Montana Blue Read online

  Montana Blue

  Hildie McQueen

  Pink Door Publishing, Augusta, Georgia 2015

  Shades of Blue

  Montana Blue

  Amazon Bestselling Author

  Hildie McQueen

  Pink Door Publishing

  Cover Artist: Robin Ludwig Design Inc.

  Editor: Scott Moreland

  Copyright Hildie McQueen 2013

  ISBN: 978-1-939356-21-5

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

  This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader.

  If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to your retailer and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Other Works by Hildie McQueen

  (In reading order)

  Single Titles

  The Widow's Choice

  Beneath a Silver Sky

  Under a Silver Moon

  Heading West Series, Western Historical

  Where the Four Winds Collide

  Westbound Awakening

  Where the River Flows

  Historical Western, Shades of Blue Series

  Big Sky Blue

  A Different Shade of Blue

  The Darkest Blue

  Every Blue Moon

  Blue Horizon

  Montana Blue

  Midnight Blue

  The Gentrys of Montana

  The Rancher

  The Marshal

  The Outlaw

  Moriag Series, Highland Historical Novellas

  Beauty and the Highlander

  The Lass and the Laird

  Lady and the Scot

  The Laird's Daughter

  Chapter One

  Atop his horse, Mitch Banks pushed his hat back and scanned the expanse of land before him. The horse pawed the ground, immune to the beautiful picture. Rolling hills to one side served as a perfect backdrop to where one day his home would be. In his mind, he pictured a large log cabin flanked by a barn and wheat fields. His lips curved at the thought of harvesting what he toiled to grow with his own hands. Horses he'd breed would graze in the sloping land blanketed by lush, green grass. Perhaps a few head of cattle on the side of a small hill.

  His home. He'd bought the land just a couple of years earlier, eager to move toward the life he preferred. But he was denied by life's circumstances. Time passed, one month after another and with each, Mitch's dream of building pushed further away.

  As the sole proprietor of the town's only mercantile, he didn't have a spare moment. Could rarely get away for a few hours, much less the days and weeks it would take to build and farm. He owed it to the people of the prospering town of Alder Gulch. He'd made the commitment when taking over the business after his father died. Responsibility was the one thing Mitch Banks never took lightly.

  He urged the horse forward until they rode into a serene clearing where a slender creek cut through. The horse needing no further encouragement, headed straight to the water’s edge.

  Mitch dismounted and pulled a silver flask from the saddlebag. The first swallow of the fiery liquid coated his throat in preparation for the second. The whiskey worked its magic and he took a breath. A smile on his face, Mitch turned in a circle, his arms out, face up to the sun. Here, this was the exact place he'd build a home. The unfortunate truth was with the few women in town, he expected to live alone. It would be a lonely life without a wife. But he'd manage well enough.

  Marriage was the one thing he wasn't sure would come to be. Although the population of Alder Gulch was growing, women were still scarce. In the direction of where he planned to build a spacious cabin, a small tree now grew. In his mind's eye, he pictured himself returning from farm work to a wife. Someone to share his life with, who would take care of his home and warm his bed. The dream became so vivid, he actually heard her voice.

  “It's so beautiful here.”

  His eyebrows rose and he looked around, where did the voice come from?

  “Stay still, horse. Don't move.”

  Just past where he was, at the edge of the tree line, a woman spoke to a horse. Although young, she wore drab grey clothing. Unlike anything he'd seen the women in town wear. Her skirts did not reach the ground but, instead, stopped at her ankles. She wore on her feet, peculiar, pointed, black boots and on her head a black hat that looked as if someone had sat upon it prior to her donning the dreadful creation.

  He watched, enthralled, as she climbed not so gracefully up to the bench of a wagon and then continued to the back, barely able to keep her balance.

  Mitch wondered what she meant to do while on his property, so he kept from calling out. He mounted and urged his horse closer.

  She erected a tripod of sorts and then bent to retrieve a contraption that looked to be a camera and set it atop. Then she straightened with feet spread and placed her hands on her hips.

  At any moment the horse would move to graze and she'd topple over. He wondered if she expected it or knew so little about the nature of horses that she'd not be ready. Almost as if he'd planned it, her horse stepped forward.

  The woman shrieked and toppled over, disappearing along with her tripod into the back of the wagon. Mitch bit back a laugh when her pointy-toed boots stuck into the air.

  He went closer and grabbed her horse's reins bringing the animal to a stop. He then called out to her, “Are you all right, ma'am?”

  Two hands appeared, followed by her face, which was now framed by an overabundance of dark brown curls. Thankfully, the unpleasant hat had fallen off. She narrowed her hazel eyes at him. “You scared my horse and made me fall.”

  “I was too far away for the beast to see me. Why would you stand on the back of a wagon without unhitching your horse? Or tethering him to a tree?”

  She looked to the horse that now nibbled at plants, seeming to be at ease. “Damn it. I didn't think about that.” Her honest but crude reply took him by surprise.

  Mitch looked on as she scrambled to her equipment and then let out a gasp. “My camera is broken. It can't be.” She collapsed onto the floorboards and stared at it as if it would miraculously fix itself.

  “You can take it to town. Mr. Witt owns a small repair shop. He can fix just about anything. I believe he owns one of those.”

  When she turned to him, her eyes wide, her lips curving, something in his stomach fluttered. “Oh, yes, that would be wonderful.” Then she narrowed her eyes at him. “It's not nice to sneak up on someone, sir.”

  “Is it worse than trespassing on someone's property?”

  “Is this your land?”

  “Yes, ma'am”

  She frowned and looked to her equipment again. “I am not harming anything. I just wanted to take pictures. It's beautiful here. But no matter. Off I go.” She climbed from the back of the wagon to the bench and grabbed the reins. “Good day, mister.”

  Mitch watched as she rode away. The horse weaved from one side of the trail to the other. The woman had no idea what she was doing.

  She was a beauty. Even the drab clothing and unruly curls could not take away from her large eyes, pert nose and kissable lips.

  Then it occurred to him. He'd not asked her name
or had any idea where she lived.

  “Damn.”

  *

  A man entered the mercantile; he examined the main area in such a way that put Mitch on edge. It was with a calculating eye, as if assessing the worth of every item in the large room or perhaps just a newcomer with an agenda. The man either planned to rob the store or compete with Mitch in some way.

  After climbing down from the ladder where he was perched, Mitch made his way to the stranger. The man was older, in his late forties, with a stocky build and ruddy complexion. From his dress, he looked to be well-to-do. The suit he wore was made of expensive material, his brown shoes polished to a shine. A costly leather satchel stashed under his arm. The man took off his gloves and a smile curved his thin lips.

  Just as Mitch got close enough to introduce himself and ask what the stranger needed, a woman entered.

  The lovely female took Mitch's attention from the stranger. She made a beeline for the older man after a quick glance around the mercantile. Unlike the local townswomen, she wore her dark brown hair short and loose. The wavy hair touched her shoulders and bounced with each step she took. It was the woman he'd met on his land.

  Once again, she was clothed in a manner unlike any he'd seen. Like her companion, she stood out. Her greyish gown consisted of a tight bodice with a bustle and an astonishing array of buttons down the front. Small, pointy, black leather boots were clearly visible from below the hem of her skirt that did not quite touch the floor. They made a clacking sound on the worn wooden floorboards of the mercantile.

  She lifted an eyebrow at Mitch and slipped her hand through the older man's arm. Her clear, hazel eyes seemed too large for her delicate face and she waited without speaking.

  The clearing of the man's throat brought Mitch's attention back to the matter at hand. The stranger then held out his hand. “Barnabas Jones.”

  Mitch took the proffered hand and shook it. “I'm Mitchell Banks, owner of this mercantile. Welcome.”

  A hearty laugh shook the stocky man's belly. “Well, thank you. You are the first person to welcome us to town. Everyone else takes one look and then crosses the street.” He shook his head in mirth.

  “We've had a lot of newcomers as of late since gold was found in the gulch. Hard to tell who's staying and who's just passing through,” Mitch explained noticing the woman remained quiet, her eyes now locked on the fabric bin. She frowned and looked to her companion on occasion, but remained silent.

  The older man nodded. “I understand and being that we've recently moved from the northeast, I assume we stand out by our way of speaking and dress.”

  “Yes, you do.” Mitch looked to the young woman who now bit her lip and looked to be in pain.

  “I like your selection of fabrics.” She finally looked to him. “I like to sew. Can't wait until we find a house so I can make curtains and such.”

  The older man lifted his eyebrows and looked to the young woman as if just then realizing she was there. “I failed to introduce you, sweetheart. Mr. Banks this is Bethany Jones.”

  It struck him as strange that he didn't give a hint about her. Didn't follow up with explaining who she was. It would not surprise him if she were his wife. Men of affluence often married younger women who were impressed by the enticement of money for whatever it was they fancied. Mitch contemplated the young woman as she finally gave in and wandered to the fabric bin.

  Mr. Jones paid her no mind, his calculating gaze once again traversing the mercantile. “Mr. Banks, you don't strike me as a shopkeeper.”

  Mitch shrugged. “My parents owned this place. It's dear to me. After my father died, Ma moved east to live with her sister. I keep the mercantile open because it's needed, being the only shop for over twenty miles in any direction.”

  “If you will excuse me.” Ignoring the niggling sensation that the man was up to something, Mitch went to help a customer that neared the counter. Although Mr. Jones was correct in his assessment, he hated the man's comment. The last thing Mitch wanted was to work at the mercantile. The shop took his every waking hour leaving him little to no time for what he preferred to do.

  Since he'd purchased the land, all he thought about was farming and raising livestock. He considered selling the store, but there were no takers. Most of the townsfolk could not afford it and the rest did not seem at all interested.

  Then there was the added complication of the family house in town. The two-story, large, white Victorian was now his. Every inch of the space held his life's memories in addition to all the furniture and other items both his mother and sister left behind.

  Bronson and Olivia Cole had expressed interest in purchasing it and he’d considered it. That was an option.

  Once the customer he assisted had left, several miners entered. While Mitch helped them load up with enough supplies for the week, he kept an eye on the Joneses who shopped with deliberate slowness and seemed to be waiting for him to be alone again.

  It was almost an hour later that they finally came to the counter with their purchases. A small amount of items after the length of time they'd spent there.

  “We are staying at the hotel for now,” Mr. Jones explained. “Don't have room for much yet.” He patted the woman's hand. “I'm sure if Bethany had her way, we'd have a lot more things than this.” The young woman gave Mr. Jones a puzzled look, but did not speak.

  “Why did you say I don't strike you as a shopkeeper?” Mitch had to ask.

  Bethany's eyes widened at Mr. Jones. “You said that?”

  “Just stating the obvious. Your heart doesn't seem to be in it. Is it young man?” He looked to Mitch who wasn't sure how to respond. The man continued. “I am impressed by your skills, this is a fine mercantile. I don't mean to overstep.”

  “I do what I have to do, Mr. Jones. As do most people out here in the west, I suppose.” He wrapped the couple's purchases in plain brown paper and tied the parcels with twine. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  The older man pulled out several bills and placed them on the counter. “I'd like to make an offer on this store. You see, Mister Banks, I am a businessman by trade and would like nothing more than to run a well-established locale such as this.” He placed a card on the counter. “Like I said, Mr. Banks, we are staying in the hotel across town. I'll return in a couple of days. I'd like to give you time to think about it. My offer is on the back of this card. You will find it quite generous.”

  Chapter Two

  Bethany could not believe her father's gall at offering to buy Mitch Banks’ business just minutes after first meeting him. No matter how much of a businessman her father considered himself, it was obvious by the way she'd observed people conducting themselves in the small town, he'd more than overstepped.

  Unlike the northeast, this was the type of place where one had to build friendships and trust. People knew each other well in this town and they'd be slow to warm to a newcomer taking over something as important as the only mercantile. “Father, how could you just blurt out that you want to buy the mercantile? You should have given Mr. Banks more time. Gotten to know him better and given him the opportunity to know us.” Bethany's hands flew in every direction while she spoke.

  Her father settled into a chair in the large hotel room and lifted a cup of coffee to his lips. “I'm quite aware of how to conduct a proper business transaction, young lady. One can't be slow about these things. Mitchell Banks is a smart man. He was already wondering what we were about.”

  Bethany pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. “In this case, I disagree. I consider myself a good judge of character and I feel—”

  The door burst open and her mother entered. Amanda Jones stormed about the room in a blur of bustles and bows. “I cannot bear too many more days locked in these two rooms.” She paced the small area in front of where Bethany’s father sat. “I may have found our new home. During my walk about town just now with my new friend, Mrs. Beatrice Dawson, we happened upon the most enticing litt
le house. We must purchase it immediately.” She lifted a fan and flipped it open. “Barnabas, did you speak to the mercantile owner yet?”

  “Yes, dear. Bethany and I just returned from there.” He motioned to the packages and immediately her mother grabbed them up and rifled through them. She squealed with delight at finding ribbons and lace Bethany had picked out for herself. “Is this for me?”

  Bethany turned away and rolled her eyes. “You can have them, Mother.” Her mother rushed to the mirror and lifted the delicate strips to her face.

  “They are not of the best quality, but the color goes perfect with my cream gown don't you think?”

  Most days, Bethany felt as if her mother never grew up from her teen years. Pampered and spoiled by her parents and then her husband, did not help matters. The woman spent her entire life either pouting or demanding things.

  Luckily for Bethany, her grandmother on her father's side raised her away from Amanda, who claimed not to have the right nature to raise an infant. The only reason Bethany now accompanied her parents was because they'd invited her to come. It surprised her when they appeared after several years of absence. Her father suggested the trip would be an opportunity for them to become reacquainted and he'd then followed up by telling her Amanda was not well. Her heart was weak and she needed the fresher air the west brought.

  Although she'd not admit it out loud, she hoped to get to know her parents better. Once and for all, she needed to know why they'd not raised her. As a child, she'd see them maybe once a year during the holidays. They'd arrive with armloads of gifts and promises. She'd get her heart set on leaving with them but, like clockwork, they'd disappear with the New Year. To this day she hated the holidays because of the disappointment each time the season ended.