Page 19 of Wild Spirit Revival (Montana Becketts, Wild Spirit Ranch #1)

The leaves of the cottonwoods rustled in the gentle Montana breeze as Molly hefted her bulky equipment box onto the back of the buggy. She secured it with practiced efficiency, her nimble fingers working the straps and buckles with ease.

“I can’t thank you enough for your hospitality,” she said, turning to face Naomi and Elijah, who stood a few feet away. Her eyes glistened with genuine warmth as she met each of their gazes.

Elijah stepped forward, his rugged features softening into a smile. “You’re welcome to stay longer.” He reached around her to check the straps on her equipment, his fingers brushing against her arm.

She felt a flutter in her chest at the slight touch but tamped it down. Molly hadn’t meant to fall for the handsome cowboy, yet she had.

“I want to develop the plates and see if my order for additional plates arrived at the mercantile.” She tossed her braid over her shoulder.

“Perhaps you’ll return. For more photographs, I mean,” he said as he helped her into the buggy. “Be careful, Molly. Danger can come at any time, from any direction.” Elijah squeezed her hand before stepping away.

With a final wave, Molly flicked the reins and set off down the trail toward Mystic. As the ranch faded into the distance behind her, the vast Montana landscape unfurled before her eyes like a living painting.

Rolling hills of golden grass stretched as far as the eye could see, punctuated by stands of evergreens and jagged, snowcapped peaks on the horizon. Molly’s breath caught in her throat at the sheer majesty of it all.

She shot another look over her shoulder, realizing she already missed Elijah. Minutes after leaving, she wanted to turn the buggy around.

Molly refocused on the beauty around her in an effort to shove away thoughts of Elijah. She noticed how the sunlight danced across the waving grass, creating a glistening sea of gold.

As she guided the buggy along the winding trail, she thought of all her plans. Her fingers itched to capture the raw beauty of this land with her camera.

A sudden gust of wind whipped strands of hair around her face, and she laughed out loud, relishing the feeling of freedom coursing through her veins. This was why she’d left her family and Chicago behind. She’d ached to experience life in all its wild, unrestrained glory.

As the buggy crested a hill, she caught sight of a fork in the trail. Certain Mystic was to her right, she followed her instincts. Within minutes, she realized nothing looked familiar.

Looking for a place to turn the buggy around, the landscape opened up into a breathtaking vista she hadn’t seen before. A hidden gem tucked away in the vastness of Mystic Valley. Rolling hills cascaded down to a winding river framed by vast grasslands and jagged mountains.

Molly stared in wonder, pulling the buggy to a stop. With practiced efficiency, she hopped down and retrieved her camera equipment. Her fingers trembled with excitement as she set everything up, her mind already composing the perfect shot.

“Just imagine what Papa would say if he could see me now.” She chuckled. “His obstinate little Molly, out here in the wild, capturing the untamed beauty of—”

A twig snapped behind her, and she froze. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she slowly turned around, her heart pounding. She found herself face-to-face with a group of Indians on horseback, their expressions unreadable as they regarded her with curiosity and wariness.

Molly swallowed hard, considering her situation. She straightened her spine, channeling every ounce of her outgoing nature and Chicago upbringing.

“Good day, gentlemen,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “I’m Molly O’Sullivan. I hope I’m not trespassing on your land. I’m a photographer, you see, and I couldn’t resist capturing this stunning view.”

She gestured to her camera, maintaining eye contact with who she assumed was the leader. The silence stretched between them, taut as a bowstring.

“Do you speak English?” Molly asked. “Parlez-vous francais, perhaps?” She wracked her brain for the few words of Lakota she’d picked up from a book, hoping it might be close enough to their language.

As the Indians continued to stare at her, she struggled with possible outcomes. Would they view her as a threat? As she opened her mouth to try again, the leader urged his mount forward, his gaze fixed on her camera.

The leader’s attention shifted from the camera to Molly’s face, his expression softening slightly. “We are Crow,” he said in English.

Molly’s shoulders relaxed, relief washing over her. “Crow,” she repeated, a smile spreading across her face. “I’ve read about your people. Your horsemanship is legendary.”

The man’s eyebrows raised, surprise flickering in his dark eyes. “You know of us?”

“Only what I’ve read,” she admitted. “I’d love to learn more, if you’re willing to share.”

The leader conferred briefly with his companions in their native tongue before turning back to her. “I am Plenty Bear. What brings you to the land of Becketts, Molly O’Sullivan?”

She gestured to her camera, stifling her surprise at hearing the Beckett name. “I’m a photographer. I preserve places and people for history.” She paused, an idea forming. “Would you allow me to take your photograph? To show the world the proud spirit of the Crow?”

Plenty Bear’s eyes narrowed, considering. “What would you do with this photograph?”

“I’d use it to educate others about your people,” she explained, her voice filled with passion. “To show your strength, your dignity. Too many have false ideas about Indians.”

The group murmured among themselves, and Molly held her breath. Finally, Plenty Bear nodded. “We will allow this. First, you will tell us of your world, a woman who travels alone.”

She began to speak of Chicago, of her journey west, watching as the Crow warriors listened with rapt attention. Plenty Bear asked a few questions, then nodded when satisfied. Molly began positioning them for the photograph.

“Stand there, please,” she directed, pointing to a spot where the light caught Plenty Bear’s proud profile.

As she worked, Molly felt a growing connection with these people. Their faces, once wary, now showed curiosity, and even amusement at her enthusiastic directions.

She hummed with excitement as she adjusted the focus on her camera. The Crow Indians stood before her, their faces a mixture of curiosity and pride. Plenty Bear, their leader, stood tall in the center, his eagle feather headdress catching the sunlight.

“Hold still, please,” she called out, her voice steady despite her nerves.

With practiced precision, Molly exposed the first plate. The camera’s shutter clicked, capturing the essence of the Crow men in a single instant. Without missing a beat, she swiftly changed the plate and repositioned herself slightly.

“One more,” she announced.

As she prepared to take the second photograph, Molly noticed a shift in the group’s behavior. Their poses became more relaxed, yet somehow more powerful. Plenty Bear’s eyes seemed to look beyond the camera.

Click. The second exposure was complete.

She emerged from behind her camera, a triumphant smile on her face. “Thank you,” she said, her voice filled with genuine gratitude. “These images will tell your story for generations to come.”

As she turned to pack up her equipment, a movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention. She whirled around, her eyes widening in surprise. There, not fifty yards away, stood Grayson, Cody, and Elijah. They were watching her, amused smiles playing on their lips.

Her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and indignation. How long had they been there? She straightened her back, determined not to show her discomfort.

“Hello, gentlemen. Enjoying the show?”

The Becketts exchanged glances before dismounting their horses. Grayson, the eldest, took the lead as they approached the gathering. His imposing presence softened as he greeted the Crow men with a respectful nod.

“Plenty Bear,” Grayson said, his voice carrying a mix of familiarity and deference. “It’s good to see you and your people. I hope the grazing has been plentiful this season.”

Cody, hard-bitten and taciturn, surprised her by engaging in conversation with some of the Crow men. His blue eyes, often clouded, seemed to lighten as he gestured, discussing what appeared to be hunting techniques.

Elijah, however, headed straight to Molly. As he approached, she felt her heart quicken, remembering the way he’d held her in his arms and kissed her before heading to bed last night.

“Molly. Are you lost?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Not at all. I’m quite capable of handling myself. Though I admit, I didn’t expect to stumble upon such gracious subjects for my photography.”

His lips twitched. “We were riding to town when Cody spotted wagon tracks veering off on this trail. Curious, we took it. Then we spotted you. Thought we’d make sure you were safe, given the unexpected company.”

“The Crow men have been nothing but welcoming. I’ve learned more about their culture in this brief encounter than I could have from any book.”

He nodded, his expression unreadable. “That may be so, but these hills can be treacherous for those unfamiliar with them. It’s easy to lose your way.”

When she opened her mouth to retort, Molly realized with a start she wasn’t sure which trail would lead her back to Mystic.

“We can escort you to town if you’d like,” he offered.

“Thank you, Elijah.”

As they bid farewell to the Crow, the group set off, with Elijah riding alongside Molly’s buggy while Cody and Grayson took up positions ahead of them.

“Your family seems to have quite the rapport with the local Crow tribe.”

Elijah’s gaze remained fixed on the trail ahead. “We’ve shared these lands for generations.”

“In Chicago, such relationships seem to be more contentious.”

“This isn’t Chicago, Molly. Out here, you learn to judge folk by their actions, not their origins.”

As they approached Mystic, the conversation lulled, allowing her to reflect on the day’s events. The Becketts’ protective nature, while sometimes grating, now struck her as comforting.

Upon reaching town, Elijah dismounted, moving to help Molly down from the buggy. His strong hands encircled her waist, and for a brief moment, their eyes met. Molly felt a flutter in her chest and her face heat, again recalling their kiss.

“I’ll help you unload.” Elijah reached for her equipment box.

“That’s really not necessary—” she began, but he’d already lifted the heavy case with ease. “I want to see if my order is waiting for me at the mercantile.”

As they walked, Molly found herself studying Elijah’s profile. His jaw was set in its usual stern line, but there was something in his eyes—a warmth she’d come to expect when they were together.

The bell above the mercantile door jingled as they entered. Casper Jennings looked up from his ledger, a smile breaking across his weathered face.

“Miss O’Sullivan. Afternoon, Elijah. What perfect timing. Your dry plates just arrived on today’s stage.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful news!”

As Casper retrieved her order, Molly turned to Elijah. “This is splendid. The additional plates will allow me to capture even more of this magnificent land.”

For a moment, his indifferent facade cracked, revealing a hint of a smile. “Reckon there’s plenty out there worth capturing.”

“Here you are.” Casper set the crate of dry plates on the counter.

“Thank you, Mr. Jennings. May I use the room you set up for me later today?”

“Anytime you need to.”

After paying, Elijah hefted the crate of dry plates with ease, settling it on his shoulder before picking up the camera equipment, his muscled arms barely straining under the weight.

“Where to?”

“The Mystic Hotel.”

“What did Casper mean about the room?”

She smiled. “He set up a room in the back for me to develop my plates. Mr. Jennings is fascinated by photography. He doesn’t even charge me for the room’s use.”

As they walked along the boardwalk to the hotel, Molly found herself unduly aware of his presence beside her. The silence between them charged with a feeling she couldn’t define.

“I appreciate your help,” she ventured, glancing sideways at him.

“It’s nothing.”

When they reached the hotel, he followed her up the narrow staircase to her room. As she fumbled with the key, she could feel the warmth radiating from his body so close behind her.

Inside the room, Elijah set the equipment box and crate down carefully on the floor.

As he moved them out of the way, she found herself studying the lines of his back, the way his shirt stretched across his broad shoulders.

Elijah straightened, catching her gaze. For a moment, something intense flickered in his eyes, making Molly’s breath catch in her throat.

“I have errands to complete. Afterward, do you have time to join me for lunch?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

Molly swallowed hard, her heart pounding. “Yes, I do.”

He nodded once, then strode to the door. As he reached for the handle, he paused, looking back at her. “I won’t be gone long.”

And then he was out the door, leaving Molly alone with her racing thoughts and the sudden, overwhelming realization she was falling in love with Elijah Beckett.