Montana Bride. Jillian Hart

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СКАЧАТЬ 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, СКАЧАТЬ