Courtship, Montana Style

“What do you think?” Speed asked.

“I think I’d better have a chat with our housekeeper.” And do it before some prospective groom showed up at his front door with a shotgun in his hand.

Chapter Three

Elizabeth knew the instant Walker entered the living room. It was as though he radiated a magnetic force that drew every eye in the room, most especially hers. She suspected he’d get the same reaction at a fancy charity ball in San Francisco as he did here, every woman drawn to him.

There was no sign of Speed, who she assumed must have gone to the bunkhouse after the kitchen cleanup. Or maybe even into town, such as it was with a business district no more than two blocks long.

Bean Pole, who was sitting awkwardly on a foot-stool in front of Scotty and the baby, complained, “Scotty won’t let me and Fridge hold Susie-Q.”

“She’s asleep. You don’t want to wake her, do you?” Scotty insisted, speaking softly but with an air of superiority as the resident expert on babies.

Deciding she needed to regain control of the parenting duties, Elizabeth rose from the couch. She felt Walker’s appraising gaze and wondered what he was thinking. Men often found her attractive; she recognized the look. But she saw something else in Walker’s eyes that didn’t bode well for her scheme—the shadow of suspicion.

“Let’s put Susie-Q back in the car seat,” she said to the boys. “She’ll nap for a while and then will want to play again before she goes down for the night.” She carried the car seat to a quiet corner of the room out of the bright light, signaling Scotty to bring the baby. “When she’s ready for her last feeding, Fridge can give her a bottle.”

“Doesn’t she eat any real food?” Bean Pole asked.

“Not yet. In another month I’ll start her on cereal and some vegetables.”

The three adolescents formed a protective semicircle around the baby, watching as though she were the most fascinating thing in the world. Elizabeth agreed with that assessment, of course. In the past three months, she’d spent a good many hours observing Suzanne in every situation imaginable. But to have teenage boys find her baby equally intriguing surprised her.

Lazily Walker strolled the rest of the way into the room. “A watched pot never boils, boys.”

Scotty glanced over his shoulder. “Huh?”

“I mean, you might as well relax and let the baby sleep.”

“Maybe there’s wrestling on TV,” Fridge suggested, glancing at the twenty-four-inch set strategically placed on a bookshelf near the fireplace.

Scotty gave him a thumbs-down on that idea. “The noise would wake her up.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Fridge argued.

“You always start yelling ’n’ stuff,” Bean Pole said.

“You’re the one who—”

Elizabeth winced as the bickering rose in volume. Insults were hurled. One shove became two, and she suddenly worried the wrestling match would take place right in the middle of the living room, putting Suzanne at risk of becoming an innocent victim.

But before she could take action, Walker intervened.

“That’s it, boys.” He didn’t shout or react in anger. Even so, the adolescents responded instantly, freezing in midmotion, their mouths slamming shut. “Settle down or take it outside where it belongs.”

Her admiration for Walker’s ability to handle rambunctious teenagers kicked up a notch. Raised as she had been in a family where decorum reigned as gospel, she could barely imagine the day-to-day physicality of living with three adolescent boys. Yet Walker hadn’t flinched. He was every inch a match for the three of them combined.

That thought gave her a little shiver of apprehension. Walker was so big, so strong, a woman would have no choice but to yield to his strength if he demanded it.

Yet, like the boys, she sensed an inner gentleness in Walker. A woman would have no reason to fear him, at least physically.

Protecting her heart would be a different matter.

SEVERAL HOURS LATER, arms folded across his chest, Walker leaned against the doorjamb of the sewing room watching Lizzie as she tucked the baby in for the night. A mighty pretty picture she created bending over the playpen but a puzzling one.

A woman with a wedding gown who wore no rings and acted like a debutante not a housekeeper.

The house was quiet now. The boys had gone back to the bunkhouse after lavishing attention on both Lizzie and the baby, hanging around the house until Fridge had his chance to give the ten o’clock bottle.

But the time had come for Walker to get down to business. He couldn’t put off asking his questions any longer.

“The boys sure have taken a liking to you and the baby, Slick,” he said.

Her head came up as though she’d forgotten he was there. “They’re sweet. All of them.”

“I usually describe them as ornery, rebellious and stubborn. Typical teenagers with pasts that haven’t been easy.”

She gave him a faint smile. “It’s obvious you’re doing a good job with them.”

About twenty times a day he questioned both his sanity and whether he was doing right by the youngsters. Still, he did the best he could. He couldn’t ask more than that of anyone.

Giving the baby a final caress, she stepped away from the playpen.

“Will she sleep through the night?” he asked.

“I hope so. But with so much excitement and being in a new place, it’s hard to say.”

He moved away from the door, and she followed him into the hallway where a low-wattage lightbulb cast muted shadows up and down the corridor, disguising the worn wallpaper and carpeting.

In contrast, Lizzie glowed with quiet vitality, her silver-blond hair shiny even in the dim light and her cheeks blooming with a trace of color. There hadn’t been a woman living in this house in more than thirty years. Suddenly that felt wrong, almost as though the house had been incomplete all these years and no one had noticed.

Aware his thoughts were leading him in an unwanted direction, he cleared his throat. “You and I need to talk.”

“It’s been a long day and it’s late. Would you mind if we waited until tomorrow? If Suzanne wakes up—”

“Tonight would be better. I don’t want the boys interrupting us.”

Her gazed flicked to his face for a moment, then she glanced back over her shoulder at the sleeping baby.

“Susie-Q will be fine,” he said. “If she wakes up you’ll be able to hear her downstairs.”

“I wish you had a baby monitor.”

“We’ve never had any need. Teenage boys can yell pretty loud.”

She hesitated again. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“We can talk in your bedroom, if you’d rather. Or mine.”