High Country Bride

“I could name a few things, all of which would involve her moving on to take advantage of someone else. She’s trouble, Aiden.”

“Oh? Do you know the Widow Nelson?”

“I know her type. Whatever she’s offering you, beware. She’s just trying to get her hooks into you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Wryly, Aiden finished the dregs of tea in his cup, trying to imagine quiet, proper Joanna Nelson as Finn was attempting to paint her.

It was impossible. When he thought of her, he recalled how gentle she was, how diligent and kind to her children, and of all the work she must have been forced to do for her father. That old man was the type who wouldn’t give shelter to his daughter and grandchildren without expecting a good amount of profit from it.

No, when Aiden thought of Joanna Nelson, he thought of hard work and that simple beauty of hers. The good kind of beauty that was more than appearances. She was the brand of woman who would face down a man twice her size if she thought her children needed protection.

That was the type of woman he could understand. He folded the newspaper in half, then in half again, watching Finn exchange his work shirt for one of the clean ones folded in the basket near the door, where the laundry lady had left it. It appeared that Finn was heading to town. Would it do any good to forbid him to go?

Finn had that belligerent look to him, the one he got when he was in no mind to be told what to do. “Fine, don’t mind what I’m saying. You’ll see I’m right when she’s got you standing up in church wearing your wedding ring.”

An arrow to the heart, that’s what Finn’s words were to Aiden. Finn was thinking he was so smart, as he always did when he got up a full head of steam. He was just talking to impress himself. What did he know about real life? Not one thing. He spent most of his time dreaming about the bottom of a whiskey bottle.

Finn had never loved so hard that his breath and heartbeat were nothing, nothing at all, compared to a woman’s breath and heartbeat. He had never sat the night through, bargaining with God every second of every minute of every long, long hour to take his life—to just take it—and to please let her live.

A wife? That was far more than a wedding ring and a minister’s words. A marriage was more than something a woman hoodwinked a man into. Anything short of that was a falsehood and an affront to God, whose love was a great gift. Pressure gathered at Aiden’s temples, and he dropped the paper. He was in no mood to read now.

Finn grabbed his Sunday coat from the wall peg.

Yep, Aiden could see exactly what his brother was up to. “I don’t want you going out.”

“You’re not my lord and master, are you?” Finn had the audacity to wink. “C’mon. I worked hard today. I deserve a little fun.”

“No you don’t. What you deserve is to work harder tomorrow.” Yep, he knew exactly what Finn meant by fun. He meant trouble. “We’re getting up an hour earlier tomorrow and hitting the fields.”

“Aw, Aiden. It’s all we do around here.”

“If I find out you went to town and drank even a drop of whiskey, you’re off this property. Out of this house. There’ll be no more roof over your head. No food in your belly. You’ll leave with exactly what you came with, which was the clothes on your back.”

Aiden braced himself for the coming wrath. He regretted his current headache because it would only pound more when Finn slammed the door on his way out.

“Whoa there.” His brother’s chin shot up. For the briefest moment there was the hint of the good boy he’d been—honest and sensitive and a little afraid—but in a flash it was gone. Replaced by the easier emotions of anger and bluster. “We agreed before I got out of prison and stepped foot on this land—our land—”

My land, Aiden thought, but he let it pass. He wasn’t a greedy man, but he figured more than twenty years of blood and sweat and backbreaking work made the place his. He’d worked harder than their drunkard of a father to clear and build this place from a wild quarter section of prairie. And it was his name on the deed. His name on the mortgage.

“—that I just had to stay out of trouble and do my work around here. No one said I couldn’t have a little fun on my own time.”

“No one’s debating that, Finn. What I am saying is that you show up half-drunk or hungover for repairing the north field fencing, and your free ride is over.”

“What free ride?”

That did it; he’d pushed too hard. Aiden shrugged. His head throbbed. His burden was heavy. Seeing Widow Nelson’s troubles today had cinched it for him. He was heartsick thinking of the way some men could be. He didn’t need to look at it in his own house, in the house where he’d once been happy. He squeezed out the memories that hurt too much. He blotted out the images of her here, of the feminine scent of her lotions and soaps, of her cinnamon rolls baking in the oven just for him, where her laughter and sweetness had made life—his life—better for a time.

“No man tells me what to do.” Finn’s tirade broke into his thoughts. “Yes, even you, Aiden. You might be my brother, but you are not my keeper.”

Aiden waited for the door to slam, and Finn didn’t disappoint. On his way out, he slammed it so hard the sound echoed in the kitchen like summer thunder. The windowpanes rattled. The cups swung on their hooks beneath the cupboard. Pain sliced through Aiden’s skull. Great. Exactly what he needed on his plate right now: more worries about Finn. The boy was going to make a terrible mistake sooner or later; Aiden knew it. He didn’t like that sad fact, but there was nothing he or their other brother, Thad, could do about it. Finn would either pull himself up by the bootstraps and make a man of himself, or he’d keep going on their father’s sad path. Only he could make that choice. No one could do it for him.

I sure wish I could. Aiden rubbed his temples, but that didn’t stop the pain. No, the real pain was deeper than worries, broader than a physical hurt. His spirit felt heavy with troubles that could not be healed. He pushed himself from the chair and put out the light on his way to the window. He didn’t want Finn to see him standing there, filled with regret, watching him stalk to the barn.

The round moon hung over the prairie valley like a watchful guardian, a platinum glow over the growing fields. The night looked mysterious, as if touched by grace, as if solemn with possibility. Aiden leaned his aching head against the window frame and wished he could feel hope again. Wished he could feel even the faintest hint of it.

What he could see was the shanty’s faint roofline, as dark and as quiet as the night.

She’s just trying to get her hooks into you. Finn’s words came back to him. Hooks? Joanna Nelson didn’t have any hooks. Not a woman who wore her heart and her love for her children on her sleeve. Not a woman who was so thin, the hard lines of her bones were visible through her summer dress. She’d gone without eating in order to give more to her children, so their bellies would be full while she went hungry.

The void where his heart had been was suddenly filled with an unbearable pain. That was love.

Chapter Four

Daybreak was her favorite time of day. Joanna drank in the peaceful quiet of the morning, savoring it like a rare treat. Every sunrise brought its own unique beauty. As she breathed in the hush that seemed to spread across the still land before the first hint of dawn, she could almost pretend that today would be full of promise, too. While the songbirds fell silent and the mountains seemed to sigh in reverence, she could almost feel the grace of God’s presence, and hope—how she hoped—that she was not forgotten by him.

The cow grazing in the yard lowed quietly, the only sound in the entire world. The serenity of the morning seemed to swell as the first trails of gold flared above the deep blue mountains. She squeezed her eyes shut and let the soft warmth wash over her, willing the pure first light to cleanse away her fears and her doubts. She prayed that it would give her courage and insight for the hard morning ahead.

The cow mooed again, impatient this time. Joanna opened her eyes to see the animal Aiden had taken back from Pa’s farm gazing at her with pleading eyes. The cow must have scented the small portion of grain in the bottom of the feed bucket, and was straining against her picket rope to get at it.

“I’m sorry, Rosebud. Here you are.” She set the bucket down at the cow’s front hooves. Instantly, the animal dived into her breakfast, tail swishing with contentment.

At least she looked better fed here on the lush grasses of Aiden’s land. Pa had always been stingy with the livestock’s feed, although Joanna had always sneaked grain and treats to Rosebud. She set the three-legged stool on the cow’s left side and placed the milk pail between her feet. Holding it steady in case Rosebud lurched suddenly, Joanna stroked the cow’s flank, talking to her for a few moments before starting to milk.

She could no longer see the rising sun breaking over the mountains, but the light was changing, the darkness turning to long blue shadows. A golden hue crept across the land to crown Aiden’s two-story house. Painted yellow, it seemed to absorb the slanted gold rays and glow.

I buried a wife and son years ago, what was most precious to me. Again, his words came back to her like a haunting refrain. His wife had chosen that soft buttery color. Joanna didn’t need to know anything about Aiden or his past to know that. No Montana rancher would choose that feminine, comforting color for his house. Just like the carved wooden curlicues decorating the top pillars of the porch fronts. Or the carefully carved rail posts. Such workmanship must have been done out of love for his wife.

Joanna felt in awe of such devotion. What a deep bond Aiden must have known. Respect for him filled her like the rising sun, and suddenly, there he was, as if her thoughts had brought him to life, striding down the porch steps with a milk pail in hand. She didn’t know if it was just her lofty opinion of the man, but he looked wholly masculine. With light outlining the impressive width of his shoulders, he strode through the long shadows.

Not even those shadows were enough to hide the set of his frown and the tension straining his jaw as he marched toward her. “Who said you could milk my cow?”

“Sorry, I guess I’ve helped myself to your morning chores. I wanted to make your load easier, for doing the same for me last night.” She spoke over the hissing stream of milk into the pail. “It’s a fair turn. Surely you’re not angry with me for that?”

Was it her imagination, or was there a weakening of that grimace in the corners of his mouth? “You are a surprising woman, Mrs. Nelson.”

“You can call me Joanna.” She could not resist saying it, even though she knew he would refuse to. “I gathered the eggs in the henhouse, too.”

“There was no need to do my chores.”

“How else am I to pay you what I owe?”

Aiden came closer, casting her in his long shadow. “Who said you owe me anything?”

“Please don’t try that tact, Mr. McKaslin.”

“What tact?” He knelt beside her, bringing with him the fresh scent of soap. “And you can call me Aiden.”

“You’re a decent man, Aiden. I’ll not take advantage of that.”