Montana Bride

“We should get home where it’s warm. You too, Bill.” He could feel Willa trembling through her worn, wool coat. “Thanks for staying late for us.”

“Drive safely,” the reverend called out, his words echoing in the high ceiling as Austin opened the door and Willa disappeared ahead of him into the blinding night.

Was it disappointment that dug into him as she forged ahead without him? He rubbed at the painful spot on his chest and followed her tracks through the deepening snow. He caught up to her at the buggy and seized her forearm.

“Thought you could get away from me, did you?” He helped her onto the seat, making sure there was no hint of his disappointment in his words, just the warmth he wanted her to believe in. “The drive home isn’t far. Are you warm enough? I can give you my coat.”

“Oh, no.” She wrapped her arms around her middle. “Thank you, but I’m used to the cold.”

“Fine.” He patted her arm once before stepping away to remove the horse’s blanket. The wind disbursed the warm impression he left, and she felt alone. She was not used to sitting in a buggy while a man worked.

No, not just any man, she thought. Her husband. She gulped, drawing in air to stay the kick of panic in her chest. She had given him back his gloves in the middle of the ceremony, when he had produced a smooth gold band for her to wear. The ring felt foreign on her finger and cold against her skin. Jed had not been able to afford a wedding ring, although he had been able to find the money to buy bottles of whiskey.

She had married Jed straight off the stagecoach. He had met her at the stop, treated her to a fine lunch at the small town’s only hotel. He had been on his best behavior then, too, behavior that had covered his true self like a fine, fancy veneer. She’d learned the hard way men showed you what they wanted you to see. She huddled into herself as the spikes of cold on the wind became bitter.

Austin’s low baritone mumbled, his words indistinguishable as he uncovered the horse. He was nothing more than an impression in the dark. She caught a glimpse of the crown of his hat, the solid line of his shoulder and the blur of movement as he folded the blanket. This inclement night was vastly different from the hot summer day Jed had tossed her trunk into his battered wagon and driven her across the vast, lonely Dakota prairie, yet she recalled it vividly. The following two years had gone by slowly and unhappily. She lifted her chin, determined to handle this marriage differently. At least she knew the truth. She would be realistic. She no longer believed in a man’s good side or in the fiction of romantic love.

“Calvin is none too happy with me.” With the hint of a wry grin, Austin climbed up and settled onto the cushioned seat beside her. “I’ve spoiled him.”

“Have you?” She wished she could be the girl she once was, one who could look at a man hoping to see the good. She could tell Austin wanted her to see he took fine care of his horse, but the way he sat so straight, shoulders back, reminded her of Jed’s self-pride that had known no bounds. Her insides clenched tight. Please, let him not be like that. Austin seemed kindly and pleasant, but how deep did those qualities go?

Her heart stammered as if she were standing on the crumbling edge of a very high cliff with no way to save herself from falling. She was about to find out. She was about to discover exactly how her life would go. As the horse pulled them down the snowy lane, she fought the urge to leap out and stop the future from happening.

But it was too late. She was bound to this man for as long as they both drew breath. She had to be prepared for silent evenings made longer with a man’s displeasure at her and for long days of physical work.

Night had fallen, making the trees towering on either side of the road look like frightening creatures of the night. A wolf’s howl called eerily through the forest, reminding her they were in wild, high mountain country. Every passing mile reminded her how much her life had changed only to stay the same. She was still a wife, she still carried a child she might not be able to love and she was still convenient to a man who had chosen a mail-order bride because he could find no other.

“Calvin isn’t used to standing in the cold,” Austin explained. “He’s never been up this late before. He’s old and set in his ways.”

She heard the note of humor in his voice but did not smile. She curled her hands into fists. “Have you had him for a long time?”

“Since the day he was born. He’s like a brother to me.”

“A brother?”

“A horse brother, then.” Austin’s chuckle rumbled deep, a sound that tried to reach out to touch her heart.

She inched back on the seat, needing distance. Shyness washed over her. She felt small, and he was so big. The dark night world surrounding her echoed with a vastness she could not see or measure. She did not like being vulnerable. How much farther to the cabin?

“Sometimes you meet someone and you just know.” Austin’s conversational tone held a note of strain. Perhaps he was nervous, too. “That’s the way it was for Calvin and me. Has that ever happened to you?”

“No.” The word sounded abrupt, and she winced. She was stressed, that was all, and she hated that it showed. “I was close to my mother and grandmother.”

“Was?” His deep voice gentled, asking for more information. He turned toward her with a hint of concern in his posture as he loomed on the seat next to her.

“Scarlet fever.” She swallowed hard, holding back the memories of being fifteen and their sole caretaker. “We all fell ill, but my case was light compared to theirs. My mother went first. It was—” Words failed her. She didn’t know how to begin the story about her mother.

“I lost my ma, too.” He swallowed hard and although the night hid him fully from her sight, she could feel the essence of him and the strength of his heart. “It was like the sun going out. Like morning without a dawn to light it.”

“Yes.” Her jaw dropped, surprised this giant of a man understood. Not that she dared believe him too much. “Gran never recovered. She said she’d lost everything.”

“Everything? What about you? She still had her granddaughter.”

“Two days later, she was gone, too.” How did she explain? The circumstances of her birth and her existence were a shame to her grandmother and a tragedy for her mother. She laid her hand on her stomach, thinking of the babe within. Life was complicated and love was a myth.

“We’re here.” Austin’s announcement broke through her thoughts, scattering them on the wind like snowflakes. “This is home.”

“Home.” Relief ebbed into her. She saw nothing but a slope of a roofline against the iridescent black sky. A good strong roof, by her guess, one that would keep out the wet and the cold. Sturdy walls that would provide the shelter her baby would need.

“You wait for me to help you.” He sounded stern, but the harsh notes did not ring true. He hopped to the ground, hurrying around the buggy to offer her his hand. Such a strong hand. He’d swooped her off the seat and onto her feet before she could blink.

“It’s not much,” he said, grabbing her satchel. “I’ve already spoken to Mrs. Pole over at the mercantile to add your name to my account. You can buy all the frills and fabric you want to make curtains and such. I remember how my ma was, and my sisters are always stitching something pretty for their homes.”

“You have sisters?”

“It’s slick here.” His boots thudded on wood steps. “I’ll have to get this shoveled off. Yep, I have one sister and two sisters-in-law, which means I have two brothers as well.”

“And they live in the area?” Her soft alto was calm and carefully controlled, but he heard the curiosity.

“Hard to believe, isn’t it?” He kicked the snow from his boots against the siding and opened the door. The scent of freshly cut wood met him. “You would have thought having so many ladies around me would have civilized me better.”

“Is your sister older?”

“Younger.” He winced, wondering what she saw when she looked at him. A man older than she’d expected, no doubt, and that pained him. He’d known it was unrealistic but when he’d met her at the train he’d hoped she would instantly like him. That there would be a spark, some recognition between them that would tell him he’d made the right decision. It had been an impulsive decision to offer her marriage, one he wanted neither of them to regret.

He struck a match and lit the wall sconce. The wick leapt to life and the flame chased away the darkness to reveal the sitting room, full of windows with old sheets for curtains. His sister was always offering to sew for him, but he didn’t need frills. Now, as he studied the sparse room, he fought off a sense of shame. He wished he had been able to build a bigger home for Willa.

“I’m afraid there’s a lot of gussying up for you to do.” He covered his feelings with a grin. “My sister offered to sew and fancy up the place, but in the end I thought you might want to do things your way. Make this good and truly your home, too.”

“I see.” Her eyes widened like a deer facing a hungry hunter. She said nothing more, gazing at the sofa he’d ordered from Chicago so his wife would have a comfortable place to sit with her sewing, and at the furniture he and his pa had made long ago before Ma’s passing. End tables, a rocking chair, two deep wooden chairs and a window seat.

“This isn’t the only room.” She gestured toward the closed doors along the end of the room.

“No.” He lit a table lamp. “There’s a kitchen and two bedrooms. We can add on as more children come.”

She blushed, dipped her chin and focused on working the buttons on the tattered coat she wore. His wedding ring glinted on her slender hand, moving a little because it was a bit too big. He’d had to guess at the size. In the end, his sister and sisters-in-law had helped him and he’d simply gone with their advice. They had offered their advice on more than the ring, and those words drove him now.

“Come, sit and warm up.” He rose and held out his hand, waiting for her to come to him. “You have had a hard journey and you need to rest.”

“Rest? There’s supper to make. Is the kitchen through one of those doors?” She gestured toward the wall where three doors led to the different rooms of the house. The last button released and she shrugged out of her coat.

“First things first. You need to warm up.” He lifted the worn garment from her slim shoulders, breathing in the scent of roses and sweet, warm woman. Tenderness welled up with a strength he hadn’t predicted and shone through like a light in the dark.

The coat she’d worn had hidden so much, he realized as he folded it over his arm and helped her settle on the sofa. She was smaller than the bulk of the garment had suggested, a wee wisp who looked overworked and underfed. He noticed the patches on her dress were carefully sewn but there were many. He hung up her coat, frowning. Her advertisement had said she was in great need of a husband and a home. She had not exaggerated.

“I want to tell you right off. I am not the best cook.” She gazed up at him apologetically. “Although, in truth, I am not the worst.”

“I’m not picky. I will be grateful not to eat my own cooking for a change.” He knelt at the hearth to stir the embers. “You don’t have to worry about it tonight. My sister brought over a meal to warm up. She wanted to make things easier for you.”

Disbelief pinched adorable wrinkles around the rosebud mouth he’d been trying not to look at. Because when he did, he had to wonder what it would be like to kiss those petal-soft lips. The thought made blood roar through his veins. He was thankful the embers caught to the wood he added, so he could retreat to the relative safety of the kitchen before his thoughts got ahead of him. He shoved to his feet.

“You wait here.” He tossed her what he hoped was a smile. “Get comfortable.”

“You have a nice home, Austin.” She watched him cross the room, unable to look away.

“It’s yours, too. You may as well start planning how you are going to change it.” A dimple flirted with one corner of his mouth before he disappeared through one of the doors.

She caught a glimpse of counters and the edge of an oak table. An entire room for the kitchen. She had never lived in such a grand house, a real house and not a shanty, with more than one room. She had never sat on a couch before. Wooden furniture, yes. Homemade furniture, of course. But a real boughten couch. She ran her fingertips across the fine upholstery, a lovely navy blue color that she would have no trouble finding shades to match. She could make curtains and cushions and pillows. Austin said he had added her name to his account. A charge account. How about that? She’d never had such a thing before.

Any moment she would wake up to find this was all too good to be true. The train’s jarring would shake her awake and she would blink her eyes, straighten on the narrow seat and smile at the pleasant dream she’d had, a dream that could not possibly be real.

Heat radiated from the growing fire. The cheerful crackle and pop of the wood was a comforting sound. She tilted her head to hear the pad of Austin’s boots in the next room, a reminder that this was real and no dream. She wrapped her arms around herself, wondering what was to come. How long would Austin’s kind manner continue? What would happen after the supper dishes were done and the fires banked? She tasted fear on her tongue and shut out that one terrified thought of being trapped beneath a man on a mattress.

Her mouth went dry. The wedding night was still to come. Panic fluttered like a trapped bird beneath her rib cage. Austin was a man, and a man had needs. She braced herself for what was inevitable and tried to focus on the positive. Maybe tomorrow she could select fabric for curtains at the mercantile. She would choose something cheerful and sunny, something that would give her hope.

Chapter Three

Evelyn’s fried chicken was as tasty as always but he couldn’t properly enjoy the good food his sister had prepared. The mashed potatoes sat like a lump in his gut and he’d dropped the chicken leg he’d been gnawing on twice. Across the small round table parked in the center of the kitchen, his wife looked as if she were having a case of nerves, too. All the color had drained from her face and a green bean tumbled off her fork and into her lap.

“Oops.” Covertly, she tucked it on the rim of her plate.

“I do that all the time.” He wanted to make her at ease. He wished he knew how to make the worry lines disappear, but they remained, etched deeply into her sweet face.

“I thought of this moment so many times on the train ride.” She stuck the tines of her steel fork into the mound of potatoes. “What it would be like here.”

“I reckon it’s mighty hard to wait and wonder, not knowing what you might walk into.” He knew that feeling. “Truth is, I’ve been so preoccupied with meeting you, for the last week I found myself walking into walls. Going into a room and forgetting what I meant to fetch. Even Calvin had a few choice neighs for me.”

“You were nervous?” She looked up at him, meeting his gaze squarely for the first time. Shy, she dipped her head again, breaking the contact, but that brief emotional touch was like a sign.

He squared his shoulders, seeing a way to lessen the uneasiness of two strangers sharing a meal. “I can’t tell you how much. I had no idea what to expect. I imagine it was the same for you.”

“Yes.” Relief telegraphed across her pretty face, framed by soft dark bangs. “Why did you choose to find a wife in an advertisement?”

“Didn’t have much of a choice, really.” He took a bite of chicken and chewed. Did he tell her his woe when it came to women? “There aren’t a lot of marriageable females in this part of the territory. It’s rugged and remote, and the railroad coming through hasn’t changed that. Every woman I knew up and married someone else.”

“Why?” Her blue eyes were like a whirlpool pulling him in.

“I was not enough for them, I guess. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not the dashing type.” He shrugged, pushing away that old pain. “I own the livery in town. I run a business. I am no slouch when it comes to being able to provide for a wife.”

“Of course not.” Her eyes gentled, a hint of the woman within. “How could that not be enough?”

“I am average, I guess.” It was tough being an average man. He did fine in school, but not stellar. He had passable enough looks, but no woman had ever thought him handsome. “The few marriageable women who have come this way have tended to look right past me, so I thought, why not bring out my own pretty girl, and here you are.”

“You are a charmer. I’ll have to keep my eye on you.” But she blushed rosily, and it was good to see a glimpse of color in her cheeks and the promise of her smile.

Enough about him and his troubles. He didn’t have to feel looked over anymore. His days of being a lonely bachelor were gone. He had a beautiful wife to call his own. She grew more comely every time he gazed upon her. He couldn’t believe his luck. He set the gnawed chicken leg on his plate. “Why did you choose my letter?”

“You were the only man who wrote me.”

“What?” That surprised him. He wiped his fingers on the cloth napkin, stumped. “The only one?”

“Yes.” She set down her fork with a muted clink against the ironware plate. “I suppose admitting I was a pregnant woman looking for marriage wasn’t the most popular thing to say in my advertisement, but I had to be honest.”

Her words penetrated his stunned brain. He tried not to feel let down, that there had not been, as he’d hoped, a spark of something special in her when she’d read his words. She was truly here because of necessity only. He blew out a breath, holding back his emotions, and focused on her. “You must have been disappointed when you heard only from me.”

“I was grateful.” Across the width of the small table, she straightened her spine, sitting prim and firm, her chin up. “Very grateful. I had no place to live. The bank took the farm after Jed’s death.”

“And you had no relatives. No place to go.” Concern choked him. He popped up from the table, feeling mighty with his rage. It wasn’t right that she’d had no one to care and no one to protect her from the harsh aspects of life. His boots pounded on the puncheon floor and he filled the washbasin with hot water from the stove’s reservoir. “How did you get by?”

“The bank had locked up the house but not the barn, so I slept there for a spell.” She hung her head, heat staining her face. Her chair scraped against the floor as she stood rapidly. “You can see why I am so grateful to you.”

He wasn’t hoping for gratitude in a wife. He didn’t know how to tell her that. He eased the heavy basin onto the work counter in front of a pitch-black window and frowned at his reflection in the glass. His worry that she was disappointed in him returned. He was certainly disenchanted with the situation and concerned on her behalf. It was April, no doubt nights were chilly in South Dakota, too, and she was pregnant. His hands bunched into fists, and he was unable to know exactly why he was so angry.

The action made Willa shrink against the counter. Alarmed, she stared up at him with an unspoken fear in her eyes and her dainty chin set with strength. Confirming everything he’d suspected about this Jed she’d been married to. He felt sick as he grabbed the bar of soap and a knife and began to pare off shaves of soap into the steaming water.

“I should be doing that.” She might be afraid of what he could do with his anger, but she was no wilting flower. She reached for the soap, her slender fingers closing over his.

A jolt of physical awareness shot through him, hot and life-changing. She gazed up at him, clear-eyed and unaffected, concerned only with the fact he was doing her housework and not trembling from the shock of touching him.

He swallowed hard, gathering his composure. “I will take care of the dishes. You must be exhausted.”

“I am fine. I have to do the kitchen work, Austin. I want you to see I’m not a lazy wife.” Gentle, her show of strength, but she braced her patched shoes on the floor as if ready for an argument.

“Your being lazy never crossed my mind.” He swallowed, confused by the tangle of softer emotions sitting dead center in his chest. “I am more concerned about your condition.”

“Oh, the baby.” It was almost as if she’d forgotten the babe’s existence. A quick pinch of dismay down turned her Cupid’s-bow mouth. In a blink, it was gone and she drew herself up, as if searching for fortitude. “I’m fine. I’m a good worker, Austin. Just like I said in my letter.”

He could see that attribute was important to her, so he nodded and let her take the dishcloth from his hand. At the whisper of her fingertips against the base of his thumb, another electric shock telegraphed through him with enough force to weaken his knees. “For the record, I’m a good worker, too.”

“I see.” Her tense shoulders relaxed another fraction and what almost passed for a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. In the lamplight, with tendrils of dark curls framing her face, she looked like some magical creature out of a fairy tale, too beautiful and sweet to be real.

His throat closed and he was at a loss for words. He felt disarmed, as if every defense he’d ever had was shattered by her touch. He felt too big, too rough, too average to be married to a woman like her. He still couldn’t believe it was his ring shining on her finger. His bride. The last ten years of loneliness felt worth it because they would come to an end tonight.

“I’ll go see to the fire.” He blushed—he couldn’t help it—as he eased through the kitchen door.

“All right.” She nodded timidly, a vision in patched and faded calico. She plunged her slender hands into the soapy water, intent on her work. There was nothing else to do but to put one foot in front of the other and set about bringing in enough wood for the morning’s needs.

He hesitated at the door, casting one last look at her. The little splashing sounds, the clink of flatware landing in the bottom of the rinse basin, the swish of her skirts and the gentleness of her presence made the tangled knot of feelings within him swell.

Tonight. Tonight he would not sleep alone. She would lie beside him in his bed, his bride to have and to hold. This was his chance to truly belong and matter to a woman. His turn to find the meaningful, enduring love he’d watched his parents share.

Happiness lit him up like a slow and steady light that would not be put out. He turned on his heels and paced through the house, hardly noticing the bite of bitter cold when he stepped out to fill the wood box.

“How are the dishes coming?” The door opened to the pace of his steps returning to the kitchen.

“I’m done.” Willa wiped the last plate dry and set it on the stack in the cupboard. “It took hardly any time at all. I need to thank your sister for the meal.”

“No need to, as I’ve already done it.” He sidled up to her, bringing with him the scent of wood smoke on his clothes. His big hands hefted the washbasin off the counter. “You look pale as a sheet. Are you all right?”

“It’s been a long few days.” She hung the dish towel up to dry, avoiding his gaze. Why was he being so courteous? He walked away with the basin without explanation and opened the back door. He disappeared in the swirl of snow that blew in and returned dusted with white. “I think I made a bigger mess than I meant to.”

She shrugged and spotted a broom leaning against a nearby wall. A few swipes took care of the stray snow, but he was still covered with it. The need to brush off the ice from his face surprised her. She stepped back to let him do that for himself. She’d learned her lessons well in her first marriage. Men had a way of punishing you for trying to care about them. At least this time she understood that. At least this first wedding night would not be spent like the last one … full of misery, disillusion and silent tears.