The Borrowed Bride

Kicking off her slippers, she lifted her skirts clear of the ground and charged into the mob of children. They scattered, shrieking and giggling as she darted after them.

Watching the play of sunbeams on her hair, Judd felt an ache rise in his throat. Hannah was so vibrant, so full of life and light. How would she survive in this house?

Watching her with Quint, in her pigtails and faded cottons, he’d wondered idly what his brother saw in the girl. Now he knew. Hannah had a glow about her, a simple, happy warmth that kindled deep inside and emerged on the surface as beauty, like sunlight through a stained-glass window. Judd couldn’t get enough of looking at her.

She was his bride, and the mother of Quint’s child.

Lord Almighty, what had he done?

Hannah stood under the porch’s broad eave, watching the twilight shadows steal across the lawn. The refreshment table had been cleared away. Her mother’s wedding gown had been wrapped in an old muslin sheet and boxed away to await the next Gustavson bride. Her family had kissed her and gone home. The ordeal of her wedding day was coming to its blessed end.

She’d taken her time unpacking the meager possessions that her family had brought over from their house. They’d crammed her clothes, her meager toiletries, and a few precious books—everything she owned—into a single gunny sack. It had struck Hannah as ludicrous, putting her pitiful things into the cavernous dresser drawers and huge cedar-lined wardrobe. The scent of the wood, however, had enthralled her. She had thrust her head deep into the wardrobe and inhaled, filling her senses with the spicy cedar fragrance.

Judd had insisted that she take the large upstairs bedroom where his parents had once slept. She would need the space when Quint came home, as well as for the baby.

Giving Hannah no chance to argue, he had moved his things back to his old room next door. Quint’s room, farther down the hall, remained much as he’d left it. Edna and Gretel’s rooms were directly below, on the first floor.

Closing her eyes, Hannah pushed back her hair and let the breeze cool her sweat-dampened face. Back home, her mother would be putting the little ones to bed. Her father would be dozing in his chair while Annie and Emma cleaned up in the kitchen. Her brother Ephraim, who dreamed of becoming a preacher, would be reading the Bible by the light of a guttering candle.

Hannah’s new home seemed as grand as a palace. But she missed the cheery warmth of the little farmhouse. She missed having her family around her.

From the bunkhouse beyond the barn, the breeze carried the twang of a guitar and the faint aroma of tobacco smoke. Four hired hands stayed at the ranch full-time, with extra men hired on for roundup and branding. Hannah had yet to meet any of them. Even if she did, she knew better than to become too friendly. Her mother had warned her about cowboys and the harm they could do to a woman’s reputation. Gretel was so aloof that she barely spoke, and as for Judd…

Her hand toyed with the thin gold band he’d placed on her finger that afternoon. A quiver passed through her body at the memory of him standing beside her in his trim black suit, his jaw freshly shaved, his unruly brown hair wet-combed into place. She remembered the questioning look in his gray eyes as he bent to kiss her, the sudden lurch of her heart as his cool, firm lips closed on hers.

Judd was her husband in name only, Hannah reminded herself. He didn’t love her—maybe didn’t even like her. But his loyalty to Quint was beyond question. He could be counted on to keep his distance, avoiding anything that might be seen as too much familiarity.

Hannah had acquired a new home and a new family today. But no one here was her friend. She had never felt more alone in her life.

The crickets had awakened in the long grass. In the east, the rim of the waning moon gleamed above the wooded hills. For years Hannah had fantasized about her wedding night, lying in Quint’s arms, touching and being touched in ways that made her ache to think of them.

But this wouldn’t be the wedding night she’d imagined. She would spend it alone in a bed that seemed as wide and cold as the distance that separated her from the man she loved.

“Are you hungry?” Judd’s soft-spoken question startled her. He’d come out onto the porch and was standing a few steps behind her. “There’s cold chicken and rice pudding in the kitchen. I can ask Gretel to get you a tray.”

Hannah shook her head. She’d declined supper an hour earlier, pleading a queasy stomach. In truth, she hadn’t been up to sitting down with her new family. “Don’t bother her,” she said. “Can I fix myself a sandwich later, or will Gretel chase me out of the kitchen with a meat cleaver?”

He moved forward to stand beside her at the porch railing. “You can do anything you want to, Hannah. This is your home now.”

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but this place doesn’t feel much like home. At home I had things to do. I was allowed to be useful. Here—it’s like living in a fine hotel.”

He sighed. “Does the room suit you well enough?”

“It seems as big as a barn—although I’ve never seen a barn with a canopied bed in it. Do you realize I’ve never spent a night alone in my entire life?”

He cast her a sharp glance. “You’ll get used to it. And if you need anything, I’ll be right next door. All you have to do is call out.”

“I see.” Her callused hands gripped the railing. Color scalded her cheeks. What if he’d taken her remark as an invitation? It had certainly sounded like one.

She glanced up at him, feeling vulnerable. Judd was her legal husband. If he decided to exercise his marital rights, who would stand in his way?

The rising moon cast his hawkish features into planes of light and shadow. Quint was the handsomer of the two brothers, but Judd possessed an aura of raw power, a quiet authority that, Hannah realized, had always been there. He was wearing the white shirt he’d been married in, but now the sleeves were rolled up, exposing sinewy forearms. His throat, bared by the open collar, was dark bronze against the white linen. The pale, wounded soldier who’d stepped off the train three months ago was gone. The man who stood beside her now was suntanned and healthy, with a strength that Hannah found disturbingly sensual.

Hannah studied his big, scarred hands where they rested beside hers on the porch rail. She could feel his eyes on her, sense the unspoken questions they would hold. A freshet of liquid heat trickled downward to form a shimmering pool in her loins.

What would happen if she were to reach out and touch him?

“Are you afraid of me, Hannah?”

His words startled her. Her eyes flashed upward to meet his.

“You’ve no need to be,” he said. “You’re my brother’s woman. You’re carrying his child—my own flesh and blood. I’d give my life to protect you.”

“I know,” Hannah whispered.

“Then know that you can trust me. When you agreed to this marriage, I promised I wouldn’t lay a hand on you. You’ll find me a man of my word.”

Hannah groped for a fitting reply, but her tongue felt frozen to the roof of her mouth. The only sound that emerged came from the pit of her stomach—a low, rumbling growl.

Judd stifled a chuckle. “I thought you said you weren’t hungry.”

Hannah flushed in the darkness. “Maybe just a little.”

“Tell you what,” Judd said. “Gretel makes the best rice pudding in six counties. I’ve got a hankering for a bowl of it myself. Have a seat on the steps while I go and get us some.” When Hannah hesitated, he added, “That’s an order, Mrs. Seavers.”

Hearing her married name spoken was enough to buckle Hannah’s knees. She collapsed on the top step and sat trembling as Judd crossed the porch and went into the house. Heaven save her, she’d really done it! She was Mrs. Judd Seavers before all creation—and soon the town would be buzzing with the scandal. She could just imagine the whispers. With Quint gone barely three months, that scheming little Hannah Gustavson had up and married his brother!

She couldn’t expect to be treated kindly for it, especially once the baby started showing. But she would learn to hold her head high, Hannah vowed. She was a Seavers, legally and lawfully wed. More important, her baby was a Seavers. No one could dispute that now or ever.

What an unholy mess she’d created.

Scarcely five minutes had passed before Judd returned with two heaping bowls of rice pudding. “I hope you like it cold, he said. “Gretel had already put the pan in the springhouse.”

“Cold is fine.” She accepted one of the bowls. Her fingers brushed his as she took it. She ignored the tingle of awareness as he took a seat beside her, close enough to talk but not close enough to touch her. The pudding smelled of fresh cream and rich spices whose names Hannah could only guess. When she tried a tentative spoonful, her mouth closed on a raisin.

“Do you like it?” Judd asked.

“It’s…heavenly. We had rice at home and a little sugar. But spices and raisins were luxuries my parents couldn’t afford.”

“Luxuries? A handful of raisins and a sprinkle of cinnamon?”

“I can tell you’ve never been poor.” Hannah tasted another spoonful of pudding. It was all she could do to keep from bolting it down. Since Judd had given her the perfect opening, she summoned her courage and brought up the matter that had been pressing her mind since his proposal.

“You said I could have money for gifts. I hope you were serious, because I want to help my family—school clothes for the boys, some pretty dresses for Mama and the girls, maybe some books—Annie loves to read. And my father could use a new plow…” Hannah’s voice trailed off. The list of her family’s needs, she realized, was endless. She didn’t want Judd to think she was greedy.

“I’ll arrange for an allowance, whatever seems reasonable. You can use it any way you like. No questions asked.”

“Just like that?” She stared at him, amazed that such a thing could be so easy.