Hannah might be his future bride, but she was carrying his brother’s child.

Maybe she’d decided to refuse his proposal. Judd had to be prepared for that.

“Let’s walk. When you’re ready you can tell me what you’ve decided.”

Judd waited for Hannah to speak. He’d promised he wouldn’t rush her, but it wasn’t easy to keep still. It was as if she held his life in her hands.

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Quint,” she said at last.

Judd exhaled slowly. “You know I’d tell you if I had.”

She clasped her hands, her fingers flexing and twisting. “There’s not much we can do except wait, is there?”

“You and I can wait. It’s the baby who can’t.”

“I know.” She turned to face him. The setting sun cast her features in soft rose-gold. “That’s why I’ve decided to accept your offer, Judd. Until Quint comes home, I’d be honored and grateful to be your wife.”

Elizabeth Lane has lived and travelled in many parts of the world, including Europe, Latin America and the Far East, but her heart remains in the American West, where she was born and raised. Her idea of heaven is hiking a mountain trail on a clear autumn day. She also enjoys music, animals and dancing. You can learn more about Elizabeth by visiting her website at www.elizabethlaneauthor.com

Previous novels by this author:

ANGELS IN THE SNOW

(part of Stay for Christmas anthology)

HER DEAREST ENEMY

THE STRANGER

and in Mills & Boon® Super Historical:

ON THE WINGS OF LOVE

The Borrowed Bride
Elizabeth Lane

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Praise for Elizabeth Lane

ON THE WINGS OF LOVE

‘Lane uses her turn-of-the-century backdrop and her knowledge of aviation to her advantage in a lively story featuring strong-willed characters.

She reaches for an audience searching for fresh historical territory in her charming feminist novel.’

—RT Book Reviews

THE STRANGER

‘…the warmth of an Americana romance and the grit of a tough Western…’

—RT Book Reviews

HER DEAREST ENEMY

‘…a pleasurable and well-executed tale…’

—RT Book Reviews

For my mother, and for mothers everywhere

Chapter One

Dutchman’s Creek, Colorado,

March 2, 1899

Hannah felt the approaching train before she heard it. Her fingers groped for Quint’s as the platform quivered beneath her feet. A mournful whistle pierced the rainy distance.

“It’s coming!” Quint strained toward the sound like a tethered hunting dog, eager to be loosed and running. Hannah shivered beneath her shawl as the cold March wind whipped along the platform. Any second now, she would see the gray-white plume rising into mist above the bare cottonwoods. All too soon, the train would be pulling into the station. When it pulled out again, Quint would be waving goodbye from the window of the passenger car.

She gazed at his clean-chiseled profile, memorizing every feature—the chestnut curls that tumbled over his forehead, the tiny bump on the bridge of his nose, the alert brown eyes, fixed now on the distant curve of tracks where the train would appear. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

It wasn’t fair, Hannah thought. Quint was happy, and her own heart was on the verge of shattering like a mason jar dropped onto a stone floor.

Hannah had loved Quint Seavers for as long as she could remember. They’d been sweethearts since their school days, and the whole town had expected them to marry. So why couldn’t he have just let nature take its course? Why had he gotten this crackbrained urge to run off and seek his fortune in the Klondike goldfields?

At first she’d hoped it was just a whim. But the Klondike was all Quint had talked about for the past year. Only one thing had kept him in Dutchman’s Creek. His older brother, Judd, had joined the Theodore Roosevelt’s Rough Riders and gone off to the Spanish American War, leaving Quint behind to tend the family ranch and look after their invalid mother. But that was about to change. After four months with the Rough Riders and five months in a Virginia military hospital, Judd was coming home. He’d be arriving on the train that had just appeared around the distant bend—the train that would be taking Quint away.

“Do you think he’ll be changed?” Edna Seavers’s white hands gripped the woven cane arms of her wheelchair. A cheerless wisp of a woman clad in widow’s black, she’d been wheeled around in that chair for as long as Hannah could remember.

“War changes everybody, Mama,” Quint said. “Judd’s been through a bad time with his wounds and the malaria. But he’ll come around once he’s been home awhile. You’ll see.”

“I wish it was you coming home and Judd leaving.” Mrs. Seavers had never hidden the fact that Quint was the favorite of her two children. “Why do you have to go anyway? You’re too young to go rushing off on your own.”

Quint sighed. “I’m twenty-one, Mama. You promised me that I could go when Judd came home. Well, Judd’s coming. And I’m going.”

Hannah glanced from Quint to his mother, feeling invisible. She’d been Quint’s girl for years, but Edna Seavers barely acknowledged her existence.

The train whistled again, its shrill voice a cry in Hannah’s ears. She shifted her weight, conscious of the raw ache between her thighs. Her mother had lectured her about men’s appetites and made her swear, with her right hand on the Bible, that she would keep herself from sin. But last night with Quint, in the darkness of the hayloft, her good intentions had unraveled like a torn sweater. She had given herself willingly. But the act had been so awkward and painful that when Quint had moaned and rolled off her, she’d been secretly relieved. Later that night, in the room she shared with her four younger sisters, Hannah had buried her face in her pillow and wept until there were no tears left.

Pistons pumping, the engine glided into the station. Half-glimpsed faces flashed past in the windows of the passenger car. For an instant Hannah held her breath, as if she could will the train to keep moving. Then the mail sack thumped onto the platform. The brakes moaned as the line of cars shuddered to a full stop.

There was a beat of silence, then a stirring inside the passenger car. A door swung open. The lone figure of a tall man in a drooping felt hat emerged onto the step. Veiled by misting rain he moved down onto the platform.

Hannah hadn’t known Judd Seavers well. Eight years Quint’s senior, he’d been too old to be counted among her playmates. She remembered him as a taciturn young man with somber gray eyes and hands that were always working. In the years Hannah had been coming around the Seavers place, he’d shown no more interest in her than Edna had.

Now he walked toward them, where they waited under the shelter of the eave. He moved slowly, heedless of the rain that beaded his tan coat and trickled off the brim of his hat. A battered canvas field bag, the sort that a soldier would carry, dangled loosely from one hand. He looked old, Hannah thought. Old before his time. Maybe that was what war did to people.

But why was she thinking about Judd? Minutes from now, Quint—her Quint, the love of her life—would be gone. Certainly for months. Maybe for years.

Maybe forever.

Judd clenched his teeth against the pain that shot through him with each step. Most of the time it wasn’t so bad, but the long, jarring train ride had roused every shard of metal that the doctors had left in his body. He was hurting like blazes, but he wasn’t about to show it. Not with his mother and brother looking on.

The nurse had offered him laudanum to ease the trip, but he had turned it down. He’d had enough opiates to know what they could do to a man, and he’d sworn he was finished. Still, sitting up those long nights with the rhythm of iron wheels rattling through his bones, he’d have bargained away his soul for a few hours of relief.

But never mind all that, he was home now, walking down the platform through the soft Colorado rain. Home from the war with two legs, two arms and two eyes. He could only wish to God that some of his friends had fared as well.

At least the malaria had abated—for now. The miserable, recurring chills and fever, along with infections from the wounds, had kept him in the hospital for what seemed like an eternity. By rights, he should be dead. He’d lost track of how many times he’d teetered on the brink and fought his way back. Maybe someday he’d figure out why.

No one rushed out into the rain to meet him—not even Quint. The gangly boy Judd had nurtured from babyhood had grown into a fine-looking man. His pack rested beside him on the platform, ready to be flung onto the train at the first call of “All aboard!” After a year of running the ranch and putting up with their mother’s complaints, he was like a young red-tailed hawk, fledged and ready to soar. Judd couldn’t begrudge him his chance. Quint had earned it.

His mother looked even grayer and thinner than he remembered. Aside from that, she didn’t appear to have changed much. The same black dress, woolen cape and prim bonnet. The same purse-lipped frown. Maybe she was wishing he’d come home in a box. If he had, Quint would never be able to leave.

Then there was the girl. Dressed in a thin shawl and a faded red calico dress, she clung to Quint’s hand as if trying to meld their fingers. She’d be one of the Gustavsons—the family that eked out a living on the small dirt farm that bordered the Seavers Ranch. The whole tribe of youngsters had the same round blue eyes and corn silk hair. This one had grown up pretty. What was her name? Hannah, that was it. He’d forgotten about her until now.

Quint worked loose from her and came out toward him. Rain misted on his hair as he held out his hand. “Glad you’re home, Judd,” he said awkwardly. “I’ve tried to take care of the place the way you’d have wanted.”

“I imagine the place will be fine.” Judd clasped the callused fingers. The boy had developed a man’s grip. “How’s Mother?”

“The same. And Gretel Schmidt is still taking care of her. You won’t find much of anything changed.”

Except you, Judd thought as he trailed his brother back to where the women waited under the eave. His mother made no effort to smile. Her hands were colder and thinner than he remembered. The girl—Hannah—murmured a shy hello. Her honey-gold hair was plaited like a schoolgirl’s, in two thick braids that hung over her shapely little breasts. Judd caught the glimmer of tears before she lowered dark blue eyes.

“Are you quite recovered from your wounds, son?” Judd’s mother had grown up in a well-to-do Boston family. She took pride in her formal speech and expected her sons to use it in her presence.

“Quite recovered, Mother. Only a twinge now and then.” Judd’s body screamed as he lied.

“Your father would have been proud of you.”

“I hope so.”

“You won’t have much time to rest up,” Quint said. “We’ve got a couple hundred cows waiting to drop their calves. But then, I reckon you know what to expect.”

“Reckon?” His mother sniffed with disdain. “People will judge you by your speech, Quint. Remember that, if you don’t remember anything else I’ve taught you.”

“I’m gonna say ‘ain’t’ every other sentence when I get out of this place,” Quint muttered in Judd’s ear.

The train whistle gave two short but deafening blasts. “All aboard!” the conductor shouted.

“Well, I guess this is it.” Quint cupped Hannah’s face between his palms. “I’ll write when I can,” he promised. “And when I come back rich, you and I will have a wedding like this county’s never seen!”

The girl was weeping openly. “I don’t care about rich. Just come back to me safe.”

He kissed her quick and hard, then caught the pack by one strap and swung it onto his shoulder.

“Mother.” He pecked her cheek. Her mouth was pressed thin. She didn’t reply.

Last, Quint turned to Judd. “You can send letters care of General Delivery in Skagway,” he said. “I’ll pick them up when I can, and I’ll write back.”

Judd shook his proffered hand. “Just take your girl’s advice. Come back safe. Come back to us all.”

“All aboard!” The engine was building up steam. As it began to move Quint flashed a grin, leaped onto the step and vanished into the jaws of the closing door. Seconds later he reappeared at one of the windows, smiling and waving his hand.

Reaching toward him, the girl raced along the platform. She kept even until the train picked up speed and left her behind.

Laboring for breath, Hannah walked back the way she’d come. A stitch clawed at her side. Wind chilled a patch of skin where she’d ripped the shoulder seam of her outgrown dress. She tugged her shawl over the gap.

Mrs. Seavers and Judd waited for her under the eave of the platform—so proud, so cold, both of them. They were nothing like Quint, who’d loved her and made her laugh and hadn’t cared that her family was poor.

What would she do without him?

What if he never came back?

Slowing her step, she tried to imagine what Alaska would be like. She’d heard tales of giant grizzly bears, wolf packs, howling blizzards, avalanches, bottomless lakes and lawless men who’d stop at nothing to get what they wanted. The thought of Quint in such a place sickened her with dread. She wanted to fly after the train, stop it somehow and bring him back to the people who loved him.

Judd had stepped behind his mother’s wheelchair and taken the grips. As they moved out into the drizzle, she opened her tiny black umbrella and held it over her head. Rain-soaked and fighting tears, Hannah trailed them to the buggy. They would let her off at her home. After that, she wouldn’t likely set foot on the Seavers place until Quint returned. The Seavers were quality folk, with a fine ranch, a big house and money in the bank. Hannah’s own parents had emigrated from Norway as newly weds. They worked hard on their little farm, but it was all they could do to feed the seven robust children they’d produced. As the oldest, Hannah would have plenty to do while Quint was away. But she was already planning the letters she would write him by candlelight at day’s end.

The buggy was waiting in a lot behind the depot. Judd guided the wheelchair over the bumpy ground, tilting it backward to keep from spilling his mother into the mud. His big, scarred hands were pale, most likely from long months in the hospital. Hannah’s gaze was drawn to those hands. She found herself wondering how badly he’d been hurt. He moved like a strong man, but she noticed the way his jaw clenched as he lifted his eighty-five-pound mother onto the buggy seat. His storm-gray eyes were sunk into shadows. They had a wearied look about them, as if they’d seen too much of the world.

While Judd loaded the wheelchair into the back of the buggy, Hannah climbed onto the single seat beside Edna Seavers. The buggy’s oiled leather cover kept off the rain but the wind was chilly. She huddled into her shawl, her teeth chattering. Her eyes gazed straight ahead at the gleaming rumps of the two matched bays.

She thought of the train, carrying Quint to Seattle, where he would board a steamer for Alaska—a mysterious place that was no more than a name in Hannah’s mind. Maybe she could ask the schoolteacher to show her a map, so she could see where he’d be going.

Judd came around to the left side of the buggy and climbed onto the seat. Without a word, he flicked the reins onto the backs of the horses. The buggy rolled forward, wheels cutting into the mud.

Hannah shivered beneath her damp shawl as they passed along the main street of the awakening town. By now, the sun had risen above the peaks, but its rainfiltered light was gray and murky. The stillness of her two companions only added to the gloom. Having grown up in a big, noisy family, she was unaccustomed to long silences. Surely Judd or his mother would say something soon.

Crammed against Edna’s bony little body, she struggled to keep still. At last, as the buggy crossed the bridge over the swollen creek, Hannah could stand it no longer.

“I’ll bet you could tell some good war stories, Judd,” she said. “What was it like, galloping up San Juan Hill behind Teddy Roosevelt?”

The impatient sound he made fell somewhere between a growl and a sigh. “It was Kettle Hill, not San Juan Hill. And we weren’t galloping. We were on foot and taking a hell of a pounding. The only horse in sight was the one under Roosevelt’s fat rear end.”

“Oh.” Taken aback, Hannah paused, then rallied. “But you were in the Rough Riders. Wasn’t that a cavalry unit?”

“Cavalry troops need horses. Ours didn’t make it to Florida before we shipped out. The Rough Riders landed in Cuba and fought as infantry. Don’t you read the papers?”

Hannah recoiled as if he’d slapped her face. As a matter of fact, her family couldn’t afford to buy newspapers. And even if her father had brought one home, she would have been too busy milking, churning, weeding, scrubbing and minding her young brothers and sisters to sit down and read it.

“I’m only going by what I’ve heard,” she said. “But it must have been glorious, charging up the hill, guns blazing at the enemy—”

“Glorious!” Judd snorted contemptuously. “It was a bloodbath! Seventy-six percent casualties, men dropping like mown wheat, all so Teddy Roosevelt could become a damned hero! They could’ve cut down the Spanish with artillery fire before they sent us up. But no, somebody couldn’t wait—”

“Really, Judd!” Edna’s spidery fingers clutched her folded umbrella. “All this talk about the war is giving me a headache, and I didn’t bring my pills. Can’t you just be quiet until we get home?”

Judd sighed and hunched over the reins. Hannah squirmed on the padded leather bench. How could this joyless family have produced her loving, laughing Quint? Maybe he was a changeling. Or maybe he took after his long-dead father. Whatever the explanation, she missed him so much that she wanted to cry her eyes out.

In funereal stillness they drove along the rutted road, through clumps of dripping willow and across the open grassland. To the west, craggy peaks crowned in glittering snow rose above the gray mist. Rain drizzled lightly off the top of the buggy. For Hannah, the silence was becoming unbearable.

“Quint told me that the biggest mountain in North America was in Alaska,” she said. “Do you think he’ll get a chance to see it?”

Edna Seavers shot Hannah a glare—the first time the woman had actually looked at her all morning. “I asked for quiet,” she said. “Please have the courtesy to respect my wishes.”

“I’m sorry,” Hannah murmured. “I only meant to—”

“That’s enough, young lady. And I’ll thank you not to mention my son in my hearing. I’m upset enough as it is, and my headache is getting worse.”

“Sorry.” Hannah glanced at Judd’s craggy profile. He was looking straight ahead, his mouth set in a chiseled line. Clearly, he wasn’t about to spring to her defense against his own mother.

Stomach churning, she stared down at her clenched hands. This had been the worst morning of her life. And being around these two miserable people wasn’t making it any better.

“Stop the buggy,” she said. “I want to walk.”

Judd turned to look at her, a puzzled frown on his face. “Don’t be silly. It’s raining,” he said.

“I don’t care. I’m already wet.”

“All right, if that’s what you want.” He tugged the reins hard enough to halt the plodding team. “Can you make it home from here? It’s a couple of miles by the road.”

“I know a shortcut. I’ll be fine. Thank you for the ride.” She clambered out of the wagon, holding her skirts clear of the mud. Tears were welling like a spring flood. She gulped them back, turning away before they could spill over.

Judd watched her leave the road and stride across the open pastureland. Head high, braids flung back, she walked like a queen. The Gustavsons barely had a pot to piss in. But this one had pride.

“We need to get home,” his mother said.

“Fine.” Judd clucked the team into motion. “You were rude to her, Mother. You should have apologized.”

“Why? So she can come over and moon around the house while Quint is gone? I’ll miss your brother, but I’m hoping he’ll stay away long enough for her to find somebody else. She’s a pretty thing, but she’s as common as dirt—certainly not of our class.”

Judd didn’t reply. His mother’s views hadn’t changed in thirty years. Arguing with her would be a waste of breath.

Looking across the pasture, he could still see the splash of Hannah’s red dress against the drab yellow grass. His eyes followed her until she vanished into the trees.

Chapter Two

May 19, 1899

Dear Quint…

Hannah chewed on the stubby pencil to bite away the wood and expose more of the meager lead. If she went for a knife to sharpen it, one of her parents was bound to see her and give her some chore to do. Most days she wouldn’t have minded. But this letter couldn’t wait. She had to finish it and get it to town before the westbound train picked up the mail.

The shade of new-leafed aspens dappled her skirts as she shifted her knees beneath the notebook. Below the bank, the creek flowed high with mountain snow melt. The rushing water laughed and whispered. A magpie scolded from the crest of a yellow pine.

Steeling her resolve, she pressed the blunted lead against the paper, forced it to form letters, then words.

It’s springtime here. Violets are blooming in the pasture. Bessie has a new calf. Papa let me help with the birthing of it…

Hannah paused, chewing her lower lip in frustration. She was wasting precious time and paper. There was no way to soften the blow of what she had to tell Quint. Best to just write it out plain and be done.

But at a time like this, even plain words were as hard to come by as gold coins in a pauper’s graveyard.

In the months Quint had been gone, Hannah had yet to receive a single letter from him. But Alaska was far away—so remote that he might as well be on the moon. And Quint had told her that he might be prospecting in remote areas with no postal service. Surely there was no cause to worry. But Hannah did worry. Anxiety had become a constant companion, a parasite that gnawed at her insides day and night.

Especially now.

Only the memory of Edna Seavers’s wintry eyes and Judd’s indifferent manner kept her from crossing the open pastureland to rap on the door of their big, bleak house. In any case, it would be a wasted trip, Hannah told herself. Since she hadn’t heard from Quint, it wasn’t likely his mother and brother had heard from him, either.

As for her own letters, the ones she’d written faithfully and carried into town every week, they could be anywhere, lost between here and the frozen North. She could only pray that this one letter would find him and bring him home.

The first month, when her menstrual flow hadn’t come, she’d dismissed it from her mind. Her periods had always been irregular. But after the second month the secret dread had sprouted and begun to root. Last week, when she’d started throwing up in the morning, all doubt had vanished. After seeing her mother through six pregnancies, Hannah knew the signs all too well.

So far she’d managed to hide her condition from her family. But her mother had eyes like a hawk. She was bound to notice before long. Another couple of months, and the whole town would know about the secret thing she and Quint had done in that shadowed hayloft.

Ripping the page out of the notebook, Hannah crumpled it in her fist and began again.

Dear Quint,

I have something important to tell you…

The knot in Hannah’s stomach tightened. Quint had been so excited about his great adventure. Her news would devastate him. He might even blame her for allowing this to happen. Surely he would consider it his duty to come home and marry her. But he wouldn’t be happy about it. Quint had chafed under the burden of caring for the ranch and his ailing mother. Much as he’d professed to love her, Hannah could only imagine how he’d feel about being saddled with a wife and child.

But in the larger scheme of things Quint’s feelings, and hers, didn’t matter. A baby was coming—an innocent little spirit who deserved a mother and a father and an honorable name. She would do the right thing. So would Quint. It wasn’t the best beginning for a marriage, but they’d loved each other for years. God willing, they would be happy.

If only she could get word to him.

Gripping the pencil, she hunched over the notebook.

There’s no easy way to say this. We’re going to have a child, my dearest. It should be born in December. I know how much you want to find your fortune in Alaska. But we have to think of the baby now. You need to come home so we can get married, the sooner the better.

By the time she finished the letter, Hannah’s eyes were blurry with tears. She folded the sheet of cheap, ruled notepaper and tucked it into her apron pocket. Her fingers fumbled for the pennies she’d scrimped to buy an envelope and a postage stamp.

All her hopes and prayers would be riding with this letter. Somehow it had to reach Alaska and find its way to Quint.

It just had to.

June 6, 1899

Judd had been riding fence since dawn, checking for weak spots where a cow could push its way through or tangle its head in a loose strand of barbed wire. Now the midday sun blazed down with the heat of a black-smith’s forge. He was sore and sweaty, and his mouth was as dry as alkali dust. But he had to admit that he relished the work. Anything was better than lying in that god-awful excuse for a hospital, listening to the groans and whimpers of men who would never go home again except in a pine box.

At the watering trough, he dismounted. While the horse drank, he scooped the mossy water in his Stetson and emptied it over his head. The wetness streamed off his hair to soak into his sweat-encrusted shirt. Judd sluiced his arms, savoring the coolness. At rare moments like this he almost felt alive again. But the feeling never lasted. His body might be healing, but the blackness in his soul lurked like a pool of quicksand, waiting to suck him down.

Raking back his damp hair, he gazed out across the open pasture that separated the Seavers ranch from the Gustavson farm. In the distance someone was moving—a dot of blue seen through the shimmering air, coming closer. Judd’s throat tightened as he remembered the Gustavson girl—Quint’s girl—racing down the platform after the departing train. He could still see her losing ground, faltering, then turning back with stricken cornflower eyes, as if her whole world had been crushed beneath the iron wheels.

Judd hadn’t seen her since that dismal morning. Nor had he heard from Quint. Maybe she’d received some news of him and was coming to share it.

He watched and waited. A bead of water trickled down his cheek to lose itself in the stubble of his unshaven chin. As the figure grew closer, Judd’s spirits sank. It wasn’t the girl after all. It was a woman, fairhaired and stoutly built. He recognized her as the mother of the Gustavson brood. She moved wearily, leaning forward as if harnessed to an invisible boulder that she was dragging behind her.

By the time Judd had unsaddled the horse and loosed it in the corral, Mrs. Gustavson had reached the front gate. Remembering his long-forgotten manners, he started down the road to greet her and escort her to the house. Even from a distance he could see that she was distraught. She walked with a dejected slump, dabbing at her eyes and nose with a wadded rag that served as a handkerchief.

At the sight of Judd, she straightened her posture, lifted her chin and jammed the rag into the pocket of her faded chambray dress. In her youth, she might have been as pretty as her daughter. But two decades of poverty, backbreaking labor and constant childbearing had taken their toll. Any beauty she’d possessed had worn away, exposing a core of toughness and raw Norwegian pride. Poor as she was, Mary Gustavson was a woman to be reckoned with.

Partway down the long, straight approach to the house, they met. Judd lifted the damp Stetson he’d replaced on his head. “Good day, Mrs. Gustavson.”

“Judd.” She nodded curtly. She had the kind of ruddy Nordic skin that stretched tight over the bones of her face. Her tearstained eyes were several shades lighter than her daughter’s. “I trust your mother is at home.”

“Yes.” Judd glanced at the sun, calculating the time. “She usually takes tea in the parlor at this hour. I’ll walk you to the door.” He offered his arm but she ignored the gesture. Her eyes were fixed on the well-built two-story house with its shuttered windows and gingerbread porch. Judd’s father had built the place fifteen years ago. The summer after his family moved in, Tom Seavers had been trampled to death in a cattle stampede. On hearing the news, his wife had suffered a disabling stroke.

In the intervening years, Edna Seavers had transformed the place into a mausoleum for the living. Judd couldn’t blame Quint for wanting to strike out on his own. He might have considered leaving himself. But this was home. He was needed here, especially now. And he had no other refuge when the nightmares came.

“Has your daughter heard anything from Quint?” he asked, making awkward conversation as they mounted the porch steps. Mary Gustavson did not reply. Her posture had gone rigid. Her face had taken on the stoic expression of a soldier marching into battle.

Judd reached out to open the door for her, but she brushed his hand aside, seized the heavy brass knocker and gave three sharp raps as if to announce her presence. The wooden floor on the other side creaked under the weight of heavy footsteps. The door swung inward.

The woman standing in the entry was built like a brick wall, her face so devoid of expression that it might have been cast in concrete. Gretel Schmidt had cared for Edna since the days following her stroke. She had also taken on the cooking, washing and housekeeping duties. What she lacked in beauty she made up in competence. Judd valued her service and paid her enough to keep her from seeking other work.

“Gretel, Mrs. Gustavson has come to see my mother,” he said. “I presume she’s in the parlor.”

“This way.” Gretel lumbered back down the paneled hallway toward the sitting room. Judd turned to go back outside, then hesitated. Mary Gustavson wouldn’t have come here on a social call. Something was wrong. If it concerned his family, he’d be well-advised to stay and listen. Tossing his hat onto a rack behind the door, he followed the two women down the hall.

The parlor’s tall windows faced east, offering morning sun and a fine view of the mountains. Edna Seavers had covered them with heavy drapes, which she kept drawn against the light. The well-furnished chamber was as gloomy as the inside of a funeral home.

Edna sat in her customary rocking chair, reading the Bible by the light of a small table lamp. Her ebony cane was propped against one arm of the chair. The stroke had weakened her left side. She could hobble around the house with the cane, but for ventures out she preferred the dignity of a wheelchair.

Was she any worse today? Judd studied her now, remembering what he’d learned from her doctor last month. His mother was more fragile than even she realized. But her will seemed as strong as ever.

She glanced up as Gretel entered to announce the visitor. Her bony little fingers laid the black marker ribbon across the page before closing the Bible. “Two cups of hot chamomile tea, Gretel,” she said. “Please have a seat, Mrs. Gustavson.”

Mary Gustavson lowered her ample frame onto the edge of a needlepoint chair. After her long trek in the sun, she would surely have preferred cold lemonade, or even water, to hot tea. But she sat in awkward silence, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

Judd found a seat in a shadowed corner. He had no wish to be part of the drama, only to listen and observe.

“Have you heard from your boy Quint, Mrs. Seavers?” Mary spoke good English but with a thick Norwegian accent.

Judd could almost read the thoughts behind his mother’s disapproving frown. The tea had yet to arrive, and this uncouth woman had already brushed aside the social pleasantries and cut to the reason for her visit.

Judd stifled a groan as he realized what that reason must be. Only one thing would have brought Mary Gustavson to this house.

“As a matter of fact, I haven’t heard a thing,” Edna sniffed. “But why should my son be any concern of yours?”

Mary’s reply confirmed Judd’s guess. “Our Hannah is with child. I’ve no doubt that your son is the father.”

“How can you be sure?” Edna’s voice dripped acid. “For all you know, your daughter could have spread her legs for half the boys in the county. Just because we’ve got money, and because Quint isn’t here to defend himself—”

“Hannah is a good girl!” Mary was on her feet, pale and quivering. “If she lost her virtue, it was because she loved your son, and he took advantage of her.”

“My son is a gentleman. He would never take advantage of any girl.” Edna took a moment to pour a cup of the tea that Gretel had placed on the table. Her face was a mask of propriety but her hands were shaking. Tea sloshed onto the tabletop, staining the lace doily that covered it. “In any case, you’ve no proof of your accusation. Until Quint appears to answer for himself, there’s nothing I can do.”

“Then write him a letter! Tell him he has to come home!”

Edna set the teacup back on its silver tray, its contents untasted. “Nobody wants Quint home more than I do. I’ve written to him every week, begging him to abandon this silly adventure. But he hasn’t replied. I don’t know if my letters have even reached him. So you see, Mrs. Gustavson, whether I believe you or not, my hands are tied.”

“But this is your grandchild, your own flesh and blood!” Mary’s work-roughened hands twisted in anguish. “My Hannah and your Quint, they were sweethearts. There was nobody else for her. You know that. Soon the whole town will see the scandal. Do you want that for Quint’s child? To be born without a father? To be called always by that ugly word?”

Edna’s hand fluttered to her throat. “Really, Mrs. Gustavson, I don’t see—”

“You must get Quint home! My daughter needs a husband! Her baby needs a name!”

Edna had shrunk into her chair like a threatened animal. “But that isn’t possible. We don’t know how to reach him.”

“Then who is going to marry my Hannah?” Mary demanded. “Who is going to be a father to your son’s baby?”

“I will.”

Judd rose as he spoke the words. Shocked into silence, the two women stared at him.

“You?” Edna choked out the word. “But that’s preposterous!”

“Do you have a better idea?” Judd’s mind raced, the plan falling into place as he spoke. “The marriage would be in name only, of course. We could have the divorce papers drawn up ahead of time. When Quint gets home, all we’d have to do is sign them. Then he and Hannah would be free to marry.”

Mary Gustavson was gazing at him as if he’d just saved her family from a burning house. “Thank you,” she murmured.

Judd forced himself to meet her tearful gaze. He’d offered his help out of genuine concern. But what was he getting that poor girl into? Even on a temporary basis, he was no bargain for any woman. And no bride deserved a mother-in-law like Edna Seavers.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said. “I’m willing to marry your daughter, Mrs. Gustavson, but Hannah needs to be willing, too. She needs to understand the conditions and agree to them.”

“She will. I’ll make sure of that.”

Judd glanced at his mother. Edna’s face was white with suppressed anger. Her lips were pressed into a rigid line. None of this was going to be easy. But he had to do the right thing for his brother’s child—and for that child’s grandmother. He turned back to Mary.

“If you don’t mind I’d like to ask Hannah myself. The least the poor girl deserves is a proper proposal.”

Mary looked hesitant. Her mouth tightened.

“I’ll come calling tonight, after supper. You can tell her to expect me.”

“Should I tell her the rest?”

“How much does she already know?”

“About this? Nothing. I told her I was going to visit a friend across the creek. But she’ll find out soon enough.”

“Then I’ll leave it in your hands. You know Hannah better than I do.” Actually he scarcely knew Hannah at all, Judd realized as he spoke. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

“I’ll be going then.” Mary turned back to Edna. “I thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Seavers.”

Edna’s only reply was a nod to Gretel, who’d appeared in the doorway to usher the visitor outside.

No sooner had the front door closed than the storm broke inside the parlor. “How dare you, Judd? The idea, marrying that wretched girl! Think of the scandal! What will people say?”

Judd faced his mother calmly. “What will they say if I don’t marry her? Once she starts to show, the whole town will be counting backward. They’ll know it’s Quint’s baby she’s carrying. For us to turn her away when we have the means to help—that would be heartless.”

“But why should we have to take her in? Give her some money! Send her away to some home where she can have the brat and place it for adoption!”

Judd willed himself to feel pity instead of outrage. “The brat, as you call it, is your grandchild—maybe the only one you’ll ever have. What if something happens to Quint? What if he doesn’t come home?”

“Don’t say such a terrible thing. Don’t even think it.” Edna pressed her fingertips to her forehead, then released her hands to flutter like wounded doves to her lap. “In any case, you’re here. Surely you’ll be wanting a proper marriage, with children of your own.”

“Not the way I am now.”

“What nonsense! Look at you! You’re perfectly fine! You’re getting stronger every day!”

Judd sighed. “Mother, sometimes I envy your ability to see only what you want to see. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get the men started on the new horse paddock.”

Without waiting for her response, he strode out of the parlor, down the hall and onto the covered porch that ran the width of the house. On the long train ride home, he’d had plenty of time to sort out the realities of his life. He wouldn’t have minded having a family of his own. But his black spells and nightmares were worse than he’d wish on any woman. He wasn’t fit to be a real husband—or a real father. But now he had a chance to rescue an awkward situation. What kind of man would he be if he walked away?

He would do his best to stand in for Quint, Judd vowed. He would treat Hannah as a sister, keeping her at a distance, avoiding any physical contact that might be misunderstood. When Quint returned, he would sign the divorce papers and hand her over to the father of her child, untouched.

His behavior would be above reproach.

Hannah washed the supper dishes, rinsing them in fresh water and handing them to her sister Annie to dry. An evening breeze fluttered the flour sack curtains at the window and freshened the torrid air that hung beneath the smoke-blackened rafters. Frogs and crickets chirped in the willow clumps that bordered the creek.

Annie, who was sixteen and pretty, chattered about the dress she was making over and the new boy she’d met in town. Hannah tried to listen, but her thoughts wheeled and scattered like a flock of blackbirds, too agitated to settle in any one place.

Three days ago her mother had broached the subject of her pregnancy. Their confrontation had begun in anger and ended in tears. Hannah knew how badly she’d let her family down. Unless Quint returned to marry her, there would be scandal, expense, and one more Gustavson mouth to feed. Worse, she’d be branded as a fallen woman. Her reputation would cast its shadow on her whole family, especially on her sisters.

Sweet heaven, she’d been so much in love. On that last night, she couldn’t have denied Quint anything—not even her willing, young body. But how many lives would be touched by her foolish mistake?

A snore rose from her father’s slack mouth, where he lay sprawled in his armchair. Affection tugged at Hannah’s heart. Soren Gustavson toiled from dawn to dark, tending the pigs he raised and coaxing potatoes, beets and carrots from the rocky Colorado soil. No doubt he’d been told about his daughter’s condition. But pregnancy was women’s business, and he was too worn-out to deal with it. He was a small man, his overtaxed body already showing signs of age. Hannah’s baby would add one more burden to his sagging shoulders.

Overhead, the floor of the loft where the children slept creaked under her mother’s footfalls. Mary Gustavson always made time to tuck her younger children into bed and listen to their prayers. Tonight, however, the calm cadence was missing from her steps. She seemed rushed and uncertain.

Over supper, she’d mentioned something about a visit from Judd Seavers. But a neighborly call was no reason to get her in a tizzy. Judd was probably coming to discuss the strip of grassland that bordered his ranch. The Seavers family had been trying to buy it from Soren for years. Soren had always refused. This time would be no different.

Mary came downstairs smoothing her hair. She’d taken off her rumpled apron and replaced it with a clean one. “Wash your face, Hannah,” she fussed. “You’ve got a smudge on your cheek. Then come here and let me comb out your hair. You’re getting too old for those pigtails!”

Annie giggled as Mary dragged Hannah toward the washstand. What was going on? Why should it matter how she looked to Judd? He’d certainly seen her in pigtails before—not that he’d ever given her a second glance.

She squirmed on the wooden stool, her thoughts flying even faster than her mother’s hands. How would Mary know Judd was coming unless she’d spoken with him? And what could he want, if his visit wasn’t about buying land?

Her heart dropped. What if something had happened to Quint? What if the family had gotten word, and Judd was coming to break the news?

She was working up the courage to ask when three light raps on the door galvanized everyone’s attention. The brush stilled in Hannah’s hair. Soren started from his nap.

It was Annie who flew across the floor to answer the knock. She flung the door open. Lamplight spilled onto the porch to reveal Judd standing on the threshold. He was dressed in a clean chambray shirt and a light woolen vest. His face was freshly shaved, his hair still wet from combing.

He had the look and manner of a prisoner facing execution.

“Good evening, Judd.” Annie spoke politely but with a hint of flirtation in her voice. “Have you come to see my parents? They’re both here, and they’re expecting you.”

Judd shifted his feet. His riding boots gleamed with fresh polish. “Good evening, Mr. Gustavson, Mrs. Gustavson. Actually it’s not you I’ve come to see. I’d like your permission to speak with Hannah—alone.”

Chapter Three

“Go on, Hannah. You and Judd can talk on the porch.” Mary Gustavson prodded her daughter with the end of the hairbrush. Hannah came forward as if she were being dragged by invisible chains. Her blue eyes were wide and frightened. How much had her mother told her? Judd wondered. Did she know what he’d come for?

Maybe he was making a ghastly mistake.

Judd felt his mouth go dry as he watched her. He’d always thought of Quint’s girl as pretty, in a wholesome, apple-cheeked sort of way. But he’d never seen her like this, with lamplight falling on her glorious hair, framing her face in a halo of gold. Even in her faded gingham dress, Hannah was beautiful.

Lord, what was he thinking? Even poor and pregnant, this girl could have suitors fighting to marry her. Why should she accept a man like him, even to give her child the Seavers name?

“Good evening, Judd.” Her voice barely rose above a whisper.

Judd swallowed the knot in his throat. “Let’s go outside, Hannah,” he murmured, offering his arm.

She hesitated, then laid her hand on his sleeve. Her touch was as weightless as dandelion fluff, but he could feel the warmth of her flesh through the thin fabric. The contact sent an unexpected—and unwelcome—jab of heat to his loins. Judd swore silently. This was going to be awkward as hell.

They crossed the moonlit porch. As they reached the steps, she cleared her throat and spoke.

“What is it, Judd? Has something happened to Quint? Is that what you’ve come to tell me?”

“No.” He shook his head, thinking how much his arrival must have worried her. “Nothing’s happened. Not that we know of, at least. We haven’t heard from Quint since he left.”

“Neither have I.” She moved down the steps and into the yard. Her mother had suggested they talk on the porch, but Hannah appeared too restless to settle in one spot. Judd was restless, too.

“Do you think he’s all right?” she asked.

“We have to hope he is. Alaska’s a big, wild place. If Quint’s out in the goldfields, there’d be no way for him to mail a letter, or to get one.”

“I’ve written to him every week.” Her voice quivered as if she were on the verge of tears.

“So has our mother. And I’ve written a few times myself. He’ll have a heap of letters waiting for him when he gets back to Skagway.”

They walked a few steps in silence, wandering out toward the corral where the two poor-looking cows drowsed under the eave of the milk shed. Hannah had taken her hand away from his sleeve. She walked with her arms clasped around her ribs, as if protecting herself.

“You said you wanted to talk to me, Judd.”

“Yes.” Lord, this would be one of the hardest things he’d ever done. “I want to make you an offer, Hannah. You may not think much of it, but hear me out.”

She turned to face him. “I’m listening. Just tell me.”

“All right.” Judd sucked in his breath, forcing himself to meet her questioning gaze. “Your mother paid us a visit today. She told us about your baby.”

Hannah reeled as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. She caught the corral fence with one hand, feeling slightly ill. She’d wanted to keep the baby a secret for as long as possible. But her mother had shared that secret with the last two people she’d have chosen to tell.

“You don’t have to convince me the baby’s Quint’s,” Judd said. “Seeing the two of you together for so long, I’ve no doubt of that. The question is, what do we do now?”

“We?” Hannah gulped. “Since when did this become your problem, Judd?”

“Since I found out you were carrying my brother’s child—my own flesh and blood.”

Oh, blast, he was going to make her cry. Hannah steeled her emotions. “I’ve written to Quint about the baby,” she said. “I’ve written again and again. Surely, once he gets word, he’ll catch the next boat home.”

“But when will he get word? And how soon will he be able to get back? If he’s still in the Klondike when winter comes, he might not make it out till spring.”

Hannah’s heart sank. “The baby could be born before Quint comes home.”

“Without a proper father and without a legal name.”

A nighthawk swooped through the darkness, moonlight flashing on its white-barred wings. The horse Judd had tied to the fence shifted in the darkness. Hannah gazed up at Quint’s taciturn brother, a man ten years her senior. She’d known him all her life, yet scarcely knew him at all. Surely he hadn’t meant what had just popped into her head.

No, of course not.

“I’m offering to marry you, Hannah,” Judd was talking fast now, pouring out more words than Hannah had ever heard from him at one time. “It wouldn’t be a real marriage, of course. Not in the physical sense. But it would be legal. It would give your child the Seavers name and the right to inherit Quint’s share of the estate one day. And it would hush up the gossip that’s bound to start before long.

“Not entirely. People can count.” Hannah responded from a well of stunned silence.

“They can and they will. But you’d be a Seavers. A married woman. And you’d have me to defend your honor.”

A married woman.

Judd’s wife.

Hannah’s legs had gone rubbery. She gripped the fence rail for support. The last thing she’d expected from tonight’s visit was a proposal.

Judd was waiting, studying her face with fathomless eyes. What had prompted him to make such an outlandish offer? Had her mother begged him to rescue her daughter from shame?

Had he really thought this out?

With effort she found her voice. “What about Quint? What’s to happen when he comes home?”

“I’ve thought it all out. Our family lawyer can draw up divorce papers before the wedding. When Quint comes home, we can sign them, and you’ll be free to marry the father of your child.”

Hannah stared at the ground, where the moonlight had joined their shadows. The next question lay unspoken between them, cold and dark and too dreadful for words. Hannah forced herself to give it voice.

“And if Quint doesn’t come back? What then?”

“That would be up to you. Anytime you wanted your freedom, we could sign the papers and be done with it. Your child would still be a Seavers with the right of inheritance.” Judd exhaled raggedly. “But there’s no need to dwell on that now. Unless we hear differently, we have to assume that Quint’s fine, and that he’ll be coming home.”

“Yes, of course we do.” The night was warm, but Hannah felt a shiver pass through her body. She turned away from Judd and fixed her eyes on the North Star. She often looked that way when she wanted to feel close to Quint. Where was he now? she wondered. Was he gazing at the night sky, just as she was—maybe thinking of her while she entertained a marriage proposal from his brother?

Would marrying Judd be an act of betrayal or an act of sacrifice, for the sake of Quint’s child?

Was she actually thinking of saying yes?

“I can promise you’d be taken care of the way Quint would want,” Judd said. “You’d have your own bedroom and anything you needed in the way of clothes, things for the baby and even gifts for your family. Gretel does the cooking and housework and cares for my mother. That wouldn’t change.”

Hannah’s fingers wadded the fabric of her skirt as his words sank in. The Gustavsons had always been poor, but they’d been happy enough. She’d never minded hard work, nor had she wasted time yearning for finery. The idea of having a servant was as foreign to her as living on the moon. As for the rest…

Something shrank inside Hannah as she imagined passing her days in that silent, gloomy house with the waspish Edna Seavers and her huge, grim mastiff of a housekeeper. She’d assumed that when she and Quint married, they would build a home of their own. But for the sham marriage Judd was proposing, that wouldn’t be practical. And she could hardly stay with her own family—not if she wanted her child to be accepted as a Seavers.

Behind her, Judd waited in silence. Maybe he thought she’d jump at the chance to have a comfortable life, to live in an elegant ranch house, wear store-bought clothes and sit down to meals she didn’t have to prepare. Well, he was wrong. In that great mausoleum of a home she would feel more like a prisoner than a cherished, useful member of the family.

Exasperated, she swung back to face him. “Who came up with this crazy idea, Judd? Did my mother talk you into saving my honor?”

He shook his head. “Nobody talked me into anything. And my reason for coming here tonight has little to do with your honor—or with you as a woman.”

So much for pretty words. Hannah scuffed at a stone, her silence pressing him to continue.

“If Quint doesn’t make it home, that baby you’re carrying will be all we have left of him—and most likely the only grandchild my mother will ever have. I’m looking out for the next generation of our family.”

“But what about you, Judd? Surely you’ll want to find a good woman and start a family of your own before long.”

He looked away from her, his eyes fixed on the jagged silhouette of the mountains. A falling star streaked through the darkness and vanished. “I’m not a fit husband for any woman,” he said. “Chances are I never will be.”

“I don’t understand.”

“There’s no need for you to understand. If you become my wife, we’ll keep a proper distance like polite friends. My personal demons will be my concern, not yours.”

“I see,” Hannah murmured, though she really didn’t. She was just beginning to realize how little she knew about Judd Seavers.

He exhaled slowly, like a man who’d just set down a heavy weight. “I’m not expecting your answer tonight,” he said. “Take time to think about what I’ve said. Either way, I don’t want to rush you.”

“Thank you.” Hannah moved away from the fence. Thinking too long about Judd’s offer would only make her decision harder. It would be just as well to make up her mind and be done with it. “Come back in the morning,” she said. “I’ll give you my answer then.”

“I’ll come tomorrow night.” He loosed the reins from around the fence rail and eased onto his tall black gelding. The grimace that flashed across his face told Hannah that the war wounds still pained him. “I want to do right by you and my brother and the child. But I won’t push your decision. You need enough time to be sure.”

For the space of a heartbeat he gazed down at her upturned face. Then, without giving her a chance to say more, he swung toward the gate and nudged the horse to a canter.

Hannah stood watching the dark forms of horse and rider blend into night. Only then did she allow her legs to betray her. Like a wounded animal, she sank to the ground. Her fingers splayed over her face. Her body quivered with unspent sobs.

This couldn’t be happening. She was still coming to terms with having a baby, still clinging to the hope that Quint would come home and marry her. Judd’s offer had come from nowhere, slamming her with the force of a lightning bolt and leaving her in a state of shock.

Judd meant well, Hannah reminded herself. His plan was well thought out, covering all possibilities. If Quint came back, she could divorce Judd and marry her true love. If the worst happened, and Quint didn’t return, the child conceived in that impulsive moment would never know the stigma of bastardy. He or she would have the Seavers name, access to a good education and a share of the finest ranch in the county.

On one hand, how could she even think of saying no?

On the other hand, how could she find the courage to say yes?

Judd Seavers was like a black pool with unknown pitfalls lurking beneath its quiet surface. He’d mentioned his personal demons. What did he mean? Could he be an alcoholic, or even an opium addict? Was he capable of harming her or her child? Surely not—but how could she be certain?

And the women in that big, silent house! Edna Seavers had never shown her anything but contempt. And Hannah had been terrified of Gretel Schmidt since she was five years old. Unless she wanted to spend her time in hiding, she would have to confront both of them. The very thought of it made her knees go watery.

The front door opened, flooding the yard with lamplight. “Hannah?” Her mother’s questioning voice rose above the drone of frogs and crickets. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, Mama, I’m fine.” Hannah rose and stepped into the light. “Judd’s gone. He left a few minutes ago.”

“Well?” Mary Gustavson stood on the porch, one hand holding the lantern, the other fisted on her ample hip. She would know, of course, that Judd had come to propose. The fact that he hadn’t come back inside to speak with Soren didn’t bode for good news.

“Judd’s coming for my answer tomorrow night. I can’t believe you told him about the baby, Mama—and told his mother! Mrs. Seavers must hate me!”

“I did what I had to, Hannah. There’s been a wrong done. For the sake of your innocent babe, it’s got to be put right.”

Hannah sagged against the porch rail, feeling like a child called on the carpet. “I’ve written to Quint,” she protested feebly. “Surely, when he gets word, he’ll come home.”

Mary sighed wearily. “Unless those letters are opened and read, you might as well be dropping them down a well. Face up to it, girl. You haven’t received so much as a note from the boy. You can’t depend on him to come back and marry you.”

“But Judd—I barely know him, Mama. And he’s nothing like Quint. I might as well be marrying a stranger.”

“He’s a Seavers and he’s willing. For now that’s got to be enough. Count your blessings and say yes before he changes his mind. Otherwise there’s no help for you—or for us.”

Fighting tears, Hannah brushed past her and entered the house. Soren was awake, sitting up in his chair with a worried frown on his face. Annie hovered behind him, wide-eyed and anxious. Hannah’s eyes took in the shabby room, the bare puncheon floor and smoke-blackened rafters, the cracked, mismatched dishes stacked on the rickety counter. She forced herself to see Annie’s threadbare hand-me-down dress and the tired shadows under her father’s eyes. She thought of her younger brothers and sisters asleep upstairs, the younger ones laid like firewood in a single bed, the older ones on the floor.

Otherwise there’s no help for you—or for us…

Her mother’s words echoed in Hannah’s mind as she forced herself to face reality. The Gustavsons were dirtpoor. Marriage into the Seavers family would give her the means to better their lot—Judd had implied as much himself. Refusing his offer would be foolish. Worse, it would be selfish.

Hannah had no desire to become Mrs. Judd Seavers. But her own feelings were of no importance. The chance to give her family and her child a better life outweighed all other considerations.

She had no choice except to say yes.

Judd lay awake in the four-poster bed his parents had once shared. The night breeze stirred the gauzy curtains at the tall window. The moon cast a ghostly rectangle of light on the far wall.

Had he done the right thing, asking Hannah to marry him? Lord, she’d looked so forlorn, so frightened, as if he were some kind of monster. What had he been thinking?

Punching the flatness from his pillow, he rolled onto his side and stretched his long legs. Maybe he should ride back to the Gustavson house tomorrow morning and tell her he’d changed his mind. That would take the pressure off the poor girl. She could wait for Quint without the awful prospect of marriage to a physically and mentally scarred man looming over her.

He wouldn’t have to abandon her entirely. He could offer money to help with the child, maybe even hire her father and a couple of the older boys to help out on the ranch. The Gustavsons were honest and hardworking. He could do worse.

The sight of Hannah’s face, with its deep blue eyes and spun-gold halo of hair, lingered in his memory. How could Quint go gallivanting off to Alaska and leave a girl like that? How could any man be fool enough to leave her?

Muttering under his breath, he twisted onto his belly and willed himself to sleep. Things would be all right either way, he reminded himself. If Hannah refused him, he could go his way, knowing he’d at least tried to do the right thing. If she accepted—a quiver passed through his body at the thought of it—he would treat her with kindness and respect, keeping a proper distance between them at all times.

And he would redouble his efforts to find Quint. After hearing the news about their mother’s health, he’d hired a detective agency in Denver to look into Quint’s whereabouts. With Hannah’s pregnancy, the search had become even more urgent. The young fool needed to come home and face up to his responsibilities as a father.

If he was still alive…

Judd could feel himself sinking into a dark fog. It swirled around him, pulling him down like quicksand. From out of the murk came the sharp report of rifle fire and the deep-throated boom of exploding mortar shells. He was charging up the muddy hill, boots sliding, lungs bursting as men fell around him—the men he’d trained with, learned to respect, even love. Blood, flesh and brains spattered his face as the young lieutenant ahead of him disintegrated in a blast of gunfire. With no time to wipe himself clean, Judd clenched his teeth and kept moving forward. When he could see a target he fired. When he ran out of bullets he hacked a path with his bayonet.

On his right was his boyhood friend, Daniel Sims. They’d signed up together and gone through training side by side. Judd was struggling to stay on his feet when he saw Daniel go down, clutching his body at the waist. Blood poured between his fingers. He was gut shot, a guarantee of a slow and miserable death.

“Kill me, Judd…” Daniel’s boyish features twisted in agony. “I’m done for. Get it over with, for the love of God…”

Judd’s service revolver was still in its holster. Judd drew the gun.

“Do it, friend.” Daniel’s face was a mask of agony. Blood trickled from one corner of his mouth. “I’ll bless you with my dying breath…”

Judd thumbed back the hammer. His blood-slicked finger tightened on the trigger. He gazed down into his friend’s face through a haze of smoke. But now it wasn’t Daniel he saw. It was…Quint.

No!

Judd awoke with a scream of anguish. The sheets had tangled around his jerking body. They were drenched in cold sweat.

Hannah spent the morning helping her mother do the family wash. It was hot, steamy work, made worse by her queasy stomach. First the buckets of water had to be carried from the pump to the big copper wash boiler. Then, with a fire blazing beneath the iron stand, whittled curls of homemade lye soap were tossed into the simmering water. Once the soap dissolved, the clothes and dirty bed linens were added. It was Hannah’s job to stir them with a broomstick until the water cooled enough to use the washboard.

To ease the strain on their hands and bodies, Hannah and her mother took turns. While one hunched over the board, scrubbing the garments and tossing them into the rinse water, the other twisted each piece, shook it out and hung it on the clothesline. The process took all morning.

Hannah ached with the weariness of a night spent tossing and turning, but she knew better than to complain or to plead her condition. Her mother had done laundry up to the last hours of her pregnancies. The same would be expected of her.

While they scrubbed and rinsed, Annie took charge of the kitchen and the small children. After Hannah married Judd Seavers, Annie would likely be promoted to laundry duty while thirteen-year-old Emma took on the child-minding. The boys would help Soren in the fields until they were old enough to take over the farm or leave to find menial jobs that paid a paltry wage. As things stood, none of them would go to school beyond the eighth grade or do any kind of work that didn’t involve their hands and backs. It was a hard lot, but it was theirs and they seemed to accept it.

Somehow, Hannah resolved, she would find a way to make their lives better.

With the laundry finished, there was still plenty to be done. Hannah found a rusty hoe and went out to help eleven-year-old Peter finish weeding the vegetable patch. Today she was grateful for the work and for Peter’s childish chatter. It helped to keep her mind off Judd’s impending visit.

What if he didn’t come?

What if he’d changed his mind?

She wouldn’t blame him if he backed out. After all, she hadn’t given him any encouragement. Judd knew, of course, that she didn’t love him. Truth be told, she wasn’t even sure she liked him. But that didn’t matter, Hannah reminded herself. This was a legal arrangement, to protect her baby’s rights until Quint returned. She and Judd would be living together like two polite strangers in a boardinghouse, with his mother and the formidable Gretel as chaperones.

A nunnery couldn’t be safer.

She was yanking the last tangle of wild morning glory from among the string beans when she glanced up to see a tall rider approaching the gate. Even silhouetted as he was, against the blaze of the setting sun, there was no mistaking Judd. Hannah’s emotions fluttered between dismay and relief. He’d come early, giving her no time to clean up. Her hair was plastered to her head beneath her mother’s ugly sunbonnet. Her face was smudged with dirt, and her gingham dress felt glued to her body. But why should her appearance matter? It wasn’t as if they were courting. He’d made her a plainspoken offer last night. Now he’d come for his answer.

She could only hope it was the answer he wanted to hear.

Judd eased out of the saddle, opened the sagging gate and led his horse through. It was early yet, barely sundown. The family would still be at evening chores. He should have waited until after dark. But never mind, he wouldn’t be here long. All he needed was a single word from Hannah—yes or no.

Turning, he closed the gate behind the horse. He could see Hannah now, standing in the family garden, clad in the faded gingham she’d worn to see Quint off on the train. A blue sunbonnet dangled by its strings from her left hand. With her right hand, she was hurriedly finger-combing her hair back from her face. The motion strained the fabric of her bodice against one swollen breast.

Judd tore his eyes away from the sight. Hannah might be his future bride, but she was carrying his brother’s child. He’d be well-advised to discipline his gaze.

Hannah had seen him. She hesitated, shading her eyes against the sunset. Then she started down the slope. She was tall like her mother, with a graceful stride that no one else in her family possessed. Just watching her walk toward him was a pleasure.

“Hello,” she greeted him as she came within speaking range. Judd could feel the tension in her voice. Maybe she’d decided to refuse his offer. He had to be prepared for that.

“Let’s walk,” he said, tethering his horse to the pasture fence. “When you’re ready you can tell me what you’ve decided.”

With a silent nod she turned onto the footpath that led along the creek. The tall wheatgrass rustled in the wind. From somewhere beyond the willows, a bobwhite quail piped its plaintive lay-low, lay-low.

Judd waited for Hannah to speak. He’d promised he wouldn’t rush her but it wasn’t easy to keep still. It was as if she held his life in her strong, young hands.

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Quint,” she said at last.

Judd exhaled slowly. “You know I’d tell you right off if I had. I went into town and checked the mail myself. There was nothing.”

“But he’s got to be alive, don’t you think? Surely, if the worst happened, somebody would notify his family.”

“One would hope so. I’m already working with an agency in Denver. They’ve got a good reputation for finding people. But anything they can do is going to take time.”

She clasped her work-reddened hands. Her interlaced fingers flexed and twisted. “Meanwhile, there’s not much we can do except wait, is there?”

“You and I can wait. It’s the baby who can’t.”

“I know.” She turned to face him. The setting sun cast her features in soft rose-gold, like a Renaissance painting. “That’s why I’ve decided to accept your offer, Judd. Until Quint comes home, I’d be honored and grateful to be your wife.”

Chapter Four

Hannah and Judd were married by a Justice of the Peace the following Sunday afternoon. The ceremony took place on the spacious front porch of the Seavers house with Edna Seavers, Gretel Schmidt and the nine Gustavsons attending. Annie, in the pink Sunday dress she’d made over for herself, served as bridesmaid.

Hannah wore the yellowed satin wedding gown that Mary Gustavson had put away and saved for her daughters. In place of a veil, her unbound hair was crowned by a simple garland of wildflowers that Annie had picked and woven half an hour before. She carried the same flowers in a bouquet.

The mood of the little gathering might have been better suited to a funeral than a wedding. Edna sat poker-straight in her wheelchair, looking as grim as Whistler’s portrait of his mother. Gretel, in gray, stood like a granite pillar behind her. Mary, in a mismatched skirt and jacket with an out-of-style hat, wept through the entire ceremony. Soren simply looked lost. Only pretty, romantic Annie seemed to see the wedding as a cause for celebration. But she was too busy shushing the younger children to pay close attention to the ceremony.

Hannah stood beside her bridegroom, fighting tears. For as long as she’d been in love with Quint, she’d dreamed of their wedding. She’d imagined looking up into his twinkling brown eyes, clasping his hand as she vowed to love, honor and cherish him for the rest of their lives. She’d imagined their first kiss as man and wife, long and tender, filled with sweet anticipation of the wedding night to come.

Now the wrong man stood at her side, his low voice speaking vows that were more mockery than truth. “I, Judd, do take thee, Hannah, to be my lawfully wedded wife…to love and to cherish…in sickness and in health…as long as we both shall live…”

Their divorce documents lay locked in Judd’s desk, awaiting only two signatures to dissolve the marriage. There would be no wedding night, no intimacy of any kind.

Where are you, Quint? Why can’t you come home and put an end to this travesty?

“With this ring I thee wed…” Judd was sliding a thin gold band onto her finger. The metal felt cold and strange. It was all Hannah could do to keep from tearing herself away, leaping off the porch and dashing for the gate.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.” The justice was an elderly man who’d performed hundreds of weddings. Judd had taken him aside and asked him to leave out the kiss, but the old fellow had clearly forgotten.

Hannah had scarcely glanced at Judd during their vows. Now she looked up into his questioning gray eyes. Theirs might not be a real marriage, but it was a genuine partnership, bound by a spirit of cooperation. To turn away from the kiss would end the ceremony on a sour note. Hannah understood this. So, she sensed, did Judd.

Giving him the barest nod, she tilted her face upward. Her breath stopped as his hand braced the small of her back. She had never kissed any boy except Quint. Maybe if she shut her eyes and pretended…

His lips closed on hers, smooth and cool and gentle. For an instant Hannah froze. Then she found herself stretching on tiptoe, leaning into the kiss, prolonging it by milliseconds. Something fluttered in her chest. Then Judd released her and stepped aside.

She had just kissed her husband. And it hadn’t been the least bit like kissing Quint.

Little by little Hannah began to breathe again. Her mother came forward to hug her, swiftly followed by Annie. Soren pumped Judd’s hand. It was all for show. Every adult, even Annie, knew what was happening and why.

Edna Seavers did not join in the congratulations. While Gretel hurried off to fetch lemonade and dainty apricot tarts, Edna sat in her wheelchair as if she were carved from granite.

Let her be, Hannah thought. But Judd, it seemed, was determined to have things his way. Seizing her elbow in an iron grip, he steered her toward his mother’s chair. “Aren’t you going to welcome Hannah into the family, Mother?” he demanded.

Edna’s gaze remained fixed on her hands.

“Mother?”

She sighed. “I’m getting one of my headaches, Judd. Please take me to my room.”

Judd’s eyes flickered toward Hannah. “It’s all right,” she murmured. “Go on.”

She stood watching as he opened the front door and eased the chair over the threshold. This, Hannah sensed, was just a small taste of things to come. How could she face living in this house with a woman who hated her so?

Come back, Quint, she pleaded silently. Come back and take me away from here.

Judd wheeled his mother to her room at the rear of the house’s main floor. The door opened to whitewashed walls hung with black velvet draperies that blocked the light from the tall windows. After the brightness of afternoon sunlight, Judd could barely see the narrow bed with its black canopy and coverlet and the photograph of his father that sat on the nightstand in a blackedged frame. The room was like a crypt for the living.

It was the gloom of existence in this house, as much as Daniel’s urging, that had driven him to enlist in Roosevelt’s Rough Riders. He’d returned carrying burdens of his own. Now, after three months, it was as if he belonged here, one more shadow in a house full of shadows.

His mother’s bones were weightless, like a bird’s. Judd lifted her in his arms and lowered her to the bed. She lay propped on the pillows, waiting for him to cover her legs with the merino shawl she kept folded on a nearby chair.

In her younger days, Edna Seavers had been a beauty, with chestnut hair and laughing dark eyes. But grief over her husband’s death had transformed her into a husk of her former self. Judd couldn’t imagine what it must have been like, loving someone that much. Seeing what it had done to his mother had taught Judd an early lesson. Love walked hand in hand with devastating loss.

“You’ve always prided yourself on your fine manners, Mother,” he chided her. “You had no call to be rude to Hannah and her family.”

Edna made a little sniffing sound. Her jaw remained stubbornly set.

“Hannah’s your daughter-in-law. She’s a fine girl from an honest, hardworking family. Since she’ll be living under this roof, the sooner you accept her, the easier it’ll be for all of us, including you.”

Edna glared up at him. “A fine girl, is she? Then why is she strutting around with one man’s ring on her finger and another man’s child in her belly?”

“Mother, that’s enough—”

“I won’t abide her, Judd. She took Quint away from me. Now she’s taken you, as well!”

“I need to get back to our guests. I’ll have Gretel bring you some tea.” Judd turned and walked out of the room. He loved his mother and did his best to be a respectful son. But sometimes the only way to deal with her was to leave.

Quint was their father’s son—handsome, charming, impulsive and generous. Maybe that was why Edna loved him so much. But Judd had come to realize that it was mostly Edna’s nature he’d inherited—brooding, melancholy and as stubborn as tempered steel. When the two of them clashed they could remain at odds for weeks, even months.

Now he’d unleashed the devil, marrying Hannah and bringing her home. But it was done and Judd wasn’t backing down. For the sake of Quint’s child, this was one battle he was determined to win.

He could only hope Hannah was up to the challenge.

Forcing his face into a cheerful expression, he stepped out onto the porch. The festivities had moved to the grassy lawn, where the younger Gustavsons were enjoying a spirited game of tag. Hannah stood with her parents and the old man who’d performed the ceremony. The ivory satin gown was too large for her, but it draped her slim curves with a softness that Judd found oddly becoming. With her flowing corn silk hair crowned by its wreath of flowers, she looked like a creature from another age, a pagan nymph poised at the edge of a meadow.

“Come and play with us, Hannah!” A little boy tugged at her skirt. “It’s more fun with you! You can be ‘it.’”

She glanced down at her wedding dress. “I’m sorry, Ben, but I really don’t think…”

“Please!” His eyes would have melted granite. “Just for a minute!”

She hesitated, then laughed as she set her glass on the porch step. “Why not? Here I come!”

Kicking off her slippers, she lifted her skirts clear of the ground and charged into the mob of children. They scattered, shrieking and giggling as she darted after them.

Watching the play of sunbeams on her hair, Judd felt an ache rise in his throat. Hannah was so vibrant, so full of life and light. How would she survive in this house?

Watching her with Quint, in her pigtails and faded cottons, he’d wondered idly what his brother saw in the girl. Now he knew. Hannah had a glow about her, a simple, happy warmth that kindled deep inside and emerged on the surface as beauty, like sunlight through a stained-glass window. Judd couldn’t get enough of looking at her.

She was his bride, and the mother of Quint’s child.

Lord Almighty, what had he done?

Hannah stood under the porch’s broad eave, watching the twilight shadows steal across the lawn. The refreshment table had been cleared away. Her mother’s wedding gown had been wrapped in an old muslin sheet and boxed away to await the next Gustavson bride. Her family had kissed her and gone home. The ordeal of her wedding day was coming to its blessed end.

She’d taken her time unpacking the meager possessions that her family had brought over from their house. They’d crammed her clothes, her meager toiletries, and a few precious books—everything she owned—into a single gunny sack. It had struck Hannah as ludicrous, putting her pitiful things into the cavernous dresser drawers and huge cedar-lined wardrobe. The scent of the wood, however, had enthralled her. She had thrust her head deep into the wardrobe and inhaled, filling her senses with the spicy cedar fragrance.

Judd had insisted that she take the large upstairs bedroom where his parents had once slept. She would need the space when Quint came home, as well as for the baby.

Giving Hannah no chance to argue, he had moved his things back to his old room next door. Quint’s room, farther down the hall, remained much as he’d left it. Edna and Gretel’s rooms were directly below, on the first floor.

Closing her eyes, Hannah pushed back her hair and let the breeze cool her sweat-dampened face. Back home, her mother would be putting the little ones to bed. Her father would be dozing in his chair while Annie and Emma cleaned up in the kitchen. Her brother Ephraim, who dreamed of becoming a preacher, would be reading the Bible by the light of a guttering candle.

Hannah’s new home seemed as grand as a palace. But she missed the cheery warmth of the little farmhouse. She missed having her family around her.

From the bunkhouse beyond the barn, the breeze carried the twang of a guitar and the faint aroma of tobacco smoke. Four hired hands stayed at the ranch full-time, with extra men hired on for roundup and branding. Hannah had yet to meet any of them. Even if she did, she knew better than to become too friendly. Her mother had warned her about cowboys and the harm they could do to a woman’s reputation. Gretel was so aloof that she barely spoke, and as for Judd…

Her hand toyed with the thin gold band he’d placed on her finger that afternoon. A quiver passed through her body at the memory of him standing beside her in his trim black suit, his jaw freshly shaved, his unruly brown hair wet-combed into place. She remembered the questioning look in his gray eyes as he bent to kiss her, the sudden lurch of her heart as his cool, firm lips closed on hers.

Judd was her husband in name only, Hannah reminded herself. He didn’t love her—maybe didn’t even like her. But his loyalty to Quint was beyond question. He could be counted on to keep his distance, avoiding anything that might be seen as too much familiarity.

Hannah had acquired a new home and a new family today. But no one here was her friend. She had never felt more alone in her life.

The crickets had awakened in the long grass. In the east, the rim of the waning moon gleamed above the wooded hills. For years Hannah had fantasized about her wedding night, lying in Quint’s arms, touching and being touched in ways that made her ache to think of them.

But this wouldn’t be the wedding night she’d imagined. She would spend it alone in a bed that seemed as wide and cold as the distance that separated her from the man she loved.

“Are you hungry?” Judd’s soft-spoken question startled her. He’d come out onto the porch and was standing a few steps behind her. “There’s cold chicken and rice pudding in the kitchen. I can ask Gretel to get you a tray.”

Hannah shook her head. She’d declined supper an hour earlier, pleading a queasy stomach. In truth, she hadn’t been up to sitting down with her new family. “Don’t bother her,” she said. “Can I fix myself a sandwich later, or will Gretel chase me out of the kitchen with a meat cleaver?”

He moved forward to stand beside her at the porch railing. “You can do anything you want to, Hannah. This is your home now.”

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but this place doesn’t feel much like home. At home I had things to do. I was allowed to be useful. Here—it’s like living in a fine hotel.”

He sighed. “Does the room suit you well enough?”

“It seems as big as a barn—although I’ve never seen a barn with a canopied bed in it. Do you realize I’ve never spent a night alone in my entire life?”

He cast her a sharp glance. “You’ll get used to it. And if you need anything, I’ll be right next door. All you have to do is call out.”

“I see.” Her callused hands gripped the railing. Color scalded her cheeks. What if he’d taken her remark as an invitation? It had certainly sounded like one.

She glanced up at him, feeling vulnerable. Judd was her legal husband. If he decided to exercise his marital rights, who would stand in his way?

The rising moon cast his hawkish features into planes of light and shadow. Quint was the handsomer of the two brothers, but Judd possessed an aura of raw power, a quiet authority that, Hannah realized, had always been there. He was wearing the white shirt he’d been married in, but now the sleeves were rolled up, exposing sinewy forearms. His throat, bared by the open collar, was dark bronze against the white linen. The pale, wounded soldier who’d stepped off the train three months ago was gone. The man who stood beside her now was suntanned and healthy, with a strength that Hannah found disturbingly sensual.

Hannah studied his big, scarred hands where they rested beside hers on the porch rail. She could feel his eyes on her, sense the unspoken questions they would hold. A freshet of liquid heat trickled downward to form a shimmering pool in her loins.

What would happen if she were to reach out and touch him?

“Are you afraid of me, Hannah?”

His words startled her. Her eyes flashed upward to meet his.

“You’ve no need to be,” he said. “You’re my brother’s woman. You’re carrying his child—my own flesh and blood. I’d give my life to protect you.”

“I know,” Hannah whispered.

“Then know that you can trust me. When you agreed to this marriage, I promised I wouldn’t lay a hand on you. You’ll find me a man of my word.”

Hannah groped for a fitting reply, but her tongue felt frozen to the roof of her mouth. The only sound that emerged came from the pit of her stomach—a low, rumbling growl.

Judd stifled a chuckle. “I thought you said you weren’t hungry.”

Hannah flushed in the darkness. “Maybe just a little.”

“Tell you what,” Judd said. “Gretel makes the best rice pudding in six counties. I’ve got a hankering for a bowl of it myself. Have a seat on the steps while I go and get us some.” When Hannah hesitated, he added, “That’s an order, Mrs. Seavers.”

Hearing her married name spoken was enough to buckle Hannah’s knees. She collapsed on the top step and sat trembling as Judd crossed the porch and went into the house. Heaven save her, she’d really done it! She was Mrs. Judd Seavers before all creation—and soon the town would be buzzing with the scandal. She could just imagine the whispers. With Quint gone barely three months, that scheming little Hannah Gustavson had up and married his brother!

She couldn’t expect to be treated kindly for it, especially once the baby started showing. But she would learn to hold her head high, Hannah vowed. She was a Seavers, legally and lawfully wed. More important, her baby was a Seavers. No one could dispute that now or ever.

What an unholy mess she’d created.

Scarcely five minutes had passed before Judd returned with two heaping bowls of rice pudding. “I hope you like it cold, he said. “Gretel had already put the pan in the springhouse.”

“Cold is fine.” She accepted one of the bowls. Her fingers brushed his as she took it. She ignored the tingle of awareness as he took a seat beside her, close enough to talk but not close enough to touch her. The pudding smelled of fresh cream and rich spices whose names Hannah could only guess. When she tried a tentative spoonful, her mouth closed on a raisin.

“Do you like it?” Judd asked.

“It’s…heavenly. We had rice at home and a little sugar. But spices and raisins were luxuries my parents couldn’t afford.”

“Luxuries? A handful of raisins and a sprinkle of cinnamon?”

“I can tell you’ve never been poor.” Hannah tasted another spoonful of pudding. It was all she could do to keep from bolting it down. Since Judd had given her the perfect opening, she summoned her courage and brought up the matter that had been pressing her mind since his proposal.

“You said I could have money for gifts. I hope you were serious, because I want to help my family—school clothes for the boys, some pretty dresses for Mama and the girls, maybe some books—Annie loves to read. And my father could use a new plow…” Hannah’s voice trailed off. The list of her family’s needs, she realized, was endless. She didn’t want Judd to think she was greedy.

“I’ll arrange for an allowance, whatever seems reasonable. You can use it any way you like. No questions asked.”

“Just like that?” She stared at him, amazed that such a thing could be so easy.

“Just like that. Next time we’re in town we’ll stop by the bank. I’ll have Mr. Calhoun set up a fund for you with monthly transfers from the ranch account. You can draw on it anytime. And when your brothers are old enough, they can come talk to me about jobs on the ranch.”

Hannah swallowed the tightness in her throat. “I don’t know what to say. I never expected that kind of generosity.”

“I’m only doing what Quint would want for the mother of his child.”

“And what about your mother? Will she approve of what you’re doing?”

“It’s my decision to make. Mother’s washed her hands of the whole ranch business.”

“I see.” Hannah lowered her gaze and made a show of enjoying the sweet rice pudding. According to the Bible, her mother and the fiery sermons she’d heard in church, she deserved to burn in hell for what she’d let Quint do. Instead, it was if the gates of paradise had opened, spilling out all the fine things she’d never had. Reason told her there would have to be a time of reckoning.

The risen moon hung like a pearl against the velvet sky. From inside the house came the sound of a door closing and Gretel’s heavy footsteps fading down the hall. A floorboard creaked. Then there was only the drone of crickets and the rustle of the wind in through long blades of grass.

Judd hadn’t spoken. The silence between them was growing awkward. Hannah set her bowl on the step and cleared her throat.

“How’s your mother’s headache?” she asked, making a try at conversation.

She sensed a slight hesitation. “My mother’s headache will be better when she wants it to be. For now, she’s asleep. I’m guessing she’ll be fine in the morning.”

“Until she sets eyes on me, she will.” Hannah shook her head. “Why does she hate me so much, Judd?”

“It’s change she hates, not you. Give her time. She’ll come around.”

“She can take all the time she wants. Meanwhile, I plan to stay out of her way. Not that I’m ungrateful, mind you. This is her home, after all, and she has a right to peace and quiet. It’s just…” Hannah’s voice trailed off. She stared down at her hands.

“Just what?”

“It doesn’t really matter how your mother feels about me. But I want her to love the baby. I want my child—Quint’s child—to be happy here.”

Judd had been gazing across the yard. Now he turned toward her, his face in shadow. “My mother isn’t a bad woman, Hannah. She’s old and sad and set in her ways. Give her a chance.”

“Will she give me a chance?”

“Eventually, I hope. But you may need to make the first move.”

Hannah felt her heart shrink inside her chest. “I don’t know if I’m ready to do that.”

“Suit yourself.” Judd rose wearily. “It’s getting late. I’ll be leaving with the men at first light to drive the herd up to summer pasture. You won’t be seeing me for the next couple of weeks. But Sam Burton, the assistant foreman will be staying here to keep an eye on things. He’ll know where to find me if I’m needed.”

Hannah bit back a murmur of dismay. If not quite a friend, Judd was the closest thing she had to an ally. Now he’d be leaving her alone with those two forbidding old women.

“We’ll go to the bank when I get back. Meanwhile, I’ll get some cash out of the safe and leave it under the blotter on my desk. Take it. Use it for anything you need.”

Hannah gulped back a rush of emotion. “I don’t know what to say. No one’s ever been so generous with me.”

“I’m just doing what any brother would do for his sister. I hope you’ll look on me that way. As a brother.”

He reached down to help her to her feet. His big hand was leathery with calluses, his skin cool against her fingertips. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I’ll do my best not to disappoint your family.”

“Just be happy here. For now, that’s enough.”

He loomed above her in the darkness, his eyes hooded. Her hand lingered in his like a small animal seeking safety.

Suddenly she realized she was trembling.

Judd released her and stepped back. “You look all in,” he said. “It’s been a long day for both of us. Come on, I’ll walk you to your room.”

Hannah preceded him through the open doorway to the front hall. A glowing lantern hung from a hook on the door frame. Taking it in his hand, Judd led the way up the dark stairs to the second floor. The bedroom doors were closed. His was on the left, hers on the right.

“You’ll need this.” He opened Hannah’s door and handed her the lantern. “Remember, if anything frightens you just call out. I’ll hear you.”

“I’ll be fine. Thank you for everything, Judd.”

He stood looking down at her, the lamplight flickering on his face. He was her husband. This was their wedding night. Hannah grappled with a sense of unreality. Maybe tomorrow she’d wake up and discover that the whole day had been a strange dream.

Maybe tomorrow a letter from Quint would arrive, and everything would be put right.

“Sleep well, Hannah.” He turned away, went into his own room and closed the door. Hannah did the same. Light from the lantern cast distorted shadows on the papered walls. She could hear Judd moving about, walking across the floor, taking off his boots, opening and closing a drawer. He could hear her equally well, Hannah reminded herself as she peeled off her clothes and dropped her flannel nightgown over her head. He might even be able to hear her using her chamber pot. She would need to be mindful of every sound she made.

Snuffing the lantern flame, she crawled under the covers. After so many years of sleeping with her sisters, Hannah felt lost in the vastness of the double bed. She stretched her limbs, touching all four corners at the same time. The sensation of emptiness was frightening.

She was exhausted after the emotional day. Even so, sleep was a long time coming. The bed was too soft, the room too silent. Hannah missed the sound of breathing and the familiar, warm aroma of her slumbering sisters.

Only when she lay straight along the edge of the mattress, taking up the least possible amount of space, did she finally drift off. Her sleep was restless. The darkness behind her closed eyelids swirled with disjointed dreams and images—the train carrying Quint out of her reach; Edna Seavers’s head imposed on Gretel’s sturdy body; Judd’s somber gray eyes and big, scarred hands; winged babies floating over a full moon…

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