High Country Bride. Jillian Hart

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      No, it just wasn’t right. Emotion clogged his throat, making it hard to swallow, making it hard to breathe. He refused to let his gaze wander to the east, where the family cemetery lay in shadow, the headstones tall enough to see from his saddle. That’s what got him all stirred up. Seeing this woman alone, and her small children homeless, rubbed at the break in his soul that had never healed properly.

      He didn’t see how it ever could. A loss like that was too much for a man to take.

      It was a long ride home through the low rays of the sun. A cooling breeze kicked up, and he drew in the fresh air until it settled in his lungs. He let his chest empty of all the feelings in there. By the time he spotted the sun winking on the windows of home, he was safe from his wounds again.

      The young boy’s voice rose above the call of a quail and the rustling wind in the grass. “Ma! Ma! Is that where we’re gonna live?”

      Aiden tried not to be affected by the young’un’s excitement, nor by his mother’s gentle response.

      “No, sweetheart, that’s where Mr. McKaslin lives.”

      “But it’s so big, Ma. Are you sure?”

      “Yes. We’re going to live in his shanty.”

      “Oh.”

      Aiden steeled himself to the sound of the small boy’s disappointment, too. He told himself the shanty was snug and would do just fine for them all, but the truth was, he couldn’t stomach the notion of having another woman in the house he’d built for Kate.

      He followed the fork in the road that skirted the barn and led south from the main house to the small dark structure of wood and plaster. He heard the children’s quiet questions to their mother and tried not to hear the soothing lull of her answers as he dismounted.

      Opening the door and finding the nearest lantern kept his mind off the ragged family climbing down from their wagon in the front yard. By the time he’d lit the second lantern, the boy stood in the open doorway, looking smaller for the darkness and shadows cast over him.

      The child’s serious eyes were unblinking as he watched Aiden cross the one-room house to the cook-stove in the corner. If his guess was right about Mrs. Nelson, she would want tea with supper and wash water for cleaning up. He knelt down and began to build a fire with the bucket of kindling and sticks of wood left over from when his middle brother had been living here.

      The boy said nothing, just watched with wide eyes. Aiden tried not to think much about the child. Not out of heartlessness—no, never that.

      By the time he got the fire lit and flames licked greedily at the tinder-dry wood, the woman arrived at the door with her littlest on her hip. Without a word she glanced around the shanty. Her face was gaunt in the half darkness, her feelings masked. He couldn’t tell if she was disappointed in the shelter or relieved.

      After closing the stove door, he rose to his feet. “I’ll bring in some water for you, ma’am. I’ll send my brother out with supper.”

      “No. Thank you, but no.” She looked stricken. “I’ve already been so much trouble to you. I can’t be—I won’t be—more beholden to you. I—”

      “You shoulda thought of that when you decided to live on a piece of my property.” He watched her rear back—just a step, just a small movement, but somehow it felt like a larger motion. As if he’d truly insulted her. It was not what he’d meant.

      Tread softly, man. He checked his voice, gentling it as much as he was able. “Just put aside your worries for tonight. I’ll sleep easier knowing you and your young ones are safe instead of sleeping out there alone on the prairie. Do you understand?”

      “Fine. Then we’ll speak again tomorrow. I am grateful.” Tension still tightened her face, and the flickering light seemed to emphasize the hollows and lines there, in those lovely features that ought to be soft with happiness and contentment.

      It was not a fair world, and he knew it as much as anyone. He jammed the match tin onto the shelf with a little too much force. Watching the way Mrs. Nelson’s gaze moved with relief and pleasure around the shanty shamed him. The place wasn’t much. He wasn’t sure what his Christian duty was, but he hoped he was doing his share. He touched his hat brim. “’Scuse me, ma’am, I’ll say good night, then.”

      “Thank you for your kindness.” She moved from the doorway with a rustle of petticoats and a hush of skirts, careful to keep her distance from him. “Good night, Mr. McKaslin.”

      When he crossed the threshold, he could feel her sigh of relief. He made her uneasy, and it troubled him as he hiked through the growing grasses, for he was uneasy, too. He’d never thought there would be another woman on his land—even for just the night and even in the shanty.

      He kept going until the shanty was nothing more than a faint black outline against the shadowed sky. Kindness, Mrs. Nelson had called it, but it was nothing of the sort. He was only doing the right thing, and that did not come without cost.

      “Ma, that was a mighty fine supper!” James’s grin was so wide it was likely to split his face. “I cleaned my whole plate.”

      “Yes, you did.” Joanna lifted the kettle of water steaming on the back of the stove. “You be sure and thank Mr. McKaslin the next time you see him.”

      “Yes’m. I’m puttin’ him in my prayers tonight. I was gettin’ mighty tired of creek fish.” The little boy slid his plate and steel fork next to the washbasin on the table. “Are you sure we can’t stay here forever?”

      “Yes, I’m sure. This is only for tonight.” Holding her heart still, Joanna carefully poured the steaming water into the basin and returned the half-full kettle to the stove. Mr. McKaslin. Now, there was a puzzle. She could not figure that man out. In the field, when she’d come up with water from the creek, she’d been afraid of him. He’d been so angry. Now she realized it wasn’t anger at all. No, not if he’d brought them here.

      She reached for the bar of lye soap she’d brought in from the wagon earlier, and began to pare off shavings, which fell into the hot water to curl and melt. She felt a little like those shavings, wilting a bit. She wasn’t used to taking charity, but as she watched her children move about contentedly, she was grateful to Mr. McKaslin. Somehow she would find a way to repay him for his kindness.

      Daisy sidled close with her plate and yawned hugely.

      “Is it time for bed already?” Joanna glanced at the shelf clock, which sat mute, the motionless hands frozen at ten minutes after one, clearly the wrong time. “Go on, you two, wash up and get changed.”

      “Ma.” Daisy tugged on a fold of Joanna’s skirt, looking up with big blue eyes full of worry. “What about the angels?”

      Joanna’s heart twisted hard. The first night they’d slept in the wagon, she had told them that the wagon cover was better than a roof because it made it easier for the angels to watch over them. “The angels will be able to keep an eye on you just fine, baby. Now, you wash up and we’ll read more from our book. How’s that?”

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

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

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