Austin’s thumb brushed the underside of Willa’s chin, tilting her face gently up to bring her gaze to his.

“Are you all right?”

She stared into his blue eyes. They were kind and filled only with concern.

Her hand seemed to lift of its own accord and land on the center of his chest. Not to push him away or to act as a barrier between them, but simply to touch him.

“I’d like to stay.”

“You sure?”

She nodded. It was hard not to be tempted by the kindness on his face and in his voice—tempted to believe in fairytales. If she were a different woman she might think she was starting to fall in love.

Willa kept her hand on his chest. His heart thudded reliably. It was an intimate thing, to feel it beat, and it made the moment between them real and changing. Austin was no longer a stranger, but a man she wanted to know.

AUTHOR NOTE

Writing stories set in Montana Territory is one of my favourite things. It’s fun to put aside my daily troubles—the laundry needing to be done, the chequebook I keep meaning to balance, the errands I’ve been putting off—and sit down with my laptop. I sink into a different time and place, where life is slower paced, where there is no traffic noise—just the tweet of birds and the wind whispering through an old-growth forest—and where the things that really matter in life are the same. Love and belonging, duty and family. These are the themes I found myself exploring when I wrote the first few sentences of MONTANA BRIDE.

I was touched by Willa’s tragedy—both her abusive marriage and her being a pregnant and penniless widow—and by her strength in facing marriage to a stranger again, knowing what kind of man she could end up with. A young woman who has never known love, she worries about what kind of mother she’ll make, but she clearly wants to do her best.

Austin Dermot is a character from my earlier Moose, Montana Territory, stories who was passed over every time a new lady came to town. I started wondering about him and felt sorry for the poor man—surely a nice guy like that deserved to catch a nice woman of his own? He is a man who wants to love and be loved—but unfortunately for him he has chosen a mail-order bride who doesn’t believe her scarred heart can ever love.

I hope you enjoy this story about Willa finding her heart and discovering the wonder and renewal that love can be.

Thank you so much for choosing Willa and Austin’s story.

Jillian Hart

About the Author

JILLIAN HART grew up on her family’s homestead, where she raised cattle, rode horses and scribbled stories in her spare time. After earning an English degree from Whitman College she worked in advertising, before selling her first novel to Mills & Boon® Historical Romance. When she’s not hard at work on her next story Jillian can be found chatting over lunch with a friend, stopping for a café mocha with a book in hand, and spending quiet evenings at home with her family. Visit her website at www.jillianhart.net

Previous books by the same author:

LAST CHANCE BRIDE

COOPER’S WIFE

MALCOLM’S HONOUR

MONTANA MAN

BLUEBONNET BRIDE

MONTANA LEGEND

HIGH PLAINS WIFE

THE HORSEMAN

ROCKY MOUNTAIN CHRISTMAS

(short story in A Season of the Heart) MONTANA WIFE ROCKY MOUNTAIN MAN ROCKY MOUNTAIN BRIDE ROCKY MOUNTAIN WIDOW (part of Western Weddings anthology) ROCKY MOUNTAIN COURTSHIP (part of Stetsons, Spring and Wedding Rings anthology) ROCKY MOUNTAIN WEDDING (part of Mail-Order Marriages anthology)

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Montana Bride

Jillian Hart

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Chapter One

Montana Territory, April 1884

“The town of Moose, next stop!” The blue-uniformed train conductor strolled through the rocking passenger car with the ease of a man used to riding the rails. Sparse gray hair poked from beneath his cap as he grabbed the bar overhead, stopped in the aisle near her seat and offered her a fatherly smile. “Would you like help with your satchel, miss?”

Willa Conner straightened her spine, clasped her hands together in her lap and shook her head slightly. As nice as it sounded to have the kindly man’s help, she was used to doing things on her own, especially since her husband’s sudden death. If marriage had taught her anything, it was to never rely on someone else.

“Thank you, but no.” She offered what she hoped passed for a polite smile, but the edges of her mouth felt tense and stiff. The train was already slowing, and the great shadowy expanses of forested foothills and mountainsides whipping by the window were not flashing by quite as fast. Moose, Montana Territory. She was almost there. Terror beat in her chest with bone-rattling force, but she set her chin and hoped her fear did not show. “I can manage.”

“All righty then.” He tipped his cap to her and moved on, offering help to the pair of older ladies toward the back of the car.

The whistle blew a long blast, nearly drowning out the ear-splitting squeal of the brakes. Willa perched on her seat, looking beyond the haze twilight made on the window glass to the break in the trees. She caught glimpses of a tiny log shanty, a sod stable and split-rail fencing before the trees closed back in—her first peek at the outskirts of the town she would be calling home.

Maybe I have made a mistake. She laid her hand on her reticule, thinking of the letter within. A written proposal from a stranger, from a man she had found through a newspaper advertisement. He’d sent her a train ticket and so she’d come to marry a man she’d never met. As her ma used to say, beggars can’t be choosers, and her heart skipped a beat as if threatening to fail. She was a widow with no family and nowhere else to go. She had no more choices. Penniless and alone, she only had this door open to her, the only path in a cold and lonely world.

What would he be like? She grabbed the seat-back in front of her as the train jerked to a slow, screeching stop. As she’d wondered and fretted all the way from South Dakota, she tried to imagine what kind of man would propose to a woman sight unseen? A desperate one, that’s what. One who could not convince any woman able to set eyes on him to be his bride.

Fear gripped her as she hauled herself to her feet with what strength of will she had left. Would he be cruel? A drunk? Did he work hard, or was he a laze-about? Terrible visions flew into her head as she hauled her satchel from the overhead rack by one strap, pulled on her wool coat and followed the fresh sweep of chilly air to the open doorway.

“You take care, miss.” The conductor seized her firmly by the elbow. Her shoe hit the step and then she next made contact with the icy boards of the platform. He released her before she could thank him, turning to aid someone else off the train.

A tiny snowflake brushed her cheek, icy against her skin. She shivered against the wintry world where strangers hurried by to greet one another warmly, where families were reunited gratefully or hugged desperately, about to be torn apart.

“Excuse me.” A man bumped her shoulder on his way to board the train, marching past her as if she were nothing more than a bench at the edge of the platform.

Feeling out of her element, she stumbled farther into the shadows, clutching her satchel’s grip in both hands. Which man was Austin Dermot? She searched the faces of every male on the platform. Several were in the company of wives and family, so she didn’t wonder about those. Mr. Dermot was a bachelor. When a shadowed figure paced in her direction, her pulse stalled. Was that man her betrothed?

He was short of stature and the bald skin of his head reflected the light from the train’s windows. His eyes, the color of coal, reflected no kindness. His rough hands curled naturally as if used to being balled into fists.

She shivered, fear clawing around her insides like talons. Please, not that man. Please don’t let it be him. Air caught in her lungs, making it impossible to breathe as he stalked nearer to her. To her relief, he marched past her, casting a sneer in her direction.

“Willa?” A baritone voice rumbled behind her, low and deep and as richly warm as buttered rum. The only soul who would know her name in this unfamiliar place had to be him. It had to be her husband-to-be.

She pivoted on her heels, unable to stop the hope taking root in her heart. A man with a voice like that might not be unkind. Another snowflake struck her cheek as she faced him. He was cloaked in shadows, a tall man with brawny shoulders. Her entire being jittered with a rapid-fire tremble. Her throat went dry. “Mr. Dermot?”

“Call me Austin.”

She still couldn’t see him. He stood between the bars of light from the train windows, lost in the twilight. She caught the impression of a burly man, which made sense since he owned a livery stable and did heavy work. This was the moment of truth. If she wanted to change her mind, it would have to be now.

“Let me take that for you.” Was it her imagination, or were notes of kindness layered in his voice?

She hoped so. Before she could collect her breath, he lumbered out of the shadows and into the wash of light. Golden lamplight bronzed him, illuminating the thick brown fall of his hair, bluebonnet-blue eyes, high cheekbones and chiseled rugged face.

He was handsome. That completely surprised her and her mind shut down. She had been prepared for anything—unfortunately none of it good. She had learned to expect the worst, which had generally been the way most things in her life had worked out. So, what was wrong with this handsome man that he had to settle for a mail-order bride?

His hand clasped around the grip, taking the satchel from her. He smelled pleasantly—of hay and wintry wind, soap and man—and his irises had light blue sparkles in them that lit when he looked at her. “The train doesn’t stay here for long. We had best make sure we get your trunks from the baggage car.”

“I don’t have any trunks.” She swallowed, wondering for the first time what he might see when he looked at her. She smoothed a patch in her wool overcoat. “Everything I own is in the satchel.”

“Is that right?” Realization etched compassion into the hard planes of his face. Maybe he felt sorry for her poverty, or maybe he was attempting to hide disappointment.

You are no prize, Willa. The words swirled up from the past. She shut out her late husband’s voice, but she could not deny the truth of his words. She might not be a prize but neither was she a disgrace. She lifted her chin and gathered her dignity. “I did not exaggerate. In my letter I said I had nothing to bring to the marriage.”

“You are enough.”

His kindness was unexpected. Her throat burned, and she looked away. The earlier hustle and bustle on the platform had died out, families reunited with loved ones had gone on their way and only one couple bid a tearful goodbye as the conductor tossed a trunk into the baggage car. An icy wind drove snow before it in falling waves.

“Looks like there’s a storm on the way, which means we had better head for the church.” He held out his other hand—it was big and well-shaped with long blunt fingers and a wide-callused palm.

If she took his hand, their deal would be set. There would be no turning back. She pressed her hand to her still flat stomach, torn. Her every instinct screamed at her to run. She had made this mistake before in marrying Jed. But if she did not marry Austin, where would she go? Who would hire a pregnant woman, and alone how would she provide for the baby once it was born?

Willa swallowed hard, knowing she had no real choice. She laid her hand in his, realizing he was much larger than she’d first thought. His fingers engulfed her hand as they closed around her, but it was gentleness she felt as he led her along the platform.

“Is the reverend waiting?” Cold panic slid through her veins.

“He is. I didn’t tell him your story.” He paused at the steps leading down to the street. A faint haze of lamplight drew him in silhouette. He towered above her, making her feel small and protected from the drive of the wind. He kept a good hold on her—in case she slipped on the ice—and continued speaking. “It wasn’t my place to say anything, although I think Reverend Lane has his suspicions. He’s agreed to marry us, unless you’ve taken one look at me and changed your mind.”

“Me? No.” She couldn’t afford to do that. Austin Dermot may be a complete stranger, but he was her salvation and much more than she expected, perhaps much more than she deserved. She’d never had anyone escort her down a set of steps before or protect her from a driving arctic wind. “Have you?”

“Changed my mind? Not a chance.” A smile shone in his voice as the darkness swallowed him. He was a faint impression in a background of snow and night as he helped her into a covered buggy. A horse blew out his breath, as if impatient standing in the cold.

“There now, we’re almost on our way,” Austin rumbled low to the horse as he untied him from the hitching post. “No need to get huffy.”

The horse snorted, and Austin’s roll of brief laughter was the warmest sound she’d ever heard. A man who laughed was not what she had prepared for.

“That’s Calvin. He’s never been one to withhold his opinion.” The buggy swayed slightly as the large man settled onto the cushioned seat beside her. Not a crudely made cart behind an ox, as she was used to. Not even a more serviceable wagon, but a fine buggy.

Oh, he is definitely going to be disappointed in me. In the light of the church, when he would be able to get a good look, he would change his mind then. As the buggy rolled smoothly to a start, she knew the tables had turned. She’d spent a good deal of her journey worrying about the man. Now she was the one in question.

“We’re a small town but a friendly one.” He held the reins lightly, talking with ease as if he picked up strange women at the depot and drove them to church all the time. “Let me correct that. We’re a very small town. Five whole blocks, as you can see.”

“Oh, my.” Five blocks? She couldn’t see much in the evening storm, only the hint of a roofline and a glimpse of a second-story lamp-lit window that blinked out of sight as they rolled on.

“You’re disappointed.” His voice knelled with understanding, as if he were not surprised.

“Not at all.” He truly didn’t understand, did he? She swiped snow from her eyelashes with cold fingertips. “I’m used to small towns. I like them. I’m only afraid this is a great deal more than I am used to.”

“More?” They drove out of the reach of the town’s main street, where tall trees threw them in deep shadow.

“The nearest town to my husband’s South Dakota farm was just a mercantile, a tavern and a stage stop.” She felt the wave of unhappiness begin to crest and she banished all memories from her mind. Jed had been a man with great faults. She had been young and naive, marrying at sixteen and expecting a fairy tale. Reality had driven that notion from her mind, and the blame had been hers alone. Marriage was hard work, it was often a disappointment and took patience to bear.

She blew out a small breath, determined to find the inner strength to endure marriage again. To do that, she would think of the positive. She would have a roof over her head, a home to keep and after the thaw she would plant a garden where flowers bloomed. “Is your house far from town?”

“On the outskirts. I have one hundred acres. Never wanted to be a rancher, but I like the solitude. I built the cabin myself.”

“Wonderful.” She had spotted many such dwellings in her life in South Dakota and on her journey here. Small, often crudely made but snug against the elements. It sounded like heaven to a woman who had spent more than a few nights homeless. “The views must be lovely. I have never seen such beautiful country. I sat transfixed at the window most of the train ride.”

“It is rather pretty.” He reined the horse to a stop. “We’re here.”

The hint of a steeple rose up against the faint illumination of the veiled sky. Light burst into existence as a door flung open wide and a man in a dark coat and white collar gestured with one hand.

“Hurry up out of the storm, Dermot!” the reverend called out.

“Got to blanket my horse first. Can’t have him standing for long in these winds.” Austin hopped to the ground, his friendly voice rumbling as he exchanged a few words with the minister.

Nerves fluttered inside her. At least she hoped it was anxiety and not the nausea that plagued her each morning and lasted throughout much of the day. She took small breaths, wishing she had something to nibble on, something to put into her stomach. She swept snow off the seat beside her and swung her feet around.

“What do you think you are doing?” Harsh words admonished her. Austin broke out of the shadow beside her, but his rugged face wasn’t pursed with harsh displeasure. A merry light twinkled in his eyes. “You wait for me to help you down. If you are to be my wife, you will have to let me be courteous to you.”

“Oh, I—” She fell silent, her tongue refusing to work, her mind going blank. The back of her eyes burned as she placed her hand on his palm. Her knees shook as she hopped onto the running board and landed on the ground with a jolt.

He towered over her, brawny and substantial and powerful enough to break the bones in her hand if he squeezed, but it was only his gentleness she saw. Her throat closed up entirely and she could not thank him. She could not speak as he offered her his arm.

“It’s slick, so be careful.” He shortened his long-legged stride to accommodate her as he led her down a snow-covered path and into the shelter of the church’s tiny vestibule. There was no darkness to hide in and no falling snow to veil him. In the fall of the bright lamplight, he was even more handsome. The pleasant lines of his face, the wide intelligent eyes and the hint of a smile upturning his mouth, naturally took her breath away.

Why would Austin need to write away for a wife? The question ate at her again, undermining her confidence and feeding her fears. And worse, he could see her clearly. Was he regretting his decision? Was he trying to hide his disappointment as he led her into the sanctuary?

“I’ll be right back,” he promised, the low, resonate tone full of an emotion she could not name. “I need to tend to the horse.”

“Yes.” She watched him go, then wrapped her arms around her middle, feeling intensely alone as the door swung shut behind him. His opportunity to escape, she thought, shaking her head. Snow tumbled from her plain dark hair as she stared at the closed door.

“Austin tells me you’re a widow.” The reverend’s sympathy appeared genuine. “But you aren’t wearing black. Your mourning period must be over?”

“My husband died six weeks ago.” She flushed and stared hard at the plank floor, where a dust of snow lingered, the building too cold for it to melt. She could feel the stranger’s scrutiny. How did she admit she did not own a black dress and she couldn’t begin to afford the fabric to sew one? She was sad Jed’s life had ended but she did not miss him. She wished she did. “Brain fever took him.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Compassion, where others might judge. The minister’s gaze lingered at her waist, wondering.

She tightened her arms around her middle, unable to speak of something so private to a man she did not know. Ridiculous because she could not hide her condition forever. The door swung open, icy wind swirled past her and Austin returned. The snow on his shoulders accentuated his physical power, his breadth and height and strength, but it was the kind gleam of concern in his blue eyes as he focused on her that affected her.

“You must be cold clean through.” He pulled off his gloves. “I should have noticed earlier you didn’t have any mittens.”

They had worn out beyond repair, but she didn’t tell him that. In the bright light he must be able to see the patches on her clothes and shoes. He must be able to see what she was, and still the kindness in his gaze remained.

His boots knelled on the planks as he paced closer. She shivered when he drew near. The tiny hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood straight up and tingled. Air caught in her chest as he gently slid his gloves on her hands. Way too large, they dwarfed her, but the sheepskin lining was toasty warm from his heat.

“Are you ready to get married?” he asked.

Too choked up to answer, she managed a single nod. On jelly knees and shaking like a leaf, she followed the minister to the front of the church with Austin at her side.

Chapter Two

“In sickness and health until death do you part?” Reverend Lane paused, allowing silence to fall in the small church. The gust of wind outside battered the eaves, sending a chilling breeze through the already unheated building.

This wasn’t the way Austin had envisioned the ceremony, but the train had been late and he was a man of his word. He had promised Willa he would marry her the moment she stepped foot off the train, to provide for her and her unborn child and to keep her safe from harm of any kind. He wanted to show her the man he was. He unclamped his teeth, afraid they would chatter, but managed to speak in a strong clear voice that carried the power of his conviction. “I do.”

Her hand, so small within his much larger one, trembled even harder. The poor woman, hardly more than a girl, with her blue doe eyes and soft-faced vulnerability. Several rich molasses locks had escaped her chignon to curl around her cheeks and chin. Her high cheekbones, small sloping nose and dainty chin must have been carved by angels they were so flawless.

It was her unassuming beauty and soulful eyes he liked the most, but he had not expected a woman so comely or, he hated to admit, one so young. He was in his late twenties and she could not be eighteen. Age was not something he had asked about in their brief correspondence.

“I pronounce you man and wife.” The reverend said the words with a hint of gravity and sympathy that rang like a bell tolling in the quiet sanctuary. “You may kiss the bride.”

Tension shot through the small hand resting in his. He felt the cool wedding band on her finger when she jerked away. She gazed up at him, vulnerable and so small, half his size. Such a petite slip of a girl, and he must seem like a giant to her. He felt like one as he leaned in, feeling the air snap with tension. Uncertainty passed across her face. He recognized the plea in her big beautiful eyes, the look he’d come to know so well as a blacksmith. He worked with horses all day long, animals subject to a man’s whims of temper and thoughtlessness.

A thousand vows rose into his heart, ones he could not find the words to say. He hoped he had the chance to show her every one so she would no longer be afraid. So in time she could see some promises were made to be kept. Some anxiety slipped from her face as she watched him tilt to the side, away from her rosebud lips that were so tempting. But there would be time later for that.

Her silk tendrils brushed his forehead as he dropped a kiss against her satin cheek. Unprepared for the tenderness that swept through him, he jerkily straightened and settled his hand protectively against her shoulder blade.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A brother?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You have sisters?”

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

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

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

“Is your sister older?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Three

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You were the only man who wrote me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It is nine o’clock, if you can believe that. The day flew by.” He shrugged out of his coat and hung it by the door. “I spent all day getting ready for you. Hard to believe, I know, but I’d left a lot to do until the last minute. Like getting new plates. I didn’t want you to show up and have to eat off the chipped ones I was getting by with.”

He had an amicable way about him. She had to take care not to fall victim to it. She rescued the basin he’d emptied and set it on the counter to air dry. The kitchen was toasty warm from the stove, warm enough to have chased away the cold from her bones but not the trepidation. If not for the new life she carried, she would never have remarried. She never wanted to be pushed and pulled by a man’s manipulations again, but the ring on her finger was a reminder she had made a commitment to Austin until death parted them. She would make the best of it.

“Could you show me to my room?” She held her breath, fearing what was to follow.

“You mean, our room.” He watched her intently without a hint as to what he might be thinking. “It’s the first door to your left. Come, I’ll show you.”

“Thank you.” She felt self-conscious, and every step she took through the door he held for her felt like the toll of an executioner’s bell. The front room’s crackling fire and pleasant furnishings were no comfort as she approached the wall of doors.

“I thought this smaller one would make a good room for the baby.” Austin opened the one farthest away, stepping aside for her to inspect the space. “Evelyn brought over a crib as a welcome gift. She is thoughtful that way.”

A crib. Her throat closed at the shadowed sight of carved rails and polished oak. Her head swam and Austin’s words sounded far away.

“It is the one Ma used for us. Pa made it for her when they were expecting me. You will like my father. I took over the livery from him when he retired.” His footsteps echoed against the bare floor and walls, seeming to grow in the shadows. “He’s looking forward to meeting you.”

“Of course your entire family knows about the baby.” She hadn’t even considered his family. She hadn’t thought further ahead than meeting Austin Dermot. She was still taking one moment at a time. The next moment loomed ahead of her like a ghost in the dark, the moment when Austin would lead her from this room and into the one they would share for the night.

Together.

She swallowed, not sure if she felt strong enough to face that. Worry had worn away at her like water on rock and she felt frail. Maybe it was from seeing the crib with its sweetly carved spools. She tried to imagine the time it had taken to make and could not imagine a man sitting patiently for the hours upon hours it would take to whittle, sand and stain each piece of wood.

“No, only my sister, who has sworn to keep your secret until you are ready to tell it.” He shrugged. “I did not tell them. Evelyn showed up with this yesterday. I suspect when she was cleaning for your arrival, she found the newspaper with the advertisement I’d circled. My sister is nosy.”

His grin was infectious and she found the corners of her mouth turning upward. “The crib was a thoughtful gift.”

“She cares about you already.” He chuckled. “I hope that doesn’t turn out to be overwhelming for you, since you’re not used to so much family.”

“No, I’m sure I will like her.” She blushed, awkward with the intensely private subject of her pregnancy. “I suppose we will have to break the news, but I don’t want to tarnish your reputation. I know how small towns can be. People can leap to conclusions and think the worst things.”

“There’s no shame in your situation. It must take a lot of courage to marry a man you’ve never met for the sake of your child.” The shadows hid him, but not his essence. That shone as solid and unmistakable as the lamplight tumbling through the threshold from the other room. “I meant what I said in my letter. I will treat the baby as my own. Your child is our child now, just like the others that will follow.”

“The others.” That wasn’t something he’d written about in his letters. She gulped, feeling dizzy. The future wasn’t something she looked at. It was something best left unexamined. Of course there would be more children. He was a man. He would expect certain affections from his wife.

“Maybe I’m getting the cart in front of the horse.” He chuckled and his big hand closed around her forearm as if he knew how weakly her knees knocked. “We will focus on getting this baby into the world safely. One thing at a time. How’s that?”

She nodded, overcome, shocked by the possessive heat of his hand banding her like a manacle she did not know how to break. She let him lead her from the room. Her head swam, her heart thrashed against her sternum wildly as she stumbled toward her destiny, toward her fate as this man’s wife.

One of two bedside lamps was lit, tossing a sepia glow over its bedside table and onto the wide four-poster bed. A patchwork quilt in the colors of spring draped the feather tick, and snowy white pillow slips covered plump pillows. She’d never dreamed of such a room, with a window seat and a bureau to match the carved bed’s foot and headboards. A looking glass reflected back at her and she ran her fingertips across the polished wood frame. A real mirror.

“Of course, you will want to change all this. My sister said the curtains are a shame. But my mother made the quilt. You might want to replace it, that’s fine by me, but I thought it was pretty. Better than the wool blanket I had there before.” Bashfulness had him dipping his head as he backed from the room. “Your satchel is on the window seat. I’ll leave you to get ready for bed.”

She waited until the door closed before she released her breath. She sank onto the chest footing the bed, shaking so hard she felt sick. In the other room she could hear the fall of the bolt in the door and Austin’s boots crossing the room. The sharp sound of the fireplace utensils told her he was busy banking the fires for the night. She would not have much time before he came back through the bedroom door and she had no intention of being caught undressed.

She changed in a hurry into her nightgown. With fumbling fingers, she washed at the basin stand, cleaned her teeth and brushed out her long dark hair in front of the looking glass. The face reflected back at her was ashen, thin and afraid. By the time a quick rap sounded on the door, she was steps away from the bed.

“Come in,” she called, pleased at his politeness, and pulled the covers over her. The bed was the most comfortable thing she’d ever felt, both soft and firm at the same time, with flannel sheets. The door whispered open and Austin stalked in, perhaps shy also because he did not look at her as she rearranged her pillow.

He was a more decent man than she’d dared to hope, than she could even now believe. He turned his back to her to pour fresh water into the washbasin. “You’re comfortable?”

“Oh, yes.” She rolled on her side, facing away from him. The splash of water, the rustle of clothing, the pad of stocking feet on the floor marked the minutes ticking away until his side of the bed dipped beneath his weight. She closed her eyes, cold with fear over what was to come.

Chapter Four

The bed ropes creaked beneath his weight. She felt the mattress dip. Fear skittered through her and she held her breath. She tried to close out the memories of the nights when Jed had roughly pulled her into his arms. She drew in a shaky breath listening to the sheets rustle and feeling the mattress shift as Austin stretched out on the bed beside her.

Just don’t forget to breathe, she told herself. Relax, it hurts less that way. This was the price to pay for being a man’s wife. She thought of the cold nights huddled in the barn so hungry she could not sleep. She thought of the babe growing within her. You can do this, she thought. It will be over before you know it.

“I’ve got an early morning.” His buttery baritone rang softly as the bed ropes squeaked again. The lamp went out and darkness descended. “The livery opens at six.”

“I’ll be sure and have breakfast ready for you.” Yes, concentrate on what needed to be done tomorrow. That would give her mind something to focus on. Preparing breakfast, taking stock of the pantry and planning her meals for the day. Don’t notice he’s moving closer.

“How has your morning sickness been?” His big hand lightened on her shoulder and she jumped.

“F-fine.” Think about the curtains. With pretty little ruffles around the edge. She braced her body, every muscle drawing tight. Yes, those curtains would look so nice in the front room. Cheerful.

“Willa?” His voice rumbled through her thoughts, like a lasso drawing her back. His iron-strong form lay a few inches from hers, so close she could feel his body heat on hers. Terror struck, making it hard to breathe.

She blotted out what she knew was to come. The roughness, the pain, the humiliation, his weight holding her down until he collapsed on top of her. Her first wedding night rolled back to her like a nightmare. The innocent girl expecting love and romance died that night, too wounded to even cry out. At least this time she knew what was coming. She knew what marriage was about.

“Willa?” His voice gentled. “Darlin’, you’re shaking the entire bed.”

She was? “I’m s-sorry.”

“I don’t think it’s good for you or the baby to be this upset.” His hand left her shoulder to brush a strand of hair out of her face. A tone she’d never heard before rang low in his words. It was soft and warm and it made her turn to face him. “I take it your first husband wasn’t a gentle man?”

“No. Jed drank far too much for gentleness.” She laid her ear on the pillow, making out Austin’s face in the darkness—the tumble of his hair, the line of his jaw and the curve of his chiseled mouth. His eyes were black pools with depths she could not read.

“What was your first day married to him like?”

“He was a stranger, too.” The words rushed off her tongue, impossible to stop. Maybe it was easier to talk in the night, where she felt hidden. “I answered his advertisement in the territorial newspaper.”

“This isn’t your first time as a mail-order bride.”

“No.” She swallowed hard, thinking of the girl who’d kept staring at her left hand, a new bride wishing for a wedding ring. Maybe one day, that girl had thought hopefully, still seeing only blue skies ahead. “I had such dreams of a happily-ever-after. Jed had written a charming letter and I was immediately smitten. He seemed so funny and confident, he made me laugh and I thought, what a nice way to go through life alongside a man with a good sense of humor. But his humor lasted as long as it took to reach his farm.”

“What happened then?”

“He ordered me down from the wagon, gave me the reins, told me to put up the horses and fix him supper.” She could still remember standing in shock in the scrubby grass by the leaning ten-by-ten shanty, with the reins dangling in her hands. “He took a bottle of whiskey from the wagon bed and shut himself in the shanty. He drank his way to the bottom of the bottle by the time I had supper on the table.”

“I see.” He reached out again to touch her cheek and rub away the remains of her single tear. “He was a drunk.”

“He was a mean drunk.” She remembered setting down fried salt pork and potatoes on the rickety table in the light of a single battered lantern. It was dark, the ride from the stage stop where the church was had taken much of the day and she’d been still desperately clinging to her illusions.

Maybe he doesn’t drink like this very often, she’d thought, filling two tin cups with water. Maybe once he slept off the whiskey he would be back to his charming self.

I don’t want no water, woman. He’d knocked the cup away from his plate and stood up to slap her cheek. Hard. Get yer lazy ass out the door and fetch me another bottle or I’ll teach ya who’s boss.

“He was abusive to you.” Austin’s voice cut into her thoughts, leading her out of the past and the remembered sting against her face.

“After a while I became numb to it.” Her throat knotted up, refusing to feel all that it had cost her to learn to cope with Jed’s cruelty. “I learned to be grateful for the good days when he was more himself.”

“I see.” The darkness polished him like sculpted stone, accentuating his handsome looks in a powerful and masculine way. Silence settled between them and he loomed beside her, big and strong. He was brawnier and larger than Jed had been; there was no way she could stand up against Austin’s physical strength. She’d also learned the hard way fighting only made the inevitable worse.

Why hadn’t he moved toward her? Fear and dread knotted together in her chest, making her shiver harder. The bed ropes creaked with tiny squeaks in rhythm to her quakes. She could not stop them. She gritted her teeth, willed her muscles to relax while nausea swam in her stomach. The waiting was killing her.

“Do you know how long I’ve been reading women’s advertisements for husbands?” Instead of grabbing for her, his mellow baritone broke the stillness. Instead of wrenching up her nightgown, he levered himself up on one elbow. “A year and a half. I started regularly perusing them, wondering about the ladies who were looking for marriage. Several caught my eye, but I never acted on any of them. Not a one.”

She wanted to ask why but the words wouldn’t come. Cold beads of sweat broke out on her forehead and rolled down her face. She needed all her strength to stay in that bed with him and not bolt to her feet and start running. Memories pulled her backward into the past, where she’d been a naive bride turning on her side to go to sleep. No one had told her what a husband would demand in the dark of night so she’d been unprepared when Jed had risen over her in bed and grabbed her roughly by the shoulder, reeking of whiskey and anger.

Don’t you dare close yer eyes on me, woman. Yer my property now. He knocked her onto her back and ripped her knees apart. You’ll do as I say.

“Why did you write to me?” She shook away the past and focused on the question, hating how small her voice sounded in the night, how lost in the dark. She felt small next to him. He seemed to shrink the walls of the room and take up every available inch on the bed. The memories of Jed haunted her as she watched Austin’s face move in the darkness. He furrowed his brow, and the corners of his mouth went down.

“There was just something about your written words that caught me.” Honesty rang in his voice. “Something about you stuck with me long after I’d put the newspaper down.”

“I seemed desperate.” No, there was no doubt about it. “I was desperate.”

“No, that’s not what stayed with me.” Low and soothing, that baritone, mesmerizing enough to ease some of her fear away.

Did she dare hope that when he reached out for her and pressed her to the mattress with his body weight, that he wouldn’t be as rough as Jed had been? She blocked out that ghostly memory haunting her, of that old terror and helpless and tearing pain that left her sobbing. She died that night and every night he’d forced himself on her. A wife’s duty, she knew, but she dared to hope now that maybe Austin wouldn’t hurt her as much.

“I’d be cleaning stalls at the livery or pounding a horse shoe at my forge and I’d think about you, alone and pregnant.” His confession came closer as he eased a few inches nearer. “You didn’t go on like a lot of women about your virtues or your beauty. You didn’t make promises. You didn’t try to seem too good to be true. Your honesty touched me.”

“It did?” That seemed an odd reason to her. “You could have had a more beautiful wife.”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. You are plenty beautiful enough for me. If I’d known you were homeless and living out of a barn, I’d have answered faster.”

“I’m grateful for what you’ve done for me and the—” She hesitated, her burdens weighing heavily on her. “And the baby.”

The baby. What kind of mother would she make with her heart gone and worn away? “What if you hadn’t chosen my advertisement? I don’t know what would have become of me.”

“That’s over now. This is your home now.” He leaned in, the bed sheets rustling, the mattress dipping, the bed ropes groaning with his movements. Her pulse slammed to a stop.

This is it, she thought. Austin might be kind for a man, but he was still a man, with a man’s appetites and strength. The act of marriage was terrible for a woman and she screwed her eyes shut. It would be best if she didn’t have to look at him. If she could think hard on shopping for fabric for the curtains. There might be plenty of choices in material in a town like this. The mercantile looked like a big store and she might be able to find a pretty calico or maybe something with daisies on it …

“Good night, Willa.” His kiss brushed her forehead as soft as a whisper. That was all, just one kiss and he moved away. The sheets rustled and the bed dipped as he settled onto his pillow to sleep.

She opened her eyes, staring unblinkingly into the darkness, waiting. Waiting for what, she did not know. For him to launch at her, to manhandle her into submission, to force himself on her until she sobbed with humiliation and pain? That the moment she relaxed, then he would surprise her cruelly the way Jed might do.

But minutes passed by, measured in the faint muted ticks of the clock in the front room. Austin’s breathing slowed into the rhythm of sleep and she dared to watch him. Dark hair tousled over his forehead, he expelled air in quiet huffs. Austin was so big he took up more than half the bed, but he hadn’t hurt her.

He hadn’t done it.

Tears burned behind her eyes with the memories of a long string of nights of misery and pain. The hopelessness as Jed’s wife had wrapped her in a thick cocoon on that first wedding night, when she’d been too wounded and shamed that not a single tear would come. She’d lain awake half the night, too hurt to move and felt the girl she’d been wither away and all her hopes for happiness with them.

Love did not exist. It was a falsehood, a story told to girls so they would want to get married in the first place. A lie to trick them into a life of servitude and bleak survival, trying to make the best out of a bad situation.

But at least she knew her married life here would not be as hard as it had before. Tears filled her eyes, ran down her cheeks and tapped onto the pillowcase, tears of relief and gratitude she could not stop.

The poor gal sounded real sick this morning. Austin shrugged out of his coat, scattering snowflakes to the wood floor. The fires crackled in the cookstove and hearth as he hung up the coat, wincing in sympathy as he heard Willa retch once more behind the closed bedroom door. Following his sister’s advice, yesterday he’d left a clean chamber pot in easy reach of her side of the bed. Hating that she was ill enough to use it now, he stepped into the kitchen to fix his breakfast. Let her go back to bed, he thought, and rest up after that.

He put coffee on to boil and filled the teakettle. The scrape of a door opening surprised him. Willa stood in the threshold, white-faced and shaky, in a faded and patched blue dress that was so old it was hard to see printed flowers on the calico.

“Good morning.” He set the kettle on the stove. “You don’t look as if you ought to be up.”

“I’m fine.” A dark lock of hair escaped her neatly plaited braid and swept across her forehead. She looked too beautiful for that poor sad dress and too young to be a wife twice over. Not a lick of color could be found in her ashen face. Halfway to the kitchen she stopped, placed a hand on her stomach and swallowed hard, perhaps debating a dash back to the chamber pot.

“You don’t look fine, darlin’.” His bride. His chest swelled up at that thought. He crossed over to pull a chair out at the table.

“I just need to get a little tea.” Big blue eyes avoided his, but she hesitated at the chair he’d drawn out for her. She studied it for a moment, as if considering it, before slipping onto the cushion.

“My sister gave me an earful about expecting women.” He resisted the urge to tuck that stray lock of hair behind her ear or to give her shoulder a squeeze of encouragement. “That’s why I’ve already got the kettle on.”

“That’s good of you, Austin.” She tipped her head back to look up at him. The sorrow in her eyes got to him. No woman, especially one so young, should have eyes like that. As if she’d known a world of sadness. In the full light of morning, he could see her clearly, more than he’d been able to in the lamplight last night.

She was hardly more than a girl, a young woman who ought to be sewing on her hope chest and giggling with friends her own age about fashion and parties and attending her final semester at the schoolhouse. Tenderness wrapped around him, making her sorrow his.

“If I don’t treat you right, my sister will have my hide.” He chose humor and put distance between them, when he wanted to move closer, and lifted a fry pan from a bottom shelf. “Evelyn may be smaller than me, but she can enlist the help of my brothers’ wives and as a combined force, they outnumber me.”

A hint of a smile curved the corners of her mouth. Sagged in the chair, she was wrung out and weak. He set the pan on the stove and cracked an egg on its rim, thinking of Evelyn standing in this very kitchen giving him the what-for on pregnancy.

“A man just can’t understand,” Evelyn had said, one hand on the small bowl of her stomach barely visible beneath her skirts. “The babe wears on you. The sickness takes you over and drains everything from you those first few months. You make sure to let her rest when she needs it and fix on doing for the both of you. At least until she’s back to her strength in around her fourth month.”

“I’ll do my best,” he’d promised.

“Even then, you help out with the housework.” Evelyn gave him a piercing look. “You don’t want her to regret marrying you. You’re lucky she’s settled for the likes of you.”

Remembering her laughter, he shook his head, cracked a final egg and gave the mixture a stir. Scrambled eggs and toast might be nice to go along with Willa’s tea. The kettle whistled, he whisked it off the stove and poured steaming water into Ma’s old teapot.

“I can take over now.” Willa stood at his elbow and took charge of the spatula he’d abandoned in order to pour her tea. She stood so close he could see the soft porcelain texture of her skin, the luxurious curve of her lashes and the contour of her Cupid’s-bow mouth.

A mouth made for kissing.

A bashful rush of desire ebbed into his veins as he watched her, heart pumping. He drank in every movement she made stirring the eggs—the sweep of her arm, the turn of her wrist, the placement of her slender fingers on the wooden handle—and was amazed by the sight of her in the soft gray morning light. Lamplight found her, drawing gleaming ebony highlights in her dark hair and kissing her face with a golden glow.

His bride. He still couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t quite known what to expect when he’d written his proposal to her and enclosed a train ticket in the envelope. All he’d known at the time was a deep abiding commitment to her he couldn’t explain and the soul-deep hope that because she needed him so much, she might love him more than all the rest—the way he wanted to love her.

He swallowed hard, set the kettle on a trivet and debated trying to talk Willa out of possession of that spatula. For a wee bit of a thing, she looked determined to hold her ground and he remembered her words last night, how doing the dishes had been important to her to prove her worth to him.

Darlin’, you don’t need to prove a thing, he thought, a ribbon of tenderness wrapping around his heart. Just being here was enough. He left her at the stove to unwrap the loaf of bread Evelyn had baked for them. As he sliced, bread knife in hand, he had to admit it was fine sharing the morning with Willa. Her presence changed everything. There would be no more empty mornings spent alone in his cabin. When he came home from work tonight, she would be here to greet him. His long span of lonesomeness had come to an end.

“Evelyn said to make sure you had toast in the morning.” He moved to her side to open the oven door. He liked the sound of her petticoats swishing as he knelt to place the slices of bread on the rack. “She also brought ginger tea to help settle your stomach.”

“That was mighty thoughtful of her.” When Willa spoke, her dulcet alto held him like no other voice ever had. “And thoughtful of you. I can smell it steeping.”

“Here, let me hold the plates for you.” He closed the door and stood, intending to whisk around her but something stopped him. The sight of the ridge of bones along her back. Through the thin cotton of her dress he could count her vertebrae, the poke of her shoulder blades and the faint hint of her ribs.

She wasn’t merely too thin, as he’d thought when he’d gotten a good look at her in the church. She hadn’t been only homeless living out of a barn, but she’d been hungry, too. Very hungry. His hands fumbled with the plates, nearly dropping one. He swallowed hard, hating the circumstances Willa had endured.

But no longer, he vowed, as he watched her load one plate with the bulk of the fluffy scrambled eggs. He would move mountains to provide for her. No wonder her big blue eyes shone somberly. Everything he learned about her broke his heart.

“Is that enough for you?” Her gaze found his, and the look on her face asked a deeper question, one he understood somehow without words.

“Just fine,” he said. “Fact is, I hate eating my own cooking. You could be the worst cook in all the world and I would still be grateful for you in my kitchen.”

“If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have taken such care not to burn the eggs.” A hint of humor played along the edges of her lush mouth, just a hint, before a flush of embarrassment crept across her cheeks.

“I highly appreciate that you didn’t.” He winked at her, hoping to make her bashful, hesitant smile bloom into something more.

She lowered her eyes, as if self-conscious, and concentrated overly hard on adding the small remaining portion of eggs onto the second plate. The promise of her smile faded and she seemed to retreat into herself. He tried not to be disappointed. He remembered how hard she shook last night, fearing his touch. The last thing he wanted was to think about what had been done to her by another man, one who’d married her and failed to cherish her.

“Oh. No.” She set the spatula down in the pan with a thunk, covered her mouth with both hands and her eyes widened. She looked a little green around the edges as she spun, racing toward the bedroom. Her skirts swished, her patched shoes beat against the floorboards and the door slammed shut behind her.

He was alone again.

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