Page 35 of Montana Groom of Convenience (Montana Cowboys #5)

S awyer had worried about sharing the bedroom with Carly.

How was he to keep his feelings hidden? But he found they settled into a comfortable enough routine alternating nights on the floor.

And talking quietly as darkness settled over the land.

Both of them seemed freer in the privacy of the room, and he liked learning more about her.

It was his turn to sleep on the floor. There were so many things he longed to discover about her. “What was your happiest memory?”

She shifted to her side and peered at him over the side of the bed.

“I’ll have to think about that for a moment.

” She considered her answer. “I think I’d have to say it was the Christmas I was thirteen and a half.

I remember Mother braiding my hair. She had made me a new dress and said I was so pretty.

Father gave me a pocketknife.” Her voice deepened.

“I think he’d been saving it for a son, but that was the year the fourth baby boy had died.

” Her voice brightened. “That was the year Mother gave me the little china shepherdess. I said I couldn’t take it.

I knew how fond Mother was of it. She told me it had served her well, and she wanted me to take it and remember what it stood for.

The Shepherd’s Psalm. ‘The Lord is my shepherd... He leadeth me?—”

Her voice grew deep, and she stopped speaking. “Mother died that spring.”

How it must have hurt her to lose the figurine. He felt responsible. “I’m sorry about the shepherdess getting broken. I wish I could replace it.”

“I just realized something. Mother would not let the breakage upset her because the words of the psalm were in her heart.” She smiled. “They’re there for me too.”

He studied her, wishing he could see her better. “That’s good to hear.”

“It’s your turn.”

He knew what she meant. They had played this game every evening. “My happiest memory was the year Johnny was born. I remember how Ma placed him in my arms. She said he was my baby, and I should always look after him. I failed to do so.” He couldn’t go on.

She reached over and found his hand. “You did for five years.”

“I wish he was still alive.”

“So many deaths. Your mother. My mother. Your brother. My baby brothers. Now, your father and Jill’s mother. It’s overwhelming at times.”

He longed for a way to comfort her and grabbed at another sweet memory. “My ma used to read to me at bedtime.”

“Mine, too. When I grew too old for the Bible storybook, she read from the Bible. ”

He sat up, her hand still in his. “We could do that.” He released her hand, shuffled toward the bedside table, and lit the lamp. “Where’s your Bible?”

She opened the drawer of the little table and pulled it out.

He took it. “What shall I read?”

“A psalm?”

He found the place and read the first psalm, closed the Bible, and returned it to the drawer. He lay down.

“That was nice. Thank you.”

He squirmed about, trying to settle himself so none of his bones protested about the hard floor. He could feel her eyes on him. “What?”

“You don’t look very comfortable.”

“I’m comfortable on the inside.” He smiled at her.

“What do you mean?”

“Reading from the Bible is like having a bit of Mama back.”

“I know. I miss my mother.”

“Me, too.”

“Poor Jill,” they said in unison and turned to each other.

He reached for her hand. “We must do what we can to make up for her loss.”

“Agreed.”

At that moment, something as solid as rock bound them together.

Later, after the lamp was out and they had settled down for the night, he realized it wasn’t just that moment that had forged the bond, it was the accumulation of nights they’d spent together, talking and sharing.

Carly lay in the darkness of her bedroom.

Sawyer’s deep breathing indicated he’d fallen asleep.

She felt close to him, and she didn’t mean because he lay on the floor inches from the side of the bed.

It was far more than that. Over the past few days, or rather nights, he’d allowed her to see into his heart, and she liked what she saw.

A man with many sorrows counterbalanced by his strength and kindness. A man worthy of her admiration.

And her love? She shifted about carefully so as not to awaken him.

Love was not part of their agreement.

She stiffened as he moaned. She lay tense, listening for an indication that she might have disturbed his sleep.

He moaned again and mumbled.

“Sawyer?” No response. Perhaps he was dreaming. She flipped to her side, close enough to the edge of the bed she could see him. In the thick darkness, she could barely make out his form. One of his arms hit the bed and caused her to jump. “Sawyer?” she said again in a hoarse whisper.

He muttered something. She couldn’t make it out, but his tone sounded troubled, afraid even. From a nightmare?

She patted his shoulder. “Sawyer, wake up.”

He thrashed about.

She shook him and spoke louder. “Sawyer, wake up. ”

He startled and drew in a shuddering breath. “I was dreaming.”

“I thought so.”

A shiver shook his body. “It was awful. I dreamed I was trying to rescue Johnny. I fought my way through flames only to discover he’d moved, and I had to go through more flames.”

She patted his shoulder. “It was just a dream. It meant nothing. Johnny is safe with your mama. You don’t have to look for him in a fire. Now go back to sleep.”

His hand cupped hers, claimed it. “Thank you.”

She didn’t ask for what because she preferred to fill in the blanks herself. He was grateful she was close by, grateful she’d wakened him, and grateful even for her words of comfort.

He held her hand until he fell back asleep, and his fingers relaxed. Only then did she pull her arm back to the bed and under the covers to warm it.

As usual, he was gone the next morning when she slipped from the bed.

In a state half asleep, half awake, she’d been aware of him rising, pulling on his clothes, and tiptoeing away.

She knew he paused before he opened the door and tried but failed to force her eyes open to see why.

He whispered something, then stepped from the room.

She tried to make out what he had said, but again failed.

Later, she pushed aside the last of her sleep and dressed. She paused to make her bed and put the pillow and quilt back in place, leaving no evidence that Sawyer slept on the floor. Father would object if he knew. Perhaps continue with his threat to sell the ranch .

When he’d first forced her into this position, she’d resented his manipulation, but now she thanked him for it. She enjoyed having Sawyer close and being able to talk to him in the intimacy of the bedroom.

She didn’t realize she smiled as she made breakfast until Father spoke.

“Looks to me like you two are enjoying each other. Aye?”

“You could say so.” She knew they meant different things, but her words were true.

Over breakfast, Father said. “There’s rain comin’.

’Tis a good day to burn that dry grass along the trail.

” The track leading from the main road to the house had to be burned off every year to eliminate a fire hazard.

They would have normally done it soon after the snow melted, but this year, there had been Father’s injuries and her marriage to distract them from the task.

He continued. “There isn’t much danger with everything so green. All the same, I dinnae like to take chances, so ye’ll all come help keep an eye on things.”

“Me, too?” Jill seemed to think it an exciting prospect.

The skin on Sawyer’s face grew taut, but before he could protest, Father spoke.

“Aye, I think you better stay in the house and keep little Skippy with you so she doesn’t get in the way.”

As soon as the kitchen had been cleaned up, and meat set to stew, Carly went out to join Father and Sawyer. She’d told Jill she could watch from the window but to keep the door closed so Skippy wouldn’t get out.

Father saw her approach them. “Aye, and then let’s get at it.

” He held a torch of twigs he had bundled together.

He lit it and walked along the trail, using it to light the dry grass.

Carly followed him, Sawyer behind, both of them armed with damp gunnysacks to put out any little fires that got away from the intended area.

The seedpods of some plant exploded, sending sparks toward the barn. A bit of dry hay caught the sparks, and a flame quickly flared. She stomped it out. Sawyer stomped out another flame near the corrals.

“I don’t like this,” he muttered.

“We do it every spring.”

“I know it’s necessary, but I still don’t like it.”

She rubbed his arm. “I can manage if you want to go back to the house.”

“And leave you out here dealing with this? No, indeed.” He grabbed her hand and hurried her back to the trail. “Go ahead. I’ll follow.”

It was comforting to have him behind her, knowing he would come to her rescue if she needed it. Of course, she wouldn’t. Like she said, they’d done this every year with only her to help Father.

Still, it was nice to have him with her.

They finished one side as far as the road.

Father limped back to the house. “We’ll start here. ’Tis most important to get the grass burned off close to the house.” He glanced at the sky. “’Twill be good if the rain holds off until we finish.” He began the process again.

Carly checked on Jill and found her playing with the kitten. She returned to the task, following Father while Sawyer brought up the rear. Twice, she stomped out little flames near the buildings and once brushed a glowing ember off her skirts.

The wind picked up, tugging her skirts to the side. She smelled the approaching rain and lifted her face to the sky, her eyes closed as she reveled in the scents—dampness and smoke. An odd contrast.