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She lay back on the pillow, closed her eyes, and tried to bring back the sensation of Logan making love to her—the delicious urgency, the surrender that was like jumping off a cliff and sprouting wings. Logan, filling the cold, empty places inside her, warming her, loving her.
What if she were to saddle a horse and gallop out to his ranch? Would he welcome her? Would he take her to his bed? Or, knowing Logan, would he remind her of their resolve to remain apart and escort her firmly back to her horse?
She craved him even more than she craved a drink. But Logan was right. If she were to go to him now, without resolving things with Webb, anything could go wrong. If Webb were to discover their tryst and believe she’d been stolen from him, he was capable of destroying the man he’d brought here as a friend and ally.
Kristin’s thoughts were interrupted by a frantic banging on the front door. She swung her legs off the bed, reached for her robe, and pulled it on as she hurried to answer.
A young husband, wide-eyed and disheveled, with his coat on over his pajamas, stood on the doorstep. As soon as she saw him, Kristin knew why he’d come.
“It’s Belinda,” he said in a breathless voice. “Her water broke and she’s having pains. I’ve got the buggy out front.”
She gave him a reassuring smile. “It sounds like things are happening just the way they’re supposed to. Wait in the buggy, Charles. I’ll get some clothes on, grab my bag, and be right with you.”
Closing the door, she rushed back to the bedroom to get dressed. Belinda Poulsen was a healthy young woman. Kristin had examined her two days ago and found the baby in good position with a strong heartbeat. Tonight’s delivery showed every sign of having a happy outcome.
Kristin’s spirits rose as she picked up Sarah’s old doctor’s satchel and hurried outside. Times like this were the reason she’d come home to Blue Moon; and right now, that was all that mattered.
* * *
More than two weeks had passed without the sight of another black ribbon tied to the fence. Once, in town, Joseph had passed Mason on the street. Mason had pretended not to see him. It was the smart thing to do, Joseph told himself. Still, it stung not being acknowledged by the man he idolized.
Had he and his friends been dismissed from their so-called jobs in the Hollister barn? Or had there simply been a lull in shipments? Maybe the truck had been stopped somewhere and the driver was in jail—perhaps naming names. There was no one the boys could ask. All they could do was wait.
* * *
As the rainless days grew hotter, the grass yellowed and crackled underfoot. Windblown dust rose from the fallow pastures, creating a gritty haze that stuck to people’s teeth. Here and there, grass fires sprang up—easily put out but frightening reminders of what could happen if the right conditions came together.
Around the dinner tables there was talk of selling off cattle early to save precious feed and water. The creeks that had been filled to overflowing in the spring ran low and sluggish, trapping trout in rocky pools, where they were scooped up and eaten by hungry families. On the ranches, tensions rose over water rights.
The creek that crossed Logan’s property was getting dangerously low. But the well was still good. Because he had only a small number of steers, he was able to let most of the water flow downstream to the Dollarhides, who needed it more. This had infuriated Webb, who’d been urging him to build a reservoir and divert water into it.
“So when the Dollarhides run out, and their cattle start dying, they’ll be over here with dynamite, just like before,” Logan had responded. “I fought my war in Europe, Webb. I’ll be damned if I’m going to fight another one here.”
“Then you don’t know how things work here in Montana,” Webb had grumbled before walking away. “If you want to survive, you have to fight for what’s rightfully yours, not give it away. I’d hoped that I could teach you a thing or two, but it appears that you’ll have to learn the hard way.”
Logan hadn’t seen his cousin since that conversation. But even at a distance, the tension between the two men was palpable. There were no more invitations to supper, no more visits, no more exchanges about Webb’s woman troubles—and no word from Kristin.
The nights had been quiet as well, with no more passing trucks on the road. Logan had alerted the sheriff to what he’d heard, but nothing had come of it. After this much time, he’d begun to wonder if the engine sound had even been real.
At least the barn was coming along. The sides were covered with sturdy boards, and the tarpaper-covered roof was more than half shingled. When it was done, the framing for the stable extension, with twelve box stalls and a tack room going off the west side, would begin. Next spring, as soon as the weather warmed, Logan was planning to bring in his first young quarter horses for breaking and training. Some he would sell to the ranches. The best he would keep for breeding.
It was the first week in July when Pete mentioned the Blue Moon Independence Day celebration. “Are you going?” the freckle-faced young man asked Logan. “It’s this Saturday. Food, fun, dancing—it’s the best thing that happens all year.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Logan passed a bundle of pine shingles up the ladder to where Pete was working his way along the roof’s edge.
“The celebration started twelve years ago—or was it thirteen?” Pete spoke between hammer blows. “The immigrant farmers and their families put on the first one, with a picnic, games, and a dance. They invited the whole town. It was such a success that after the drylanders moved on, the town took it over. Blue Moon’s not as big as it used to be, but this Saturday they’ll have people coming from all around. They’ve even hired a band from Miles City.”
“I take it you’re going,” Logan said.
Pete grinned. “I wouldn’t miss it, ’specially the dance. My girl’s going with me. We’ll be dancing till the band packs up to go home.” He glanced down at Logan, who was moving the ladder to bring up more shingles. “You should go. The war’s left some good-looking widows in town. A couple of them have already asked me about you.”
“I can’t say I’m much of a dancer with this leg.” Logan carried another bundle of shingles up to the roof.
“You wouldn’t have to dance. Just smile at them. You’d have those ladies bringing you pot roast, home-baked bread, and apple pie every day of the week.”
Logan shook his head. There was only one woman he cared about. Would Kristin be at the celebration? Would she be with Webb? All the more reason to stay away, he thought. Seeing her in another man’s arms at the dance would be torture.
“Aw, come on,” Pete teased. “You’re turning into a hermit out here. It wouldn’t hurt for you to make some new friends in town. Besides, think about the food. The best of Blue Moon kitchens. Hey, the war’s over. Live a little!”
