Carol Arens - Wed To The Montana Cowboy

She gathered the canvas about her and walked toward the darkness beyond the fire. She hesitated, then stepped beyond his sight.

Reaching for the Winchester that he always kept close at hand, he cocked his head, listening for danger over the shuffling of fabric.

It wasn’t easy to admit that it might not be the wild things that were the biggest threat to her, but that he was.

Clearly his lie about the violin had crushed her. He had heard her play and knew very well that she had a gift...a gift that had been passed down from Catherine Moreland.

Could be that she really did want to simply meet her granddaddy, make the old man’s life better.

The trouble was, at this point, he wasn’t ready to take that risk.

He would be watching her, morning and night. It would be a sorry day that he allowed anyone to harm Hershal Moreland.

* * *

Rebecca sat astride the bag of coffee beans with her knees bracing the sides. She tucked her violin under her chin then poised the bow over the strings.

After a day of the wagon jouncing over rocks and slamming into ruts along the narrow path, her stomach felt unsettled.

Poor Screech must have had half of his feathers bent with the jostling he had taken. As soon as they reached the safety of the cabin, she would make him a perch and let him out of his cage.

Mr. Lantree had estimated that, bears, cougars, storms and floods notwithstanding, they should arrive at her grandfather’s humble cabin before sunset.

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