Montana Bride. Jillian Hart

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ