The Borrowed Bride. Elizabeth Lane

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      “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!”

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