Page 36 of Seven Brides for Beau McBride (The McBrides of Montana #3)

Eleven

“When’s it going to snow, Bill? You promised me snow.” Junebug stood in the street in front of Martha’s house, glowering at the sky, which was decidedly blue.

“I didn’t say it was going to snow today .

” Thunderhead Bill was worse for wear after a night of drinking.

He was hiding under his hat like a rodent hiding in its burrow.

“I said the geese have flown and there’s the sniff of snow in the air.

Which is an entirely different thing from saying snow is imminent.

Snow ain’t a thing you can set your clock by, like old Bascom’s trains. ”

“But I want snow for my party.” Junebug stomped up the stairs of the porch and snatched his hat off his head. She wasn’t interested in him sleeping through their confrontation. His grey hair sprung out like a lion’s mane. “It’s a Christmas party and Christmas ain’t Christmas without snow.”

“It’s only November,” Thunderhead Bill reminded her grumpily. “If you wanted snow you should have thrown your Christmas party at the proper time. At Christmas. ”

“You lied to me with all your talk of geese,” Junebug snapped. “If you’d told me straight there’d be no snow I would have picked a different theme. Although I couldn’t think of a better theme to inspire kissing.”

“Now, Junebug,” Roy warned her, “don’t go bothering Bill when he’s ill from the drink.

It ain’t a fair fight.” Roy Duncan was sitting further down the porch, practicing his letters on a slate he’d borrowed from one of the Langer kids.

Junebug wasn’t partial to Roy, who tagged along with the other trappers like a stray who couldn’t be shook.

He was less amusing than Sour Eagle and Thunderhead Bill and he tended to be a sight more useless too. He was a scruffy, whining timewaster.

He was also currently in her bad books for teaching himself to write, because he said Junebug’s public letter writing service was getting too expensive by half.

He didn’t know a bargain when he saw one, because he was a cheapskate. Junebug prided herself on her reasonable rates. But she was grumpy enough today without thinking about Roy writing his own damn letters.

“What’s Christmas got to do with kissing anyway? Surely there’s better themes for kissing,” Roy continued, too dumb to know when to shut up.

“Mistletoe,” she said shortly.

“Oh. Smart.”

“Ain’t it! Only my dance is getting ruined by Bill’s snow being tardy.”

“This is the first I’m hearing of any dance,” Roy said, squinting at her.

“That’s because you ain’t invited. Not after firing me as your letter writer.”

“Well, now that ain’t fair. Bill, tell her that ain’t fair! I haven’t been to a dance in forever.”

“Dance? Who’s having a dance?” Sour Eagle asked, emerging from Martha’s front door with an old, much-read newspaper and a mug of hot coffee. Martha wasn’t far behind, neatening her grey-streaked red hair.

“Junebug’s throwing a party to distract her brother,” Martha told him. She leaned against the porch rail and gave Junebug an evaluating look.

“I ain’t trying to distract him. I’m trying to get him to focus, ” Junebug said in disgust. Beau was driving her insane.

In the few days since the picnic, he’d been wandering about in a daze, and it certainly wasn’t over one of her girls, because he was hardly spending any time with them.

Or with his Miss Moonglow either. What was wrong with him?

“He should just propose and have done with it.” Martha was pragmatic. “I know you want him to pick one of yours, but you can’t argue with a man’s…”—she gave a quiet cough—“… heart.”

“Oh, his heart ain’t even in it,” Junebug argued. “Not his heart nor any of the rest of his bits neither.”

“I thought he’d be happier than a pig in mud with all these nubiles,” Thunderhead Bill said gruffly.

“I know!” Junebug was seriously at her wit’s end.

Beau loved women. And he loved flirting.

And he loved attention. So what in hell was wrong?

“Do you think,” she said slowly, “that it’s all a bit too overwhelming?

I mean, he loves women in theory… but he’s never tested it in practice, has he?

” She glanced down the street. “Except for the girls at the cathouse.”

“Oh, he’s not one for the cats,” Thunderhead Bill said dismissively.

“What nonsense are you talking, Bill?” Junebug gave him an annoyed look. “Of course he is.”

“Nope. You just think he is.”

“He’s always hanging about flirting with them. I’ve seen it.”

“Exactly. You’ve seen it because it only happens out on the street. He don’t go in. He just hangs about having a chat.”

Junebug was gobsmacked. “But…” Her mind was whirring. Was her brother secretly shy ? Junebug frowned. She couldn’t believe it.

“He clearly doesn’t want to marry Miss Diana, or he’d already be marrying her,” Sour Eagle observed.

Martha gave a crackling laugh. “Is that so? Like Morgan with my granddaughter?”

“Ah, that ain’t the same at all,” Bill scolded her. “Beau ain’t Morgan. Besides, Beau wants a wife. Morgan had to be convinced.”

“ Does Beau want a wife?” Sour Eagle asked mildly. He gestured down the street, to where Beau was riding off in the direction of Buck’s Creek.

Junebug swore. “Where in hell is he going?”

“Home, by the looks of it.”

“I swear, brothers are an unprofitable business.” She smacked her hand against the porch post.

“Do you think he’ll come back?” Roy scratched at his nose. “If he doesn’t, can I have a crack at one of your brides?”

Junebug took the chalk out of his hand, snapped it in half, and handed it back to him.

“Don’t fret, Roy,” Thunderhead Bill rumbled, “Beau cain’t marry all of them. Once he’s chosen and these shenanigans are over, you’ll have six women to practice your amative activities upon.”

“You stay away from my women with your amative nonsense. I don’t want no activities out of you, you old coot.” Junebug loomed over him, glad to see he was heeding her. “You write your own damn letters and get your own damn women.”

“How come other people can get—what was it, Bill?”

“Amative.”

“How come other people can get amative with your women and I cain’t?” Roy complained.

“Other people cain’t ,” Junebug told him fiercely. “They’re for Beau, and Beau only.”

“Tell that to Purdy Joe and your brother,” Roy sniffed, pointing at the mercantile store, where Purdy Joe and Jonah were leaning against the porch rail.

Junebug couldn’t believe it.

The nerve of them. Jonah was flirting up a storm with three of her brides.

Well, two and a half. Because Ellie Neale was still insisting that she wasn’t in the running, on account of her friendship with Miss Moonglow.

But Junebug saw how she followed Beau with her eyes and blushed whenever he was around, so she wasn’t counting her out entirely.

Junebug liked her more than most of the others too—she had a great collection of books and told some colorful stories about circuses.

Her bear story could use some work though, Junebug thought sourly, as she jumped off Martha’s porch and went to sort out Purdy Joe and her idiot youngest brother.

Ellie had been skimpy on the detail about that bear, no matter how Junebug pestered her.

In fact, she was skimpy about all the details of that night.

She and Beau had come slopping in, wet from the pounding rain, both in peppery bad moods.

Neither had been forthcoming about their adventures.

And now here she was, the close-mouthed bear-hogger, flirting with Jonah instead of Beau!

Junebug took the mercantile steps two at a time.

Mabel and Nancy were looking fresh in their pink and green dresses and bright shawls, giggling at something Purdy Joe had said.

Their cheeks were rosy from the chilly winter air.

Ellie, on the other hand, was in her ugly pale brownish dress with its even uglier rust-colored flowers.

Even her shawl was ugly. It was amazing anyone even wanted to flirt with her, Junebug thought darkly.

The woman made no effort at all. Well, Junebug wouldn’t have it.

Ellie would be making an effort for Junebug’s Christmas dance or there’d be hell to pay.

“And you’ve found silver?” Ellie was asking Purdy Joe as Junebug barreled up to them.

Purdy fumbled for his pouch and Junebug rolled her eyes. She’d seen enough of Purdy Joe’s little silver flakes to last a lifetime, but all three girls oohed and aahed as they bent over his open hand.

“Purdy! Jonah! Kit’s looking for you,” Junebug lied, elbowing her way in.

“Tell him we’re busy,” Jonah said, still leaning with faux nonchalance against the rail and grinning at Mabel and Nancy.

Since when did he ever notice girls anyway?

And why did he have to start now ? Junebug frowned.

The girls weren’t here for Jonah, Purdy, Roy, or for any of these Bitterroot dolts.

These women were here for Junebug’s useless brother, Beau.

She was paying a fortune putting them up at the hotel and she wanted her money’s worth.

Jonah could take his shot at the leftovers once the bet was settled.

“You don’t look busy,” she said, giving him a jab with her elbow. “Besides, the girls are coming with me. I need them to help me with the Christmas dance.”

Jonah lit up at that. “ I’d be happy to help.”

“You’re already helping. You’re playing your fiddle. You’d better go practice. You don’t want to embarrass yourself.”

Jonah gave her a disgruntled look.

“Come on,” Junebug tugged at Mabel and Nancy’s arms, “we’re going to see about decorations.” She pulled them towards the door of the mercantile. “Ellie, you too.”

“I can help with decorations,” Jonah said stubbornly, and then he actually had the nerve to offer Ellie his arm to escort her inside. Purdy followed along, quieter. Like he’d taken note of Junebug’s displeasure, she thought, with no small measure of satisfaction.