Montana Wife. Jillian Hart

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      She wasn’t here, either.

      A fresh new trail of horse hooves and the deep rut of wagon wheels marked the dusty path. Daniel followed them, wandering from the barn and into golden fields where the fat, seed-heavy heads of wheat spread for miles in every direction.

      There, about a quarter of an acre due south, rose a cloud of chalk dust, a brown smudge hovering above the fields of gold. Someone was harvesting the Ludgrin’s wheat. Someone had beat him here. He’d waited too long. Cursing, he walked faster. Who had beaten him to the draw? Who was harvesting Kol’s wheat and for what price?

      He shouldn’t have waited an extra day, shouldn’t have waited at all. When he thought of Rayna Ludgrin, pale and fragile at the funeral, he was at a loss. He couldn’t trouble the grief-stricken woman, not at her husband’s gravesite. He wasn’t a heartless person.

      Neither, he figured was she. Although she’d suffered a terrible tragedy, she had to be starting to realize what she was up against. She had crops ready to drop in the fields. There were financial consequences that came from that. It had to be overwhelming to face her husband’s death and the responsibility that went along with farming all alone, all at once.

      It was only natural that a person in that circumstance would want help. She’d said yes to the first man to approach her. Why wouldn’t she? It only made sense. Daniel felt like a clodpate for waiting. He’d meant it as a show of respect, but apparently that hadn’t been necessary.

      As did many women he’d come across—most, in fact—Rayna Ludgrin probably only cared that a man was providing for her. Doing the hard work for her.

      Yep, he knew that about some women. His low opinion of the gender was one of the reasons he’d never married. It was hard to find a smart woman who was kind and industrious.

      He removed his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow. What he ought to do was to accept defeat, turn around and get back to his wheat. Why his boots kept heading deeper into Ludgrin’s fields instead of back toward his own, he couldn’t rightly say. Maybe he wanted to see who had beaten him to the gun.

      It wasn’t any of the Dayton grandsons, because he’d seen them hard at work on the Dayton land on his way over. Who did that leave? The rest of the surrounding ranchers all worked together, buying one harvester between them and working as a team to bring in all the crops. An effort that Daniel had been invited to join but had turned down. He’d learned his hard lesson long ago. It was better to be alone than to trust someone else. Best to stand on his own two feet.

      The tall rows of dense endless wheat gave way before him. Instead of the bright paint of a newfangled harvester, he saw the tailgate of a wagon. A hand scythe lay propped against the rear axle. The cutting implement was so old the blade was rusted at the joints and the wooden handle was cracked.

      Daniel followed the wide swath where fallen, plump-headed wheat stalks lay on their stubble. The clearing was sizable, the same breadth as the town square. And cut by hand, too.

      Whoever was doing this had to be plumb crazy. Or desperate for a little extra cash. That was probably it. Mrs. Ludgrin had no notion of how farming was done, like many women he’d come across. So she’d been sweet-talked by someone in town who thought he’d cut what he could and pocket the profits for himself.

      White anger seared through him at the injustice. Some men were swine, he already knew it, and whoever was taking advantage of the widow was going to get an earful. Kol Ludgrin had been a fine neighbor, and he would expect Daniel to keep an eye out for Rayna’s well fare—

      He stalked around the wagon, expecting to find some no-account sitting in the shade, taking a swig from a flask, no doubt. Daniel’s hand was already at rest on the holstered Colt .45 at his hip, just in case he needed it. A man had to be prepared.

      The glare of the high-noon sun flashed in his eyes. Blinded, he knuckled his Stetson low so the hat brim shaded him from the brilliant sun.

      It was a woman, dressed in a pair of trousers and a man’s short-sleeved work shirt, upending a jug of water over her head. She was half turned to him; she couldn’t have heard his step over the water streaming down her gold locks.

      The liquid dampened the cotton along the nape of her neck, touching her ivory skin. His heart stopped beating as that lucky rivulet of water trailed the curve of her shoulder and meandered down the outside swell of her breast. Her uplifted arm gave him a fine view of her dark nipple puckered against the thin white cotton.

      Don’t look, Daniel. What are you doing? That beautiful sight was not meant for his eyes. Heat spit into his veins and he took a step back. Not all the heat that burned through him was lust.

      Embarrassed, he pulled his Stetson lower and cleared his throat. “Excuse me, ma’am.”

      The water jug slipped from her fingers and hit the ground with a thud.

      “Mr. L-Lindsay.” Rayna glanced down at the shirt sticking to her like a second skin and stepped diplomatically behind the rails of the wagon bed. “I d-didn’t expect anyone to find me out here or I would have, uh, dressed more appropriately.”

      “Don’t worry, ma’am.” His face blazed as hot as the sun, no doubt she knew what he’d seen. “I didn’t expect to find a woman doing this work.”

      “The wheat will not harvest itself, will it?”

      He stared at a rock in the earth. “You cut all this?”

      “My older boy was helping me, but he went to town on an errand.” Even though the side rails of the wagon bed hid her and Mr. Lindsay averted his gaze, Rayna felt more naked than clothed as the sun warmed the damp fabric hugging her uncorseted figure.

      Goodness, what he must think of her! “I have a wagon wheel in need of repair—I sent Kirk since I could cut wheat faster.”

      “By hand?” The way he said it, with that left hook of his dark brow, made her feel foolish.

      She’d worked since just before noon and had made hardly a dent in the acres of gold that rustled around her, undulating like a slow tide on a mile-wide lake. So much wheat, it was overwhelming. Her responsibilities weighed on her each time she looked up from her cutting.

      How was she ever going to cut it all? Not by wasting her time talking with another man come to swindle her. “I would appreciate it if you’d be on your way. I have a lot of work to do until dark falls.”

      “Why aren’t Kol’s friends helping you?”

      “Because they are busy bringing in their own crops, I imagine.” She fought to keep the edge from her voice. Every muscle within her exhausted body shrieked with a sharp, ripping ache as she lumbered around the tail of the wagon and took the scythe in hand. The worn wooden handle scraped against her dozens of blisters, popped and weeping.

      With her back to him, she didn’t need to worry about propriety. “Please, be on your way, Mr. Lindsay. I’m of no mind to give away the wheat my husband worked hard to sow.”

      “Give away?”

      “I’ll harvest it myself before I hand over this crop for free, so listen up and take your leave, like the others who came to my door this morning. I may be a woman, but I am far from stupid, and I’ll not be robbed blind. I have my boys to think about.”

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