was nothing short of a miracle that they'd come as far as they had; their guard had deserted them shortly after they'd disembarked from the stage in Virginia City.
Scowling, Amanda glanced around and wondered if they had come as far as she'd thought. Without Roger to distract and annoy her, the river that kept sucking at her legs began to look familiar. The thick stand of pine trees; the way the gurgling water cut a twisting path around them; the ankle high, swaying grass and fragrant wildflowers dotting the steep but not too steep bank...