High Plains Wife

“I did.” His thumb brushed her chin, forcing her gaze to him. The sadness in her eyes shamed him. He’d disliked her, he’d forgotten her, he’d tried to avoid her in town for years and married her for convenience’s sake, but the truth was, his heart felt as new as dawn’s first light whenever he looked at her.

“You didn’t sweep me off my feet, Nick. You offered me an arrangement.”

“Sure, I was trying to get my laundry done free, so I proposed.”

“And I was trying to get a man to feed and shelter me.”

“And don’t forget clothe you. I did include new dresses in the marriage deal.”

Tenderly. That’s how he spoke to her. Gently, that’s how he held her hand. She couldn’t begin to say how much that meant to her….

Acclaim for Jillian Hart’s recent books

Bluebonnet Bride

“Ms. Hart expertly weaves a fine tale of the heart’s ability to find love after tragedy. Pure reading pleasure!”

—Romantic Times

Montana Man

“…a great read!”

—Rendezvous

Cooper’s Wife

“…a wonderfully written romance full of love and laughter.”

—Rendezvous

High Plains Wife

Jillian Hart

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

Montana Territory, 1881

T he high Montana prairie spread out like forever in all directions, broken only by small knolls and glens and the miles of fences. The land was bright green and new, for spring had come to the plains, and the sun was brilliant and warm. Mariah Scott swiped the afternoon’s grit from her face with her sleeve and gave her slow-moving ox a snap of the reins.

“Git up,” she ordered, but the animal didn’t move one bit faster. Maybe there was no getting around the fact that she’d been swindled at the auction last week when she’d purchased the ox. Clearly a mistake she was sorely regretting.

And to add insult to injury, the beast had to slow down on the road right in the middle of Nick Gray’s fields. Of all the places on the earth to linger, this wasn’t the one she would choose.

She’d been in love with him once, a foolish young girl embroidering pillowcases for her hope chest. Some things were not to be, and it had been a hard lesson. It had been long ago now, but thinking of Nick Gray could still make her heart ache for what could never be.

“Nick is sure to be looking for a wife now that he’s widowed,” Rayna Ludgrin had predicted at Sunday dinner. “What with two little ones without a mother to care for them.”

It’s not likely to be me. Mariah smoothed her gloved hand over her second best dress—thin from years of wearing—and knew how much she’d changed. She was no longer young and faintly pretty, and now, whenever a man looked at her, he saw a practical hardworking woman.

No doubt that’s what Nick Gray saw, too.

Enough dallying, Mariah. She had no time to waste on thoughts of that man. She had clean laundry to deliver and wouldn’t get paid until she did. Mariah touched the thick leather reins on the ox’s rump and bit back a curse when the animal locked his legs and the wagon groaned to a stop in the middle of the rutted road.

“Git up,” she repeated.

The stubborn beast planted his hooves more firmly.

Exasperated, Mariah smacked him again, this time firmly enough to make a sound, but it wasn’t hard enough to do any good. “If I could afford to sell you, then I would. You are a bad boy.”

The gentle giant lifted his head, apparently unconcerned, and took advantage of the scant wind cooling his warm coat.

“I bought you because you were cheap, and that was my biggest mistake.” Frustrated, she climbed down from the high seat. Her shoes hit the ground and dust clouded the air. Coughing, she tugged an apple out of her pocket. “Here’s your bribe. Now will you pull my wagon?”

The big ox glanced at her through narrowed eyes, as if he were considering her offer.

“Even though I can’t afford it, I could sell you to the stockyards,” she bluffed.

As if he understood perfectly, he took the apple.

That was one problem solved. While the bovine crunched on the treat, Mariah patted him on the neck. He was a pretty creature, gleaming reddish-brown in the sun.

Turning to the wagon, she heard the smallest sound, sweet in tone like a lark but as heartbreaking as the wind. So quiet, had she imagined it? No, there it was again. A tiny sniffling sound like a child crying.

A child? Was one lost out here on the endless plains? She might be a spinster and never a mother, but she knew the dangers to a child alone on the prairie.

This time the sound was a muffled sob. Definitely someone small and in need of help. It had to be coming from the empty field next to the road. Unbroken new grass waved tall and proud and so thick, Mariah couldn’t see anything but an ocean of green. There was no sign that a child—or anything else—was nearby.

The ox bellowed and swiveled his ears, lifting his huge head to gaze far out into the fields.

Maybe that was why the ox had stopped, Mariah realized. He could have known there was trouble. She patted him again, deciding maybe he wasn’t beyond redeeming, and hiked her skirts up to her ankles. Dust whirled around her as she climbed carefully through the tricky barbs of the wire fence.

The crying sounded nearer. Tiny gulps of sobs that lured Mariah through the thick grasses until she spotted a flash of pink between the green stalks. The last thing she wanted to do was to frighten the child. “Hello? Are you lost?”

The stems parted and the flash of pink became a girl dressed in calico. Her pixie’s face was streaked with tears. “You ain’t my mama.”

Poor child, lost and alone. Mariah’s heart melted, just like that. She dug in her pocket for a bright shiny apple. “Are you hungry?”

The girl’s blond curls brushed her shoulders as she shook her head.

“You don’t like apples?”

“I got cookies.” The child lifted her heavy satchel, tears trailing through the dust on her cheeks. “But I’m savin’ ’em.”

“Looks like you’re packed for a trip.”

“I’m goin’ to heaven. That’s where Pa said my mama went. I’m gonna go get her.”

Mariah’s heart cinched tight. Sympathy welled up in her so fast, she couldn’t speak at first. She didn’t know what to say to a child who’d lost a mother to suicide. While she tried to figure that out, she knelt until she was eye level with the little girl, who looked so miserable and alone. So helplessly small and precious. “Your pa has to be awful worried about you. He wouldn’t want you to go look for your mama.”

“He don’t want me.” The child leaned close to whisper, hiccuping on a sob. “He don’t love me no more.”

Sympathy ached like a nail driven deep in her chest, and Mariah couldn’t resist sweeping a tangled lock of damp curls from the girl’s cheek. Mariah knew what it was like not to be loved, and by all accounts this child of Nick Gray’s was well treasured. The dress she wore was finely made without a wrinkle in it, her shoes dusty but without a single scuff.

Still, she understood how it felt to have a broken heart.

“That’s my wagon right down there. Do you see my ox?”

The girl tilted her head, considering, and nodded once.

“His name is Bad Boy, but he’s really very nice. If you bribe him with apples.” Mariah held out her hand. “Would you like to feed him one?”

“I gotta find my ma.”

“That’s a long, long way. You’d better come with me, instead.”

The girl’s brow wrinkled as she considered. “I’m awful tired of walkin’.”

“Good. Your satchel looks heavy. Want me to take it?”

“Nope. I can do it.” She wrapped both hands around the thick handle and tugged the satchel along on the ground, over every bump and grass hump.

“I’m Mariah. I bet your name is Georgie.”

“How do you know?” She wiped the last of her tears on her sleeve.

“I told you. I know your pa.”

While Georgie apparently thought about that, she gave her bag another tug. “I’m awful thirsty. Do you got cider in that wagon?”

“I have water. Will that do?”

“Yep.”

Mariah slowed her pace, waiting for Georgie. A chill snaked down her spine. It was suddenly so quiet. No birds were singing. The prairie lay deathly still. Not even the wind blew. Bad Boy was fidgeting in his traces, a sure sign of trouble. With the height of the grass, a wild animal, even a wolf, could be stalking them and Mariah might not see the danger in time.

She stepped closer to the child. It would be best to get Georgie into the wagon as soon as possible. There was a loaded Winchester beneath the seat, and she knew how to use it if she had to.

“Let me carry that, Georgie. The faster we get to the wagon, the sooner we can get you a drink of—”

There was a streak of brown in the field ahead. In an instant it was gone and the green grass stood tall and motionless, as if it had never been disturbed.

Mariah knew better. It wasn’t a wolf, but a coyote, and they always hunted in packs. She shivered, aware of the cold prickle in her bones. They didn’t want her. It was the small child they’d scented.

She pulled Georgie to her skirts. Contented coyotes were one thing, but hungry packs roamed these prairies that were settling up fast.

She had to get Georgie out of this field. She swung the girl onto her hip and held her tight, walking as fast as she dared. Her skirts snapped with her stride and the sound of her breathing rang loud.

The coyotes emerged soundlessly in a perfect circle, cutting off her escape. There were a dozen of them, crouched, teeth bared, ready to attack in unison.

She skidded to a stop. What was she to do? Hunger gleamed in their eyes and she recognized an eerie determination. They didn’t intend to back down.

Well, neither did she.

“Shoo!” She snapped the hem of her apron at the coyote directly in front of her. You could never tell, maybe that would frighten him off.

Maybe not.

The leader of the pack didn’t flinch or lower his gaze. He was hungry, she could see that in the ridge of bones showing through his matted coat. He crept closer, and the pack followed his lead, closing the circle. Trouble. Fear spilled like ice water into Mariah’s blood.

She had to act fast.

“You leave us alone!” She snatched an apple from her pocket and threw.

The apple hit the leader between the eyes. He dropped to the ground and shook his head.

Good thing she had more apples. She grabbed another and lobbed it at a second coyote. It struck him in the shoulder and knocked him to the ground.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a streak of brown. Georgie screamed the same moment Mariah felt teeth clamp at her nape. A heavy weight settled on her back and threatened to drag her down. How dare that coyote! Mariah whirled around, beating him in the nose with her fist until he slid from her back, taking her chignon with him. Her hair tumbled into her face. There were so many of them. How could she fight them all?

Georgie screamed again. The leader was on his feet and leaping, lunging for the little girl’s throat.

Mariah tossed her last apple. The coyote howled at the impact. In pain, he slunk into the grass. Already the rest of the pack was backing away.

A gunshot echoed across the field, and Mariah swung around to see mounted men emerging over the grassy knoll, their guns raised.

She’d never seen a more welcome sight. Relief left her weak as the coyotes dispersed into the grasses, disappearing as if they had never been.

“Pa!” Georgie screamed as she slid from Mariah’s arms and waded through the grass toward one of the approaching riders. “Pa!”

With his dark Stetson hiding his face, Nick Gray bent to scoop the little girl into his arms. She held him fiercely, clinging to his wide shoulders. He looked stronger than ever, holding his child.

Mariah couldn’t hear his words, only the mumble of his voice, distant and low and soothing. She tore her gaze from him, fighting to ignore the hitch of longing deep inside. The sharp twinge of emotion shamed her.

She was too old to pine after some man she didn’t even like. Tucking her hair into some order, she gathered her skirts and turned her back on Nick before he recognized her. The last thing on this earth she wanted to do was to have to talk to him.

Riders galloped past her, searching out the fleeing coyotes.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” one of them asked.

“Fine.” She didn’t look at him as she trudged through the thick grasses.

Georgie was safe and in her father’s strong arms. There was no reason for her to stay, or for Nicholas Gray to say a single word to her. She was running late, and she had deliveries to make. She had no time for small talk.

“Ma’am! Wait up.” A deep, captivating male voice rumbled across the prairie.

Nick’s voice.

She cringed. So, he still hadn’t recognized her, had he? She walked faster.

“Ma’am, you’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine.”

Hooves clipped behind her, vibrating the earth. “You don’t look fine. I saw that coyote jump you, and I feared the worst. He scratched you up pretty bad. Your dress is torn.”

So, he still hadn’t recognized her, had he? She kept her back to him and refused to comment. Maybe if she ignored him, he would go away.

But no, Nick reined his gelding to a stop in front of her. The big brute was blocking her path, and she wasn’t referring to the horse. The years had drawn lines in his face and wariness into his eyes as blue as a Montana sky, but no amount of time had changed his attitude.

The brim of his hat shaded his face, but she could see the strong square of his jaw quirk as if he were surprised. “Mariah Scott. I might have known it was you. Not many women in this county can take on a pack of hungry coyotes and win.”

Not many women, huh? She ought to be used to that attitude. As if, because she’d never married and her youth had begun to fade, her feelings had gone, too. It hurt.

Good thing she had a thick skin. She lifted her chin and circled around his horse so she could continue on her way.

“Aw, c’mon, now.” Hooves clomped on the hard earth behind her. “I only meant you have the fortitude to scare off any rascal. Can’t you accept a man’s thanks?”

“Sure, when a man thanks me.”

“Mariah, I didn’t mean it that way. I’m grateful to you.”

“Fine. You’re welcome.” Don’t look at him. Looking at him would make her forgive him—just a little bit. There was no way she wanted to own up to the smallest feeling for Nick…unless it was a comfortable dislike.

She grabbed hold of the fence, careful of the barbed metal hooks.

He halted his horse beside her. “You’re angry with me.”

She wasn’t angry, but she could never explain it. She’d do best to ignore him, and that’s exactly what she intended to do. Let Nick Gray think she was angry, what would it matter? He may be looking for a wife, but she was smart enough to know he’d never consider her.

“’Bye, apple lady!” Georgie called across the field.

“Goodbye.” Mariah waved at the little girl clinging to her uncle’s arms. Somewhere along the way Nick must have handed off his daughter to his brother.

Georgie’s fingers waved in response over her uncle’s shoulder, so sweet Mariah felt her cold heart warm. At least the child was safe.

As for Georgie’s father, Mariah refused to acknowledge him as she slipped through the fence as fast as she could. Her hem caught in a wire, and she stumbled, but at least she was on the other side.

A safe distance from the man on his horse, sitting so tall and proud he touched the sky.

“I was glad it was you, Mariah. That you were the one riding along at the right time.”

“Me, too.”

She stumbled onto the rutted road, dust kicking up at her quick step. With every step she took, she could feel Nick’s gaze on her, bold as a touch. Why was he even speaking to her? She blinked fast to keep her eyes from blurring. Walked faster to get away from him.

She reached the wagon and pulled herself up. Was he still watching her? She turned her head just enough to see him at the edge of her vision, astride that black horse of his, one arm crossed jauntily on the saddle horn, the other at his hip.

He looked invincible. As if nothing could ever scare him. Or diminish the confidence he radiated like a midsummer’s sun.

She would give anything to possess his courage. Maybe then she’d be able to look him straight in the eye, but she tumbled onto the wagon seat. She heard the gate hinges creak. It would be better to leave and leave fast before the shaking deep in her stomach radiated through the rest of her.

There was no way she was going to let Nick Gray see how frightened she was. Why were her hands shaking like that? She took a deep breath. The worse part was over, wasn’t it? The coyotes were gone. The child was safe.

Except Mariah could still feel the hot breath on her neck and the weight of the coyote on her back. One rein slipped through her fingers. She scrambled after it, dropping onto her knees.

“Mariah?” Nick’s horse halted at the side of her wagon. His shadow fell across her. “Are you okay?”

“I told you, I’m fine.” She had to be. What choice did she have? She wasn’t Georgie—she couldn’t lean into Nick’s arms and find comfort. She had no comfort anywhere in her life. The last thing she intended to do was to admit it. “Where did that blasted rein go?”

“Here. It’s on the ground.” Nick leaned forward in his saddle, leather creaking with his movements, and reached for the thick strap.

His big, sun-browned fingers snatched it, the movement masculine and commanding, and she hated noticing it. Noticing him.

He straightened, looking her up and down with his steel-blue eyes. No emotion flickered in their depths. “You’re in no shape to drive. Maybe you ought to rest a spell. Let me take you up to the house.”

“Sitting here isn’t going to get my laundry delivered.” Pretending that his concern didn’t matter, she snatched the leather strap from his gloved fingers. “You go back to Georgie and keep her safe this time.”

“Still as prickly as ever, aren’t you, Mariah?” His jaw tightened. “Fine. Have it your way. Sure you’re all right?”

“Positive.” She snapped the reins. “Goodbye, Mr. Gray.”

To his credit, Bad Boy moved forward, leaving Nick in a wake of dust. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the outline of him through the chalky cloud—lean and wide, all man.

She couldn’t help longing just a little. It mortified her to think that she still hid a yearning for him after ten long years. Time had changed her, drawn lines on her face and given her a shield around her heart. But inside she was still that young woman who wanted to believe in love. In possibilities. Who dared to wish that the handsome, dashing Nick Gray would fall in love with her.

But he would choose another.

It doesn’t matter. It’s all in the past. She tried to be sensible. She was no daydreaming child, so why did she feel the same as she had so long ago? Because when Nick looked at her, he probably saw what everyone else did. A cold, hard-hearted woman who’d never been courted.

Not once.

Bad Boy drifted to a halt in the middle of the road and she didn’t have the strength to scold him. She reached under the seat and found the gunnysack by feel.

“Mariah.” A broad warm hand lighted on her shoulder.

She jumped. An apple shot from her grip and rolled across the wagon floor. Why couldn’t he just leave her be?

Nick’s shadow fell across her, towering between her and the sun. “That was a real fight you put up. You have the right to be shaken up.”

“Me? Those coyotes didn’t want me. They wanted your daughter.”

“I know, Mariah, and like I said, I’m obliged to you.”

“You should have been watching her. You left her alone and she wasn’t safe. Georgie could have been killed.” She realized his hand was still on her shoulder, hot and comforting, and she shrugged away, breaking the connection. “What kind of father are you?”

“One who isn’t going to let that happen again.”

“See that you don’t.” She snapped the reins again, and this time Bad Boy moved, slow and stubborn.

“Your ox could use some training.” Nick rode past her to take the animal by the yoke and speed up his gait. “I’d be happy to work with him. Don’t know what else to offer you for rescuing Georgie like that.”

“I don’t want anything from you. That isn’t why I helped your little girl. Anyone passing by would have done the same.”

“Either way, you still need help with this ox.”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“So, you don’t want my help. That’s nothing new.” Bad Boy slowed down and Nick gave a hard tug on the yoke. “The trouble with you, Miss Scott, is that the rumors are true.”

Rumors? What rumors? Fury rolled through her, hot and fierce. See what came from trying to have a civil conversation with the man? Nick was bold and overbearing and couldn’t mind his own concern if she paid him to. “Let go of my ox.”

“I’m trying to thank you for saving my daughter’s life, and you won’t accept it.”

“I’m not uncharitable. I simply do not require any assistance.” It hurt her that he still thought so little of her.

Her chin shot up and she sent Bad Boy into a lope. Dust rose up to sting her eyes and the bouncing wagon rattled her bones, but it felt good to leave Nick Gray behind in the dust where he belonged.

She refused to feel sorry for her harsh words. Or for losing her temper. Nick had a real life, and he had children of his own to love.

She had no life at all, just her laundry business and a house that echoed with loneliness.

When she looked over her shoulder, he was still in the middle of the road, watching her, the dust settling around him like mist.

The trouble with you, Miss Scott, is that the rumors are true. Nick believed that and so did nearly everyone in the entire county. Oh, she could probably figure out what people thought. She was strong and iron-willed and prickly…and far too independent for any man to show any interest in her. Well, that was true enough. She didn’t need any man. She was getting along just fine. She had her own business, her own home and her own ox and wagon.

You should have let Nick help you, Mariah. She closed her eyes briefly against the glare of the sun and certainly not because of the stinging sensation behind her lids. Nothing good would have come from letting Nick Gray train the ox. Not one thing.

She had to be practical. Had to accept the kind of woman she was. She was meant to be alone. Not everyone had a heart that could love.

So it couldn’t be her heart that was hurting as she turned the wagon toward the Dayton ranch, late for her next delivery.

Chapter Two

H olding his gelding steady, Nick watched Mariah disappear in a trail of dust. That woman could get his dander up like no other, that was for sure. Not even his late wife could get him het up so fast as the Spinster Scott could. Maybe he didn’t like independent-minded women, but what other woman would have battled coyotes to protect his little girl without wanting so much as a thank-you?