Montana Bride

“Is your sister older?”

“Younger.” He winced, wondering what she saw when she looked at him. A man older than she’d expected, no doubt, and that pained him. He’d known it was unrealistic but when he’d met her at the train he’d hoped she would instantly like him. That there would be a spark, some recognition between them that would tell him he’d made the right decision. It had been an impulsive decision to offer her marriage, one he wanted neither of them to regret.

He struck a match and lit the wall sconce. The wick leapt to life and the flame chased away the darkness to reveal the sitting room, full of windows with old sheets for curtains. His sister was always offering to sew for him, but he didn’t need frills. Now, as he studied the sparse room, he fought off a sense of shame. He wished he had been able to build a bigger home for Willa.

“I’m afraid there’s a lot of gussying up for you to do.” He covered his feelings with a grin. “My sister offered to sew and fancy up the place, but in the end I thought you might want to do things your way. Make this good and truly your home, too.”

“I see.” Her eyes widened like a deer facing a hungry hunter. She said nothing more, gazing at the sofa he’d ordered from Chicago so his wife would have a comfortable place to sit with her sewing, and at the furniture he and his pa had made long ago before Ma’s passing. End tables, a rocking chair, two deep wooden chairs and a window seat.

“This isn’t the only room.” She gestured toward the closed doors along the end of the room.

“No.” He lit a table lamp. “There’s a kitchen and two bedrooms. We can add on as more children come.”

She blushed, dipped her chin and focused on working the buttons on the tattered coat she wore. His wedding ring glinted on her slender hand, moving a little because it was a bit too big. He’d had to guess at the size. In the end, his sister and sisters-in-law had helped him and he’d simply gone with their advice. They had offered their advice on more than the ring, and those words drove him now.

“Come, sit and warm up.” He rose and held out his hand, waiting for her to come to him. “You have had a hard journey and you need to rest.”

“Rest? There’s supper to make. Is the kitchen through one of those doors?” She gestured toward the wall where three doors led to the different rooms of the house. The last button released and she shrugged out of her coat.

“First things first. You need to warm up.” He lifted the worn garment from her slim shoulders, breathing in the scent of roses and sweet, warm woman. Tenderness welled up with a strength he hadn’t predicted and shone through like a light in the dark.

The coat she’d worn had hidden so much, he realized as he folded it over his arm and helped her settle on the sofa. She was smaller than the bulk of the garment had suggested, a wee wisp who looked overworked and underfed. He noticed the patches on her dress were carefully sewn but there were many. He hung up her coat, frowning. Her advertisement had said she was in great need of a husband and a home. She had not exaggerated.

“I want to tell you right off. I am not the best cook.” She gazed up at him apologetically. “Although, in truth, I am not the worst.”

“I’m not picky. I will be grateful not to eat my own cooking for a change.” He knelt at the hearth to stir the embers. “You don’t have to worry about it tonight. My sister brought over a meal to warm up. She wanted to make things easier for you.”

Disbelief pinched adorable wrinkles around the rosebud mouth he’d been trying not to look at. Because when he did, he had to wonder what it would be like to kiss those petal-soft lips. The thought made blood roar through his veins. He was thankful the embers caught to the wood he added, so he could retreat to the relative safety of the kitchen before his thoughts got ahead of him. He shoved to his feet.

“You wait here.” He tossed her what he hoped was a smile. “Get comfortable.”

“You have a nice home, Austin.” She watched him cross the room, unable to look away.

“It’s yours, too. You may as well start planning how you are going to change it.” A dimple flirted with one corner of his mouth before he disappeared through one of the doors.

She caught a glimpse of counters and the edge of an oak table. An entire room for the kitchen. She had never lived in such a grand house, a real house and not a shanty, with more than one room. She had never sat on a couch before. 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, concerned only with the fact he was doing her housework and not trembling from the shock of touching him.

He swallowed hard, gathering his composure. “I will take care of the dishes. You must be exhausted.”