High Country Bride

Daisy’s smile showed the perfect dimples in her cheeks.

“That’d be mighty fine!” James, listening in, looked as if he could not believe his luck.

As they scampered to finish their washing up, Joanna left the dishes to soak in the water and plucked a sheet from the small box she’d brought in earlier. There, in the small mirror above the washbasin, her face was staring back at her.

That’s me? She froze, gazing at the strange woman in the mirror. She’d never been pretty, and she knew it. Her husband had always taken pains to point out her plainness. But she could never remember looking this poorly. Her hair—her only vanity—was dry and flyaway instead of glossy and sleek. Her face was ashen and the hollows beneath her eyes were as dark as day-old bruises. Her cheeks were gaunt and her eyes too big. Sadness had dug lines that had not been there before.

That was not her, she thought, ashamed. That was not the face of a twenty-eight-year-old woman. No wonder Aiden McKaslin had barely glanced at her, and, when he did, it was with that shuttered look of annoyance. What must he see? What must he think of her? And why was she remembering how kind and strong he’d seemed, too? And how changed he’d been around the children?

It didn’t matter. After tomorrow she would never see him again.

Tomorrow. That was one thought she wanted to avoid. As hard as she tried not to admit it, she and her children were now covered-wagon people—the homeless people of the West—and she could no longer deny it.

Should they stay in the area? Find another forgotten piece of prairie to park their wagon on? It was too early for harvest work in the fields. And where would she leave her children while she was working?

Should they leave Angel Falls? The horses were in no condition, as old as they were, to pull the wagon a long distance. She did not have the money to stay—particularly come morning, after she squared up what she owed to Aiden McKaslin.

“Ma!” Daisy’s sweet voice broke into her thoughts. “I can’t reach.”

She blinked, realizing her daughter was waiting for her to unbutton her little dress. Joanna banished her worries with a shake of her head—there would be enough time to dwell on them later, when she was unable to fall to sleep—and tackled the tiny buttons marching down the back of Daisy’s pink calico dress. “There, now. Go get your nightgown and I’ll have your bed nice and ready.”

“Yes, Ma.” Daisy scampered off to where their satchel of clothes sat on the floor. She knelt, all sweetness, to peer inside the bag and search for her nightie.

Yes, Joanna had some decisions to make. She shook out the worn muslin over the straw tick with a snap. The fabric fluttered into place, and she bent to smooth and tuck quickly. Her troubled thoughts turned to Aiden McKaslin. Funny, her pa had lived next door to the McKaslins for the last five years, and he’d never said much about Aiden except that he was highly disagreeable. Then again, Pa had been highly disagreeable himself.

Joanna had seen Mr. McKaslin in church since she’d come to stay with her father, but didn’t know anything about him at all. Certainly not what he’d said. His words came back to her. I buried a wife and son years ago, what was most precious to me, and to see you and them neglected like this—with no one to care—

Not only was she sad for this man who had lost so much, but she admired him, too. He was a good man—rare, in her opinion—or at least good enough to care about someone not his concern. There were men who would have thrown her off the land without blinking. Some would have threatened her with the sheriff.

But Aiden McKaslin had brought her here. She looked around the structure, so solidly built, and clean, except for a little dust here and there. There was a stout roof overhead and not a single crack in a wall. Real glass windows stared out at the gathering darkness and showed a round moon hanging low over the valley. Yes, she would remember Aiden McKaslin in her prayers tonight.

By the time she’d added a top sheet to the straw tick and the quilts from the wagon, the children had said their prayers and were ready for bed. She tucked them in, kissed their brows and told them what a good job they’d done today. When she turned out the lantern by the bedside, after reading to them as she’d promised, she left them sound asleep. She finished the dishes in the meager light of a single lantern, listening to the sounds of the night. Thinking of her problems and her limited choices to solve them overwhelmed her.

When the dishes were done and put away into the crate, she sat down with her mending. She worked while the fire burned down and moonlight moved across the floor of the shanty. Midnight came and she was still sitting with a needle in her hand, wondering what the morning would bring.

She hoped she would be strong enough to face it.

Aiden looked up from his newspaper when he heard Finn’s boot steps pounding into the kitchen. Sure enough, there was his little brother—twenty years old—worked up into a fever. No surprise there. Aiden took a sip of his tea, assessing the boy’s mood over the rim of his cup. Finn could surprise you, but it was best to try to at least figure out his state before attempting to deal with him. As much as Aiden loved his youngest brother, he had to be honest about his flaws and weaknesses—there were many of those. Judging by the disgruntled frown, the crease of annoyance in Finn’s forehead and the angry way he tossed the harness strap across the back of one of the chairs, Aiden figured his brother was working himself up into a temper.

Best not to react to it or encourage it. “I see you had trouble fixing that harness. Why don’t you get a cup of tea? We’ll tackle it tomorrow.”

“Trouble? I didn’t have any trouble.” Finn took off his battered work hat and plucked his newer, going-to-town hat from the wall peg. “What I have is a problem sewing that up for her.”

“It’s what I asked you to do. Technically, you would be doing it for me.”

Finn cursed. “Do you think having a woman live out there is a good idea?”

“No, but what else would you have me do with her?”

“I could name a few things, all of which would involve her moving on to take advantage of someone else. She’s trouble, Aiden.”

“Oh? Do you know the Widow Nelson?”

“I know her type. Whatever she’s offering you, beware. She’s just trying to get her hooks into you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Wryly, Aiden finished the dregs of tea in his cup, trying to imagine quiet, proper Joanna Nelson as Finn was attempting to paint her.

It was impossible. When he thought of her, he recalled how gentle she was, how diligent and kind to her children, and of all the work she must have been forced to do for her father. That old man was the type who wouldn’t give shelter to his daughter and grandchildren without expecting a good amount of profit from it.

No, when Aiden thought of Joanna Nelson, he thought of hard work and that simple beauty of hers. The good kind of beauty that was more than appearances. She was the brand of woman who would face down a man twice her size if she thought her children needed protection.

That was the type of woman he could understand. He folded the newspaper in half, then in half again, watching Finn exchange his work shirt for one of the clean ones folded in the basket near the door, where the laundry lady had left it. It appeared that Finn was heading to town. Would it do any good to forbid him to go?

Finn had that belligerent look to him, the one he got when he was in no mind to be told what to do. “Fine, don’t mind what I’m saying. You’ll see I’m right when she’s got you standing up in church wearing your wedding ring.”

An arrow to the heart, that’s what Finn’s words were to Aiden. Finn was thinking he was so smart, as he always did when he got up a full head of steam. He was just talking to impress himself. What did he know about real life? Not one thing. He spent most of his time dreaming about the bottom of a whiskey bottle.

Finn had never loved so hard that his breath and heartbeat were nothing, nothing at all, compared to a woman’s breath and heartbeat. He had never sat the night through, bargaining with God every second of every minute of every long, long hour to take his life—to just take it—and to please let her live.

A wife? That was far more than a wedding ring and a minister’s words. A marriage was more than something a woman hoodwinked a man into. Anything short of that was a falsehood and an affront to God, whose love was a great gift. Pressure gathered at Aiden’s temples, and he dropped the paper. He was in no mood to read now.

Finn grabbed his Sunday coat from the wall peg.

Yep, Aiden could see exactly what his brother was up to. “I don’t want you going out.”

“You’re not my lord and master, are you?” Finn had the audacity to wink. “C’mon. I worked hard today. I deserve a little fun.”

“No you don’t. What you deserve is to work harder tomorrow.” Yep, he knew exactly what Finn meant by fun. He meant trouble. “We’re getting up an hour earlier tomorrow and hitting the fields.”

“Aw, Aiden. It’s all we do around here.”

“If I find out you went to town and drank even a drop of whiskey, you’re off this property. Out of this house. There’ll be no more roof over your head. No food in your belly. You’ll leave with exactly what you came with, which was the clothes on your back.”

Aiden braced himself for the coming wrath. He regretted his current headache because it would only pound more when Finn slammed the door on his way out.

“Whoa there.” His brother’s chin shot up. For the briefest moment there was the hint of the good boy he’d been—honest and sensitive and a little afraid—but in a flash it was gone. Replaced by the easier emotions of anger and bluster. “We agreed before I got out of prison and stepped foot on this land—our land—”

My land, Aiden thought, but he let it pass. He wasn’t a greedy man, but he figured more than twenty years of blood and sweat and backbreaking work made the place his. He’d worked harder than their drunkard of a father to clear and build this place from a wild quarter section of prairie. And it was his name on the deed. His name on the mortgage.

“—that I just had to stay out of trouble and do my work around here. No one said I couldn’t have a little fun on my own time.”

“No one’s debating that, Finn. What I am saying is that you show up half-drunk or hungover for repairing the north field fencing, and your free ride is over.”

“What free ride?”

That did it; he’d pushed too hard. Aiden shrugged. His head throbbed. His burden was heavy. Seeing Widow Nelson’s troubles today had cinched it for him. He was heartsick thinking of the way some men could be. He didn’t need to look at it in his own house, in the house where he’d once been happy. He squeezed out the memories that hurt too much. He blotted out the images of her here, of the feminine scent of her lotions and soaps, of her cinnamon rolls baking in the oven just for him, where her laughter and sweetness had made life—his life—better for a time.

“No man tells me what to do.” Finn’s tirade broke into his thoughts. “Yes, even you, Aiden. You might be my brother, but you are not my keeper.”

Aiden waited for the door to slam, and Finn didn’t disappoint. On his way out, he slammed it so hard the sound echoed in the kitchen like summer thunder. The windowpanes rattled. The cups swung on their hooks beneath the cupboard. Pain sliced through Aiden’s skull. Great. Exactly what he needed on his plate right now: more worries about Finn. The boy was going to make a terrible mistake sooner or later; Aiden knew it. He didn’t like that sad fact, but there was nothing he or their other brother, Thad, could do about it. Finn would either pull himself up by the bootstraps and make a man of himself, or he’d keep going on their father’s sad path. Only he could make that choice. No one could do it for him.

I sure wish I could. Aiden rubbed his temples, but that didn’t stop the pain. No, the real pain was deeper than worries, broader than a physical hurt. His spirit felt heavy with troubles that could not be healed. He pushed himself from the chair and put out the light on his way to the window. He didn’t want Finn to see him standing there, filled with regret, watching him stalk to the barn.

The round moon hung over the prairie valley like a watchful guardian, a platinum glow over the growing fields. The night looked mysterious, as if touched by grace, as if solemn with possibility. Aiden leaned his aching head against the window frame and wished he could feel hope again. Wished he could feel even the faintest hint of it.

What he could see was the shanty’s faint roofline, as dark and as quiet as the night.

She’s just trying to get her hooks into you. Finn’s words came back to him. Hooks? Joanna Nelson didn’t have any hooks. Not a woman who wore her heart and her love for her children on her sleeve. Not a woman who was so thin, the hard lines of her bones were visible through her summer dress. She’d gone without eating in order to give more to her children, so their bellies would be full while she went hungry.

The void where his heart had been was suddenly filled with an unbearable pain. That was love.

Chapter Four

Daybreak was her favorite time of day. Joanna drank in the peaceful quiet of the morning, savoring it like a rare treat. Every sunrise brought its own unique beauty. As she breathed in the hush that seemed to spread across the still land before the first hint of dawn, she could almost pretend that today would be full of promise, too. While the songbirds fell silent and the mountains seemed to sigh in reverence, she could almost feel the grace of God’s presence, and hope—how she hoped—that she was not forgotten by him.

The cow grazing in the yard lowed quietly, the only sound in the entire world. The serenity of the morning seemed to swell as the first trails of gold flared above the deep blue mountains. She squeezed her eyes shut and let the soft warmth wash over her, willing the pure first light to cleanse away her fears and her doubts. She prayed that it would give her courage and insight for the hard morning ahead.

The cow mooed again, impatient this time. Joanna opened her eyes to see the animal Aiden had taken back from Pa’s farm gazing at her with pleading eyes. The cow must have scented the small portion of grain in the bottom of the feed bucket, and was straining against her picket rope to get at it.

“I’m sorry, Rosebud. Here you are.” She set the bucket down at the cow’s front hooves. Instantly, the animal dived into her breakfast, tail swishing with contentment.

At least she looked better fed here on the lush grasses of Aiden’s land. Pa had always been stingy with the livestock’s feed, although Joanna had always sneaked grain and treats to Rosebud. She set the three-legged stool on the cow’s left side and placed the milk pail between her feet. Holding it steady in case Rosebud lurched suddenly, Joanna stroked the cow’s flank, talking to her for a few moments before starting to milk.

She could no longer see the rising sun breaking over the mountains, but the light was changing, the darkness turning to long blue shadows. A golden hue crept across the land to crown Aiden’s two-story house. Painted yellow, it seemed to absorb the slanted gold rays and glow.

I buried a wife and son years ago, what was most precious to me. Again, his words came back to her like a haunting refrain. His wife had chosen that soft buttery color. Joanna didn’t need to know anything about Aiden or his past to know that. No Montana rancher would choose that feminine, comforting color for his house. Just like the carved wooden curlicues decorating the top pillars of the porch fronts. Or the carefully carved rail posts. Such workmanship must have been done out of love for his wife.

Joanna felt in awe of such devotion. What a deep bond Aiden must have known. Respect for him filled her like the rising sun, and suddenly, there he was, as if her thoughts had brought him to life, striding down the porch steps with a milk pail in hand. She didn’t know if it was just her lofty opinion of the man, but he looked wholly masculine. With light outlining the impressive width of his shoulders, he strode through the long shadows.

Not even those shadows were enough to hide the set of his frown and the tension straining his jaw as he marched toward her. “Who said you could milk my cow?”

“Sorry, I guess I’ve helped myself to your morning chores. I wanted to make your load easier, for doing the same for me last night.” She spoke over the hissing stream of milk into the pail. “It’s a fair turn. Surely you’re not angry with me for that?”

Was it her imagination, or was there a weakening of that grimace in the corners of his mouth? “You are a surprising woman, Mrs. Nelson.”

“You can call me Joanna.” She could not resist saying it, even though she knew he would refuse to. “I gathered the eggs in the henhouse, too.”

“There was no need to do my chores.”

“How else am I to pay you what I owe?”

Aiden came closer, casting her in his long shadow. “Who said you owe me anything?”

“Please don’t try that tact, Mr. McKaslin.”

“What tact?” He knelt beside her, bringing with him the fresh scent of soap. “And you can call me Aiden.”

“You’re a decent man, Aiden. I’ll not take advantage of that.”

His hand, so very large, reached out and covered her wrist, stopping her. His fingers, so very warm, squeezed gently. “I’ll finish up here. You had best go see to your little ones.”

“They’ll be fine enough until I finish.”

“Please.” It was the plea in his eyes that moved her, that revealed a man of great heart. “I’m not comfortable letting a woman do my work. I’ll bring you some of the milk after I strain it.”

How could she say no to the man who had given her one night of safe harbor? One night of peaceful sleep? He was like a reminder of hope on this perfect, golden morning, even with the shadows that seemed to cling to him.

“Go on.” It was softly said, and surprising, coming from such a hard-looking man. “You have done enough for now.”

She swallowed, lost in his midnight-blue eyes. They were shielded from her, and as guarded as the peaks of the Rocky Mountains towering over the long stretch of prairie. Curiosity filled her, but he wasn’t hers to wonder about, so she pulled away and rose from the stool. With the first step she took, she felt a pang of lonesomeness. Her hand, warm from his touch, was cold in the temperate morning.

He watched her with his penetrating gaze, unmoving. Behind him on the porch, another man came to a sudden halt, yanked down the wide brim of his hat to shield his eyes from the sun without bothering to disguise his disdainful frown in her direction.

Last night Aiden had mentioned a brother. A brother who made him look even kinder and ten times more mature and masculine by comparison. The intensity of this man’s scowl made Joanna shiver.

“Don’t mind Finn.” Aiden’s comment carried on the breeze. “He’s got a lot to learn about life and manners.”

Across the yard, Finn muttered a terse answer that was drowned out by the harsh clatter of his boots on the steps. Anger emanated from him like heat from a stove. Joanna took one look at him and stayed where she was.

“Don’t blame you for not wanting to cross his path.” Aiden had hunkered down on the stool beside the cow. “When Finn’s got his dander up, he’s meaner than a rattler trapped in a brush fire. I apologize for him.”

“There’s no need. I’m the trespasser here.”

“You’ve gone pale. He upset you.”

“No, he reminded me of someone. M-my husband.”

That explained it. Aiden didn’t need to know anything more to see how her life had been. Sourness filled his stomach. Life was hard enough without such people in it. “Finn would make a poor husband.”

She didn’t comment, but the way she tensed up, as if she were holding too much inside, let him know more than her answer ever could. “Come by in, say, thirty minutes and I’ll have breakfast on the table. Your young ones might as well eat while we figure out what you and I are going to do.”

“About what I owe you?”

“No.” Tied up inside, he said the word with all the patience he had. “You have to go somewhere, Joanna. You can’t keep living out of your wagon.”

He could see her face beneath the shadow of her bonnet. Really, she was very lovely; her forehead and nose, cheekbones and chin were so fine they could have been sculpted of porcelain. Her big blue eyes were as pretty as cornflowers and her mouth looked soft and cozy, as if she had spent a lot of her life smiling. Once upon a time.

Her brows knit and her chin shot up. “Plenty of folks live out of their wagons when times get hard.”

Pride. He knew something about that. “I wasn’t criticizing. Only saying that eventually winter is going to come. Maybe I can help you with that.”

Her throat worked at the word help. Pain shot across her face. Whether she suspected his motives or wanted nothing to do with his help, he couldn’t know. She gave a nod of acknowledgment—not of agreement—and went on her way through the growing, seed-topped grasses.

Painted with dawn’s soft golden light like that, framed as she was by the crisp lush green of the prairie, Aiden felt he was seeing her for the first time. She was a truly lovely woman. He might even say beautiful.

He wasn’t proud of himself for noticing.

Joanna kept swallowing against the painful burn in her throat as she whisked a dollop of milk into the egg batter. Eventually winter is going to come. Aiden McKaslin’s remembered words made that pain worse. Maybe I can help you with that. Charity. That’s what he saw when he looked at her. A woman to be pitied.

Shame filled her, because it was the worst sort of criticism. She stopped whisking to flip the thick-cut bacon sizzling in one of the frying pans. Charity was all pretty and tidy and wrapped up real nice when you were the one giving it. It was different when you were on the other end. She’d been able to keep her chin up before, because she had been doing her best. There had been solace in that.

Now he thought she expected his help, that she would accept it. He meant well, but she was afraid of being in a man’s debt. Even in a good man’s debt. Anyone could see that Aiden McKaslin was a good man.

“Ma.” Daisy gave her rag doll a squeeze where she sat on a chair at the round oak table. “Can I get a drink of water?”

“You just had one, baby.” Joanna knew the child wasn’t asking for water, but to be able to get down from the chair and move around. “This isn’t our home, so we have to mind our manners. I want you to please sit there a little while longer.”

“Oh. Okay.” The little girl sighed and squeezed her doll harder.

“Ma?” James fidgeted in his chair and swung his feet back and forth. “I’m awful hungry. Especially for some of that bacon.”

There was no missing the hope on his face. Real bacon. They’d had such a luxury when they had their own little plot of land and their own pig to butcher. Joanna sighed, remembering those times, harder in some ways, better in others. “This is Mr. McKaslin’s breakfast. We ate in the shanty before we came here.”

“I know, but I was hopin’…” He left the sentence dangling, as if afraid to ask the question he already knew the answer to, but wanting to hold on to that hope.

She couldn’t blame him for that. “Maybe there will be a surprise for two good children later on. How about that?”

“Yes, ma’am!” James stopped fidgeting and sat up soldier straight, eager at the thought of a surprise.

“Oh, yes.” Daisy offered a dimpled smile.

It took so little to please them. Joanna’s heart ached as she poured the eggs into the waiting skillet. If only there was something more than another few pieces of saved candy for them. They deserved more than she could give them—at least now, anyway. In a month’s time, there would be fieldwork to do. It was hard labor, and she still didn’t know what to do with her babies while she worked, but at least she could hope for real wages. Hope for a betterment of her children’s lives.