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High Plains Wife
Jillian Hart


Montana's Wide Open Plains Were As Empty As Her Newlywed Heart.Rancher Nick Gray, once Mariah's girlhood crush, wanted a mother to tend his children, not a wife to warm his bed. Still, she'd made that bed; now Mariah had to lie in it. Yet could she bear to lie in it alone?He Was Finished With Romance!Nick Gray just needed someone to manage his life. So who better than avowed spinster Mariah Scott? Surely she'd appreciate an uncomplicated marriage of convenience. But now that they were married, could he? Because his new wife was turning out to be much more than he had ever bargained for…!









“No man came to my door to sweep me off my feet.”


“I did.” His thumb brushed her chin, forcing her gaze to him. The sadness in her eyes shamed him. He’d disliked her, he’d forgotten her, he’d tried to avoid her in town for years and married her for convenience’s sake, but the truth was, his heart felt as new as dawn’s first light whenever he looked at her.

“You didn’t sweep me off my feet, Nick. You offered me an arrangement.”

“Sure, I was trying to get my laundry done free, so I proposed.”

“And I was trying to get a man to feed and shelter me.”

“And don’t forget clothe you. I did include new dresses in the marriage deal.”

Tenderly. That’s how he spoke to her. Gently, that’s how he held her hand. She couldn’t begin to say how much that meant to her….




Acclaim for Jillian Hart’s recent books


Bluebonnet Bride

“Ms. Hart expertly weaves a fine tale of the heart’s ability to find love after tragedy. Pure reading pleasure!”

—Romantic Times

Montana Man

“…a great read!”

—Rendezvous

Cooper’s Wife

“…a wonderfully written romance full of love and laughter.”

—Rendezvous




High Plains Wife

Jillian Hart







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue




Chapter One


Montana Territory, 1881

T he high Montana prairie spread out like forever in all directions, broken only by small knolls and glens and the miles of fences. The land was bright green and new, for spring had come to the plains, and the sun was brilliant and warm. Mariah Scott swiped the afternoon’s grit from her face with her sleeve and gave her slow-moving ox a snap of the reins.

“Git up,” she ordered, but the animal didn’t move one bit faster. Maybe there was no getting around the fact that she’d been swindled at the auction last week when she’d purchased the ox. Clearly a mistake she was sorely regretting.

And to add insult to injury, the beast had to slow down on the road right in the middle of Nick Gray’s fields. Of all the places on the earth to linger, this wasn’t the one she would choose.

She’d been in love with him once, a foolish young girl embroidering pillowcases for her hope chest. Some things were not to be, and it had been a hard lesson. It had been long ago now, but thinking of Nick Gray could still make her heart ache for what could never be.

“Nick is sure to be looking for a wife now that he’s widowed,” Rayna Ludgrin had predicted at Sunday dinner. “What with two little ones without a mother to care for them.”

It’s not likely to be me. Mariah smoothed her gloved hand over her second best dress—thin from years of wearing—and knew how much she’d changed. She was no longer young and faintly pretty, and now, whenever a man looked at her, he saw a practical hardworking woman.

No doubt that’s what Nick Gray saw, too.

Enough dallying, Mariah. She had no time to waste on thoughts of that man. She had clean laundry to deliver and wouldn’t get paid until she did. Mariah touched the thick leather reins on the ox’s rump and bit back a curse when the animal locked his legs and the wagon groaned to a stop in the middle of the rutted road.

“Git up,” she repeated.

The stubborn beast planted his hooves more firmly.

Exasperated, Mariah smacked him again, this time firmly enough to make a sound, but it wasn’t hard enough to do any good. “If I could afford to sell you, then I would. You are a bad boy.”

The gentle giant lifted his head, apparently unconcerned, and took advantage of the scant wind cooling his warm coat.

“I bought you because you were cheap, and that was my biggest mistake.” Frustrated, she climbed down from the high seat. Her shoes hit the ground and dust clouded the air. Coughing, she tugged an apple out of her pocket. “Here’s your bribe. Now will you pull my wagon?”

The big ox glanced at her through narrowed eyes, as if he were considering her offer.

“Even though I can’t afford it, I could sell you to the stockyards,” she bluffed.

As if he understood perfectly, he took the apple.

That was one problem solved. While the bovine crunched on the treat, Mariah patted him on the neck. He was a pretty creature, gleaming reddish-brown in the sun.

Turning to the wagon, she heard the smallest sound, sweet in tone like a lark but as heartbreaking as the wind. So quiet, had she imagined it? No, there it was again. A tiny sniffling sound like a child crying.

A child? Was one lost out here on the endless plains? She might be a spinster and never a mother, but she knew the dangers to a child alone on the prairie.

This time the sound was a muffled sob. Definitely someone small and in need of help. It had to be coming from the empty field next to the road. Unbroken new grass waved tall and proud and so thick, Mariah couldn’t see anything but an ocean of green. There was no sign that a child—or anything else—was nearby.

The ox bellowed and swiveled his ears, lifting his huge head to gaze far out into the fields.

Maybe that was why the ox had stopped, Mariah realized. He could have known there was trouble. She patted him again, deciding maybe he wasn’t beyond redeeming, and hiked her skirts up to her ankles. Dust whirled around her as she climbed carefully through the tricky barbs of the wire fence.

The crying sounded nearer. Tiny gulps of sobs that lured Mariah through the thick grasses until she spotted a flash of pink between the green stalks. The last thing she wanted to do was to frighten the child. “Hello? Are you lost?”

The stems parted and the flash of pink became a girl dressed in calico. Her pixie’s face was streaked with tears. “You ain’t my mama.”

Poor child, lost and alone. Mariah’s heart melted, just like that. She dug in her pocket for a bright shiny apple. “Are you hungry?”

The girl’s blond curls brushed her shoulders as she shook her head.

“You don’t like apples?”

“I got cookies.” The child lifted her heavy satchel, tears trailing through the dust on her cheeks. “But I’m savin’ ’em.”

“Looks like you’re packed for a trip.”

“I’m goin’ to heaven. That’s where Pa said my mama went. I’m gonna go get her.”

Mariah’s heart cinched tight. Sympathy welled up in her so fast, she couldn’t speak at first. She didn’t know what to say to a child who’d lost a mother to suicide. While she tried to figure that out, she knelt until she was eye level with the little girl, who looked so miserable and alone. So helplessly small and precious. “Your pa has to be awful worried about you. He wouldn’t want you to go look for your mama.”

“He don’t want me.” The child leaned close to whisper, hiccuping on a sob. “He don’t love me no more.”

Sympathy ached like a nail driven deep in her chest, and Mariah couldn’t resist sweeping a tangled lock of damp curls from the girl’s cheek. Mariah knew what it was like not to be loved, and by all accounts this child of Nick Gray’s was well treasured. The dress she wore was finely made without a wrinkle in it, her shoes dusty but without a single scuff.

Still, she understood how it felt to have a broken heart.

“That’s my wagon right down there. Do you see my ox?”

The girl tilted her head, considering, and nodded once.

“His name is Bad Boy, but he’s really very nice. If you bribe him with apples.” Mariah held out her hand. “Would you like to feed him one?”

“I gotta find my ma.”

“That’s a long, long way. You’d better come with me, instead.”

The girl’s brow wrinkled as she considered. “I’m awful tired of walkin’.”

“Good. Your satchel looks heavy. Want me to take it?”

“Nope. I can do it.” She wrapped both hands around the thick handle and tugged the satchel along on the ground, over every bump and grass hump.

“I’m Mariah. I bet your name is Georgie.”

“How do you know?” She wiped the last of her tears on her sleeve.

“I told you. I know your pa.”

While Georgie apparently thought about that, she gave her bag another tug. “I’m awful thirsty. Do you got cider in that wagon?”

“I have water. Will that do?”

“Yep.”

Mariah slowed her pace, waiting for Georgie. A chill snaked down her spine. It was suddenly so quiet. No birds were singing. The prairie lay deathly still. Not even the wind blew. Bad Boy was fidgeting in his traces, a sure sign of trouble. With the height of the grass, a wild animal, even a wolf, could be stalking them and Mariah might not see the danger in time.

She stepped closer to the child. It would be best to get Georgie into the wagon as soon as possible. There was a loaded Winchester beneath the seat, and she knew how to use it if she had to.

“Let me carry that, Georgie. The faster we get to the wagon, the sooner we can get you a drink of—”

There was a streak of brown in the field ahead. In an instant it was gone and the green grass stood tall and motionless, as if it had never been disturbed.

Mariah knew better. It wasn’t a wolf, but a coyote, and they always hunted in packs. She shivered, aware of the cold prickle in her bones. They didn’t want her. It was the small child they’d scented.

She pulled Georgie to her skirts. Contented coyotes were one thing, but hungry packs roamed these prairies that were settling up fast.

She had to get Georgie out of this field. She swung the girl onto her hip and held her tight, walking as fast as she dared. Her skirts snapped with her stride and the sound of her breathing rang loud.

The coyotes emerged soundlessly in a perfect circle, cutting off her escape. There were a dozen of them, crouched, teeth bared, ready to attack in unison.

She skidded to a stop. What was she to do? Hunger gleamed in their eyes and she recognized an eerie determination. They didn’t intend to back down.

Well, neither did she.

“Shoo!” She snapped the hem of her apron at the coyote directly in front of her. You could never tell, maybe that would frighten him off.

Maybe not.

The leader of the pack didn’t flinch or lower his gaze. He was hungry, she could see that in the ridge of bones showing through his matted coat. He crept closer, and the pack followed his lead, closing the circle. Trouble. Fear spilled like ice water into Mariah’s blood.

She had to act fast.

“You leave us alone!” She snatched an apple from her pocket and threw.

The apple hit the leader between the eyes. He dropped to the ground and shook his head.

Good thing she had more apples. She grabbed another and lobbed it at a second coyote. It struck him in the shoulder and knocked him to the ground.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a streak of brown. Georgie screamed the same moment Mariah felt teeth clamp at her nape. A heavy weight settled on her back and threatened to drag her down. How dare that coyote! Mariah whirled around, beating him in the nose with her fist until he slid from her back, taking her chignon with him. Her hair tumbled into her face. There were so many of them. How could she fight them all?

Georgie screamed again. The leader was on his feet and leaping, lunging for the little girl’s throat.

Mariah tossed her last apple. The coyote howled at the impact. In pain, he slunk into the grass. Already the rest of the pack was backing away.

A gunshot echoed across the field, and Mariah swung around to see mounted men emerging over the grassy knoll, their guns raised.

She’d never seen a more welcome sight. Relief left her weak as the coyotes dispersed into the grasses, disappearing as if they had never been.

“Pa!” Georgie screamed as she slid from Mariah’s arms and waded through the grass toward one of the approaching riders. “Pa!”

With his dark Stetson hiding his face, Nick Gray bent to scoop the little girl into his arms. She held him fiercely, clinging to his wide shoulders. He looked stronger than ever, holding his child.

Mariah couldn’t hear his words, only the mumble of his voice, distant and low and soothing. She tore her gaze from him, fighting to ignore the hitch of longing deep inside. The sharp twinge of emotion shamed her.

She was too old to pine after some man she didn’t even like. Tucking her hair into some order, she gathered her skirts and turned her back on Nick before he recognized her. The last thing on this earth she wanted to do was to have to talk to him.

Riders galloped past her, searching out the fleeing coyotes.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” one of them asked.

“Fine.” She didn’t look at him as she trudged through the thick grasses.

Georgie was safe and in her father’s strong arms. There was no reason for her to stay, or for Nicholas Gray to say a single word to her. She was running late, and she had deliveries to make. She had no time for small talk.

“Ma’am! Wait up.” A deep, captivating male voice rumbled across the prairie.

Nick’s voice.

She cringed. So, he still hadn’t recognized her, had he? She walked faster.

“Ma’am, you’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine.”

Hooves clipped behind her, vibrating the earth. “You don’t look fine. I saw that coyote jump you, and I feared the worst. He scratched you up pretty bad. Your dress is torn.”

So, he still hadn’t recognized her, had he? She kept her back to him and refused to comment. Maybe if she ignored him, he would go away.

But no, Nick reined his gelding to a stop in front of her. The big brute was blocking her path, and she wasn’t referring to the horse. The years had drawn lines in his face and wariness into his eyes as blue as a Montana sky, but no amount of time had changed his attitude.

The brim of his hat shaded his face, but she could see the strong square of his jaw quirk as if he were surprised. “Mariah Scott. I might have known it was you. Not many women in this county can take on a pack of hungry coyotes and win.”

Not many women, huh? She ought to be used to that attitude. As if, because she’d never married and her youth had begun to fade, her feelings had gone, too. It hurt.

Good thing she had a thick skin. She lifted her chin and circled around his horse so she could continue on her way.

“Aw, c’mon, now.” Hooves clomped on the hard earth behind her. “I only meant you have the fortitude to scare off any rascal. Can’t you accept a man’s thanks?”

“Sure, when a man thanks me.”

“Mariah, I didn’t mean it that way. I’m grateful to you.”

“Fine. You’re welcome.” Don’t look at him. Looking at him would make her forgive him—just a little bit. There was no way she wanted to own up to the smallest feeling for Nick…unless it was a comfortable dislike.

She grabbed hold of the fence, careful of the barbed metal hooks.

He halted his horse beside her. “You’re angry with me.”

She wasn’t angry, but she could never explain it. She’d do best to ignore him, and that’s exactly what she intended to do. Let Nick Gray think she was angry, what would it matter? He may be looking for a wife, but she was smart enough to know he’d never consider her.

“’Bye, apple lady!” Georgie called across the field.

“Goodbye.” Mariah waved at the little girl clinging to her uncle’s arms. Somewhere along the way Nick must have handed off his daughter to his brother.

Georgie’s fingers waved in response over her uncle’s shoulder, so sweet Mariah felt her cold heart warm. At least the child was safe.

As for Georgie’s father, Mariah refused to acknowledge him as she slipped through the fence as fast as she could. Her hem caught in a wire, and she stumbled, but at least she was on the other side.

A safe distance from the man on his horse, sitting so tall and proud he touched the sky.

“I was glad it was you, Mariah. That you were the one riding along at the right time.”

“Me, too.”

She stumbled onto the rutted road, dust kicking up at her quick step. With every step she took, she could feel Nick’s gaze on her, bold as a touch. Why was he even speaking to her? She blinked fast to keep her eyes from blurring. Walked faster to get away from him.

She reached the wagon and pulled herself up. Was he still watching her? She turned her head just enough to see him at the edge of her vision, astride that black horse of his, one arm crossed jauntily on the saddle horn, the other at his hip.

He looked invincible. As if nothing could ever scare him. Or diminish the confidence he radiated like a midsummer’s sun.

She would give anything to possess his courage. Maybe then she’d be able to look him straight in the eye, but she tumbled onto the wagon seat. She heard the gate hinges creak. It would be better to leave and leave fast before the shaking deep in her stomach radiated through the rest of her.

There was no way she was going to let Nick Gray see how frightened she was. Why were her hands shaking like that? She took a deep breath. The worse part was over, wasn’t it? The coyotes were gone. The child was safe.

Except Mariah could still feel the hot breath on her neck and the weight of the coyote on her back. One rein slipped through her fingers. She scrambled after it, dropping onto her knees.

“Mariah?” Nick’s horse halted at the side of her wagon. His shadow fell across her. “Are you okay?”

“I told you, I’m fine.” She had to be. What choice did she have? She wasn’t Georgie—she couldn’t lean into Nick’s arms and find comfort. She had no comfort anywhere in her life. The last thing she intended to do was to admit it. “Where did that blasted rein go?”

“Here. It’s on the ground.” Nick leaned forward in his saddle, leather creaking with his movements, and reached for the thick strap.

His big, sun-browned fingers snatched it, the movement masculine and commanding, and she hated noticing it. Noticing him.

He straightened, looking her up and down with his steel-blue eyes. No emotion flickered in their depths. “You’re in no shape to drive. Maybe you ought to rest a spell. Let me take you up to the house.”

“Sitting here isn’t going to get my laundry delivered.” Pretending that his concern didn’t matter, she snatched the leather strap from his gloved fingers. “You go back to Georgie and keep her safe this time.”

“Still as prickly as ever, aren’t you, Mariah?” His jaw tightened. “Fine. Have it your way. Sure you’re all right?”

“Positive.” She snapped the reins. “Goodbye, Mr. Gray.”

To his credit, Bad Boy moved forward, leaving Nick in a wake of dust. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the outline of him through the chalky cloud—lean and wide, all man.

She couldn’t help longing just a little. It mortified her to think that she still hid a yearning for him after ten long years. Time had changed her, drawn lines on her face and given her a shield around her heart. But inside she was still that young woman who wanted to believe in love. In possibilities. Who dared to wish that the handsome, dashing Nick Gray would fall in love with her.

But he would choose another.

It doesn’t matter. It’s all in the past. She tried to be sensible. She was no daydreaming child, so why did she feel the same as she had so long ago? Because when Nick looked at her, he probably saw what everyone else did. A cold, hard-hearted woman who’d never been courted.

Not once.

Bad Boy drifted to a halt in the middle of the road and she didn’t have the strength to scold him. She reached under the seat and found the gunnysack by feel.

“Mariah.” A broad warm hand lighted on her shoulder.

She jumped. An apple shot from her grip and rolled across the wagon floor. Why couldn’t he just leave her be?

Nick’s shadow fell across her, towering between her and the sun. “That was a real fight you put up. You have the right to be shaken up.”

“Me? Those coyotes didn’t want me. They wanted your daughter.”

“I know, Mariah, and like I said, I’m obliged to you.”

“You should have been watching her. You left her alone and she wasn’t safe. Georgie could have been killed.” She realized his hand was still on her shoulder, hot and comforting, and she shrugged away, breaking the connection. “What kind of father are you?”

“One who isn’t going to let that happen again.”

“See that you don’t.” She snapped the reins again, and this time Bad Boy moved, slow and stubborn.

“Your ox could use some training.” Nick rode past her to take the animal by the yoke and speed up his gait. “I’d be happy to work with him. Don’t know what else to offer you for rescuing Georgie like that.”

“I don’t want anything from you. That isn’t why I helped your little girl. Anyone passing by would have done the same.”

“Either way, you still need help with this ox.”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“So, you don’t want my help. That’s nothing new.” Bad Boy slowed down and Nick gave a hard tug on the yoke. “The trouble with you, Miss Scott, is that the rumors are true.”

Rumors? What rumors? Fury rolled through her, hot and fierce. See what came from trying to have a civil conversation with the man? Nick was bold and overbearing and couldn’t mind his own concern if she paid him to. “Let go of my ox.”

“I’m trying to thank you for saving my daughter’s life, and you won’t accept it.”

“I’m not uncharitable. I simply do not require any assistance.” It hurt her that he still thought so little of her.

Her chin shot up and she sent Bad Boy into a lope. Dust rose up to sting her eyes and the bouncing wagon rattled her bones, but it felt good to leave Nick Gray behind in the dust where he belonged.

She refused to feel sorry for her harsh words. Or for losing her temper. Nick had a real life, and he had children of his own to love.

She had no life at all, just her laundry business and a house that echoed with loneliness.

When she looked over her shoulder, he was still in the middle of the road, watching her, the dust settling around him like mist.

The trouble with you, Miss Scott, is that the rumors are true. Nick believed that and so did nearly everyone in the entire county. Oh, she could probably figure out what people thought. She was strong and iron-willed and prickly…and far too independent for any man to show any interest in her. Well, that was true enough. She didn’t need any man. She was getting along just fine. She had her own business, her own home and her own ox and wagon.

You should have let Nick help you, Mariah. She closed her eyes briefly against the glare of the sun and certainly not because of the stinging sensation behind her lids. Nothing good would have come from letting Nick Gray train the ox. Not one thing.

She had to be practical. Had to accept the kind of woman she was. She was meant to be alone. Not everyone had a heart that could love.

So it couldn’t be her heart that was hurting as she turned the wagon toward the Dayton ranch, late for her next delivery.




Chapter Two


H olding his gelding steady, Nick watched Mariah disappear in a trail of dust. That woman could get his dander up like no other, that was for sure. Not even his late wife could get him het up so fast as the Spinster Scott could. Maybe he didn’t like independent-minded women, but what other woman would have battled coyotes to protect his little girl without wanting so much as a thank-you?

Hell, it would have been civil of her to accept his gratitude. She could have taken him up on his offer to train her young ox. But, no, not Mariah.

He swept off his hat in exasperation and raked his fingers through his hot, sweaty hair. The air felt good, almost as good as the relief of knowing his little girl was safe and sound and in his brother’s care.

The wind warmed him, but that wasn’t enough to stop his shivering. The image of hungry coyotes circling Georgie and Mariah chilled him to the meat of his bones.

“Darn lucky she came along when she did,” his brother Will commented as he handed Georgie over. “No other woman in the county could do what she did. Miss Mariah Scott is tougher than a bad-tempered grizzly. Even those danged coyotes know it.”

“So they say.” Grim, Nick cuddled his little girl to his chest. What would have happened to her alone in this field? He was damn glad he’d come along when he did. Glad his son had run to him, telling of Georgie’s escape.

Best thing to do would be to head home and give Georgie that serious talking-to she needed, but there was Mariah’s wagon, tiny in the distance. He could still barely make it out, a small brown dot rolling along the expansive prairie. As he watched, her vehicle dipped down a rise and out of sight.

Mariah Scott. He hadn’t cause to think of her in a long while. But he thought of her now.

“Pa, I want down. That lady said I could go with her and her ox.”

“I’m here now and so I’ll give you a ride on my horse.”

“But you don’t love me.” Georgie’s sob rattled through her. “My mama does.”

A well-honed blade could not cut his heart this deep. Nick grimaced. He held his daughter with more gentleness. Searched for words that would explain this fierce jumble of pain inside him. And failed.

He didn’t have the words. He didn’t need to ask Georgie where she’d been heading. This wasn’t the first time she’d done this, running off in search of her mother gone and buried.

Poor Georgie. Lida’s death had hurt her the most of all. He pressed a kiss against the crown of her sunbonnet, willing to do anything to take away her grief. “I love you, baby.”

She sighed deeply, feeling frail and ready to break. Such a little girl, and not even his comfort seemed to help her. Georgie’s arms wrapped tight around his neck. “Is heaven long gone and far away?”

“Very far away. Not even my horse can get us there. If I could, I’d take you to see your ma. It just can’t be done.”

Georgie’s arms tightened, her face pressed hard against his throat. “Not even an ox can get there?”

“Nope.”

Georgie wiped her tears on his collar and said nothing more.

He held her, all sweetness, until the big house came into view. The orchard’s gnarled black branches shielded the porch from sight, but he knew his son was waiting there, too small to be seen from a distance but keeping careful watch.

Sure enough, there was Joey, darting into the path between the trees. Worry was stark on his pale face and his blond locks were waving on the wind.

Nick’s chest punched. Joey had always been a serious boy, with a frown between his brows when he considered something mightily. But in the three weeks since Lida’s death, he’d changed.

Their lives had changed.

Joey planted his boots and shook a finger at his sister. “You can’t go runnin’ off like that. You’re in big trouble, Georgie.”

“I am not!” Her mouth compressed into a tough line. “You are.”

“The both of you, code of silence, right now.” Nick knew he sounded too stern and too tired.

He was just wrung out, that was all. He was at the end of his rope dangling by a fraying thread, and he had to hang on. His children and this ranch needed him. Look at Joey, all twisted up with worry, shivering in the cool wind. His trousers were wrinkled, his boots scuffed, his jacket crumpled and hanging crooked on his shoulders. “Joey, button up that coat and go to the house.”

“Yes, sir.” There was a tired look to the boy, as if Lida’s death had used him up, too.

Nick wanted to curse her for her choice to leave the children like this. Wanted to hate her. At least he’d been the one to find her, crumpled in the field near the small grave where they’d buried her baby last fall. A baby he knew wasn’t his.

Bitterness filled his craw and he tamped down a blinding rage he refused to give in to. The woman was dead. She’d suffered enough in this life, and he’d torn himself inside out trying to make her happy.

Georgie whimpered against him, bringing him back to the present, cuddling close. Her hold on his neck was choking tight.

It hurt, seeing her like this. Hurt worse to hand her over to his father, who ambled out on the porch, looking frayed and exhausted.

“Glad you found her, son.” Pop nodded once in approval, said nothing more as he settled Georgie in his arms.

She cried, begging for her mama.

Pain twisted in him like a knife. He felt torn and lost and defeated. So damn defeated. Georgie pushed at Pop, struggling to get down. Georgie didn’t understand death, and by God, neither did he. He’d never understand Lida’s actions, so how could he explain to a child?

Georgie was hurting, and he dismounted, leaving his horse standing in the cold. Took the porch steps in two long strides. Had Georgie clutched against him by the third, taking her from Pop’s arms and into his own.

“Pa,” Georgie wept against his flannel collar. “Mama left.”

“I know, princess.” He kissed her brow, and wisps of her silken hair caught on his whiskered chin. He’d forgotten to shave again.

Hell, he was forgetting everything. The world was crumbling into bits around his boots. None of it seemed to matter as he cradled his daughter to his chest, holding her as gingerly as when she’d been newborn.

There was nothing but the sound of her broken sobs and the echo of his heels on the parlor floor. The scrape of the rocker as he eased into the chair. The squeak of a spring. And the feel of heartbreak.

He held Georgie tight and rocked her until there was only silence.



Will emerged from the shadowed depths of the barn. “How’s Georgie?”

“Asleep.” Nick yanked on the stall door. It didn’t give, the damn thing. The hinge was sprung, leaving the wood door jammed into the frame. He kicked it hard, and wood scraped against wood, freeing the door, but not his frustration.

He could still feel Georgie curled against his chest, sobbing so hard her little body shook.

He hurt for her. Would take every grief, every anguish, every bit of pain from her if he could. The door crashed against the wall. The loud crack startled the mare in the stall. She whinnied and sidestepped, her head lifting high in alarm.

That’s it, Nick. Scare the horse while you’re at it. He pushed aside all thoughts of Georgie, but not his troubles. The feel of her sobs stayed with him as he reached for the mare’s bridle, speaking low.

He was in trouble. Up a creek without a paddle at the mouth of a waterfall. He was wise enough to know the plunge would be swift and lethal. He wasn’t on the boat alone. His children were with him.

Will plopped a saddle on the nearby four-by-four. “You look troubled, big brother.”

“Real sharp of you to notice.” Nick kept his voice gruff, because it kept the young man in line. “Got enough ammunition in that pack of yours?”

“I’m packed and waitin’ for you.” Cocky, Will tipped his hat. “You know what you need?”

“A clean blanket. Fetch me one, will you?” Nick slid the brush over the mare’s withers in a few quick swipes. Her tail swished side to side, calmer now, but he couldn’t say the same.

Something had to change. One thing was for sure, he couldn’t last another week like this. Neither could the children.

“Know what you need, big brother?”

“A foreman that does more work than talking?”

“Funny. What you need to solve all your problems is another wife.” Will tossed the blanket.

“A wife, huh?” Nick caught it and smoothed the length of wool into place. “Just goes to show what you know. A wife doesn’t solve troubles. She’s the source of ’em.”

“A little bitter, huh?” Will hoisted the saddle easily onto the mare’s back. “Matrimony isn’t supposed to be bliss, from what I hear. Torture or not, it is something you’re gonna have to do sooner or later, so why wait?”

Nick hated it when his brother was right. Jaw clenched tight, he unhooked the stirrup from the saddle horn, letting it swing into place. He’d be the first to admit life had been damn near impossible with Lida, but without her…

“Pa?” Joey ambled into sight with his Stetson crooked, jacket still open, shirt half untucked. He looked uncertain and small and…nine years old. Hell, he was a boy missing his mother.

Leaving Will to cinch the saddle, Nick came down on one knee. “What is it, cowboy?”

“Georgie’s sleepin’. I’m gonna make sure she doesn’t run off again.” So serious, as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Nick put his hand there, on the slim curve of his son’s shoulder. One day Joey would be a good man, strong and hardworking and upstanding. The man he would be was easy to see in the boy, his chin set fierce and determined.

Nick’s chest ached. He wanted life to be better for his son. “You’re a good brother, but your grandfather is responsible for watching Georgie. You want to come riding with us?”

“Grandpop falls asleep sometimes.” Joey bit his bottom lip with indecision. He glanced over his shoulder at the house. “I’d best stay and watch over them both, I reckon.”

There’d been a time when the boy never turned down the chance to ride his horse on the range. Another thing Lida had stolen from him.

What am I going to do about Joey? Nick had no answer as he watched the boy amble back to the house, his boots dragging in the dirt. Would a new wife make a difference? A woman to lift the burden from Joey’s shoulders?

A housekeeper couldn’t do it. It would merely be a job to her, and one day she’d leave for a better opportunity.

No, his children deserved more than that. Needed more than that. They deserved stability and commitment. A woman who would always be there for them.

Joey disappeared from sight. The door slammed behind him, the smack of wood on wood carrying on the wind, sounding lonely and final and accusing. The image of Mariah Scott, holding Georgie in her arms, flashed into Nick’s thoughts.

Nope. Forget it. If he had his way, there would never be another woman in his life. Ever.

Will handed over the reins. “Children need a mother to grow up happy.”

“You’re an expert?”

“Not from personal experience, but I am a keen observer.”

“Of pretty women, maybe.” Nick gathered the reins and shot his foot into the stirrup.

“A pretty woman is one of life’s necessities. Another is a wife who can cook. We can’t keep eating our brother’s cooking. Dakota is likely to kill us with that slop he calls food.”

“Mount up. We’ve got cattle to check on. Save your great wisdom for someone who needs it.”

“If anyone needs wisdom, it’s you, big brother.”

“I’m wise enough to know I shouldn’t listen to you.” Nick eased into the saddle. “Are you comin’?”

Leather creaked as Will mounted up. “Know what you ought to do? Go to the fund-raiser they’ve got tonight for the town school. There’ll be plenty of women there. Maybe one of them wouldn’t mind getting married to an ugly cuss like you.”

Nick decided to let that one pass without comment. He didn’t feel like trading jests.

“Don’t say no right off, not until you think it through.” Will bent in his saddle to unlatch the gate. “The dance tonight will give you the chance to see what your options are. You could even dance with the lady of your choice. If she lowers her standards.”

Nick nosed his mare through the gate and waited with the wind knifing through his jacket while Will hooked the latch.

Go to the dance? Look over the marriageable women like horses lined up at an auction? That didn’t sit right. He had no interest in taking any woman to wife.

Except his children were what mattered, what counted.

The high plains rolled from horizon to horizon and gave no answers.

A wife? He had to consider it. Maybe he would go to the dance tonight. Look at his options. See what could be. Marrying this time would be different. He was older. No one expected a man his age and with children needing a mother to marry for love.

A marriage of convenience. Isn’t that what he and Lida had anyway? They’d lived in the same house and each did their work. Then fell into separate beds at night.

Troubled, he rubbed his chest. The spot behind his breastbone kept growing tighter and tighter. He didn’t want a wife, but Lord knew he needed one.

His children needed a mother.



“Your angel food cakes smells like heaven,” Rayna Ludgrin praised as she set her big wicker basket on the kitchen table. “Why, it’s as perfect as could be. You’ll put us all to shame at the supper tonight.”

Mariah blushed. She didn’t like praise, but she could see her friend only meant to be kind. “My cooking can’t beat yours, and you know it. Let me grab my apron and I’ll be ready to go.”

“You aren’t wearing that, are you?”

Did she detect a note of criticism? Mariah lifted a laundered and folded apron from the shelf. “It’s my Sunday best. I figured it would be good enough.”

“Good enough, why, yes.” Rayna didn’t even have the grace to look guilty. “Surely black isn’t the best color for tonight. This is a supper and a dance, Mariah. Men will be there.”

“Good for them.” Mariah slipped the glass cover over her best pedestal cake plate and lifted it into Rayna’s basket. “I’ve volunteered to help in the kitchen tonight, so black is a sensible color. What are you up to, anyway?”

“Not one thing. You might want to wear your beige calico. Quite fetching on you.”

“I see where this is going.” Mariah’s face heated. “You’re wasting your breath. The bachelors in this town are too young for me.”

“Not Nick Gray. In our day, I thought you two were going to be quite the couple.”

“Nothing came of it then, and I’m not about to change my dress just to please the likes of Mr. Gray.”

“What a shame.” Rayna snapped the lid shut on her basket. “A lot of women in this town don’t think the way you do. They’ll be all gussied up in their finest, praying for the handsome widower to ask them to dance.”

“Then he’ll not miss me.” Mariah kept her chin high, refusing to let even the slightest regret into her voice. She didn’t need Nick Gray. Not to dance with. Not to marry.

Maybe if she told herself that enough times, she would believe it. Then—maybe—it wouldn’t hurt so much.

Rayna hummed as she stacked molasses cookies from the cooling racks onto a plate. Her gold wedding ring caught the late afternoon light. Rayna would never understand. She was happily married and a mother of three sons.

What did she know about rejection? About watching the man you secretly loved marry someone pretty and vivacious? About spending every night alone in the same house for years, wishing another man would come along. Wishing for just one man to love her, despite her faults.

Mariah grabbed the oven mitts and swung open the oven door. The aroma of chicken potpie made her mouth water. The crusts were golden, the gravy bubbling through the little flowers she’d cut into the dough. Dry heat blazed across her face as she knelt to rescue the pans.

“Nick will need a wife who can cook.”

“Plenty of women can cook. One thing Mr. Gray won’t be doing is asking me to cook for him.” It didn’t matter that he would find himself another young and pretty woman. Truly, it didn’t bother her one bit.

“Nick was sweet on you years ago.”

“He isn’t now.” Remembering Nick’s look of disdain today on the road, her face flushed again.

All right, so maybe that did hurt—but just the tiniest bit. What she needed to be was practical. Earlier today she had seen it as plain as daylight on his face—she’d grown too hard and too sharp. Over time, her cold heart had grown colder. She hated that, and hated that it showed so much.

Laden with the heavy basket, Rayna lingered at the back door. “A man never forgets his first love.”

“We were not in love.”

Rayna frowned. “Maybe not, but only because your father wouldn’t allow him to court you.”

“Nick didn’t try hard enough.” Bitterness still ached in her breast, and she turned away. The years of loneliness settled in a hard lump in her throat, making it hard to breathe and harder to talk, so she opened the pantry door and pretended to be very busy.

It was a good thing she loved her volunteer work. Her cherished spot on the Ladies’ Aid had given her great satisfaction. She didn’t need a husband to be happy. Why, look at her kitchen. Not a speck of mud or a man’s grimy boots in a messy pile on her hand-polished floor. See? Her life was in perfect order, just the way she wanted it.

And if her conscience bit at the lie she told herself, she ignored it.

“Oh, speak of the devil.” Rayna’s tone held delight. “Some man is driving up in his fine fringed-top surrey. A man by the name of Mr. Gray.”

“Stop teasing me and grab the basket I have by the door, would you? I’ve packed extra dish towels.” As the vice president of the Ladies’ Aid, Mariah took pride in her experience serving and washing. “Surely, there will be a lot of dishes to wash—”

A rattle of a harness in the yard echoed through her kitchen. That couldn’t be. Surely Nick Gray wasn’t in her driveway…

He was. Her breath caught as a matching team of sleek bays pranced into sight. They stopped, looking as graceful as a waltz, their long black manes flickering in the wind. The sunlight gleamed on their bronze coats and the new surrey behind them, where Nick Gray held thick leather straps between leather-gloved fingers. He was real and not a daydream, right? Mariah blinked, and sure enough he was still sitting there.

Why was he here? Suddenly her black dress was too plain, her hair too sensible, her shoes too scuffed. But he was as fine-looking as ever. His black Stetson framed his dark eyes and matched his finely tailored black suit. He looked so masculine and dashing, he made every part of her tingle. She hated her reaction to him.

“Good evening, Mrs. Ludgrin. Mariah.” He climbed handily from the high seat to the ground, every movement deliberate and predatory and somehow breathtaking. He moved with confidence, making it clear he’d come for a purpose.

To talk to her? She couldn’t imagine why. She noticed Nick’s brother Will in the second seat of the buggy, his arm slung over the back of the seat, dressed up as well. Were they going to the supper and dance tonight?

Rayna’s smile was all-knowing as she hurried down the porch, lugging both baskets. Leaving Mariah alone to face Nick.

That wasn’t fair.

Nick stepped aside on the walkway, all gentleman. “Can I get those for you, Rayna?”

“Don’t you mind about me. Looks as though you two need time to talk.” Rayna glanced over her shoulder at Mariah and winked. “Good luck.”

Good luck? Mariah watched her friend hurry off to her parked buggy. Alone with Nick? Twice in one day? The longing within her ached. It took all her willpower not to march back into her house and lock the door. Was it too late to pretend she wasn’t home?

He swept off his hat. “You’re dressed up real nice. Suppose you’re serving at the supper.”

“I am.”

“Seeing you today got me to thinking.” He stared down at his hat. Dark shocks of his hair tumbled over his brow, hiding his eyes. He looked troubled. Contemplative. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you on the road today.”

“I need to apologize, too. I was frightened from the coyotes.”

“Yeah, well…” He looked flustered, picking at the stitching on his hat brim. “I’m awful grateful to you for protecting Georgie. ‘Thank you’ seems awfully small sentiment for what you’ve done.”

“It’s more than enough.”

As their gazes locked, Mariah’s breath caught. The longing in her chest crescendoed until it was all she could feel. Why was he here? He’d already thanked her at the time. Why make a trip out of his way to do it again?

He raked one hand unsteadily through his thick locks, leaving them deliciously tousled. Confident Nick Gray looked remarkably uneasy.

And why was that? He’d apologized. Why wasn’t he leaving?

He rubbed his thumb across the Stetson’s brim, brushing at an invisible spot. “Like I said, I kept thinking about seeing you today.”

“You did?”

“Sure. Couldn’t help it. You were on my mind all afternoon.” He lifted one big shoulder in a shrug.

He thought of her all afternoon? Her? Mariah Scott? The notorious town spinster? Her heart started to race. He wasn’t about to ask her to the dance, was he?

He can’t be. Shock left her speechless. Maybe he was. Why else would he be standing here, hat in hand? As unbelievable as it was, Nicholas Gray had come to ask her to accompany him tonight to the supper and dance.

He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “I got to thinking, with me widowed and you alone.”

“Yes?”

“I know there’s Mrs. Gunderson, but she’s at the other end of town, and after what you did today, I’d like to give you the business.”

“W-what?” She couldn’t have heard him correctly. What did business have to do with the supper and dance?

“My laundry.” He held out one steely arm to point toward the buggy.

Then she saw the baskets of clothes on the floorboards behind the front seat. Nick hadn’t come to ask her to the dance. “You’ve come to hire me?”

“Sure, if you can handle it. I know you’ve got a booming business going.”

Of course. He wanted her to do his laundry. What did she think? That he would actually want her after all these years? Mariah leaned against the threshold, suddenly weak. She somehow managed to take one breath after another.

Nick went on, unaware of the blow he’d dealt. “You turned down my offer to train your ox, and so I thought you might appreciate more business.”

“You thought?” It was amazing the thoughts—or lack of them—that went on in men’s heads.

“I was just trying to be nice, Mariah. I should have known you wouldn’t want my business. No hard feelings. Hope you have a real good evening.”

“Wait, I—” A thousand different emotions warred for words, but she didn’t give in to the anger or the hurt.

What was the point? Times were hard, and she could lower her pride. Making a living was important, and she would always be a spinster. No doubt about that. It looked as though nothing could change it.

She straightened her spine, stood on her own two feet and approached the porch rail. “I charge more than Mrs. Gunderson, but I iron and she doesn’t. I’ll put you on Monday afternoon delivery. Will that be all right?”

“No complaints.” He appeared relieved. “That settles it, then. Good evening to you.” His smile was as slow and smooth as pure maple sugar.

Desire swept over her as she watched him go. The polish on his surrey reflecting a soft purple hue in the light of the setting sun.

She’d always held a softness for Nick. She couldn’t deny it. It would be hard watching him tonight as he danced with other women. Younger women. Prettier women. Harder still to do his laundry and deliver it punctually every week, while he courted and married a more suitable bride.

She tucked away her disappointment and hurried inside. The pies were cool enough to pack into her last basket. The Ladies’ Aid was waiting. She had important work to do and didn’t have the time for wasting on thoughts of Nick Gray. Or her regrets.




Chapter Three


“Y ou blew it, brother,” Will commented from the back seat. “I didn’t think I’d live to see the day when the perfect son, Nicholas Gray, would make a mistake of this magnitude.”

“You think I should have went with Mrs. Gunderson?” Try as he might, Nick would never understand his younger brother. He gave the reins a snap when the horses slowed on the busy main street.

“It isn’t about the laundry, man. The woman thought you were going to ask her to the dance.”

“Mariah? Don’t be ridiculous.” Mariah was a practical woman. Sensible. She wasn’t given to romantic foolishness, and he knew that from firsthand experience. “Mariah wouldn’t have me if I begged her.”

“I wouldn’t be so danged sure. You didn’t see the big, bright moon eyes she was giving you?”

All he’d noticed was the way she’d been standoffish, leaning against the door, more beautiful than the day they’d met. “Moon eyes? Mariah?” The sky had a better chance of falling to earth.

“I’m telling the God’s truth.”

“Is that so? Then why hasn’t a lightning bolt struck the back seat of my buggy?”

“It isn’t gonna. I mean it. You were bumbling around saying things like ‘I kept thinking about you’ and ‘You look pretty.’ What was she bound to think?”

Maybe Will did have a point. But this was Mariah they were talking about. “She wants to be a spinster. She tells anyone who asks.”

“When a man tells a woman that he’s been thinking about her and shows up at her place right before the big town happenings, she expects an invitation to the dance. Heck, brother, you even had me thinking you were gonna ask her.”

The reins slipped between Nick’s fingers. No. How could it be? Mariah hadn’t wanted him ten years ago, at least her father hadn’t. In the years that passed, she hadn’t so much as given him a polite greeting in public. She’d just march past him on the street as if he didn’t exist. As if he were dead and buried to her.

No, Will couldn’t be right.

The schoolhouse came into sight, so he reined in the horses and parked the surrey. Folks were everywhere. His neighbor called out a greeting across the busy crowd. Nick waved back, taking stock.

Looked like the ranchers were gathering in the shade, smoking and discussing wheat prices. They’d fallen again. Not good news for the local ranchers. He set the brake before climbing to the ground. Headed toward the grounds with his brother in tow.

A pretty young woman cut in front of them, carrying a wrapped platter balanced just so, and damned if Will didn’t look his fill as she sauntered up to the schoolhouse steps.

Nick knew trouble when he saw it. “You behave yourself with the ladies. No kisses in the moonlight. I don’t want some angry papa coming after you with a shotgun.”

“Aw, it ain’t my fault. I sometimes get carried away by a woman’s beauty and lose all sense. You’re a man. You’ve got to know how that is.”

Only too well. “It’s called willpower. Use it. That’s my advice.”

“With that outlook, you’re never going to find a new wife.”

Nick ignored the jesting. He was no fool. He wasn’t going to get trapped into marriage a second time. He’d keep his male needs under steely control. If he chose to wed again he’d choose a woman using logic and not his…

Mariah Scott caught his eye. Could anyone explain to him why his gaze shot straight to her? There had to be fifty women milling around, carrying baskets and platters from their wagons to the schoolhouse. Why couldn’t he notice one of them? Why didn’t his gaze stray to their bosoms?

He kept on walking. The other ranchers had gathered near to a keg of homemade ale that smelled like heaven on the breeze.

“Been waitin’ for you, Gray.” Al Ludgrin thrust a foaming tankard in Nick’s direction.

“Just what I need.” No truer words had ever been spoken. Nodding in greeting to the other ranchers, young and old, he took a sip and noticed Mariah again.

She was climbing down from her wagon, dressed all in black. The high proud curve of her bosom sure did look fine. Desire stirred in him. No doubt about it—she was surely a finely made woman, hard and tough, true, but soft where it mattered.

Alone, she tethered her ox. Alone, she lifted two heavy-looking baskets from the floor of her small wagon. Had she always looked that sad?

He didn’t know, but it was on her face plain enough for anyone to see. The straight line of her mouth, down-turned in the corners. The town’s formidable spinster wove her way through the crowd of children playing, a tall and slim shadow touched by the last rays of the setting sun.

Nick took a long pull from the tankard. The ale was bracing, just shy of bitter, but not strong enough to make him forget the troubled feeling churning in his guts.



Mariah squeezed between the table rows in the crowded schoolhouse when she saw Rayna Ludgrin bringing a fresh pot of coffee. Finally! They were sending in the reinforcements. She was dead on her feet and could use a few minutes’ break.

“Don’t get too hopeful,” Rayna told her, speaking loud to be heard over the merry din. “They need you to keep serving. Careful, the handle’s hot.”

It sure was. Mariah’s fingers felt seared in spite of the thick pad as she took possession of the coffeepot. “We never expected such a good showing.”

“There isn’t an empty seat,” Rayna agreed. “So, are you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“What Nick Gray had to say to you. I noticed he hasn’t taken his eyes off you all evening. Does that mean he asked you to the dance?”

“Why would he? We’re not even friends.” Mariah tucked that piece of disappointment away and filled an empty cup of coffee for old Mr. Dayton.

“Then what did he come for?” Rayna sounded bewildered.

They were far from being alone and Mariah wasn’t about to let anyone overhear her conversation and make the mistaken assumption that she was mooning after Nick Gray. “I’ve taken on his laundry, that’s what. I didn’t want to do it, considering the man and how I feel about him, but business is business.”

“Mariah, I didn’t know you still disliked him so strongly.” Rayna winced. “I never would have teased you about him. I’m sorry.”

“No apology necessary.” Hiding her feelings, Mariah hesitated, not sure what to do, until someone called her from a nearby table, holding out his empty cup.

She didn’t blame Rayna. She blamed herself. Across the crowded room, a group of men were leaving. Probably heading over to the stable yard, where the dance was to be held, to help themselves to their stashes of beer and tobacco. Nick was one of those men, but to her, he always stood out in a crowd.

The last thing she ought to be doing was noticing that man. What she’d said to Rayna was true. They were not friends. She couldn’t stand Nicholas Gray. He was arrogant and domineering and stubborn… She didn’t want anything to do with him. Really.

And that was the story she intended to stick with. From this moment on she’d have no other feelings for Nick than those she had for her other customers. She would wash and rinse, starch and iron his shirts and collect her fees. That was it. That was all.

She’d never let one vulnerable feeling in. She refused to waste one more regret. Father was right, she did have a cold heart. She might as well use it to her advantage.

There Nick was, looking at her again. Jerking his gaze away to listen to his brother. Nick wasn’t sweet on her. He was probably wondering how much she planned to charge him for his laundry.

“Thanks for the refill, Miss Mariah.” Kol Ludgrin nodded coolly at the brim-full cup, and she stopped pouring.

Goodness, she’d almost forgotten what she’d been doing. And look how her gaze crossed the room right to Nick. Didn’t she have any more willpower than that? No, because he did look handsome tonight. She couldn’t deny that Nick was easy on the eyes. A woman wouldn’t get tired of looking at his face across her kitchen table. Not in a lifetime.

Not your kitchen table, she reminded herself. She wasn’t the only female looking in Nick’s direction.

Folks were finishing their desserts and leaving the tables. Children clamored through the aisles, mothers scolding, with babes on their hips. Those women had their duties. And she had hers. She was vice president of the Ladies’ Aid.

Her duties kept her occupied long after the second story of the schoolhouse emptied, and she’d spent two busy hours on the first floor, wiping down the last of the dishes. There was a dozen women who stayed to clean up, to take apart the board tables and wash the floor. Now, this was accomplishing something. Mariah treasured the rare sense of satisfaction as she packed the last dessert plate into the last basket.

“I’ll help you to the wagon with these,” she offered when Rayna bustled up to take the heavy baskets. “Let me take the bigger one.”

“What do you plan to do after loading up my wagon?”

“Load my own and go home.” What else? She had no obligations at the dance. The president of the club was in charge of that end of the fund-raiser.

“That’s simply not acceptable.” Rayna tsked, tossing the wadded towel into Mariah’s nearby basket. Trouble glinted in her narrowed gaze. “You’re coming with us. Betsy, are you ready?”

“Sure am. I’ve got rope to hog-tie her with, if that’s what it takes for Mariah to have some fun.” Longtime friend Betsy Hunter snared Mariah by one hand while Rayna took the other. “We’re all going to the dance, whether you like it or not.”

What was wrong with everyone? “I don’t dance, and you both know it.”

“You don’t have to dance,” Rayna pointed out, tugging on Mariah’s arm as they approached the stairs. “We can listen to the music.”

“That’s right,” Betsy concurred far too quickly. They’d planned this. “Old man Dayton brought his fiddle. It ought to be a real treat.”

“This wouldn’t be about Nick, would it? Please tell me you two haven’t been scheming. I don’t like the man.”

“This is about your duty as the vice president.” Betsy released her death grip and held open the wood door to the cool evening breeze. Faint strains of a fiddle rose and fell in merry delight.

“No, I’m not going.” She had no desire to see Nick swirling other women around the dance floor.

“I know how you feel about dances, but if you want a chance to be president in the next elections…”

O-oh, Betsy knew exactly what bait to use. Mariah knew she ought to get angry about this blatant use of manipulation. The truth was she did like old man Dayton’s music and she did want to be president one day.

The setting sun’s lights streaked bold purple and magenta against the sky and made the schoolhouse windows glow like a dream. Dozens of lamps and lanterns marched on stakes through the clipped-grass field, guiding their way, and the music sounded sweet and merry.

Maybe attending the dance wouldn’t be too bad. She’d treat herself to a sarsaparilla, listen to a few toe-tapping songs and then help out, if the refreshment committee needed her. She’d be too busy to notice a certain man.

The makeshift stage was lit like a Christmas tree. The call of the fiddle and the twang of a banjo made it hard to concentrate as she searched for a path through the crush of people to the refreshment tables.

“Excuse me, Mariah,” a man spoke at her side.

Surprised, her feet felt as if they’d frozen to the ground. Heart racing, she gazed up at the town gunsmith.

He held out his hand, but not to her. “Sorry, but could you step aside? I was hoping Betsy might honor me with a dance.”

Betsy blushed. “Why, no, Zeke, I couldn’t—”

What was a little disappointment? Of course he hadn’t been about to ask her to dance. What was wrong with her tonight? Mariah stepped aside. “Go on, Betsy. Have fun.”

“But—” She hesitated. Zeke took command and whisked her away.

“He’s a good dancer,” Rayna commented as the music lifted in harmony and boots tapped on the hard-packed earth.

“Yes, he is,” Mariah answered blindly. The flaring skirts on the dance floor all blurred together.

Ridiculous, watching folks dance like this. She ought to be doing something productive. Something useful. She turned her back on the merriment, heading straight for the refreshment table. Surely there was work for her to do.

There always was.



“You’re not dancing, big brother.” Will handed Nick a tin cup of lemonade.

“I didn’t come here to dance. We both know it.” The cup was cool in the heat from the crowd, and the liquid puckered his tongue. It wasn’t as satisfying as beer, but he needed a clear head right now.

He was on the hunt for a bride. A bride?

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t pick out a wife, because every female here in this area was a stranger. He’d been married for a long time, and he wasn’t a man with a wandering eye. He’d been faithful to Lida every minute of their time together. Having another woman had never crossed his mind.

So, how did he start now? It felt wrong, even with Lida gone. But his children needed a mother. They all needed a woman to cook and keep house for them.

So, what did he do? Just pick one? He was at a loss.

“You look like you’re having troubles, big brother.” Will smirked, looking as though he was enjoying this. “There are lots of pretty women in this town. Lucky for me, I don’t have to settle on one. I can shop around.”

“That’s what you think. You just wait.” Nick wasn’t going to take any ribbing from his more obnoxious brother, especially when he wasn’t even wet behind the ears where love was concerned.

“I’m going to go pick a female right now, but only for one dance.” Will polished off his lemonade. “What you need, Nick, is to get out there and start dancing. Maybe you’ll find a pretty young thing you’ll want to keep.”

Nick swirled the lemonade around in the bottom of his cup. A pretty young thing? Hardly what he considered good wife material. He’d had one of those once, and look how it had turned out.

Bitterness made the lemonade on his tongue curdle. Nope, he wasn’t going to go near one of those young marriage-minded women lined up on the other side of the dance floor, looking at him with hope in their eyes. Females like that were nothing but trouble. He wasn’t attracted to them. He didn’t want a real marriage. Those women were looking for love. Every single one of them.

Just because a woman had a pretty face didn’t mean she’d be good to his children.

The song ended, the crowd parted, and he caught sight of a blond-haired woman behind the refreshment tables, soft wisps escaped from her tight bun to curl gently around her face. A heart-shaped face that would be beautiful if it hadn’t been for the dark smudges beneath her eyes.

Mariah. She was standing behind the lemonade pail beside two elderly ladies. All three wore black. Did she have to dress like a widow? Sadness pierced him sharp as a well-honed blade. Mariah had no husband and no children, unlike the other women her age. The women dashing after children, or sitting around the tables off to the side, or holding babies and talking about whatever it was women spent hours talking about.

Mariah was dressed in black, serving lemonade.

He couldn’t help remembering the smiling young girl she’d been, once, when he’d been smitten with her. When it had hurt like a punch to the jaw to look at her.

He couldn’t say why he slammed his cup onto the corral rail and left it there, or why his feet carried him through the crowd and past the dance area to the tables beyond. He only knew he was doing the right thing. He felt it down deep.

As he approached the refreshment table, he overheard Widow Collins. “I hear he’s hunting for a wife. That’s why that man’s here tonight.”

“What man?” Widow White adjusted her spectacles.

“That oldest Gray brother.” Widow Collins tsked. “Those Grays have always been trouble on two legs.”

Trouble, huh? Maybe that was a sign. Maybe I should turn around right now. Before Mariah sees me.

It was too late. Mariah plunked the tin dipper into the pail, staring up at him, her gaze surprised beneath thick lashes. Then amusement curved the soft corners of her mouth.

Amazing. He’d forgotten her smile. How it could light her up from the inside and make her as soft as an angel. Funny how he’d forgotten that after all this time.

“Nicholas Gray.” Mariah sounded as cold as stone. “Parched from hunting for a wife? Have some lemonade.”

He held up both hands. “Not looking for lemonade. But I would like a dance with you.”

“With me?” The dipper tumbled from her fingers and clanged against the tin pail. “Oh, I see. This is about Georgie, isn’t it? You’re asking me out of a sense of obligation. The same reason you hired me to do your laundry.”

He blinked. What was she saying? What obligation? “I saw you standing here. Noticed you’ve been working all evening. Thought you might like a spin on the dance floor. Listen, they’re just starting up a waltz.”

Mariah stared at him as if she found him less than worthy of a single, obligatory waltz. Was asking a woman to dance always this nerve-racking?

“I don’t approve of this close dancing.” Widow Collins shook her head as she rescued the dipper from the depths of the lemonade bowl. “It gives young people all sorts of ideas. And at their age, they have enough of them. Mr. Dayton promised me there would be no more than two waltzes the whole night.”

“Scandalous,” Widow White agreed. “Mariah, I highly suggest you wait for a nice schottische. Something more decent than a waltz.”

Nick could see Mariah wavering. He had to convince her now, before the widows said another word. “After all these years, you’re still the prettiest girl here. Dance with me.”

“Me? Dance with you?” she repeated.

“I dare you to.” He flashed her that grin, the one that made the dimples stand out in his cheeks and his eyes twinkle.

Mariah felt its effect all the way to her toes. She was a sensible, practical spinster well past the fancies of youth. She was helpless to say no.

Out of the corner of her eye, Mariah could see the widows close together, stunned into silence. Beyond them the colorful women’s dresses swirled in time to the music. What did she do? She could stay here where she belonged and not make a fool of herself. Then she’d watch another woman dance in Nick’s arms.

This time, she wouldn’t be left out.

He was waiting for her answer, one brow crooked in question, one hand held out, palm up. His fingers were broad and strong and warm when she touched him.

She wasn’t aware of weaving through the tables or walking toward the stage, where the banjo and fiddle made music beneath the open sky. She knew only the weight of his hand in hers and the shivery feeling drifting through her. As if something wonderful was about to happen.

As if in a dream, Nick Gray pulled her to him. Not touching, exactly, but so close she could see the smooth skin of his shaven jaw and smell the night air on his shirt.

“Just close your eyes,” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear, “and follow me.”

She placed her hand on his shoulder, as strong as steel, and let him whirl her to the sway of the music beneath the light of the rising moon.




Chapter Four


I f only this dance would never end.

Mariah closed her eyes, savoring the wonder of it. With Nick’s hand at her waist, they moved together as harmoniously as the music. In a sweeping, gentle rhythm that felt like the heart of a dream. Slow and steady, and as light as air.

So this is what dancing feels like. Dancing in the arms of Nicholas Gray. Breathless. Exhilarating. She was intoxicated with it. The stars overhead were more brilliant than diamonds. The music from Mr. Dayton’s fiddle sweeter than any she’d ever heard. And the man who held her was more captivating than she wanted to admit.

“You’re as light as the music, Mariah. You’re a good dancer.”

“You sound surprised. I may be off the shelf, but I can waltz. I am surprised that you’re not tripping over your feet. Or my toes.”

“Go ahead and tease me. I’m man enough to take it.”

You are all man. She bit her tongue so the words wouldn’t accidentally slip out. His shoulder was pure iron beneath her fingertips, and just the feel of him was…masculine. There was no other word to describe him, staring at his chest, so muscled and solid and…

Down low, her stomach fluttered.

It wasn’t because she was attracted to him, to this man she hated. Because she did hate him. She really did. And he disliked her with equal force. He’s simply doing me a favor, dancing like this, for saving his child’s life. Remember that.

When this brief dance was over, his duty done, he would escort her back to the punch table where she belonged. She couldn’t fault him for that. Then he’d choose a prettier, younger woman to dance. One he would court and marry.

That won’t be you, Mariah. Disappointment dug into her heart, but she refused to think about it. She stared hard at the button at Nick’s collar. A thread holding it had frayed, and it could come loose. She’d have to remember that when she found this shirt in the next batch of laundry, and sew it on snug and tight. She always prided herself on doing a thorough job, the best in town, and never charged extra for the small touches. Yes, she’d do well to remember that button.

“That was a mighty fine chicken potpie you made. Rayna Ludgrin made a point of telling me you’d cooked it.”

“I’m glad you thought so.” It figured that he’d talk about food. See? He wasn’t out to charm her. She knew that. Then why did it hurt so much?

“I enjoyed your angel food cake, too. Rayna took it upon herself to make sure I got a slice. I can’t figure out why.” He sounded amused, not on defense.

“She’s a busybody who can’t mind her own business, that’s why.” And a dear friend, Mariah didn’t add, touched at her friend’s thoughtfulness. Rayna didn’t understand that Nick Gray wouldn’t want her. “I’m glad you enjoyed the cake. It’s my mother’s family recipe. Maybe that would make a fine wedding gift for your new bride. The one everyone says you’re here to find.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s why I’m here.”

He sounded so sad. Mariah’s heart punched with regret. She should have treated him better, even if she didn’t like him. He’d lost a wife he loved. “I’m sorry for your loss. I never had the chance to tell you.”

The strong shoulder muscles beneath her fingertips stiffened. He paused, letting the music move between them for a few short beats, his breath harsh, ruffling the tendrils at her temple, as if he were in terrible pain.

She ached for him. Maybe she’d been wrong to bring it up.

When he spoke, his voice was strained. “I never sent a note around for the food you prepared for the wake. I should have thanked you.”

“You didn’t need to. I understand. It’s a sad time.”

He simply nodded in response, his jaw brushing against her forehead. The fiddle sang sweetly, without a care in the world, but she could feel his heart, heavy and hurting. She laid her hand there, in the center of his chest, on the warm, hard, heat of him and felt the steady beat of his pulse. So much pain.

How was it that she could feel what was inside him? She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to watch as he chose another woman to marry, another woman to take his name, to live with him, to lie with him warm in his bed at night, to be loved by him, body and soul.

Anytime now Nick was going to release her, his duty done. She was prepared for it. She stared hard at the button on his collar, the one she intended to fix. Hardening her heart against the inevitable. She could see the younger women in the crowd watching him with hopeful eyes. Which pretty one would he pick to marry next?

For a second time Nick would pass her by to marry someone else. Her chest ached something fierce, and the button began to blur. She wouldn’t think about that. She’d concentrate on that button. Remember to look for this shirt in the next batch of his laundry—

He pulled her to his chest, tucking her beneath his chin, against his heart. She settled against him as if she were made to fit right there, her forehead nestling perfectly against the column of his throat. Oh, my. Everything within her stilled—her pulse, her blood, her thoughts. All she knew was the scent of Nick’s warm skin and the heat of his solid male body against hers. The music, the night, her anger at him, faded into nothing.

Being held by him was sheer heaven. Made her lighter than any soap bubble drifting on a summer’s breeze. Made her heart feel bigger than the wide spread of the night sky overhead. She closed her eyes, breathing in the solidness of him, the incredible feel of his arms banded around her, of his body’s heat, of the masculine way he was made….

“Is this all right?” His voice was a warm puff against her ear, making her tingle, shudder all the way to the soles of her feet.

All right? It was heaven. She nodded, closing her eyes, snuggling against him. Oh, to relax against the hard, wonderful plane of his chest. She breathed in the warm manly scent of his skin, letting him move her to the music, shuffling more than sweeping. His hand at her waist pressed her harder against him, as if he felt this, too, this yearning, this need to be closer. His free hand curled around the back of her neck, cradling her head against him. So tender…

He’s not going to choose you, Mariah. So don’t even begin to start hoping.

But holding him this close, feeling him so thrillingly male and comfortingly solid, made her ache. Ache for something she’d wanted since she was a schoolgirl. She wanted love. She wanted passion. She wanted to look into a man’s eyes and see the depths of his love for her, tender and endless and true. To know that she, Mariah Scott—afraid, lonely, and so deeply flawed—could be loved. Accepted.

Cherished.

You’re too cold-hearted for love, and you know it. Pa had told her this all her life. And it was true. She was too much like her mother for a man to ever find something to love in her. She was useful, a hard worker, good at cooking and cleaning, and she ran a fine laundry business. The best in town, in her opinion. She prided herself in that. In her accomplishments. She didn’t need a man to make her feel good about herself.

But being held like this was so wonderful. Nick shifted, bringing his cheek to rest against the side of her head. It was tender and snug, and heat gathered low in her stomach. A strong liquid want, heavy and demanding, made her lean into him. Her softness to his hardness. She wished she could be held like this forever. By this man, the one she’d loved all her life.

She would never be good enough to be loved by him.

“You’ve been on your own a long time.” He spoke low, so only she could hear him. “How long since your father’s passing?”

“Five, almost six years.”

“You’ve been alone all that time.”

Alone. That’s what she was, and she ached with it. She closed her eyes, sinking against Nick’s chest. He wouldn’t understand. He wasn’t lonely, he had a lot of family, and his own children.

“I know now that life with your father was hard. Maybe painful. I should have seen that. I should have understood.” His hand at the base of her skull moved in slow easy caresses.

Mariah shivered from the pleasure all the way to the soles of her feet. “It wasn’t your fault. I wanted to blame you, but I couldn’t. Lida was pretty and warm and loving.”

“She was my children’s mother and I won’t say a bad word about her, but I regretted what I did. Telling you I wanted to court you and then marrying someone else.”

“You fell in love.”

His hand stilled. “Your father told me that you changed your mind that day.”

“I didn’t change my mind.” She could clearly remember sitting at her bedroom window, ready for him to come calling, wearing the new dress she’d worked so hard to afford and had sewn during the late hours when her daily work was finally done. Fidgeting with anticipation, nervous, checking the mirror at least a dozen times to make sure her hair was all right because of the wind through the window.

Her first beau. Her young heart had sung with happiness. Other girls in school had boyfriends to take them driving on Sunday afternoons. She’d listened to their tales with such yearning. Now it was happening to her! Trembling, she leaned far out the open window, straining to see as far as she could around the bend in the road.

Was he late? Had he forgotten? He’d asked her in school that Friday; a whole day had passed and he could have forgotten…. No, wait. That was a small dust cloud rising on the rolling prairie, then suddenly a horse-drawn surrey appeared around the corner, the matched pintos trotting handsomely.

He’d come! The most handsome boy in school had come for her. She’d flown from the window, checked the mirror one last time to tuck an unruly gold curl beneath her poke bonnet and torn down the stairs.

Just in time to watch her father send Nick away. Dust flew in his wake, a big brown cloud obscuring him. When it faded, the dust settling back to the ground, he was gone.

He hadn’t wanted her then. Nor had any man wanted to court her since. She refused to be sad about it. She was a grown woman, she didn’t need anyone. Really.

“I have regrets,” she admitted quietly. Wishing with all her heart that she could go back in time and change the parts of her that had brought her so much unhappiness. Wishing she could have been different. More loving. More…something. She didn’t even know what it was. She just wanted to be loved. Was that too much to ask?

“I regret how I treated you. I was young. I made mistakes. I still wind up making a few now and then.”

“Just a few?”

His chuckle rolled through her, starting in him and lashing through her like a wave against the shore, moving her when she didn’t want to be moved.

This hurt too much, being in his arms. To think of the past. The one that had brought her here, alone, dancing not because she was wanted but because Nick Gray felt obligated to. It hurt that she wasn’t like those other women, so soft and pretty and young. The best part of her life felt over, and she hadn’t lived it.

Despair made her feet heavy, as heavy as her broken dreams. There would be no family for her, no children running to clutch her skirts calling “Ma, look!” Because there was nothing about her that anyone—especially a man as fine as Nick Gray—could love.

She broke away from his embrace. She had her pride left, and she refused to lose that, too. It took all her courage to meet his gaze, so he wouldn’t know how she felt. “Thank you for the dance. Consider your debt paid in full. I’ve got to go—”

“No.” Nick’s hand caught her wrist, stopping her. So tall he stood, his face set. “The dance isn’t over.”

“It is for me.”

“You’re not in charge here, Mariah.”

“There you go, thinking because you’re a man that you’re in charge and I—”

“But you gave your word.” He took her other hand and settled it on his wide shoulder, his touch firm. “I don’t think you want half the town to witness that the formidable Spinster Scott breaks promises right and left.”

“Oh, I’m sure everyone will understand my reluctance to dance with a man like you.”

“Hmm? That so?” His hand settled into place at her waist. “I’m disreputable?”

“Of the worst kind. You overheard the widows talking about you.”

“Seems to me that your reputation could stand some tarnishing, so come here.”

She gasped, startled when he hauled her tight against him, into the snug shelter of his arms, where she could press her forehead to the hollow of his throat. She couldn’t stop herself. Not one thing in her life had ever felt this good. This safe. This…right.

His hand curled around her nape, cradling her to him. A steady rhythm began to beat quietly in her blood, then picked up speed. I’m in big trouble. Any more of this and he will know how I really feel about him. Everyone in this room would know. Because they would see it on her face. See the love she hid deep in her heart for this strong man she’d never stopped wanting. Even if he’d broken her heart by marrying another.

The fiddle sang the last tender note of the waltz and the dancers fell away from one another, applause rising in the night. The stars twinkled, laughter and chatter rose, and Nick Gray’s hand at her waist remained, a steady pressure that did not fade.

His heart raced beneath her hand, beating faster and faster. She gazed up into his eyes, so dark, so full of stormy emotions she couldn’t begin to name, but still she felt the loneliness inside him that went all the way to his soul. Amazing, that she could feel that in him. Maybe because loneliness beat so strong within her. She didn’t know, but it hurt like a broken bone, healed and mended and throbbing in the winter.

Why did she have to feel this for him? Hands trembling, she broke away from him as the next song started, a lively schottische that had partners scurrying. Dancers were bumping against her skirts, because she was standing stock-still in the center of the dance area.

She wasn’t doing anything but stepping out of the arms of the man she’d always yearned for. Away from the man who could still turn her inside out with only a look.

More than anything she wanted Nick’s love. His real love. The kind her friends whispered about in those chaotic moments before the club meeting was called to order, with secret smiles of understanding about what went on between a wife and her man.

But the crowd of young women, all of marriageable ages and as pretty as could be, were waiting patiently for Nick to finish his obligatory dance with the town spinster. She couldn’t compete, she knew it. So she tucked away her hopes right along with her disappointment and walked away.

“Hey, wait. Mariah—” His voice rang low, easily drowned out by the music and stomping feet of the dancers, so it was easy to pretend she couldn’t hear him.

She walked past the pretty young women with hope sparkling in their eyes, pushed past the refreshment table where the widows stared at her in tight-lipped disapproval and out into the quiet of the schoolyard, dark and silent and empty.

Only then did she let the tears burn her eyes. Despair settled around her. She was alone. She had to face it. Just like her father had told her. No man was going to come courting her. Not now. Not ever.

She hated that the mean old cuss was still right, after all these years. Instead of heading back to the dance, to see which of the young women Nick had chosen to dance with, she headed toward the schoolhouse. Surely there was still some work there needing to be done.



Glad to be alone, Nick shook out the match, dropped it into the dirt at the side of the road and covered it with his boot.

The sweet, rich cigar smoke calmed him, and he dragged deep. He couldn’t get Mariah out of his mind. The independent-minded, aggravating spinster who looked as prickly as a roll of barbed wire had melted against him like warm butter, fitting against him the way a woman was meant to. All curves and softness and heat.

This is a marriage of convenience, you want. Remember that, man. How Mariah felt in his arms didn’t matter. That wasn’t the issue.

His children were.

He dragged deep, blew out a long ribbon of smoke. The air was thick with the fresh, earthy scent of new grass growing and heavy with the sound of night insects and the birds that hunted them. He was looking true north, toward his property a few miles out.

Home. He warmed from head to toe, his worries melting away, thinking of his little ones tucked in for the night. His father would have put Georgie down first, after an hour of protests, requests for a drink of water and a lullaby. He pictured her snuggled beneath the thick comforter, covers pulled to her chin, her hair curled all around her face like an angel. So sweet. His heart hurt just thinking of her.

And fear hit him in the chest like the business end of a sledgehammer. He could have lost her today. Could have been at her wake, instead of a dance tonight…. Damn it. He couldn’t stand it if something happened to her, or to his son…all it took was remembering the responsibility heavy on the boy’s narrow shoulders to make Nick get off his butt and face what he had to do.

A wife might mean a lifetime of misery for him, but it meant security and happiness for his children. Don’t let those women scare you, Gray. You’re the man. You’re the boss. Pick one and be done with it.

Aw, jeez. Not one of those young women—fresh-faced and immature—was what he was looking for. What he needed was a sensible, practical wife who understood that marriage was a legal agreement with separation of labours and knew that the job was tough. He needed a woman who would work hard and take good care of his kids. Someone who would leave his heart in his chest where it belonged and not shredded on the ground at her feet. Who on earth could fill those shoes?

A shadowed movement from the back door of the schoolhouse caught his attention. Mariah Scott, her basket slung industriously over one arm, was leaving. Backlit by the flaming torches set up to light the dance area, she was easy to pick out against the crowd, even in silhouette. Her purposeful stride was unlike any other woman’s—not swaying and seductive, not dainty and airy, but no-nonsense. With every snap of her skirt, with every step she took, Mariah Scott meant business.

She marched past a gaggle of younger women, who huddled together talking near the bonfire. The moment she turned her back to the women as she swiftly marched down the worn path to the road, one of the young women mimicked her. They all burst out laughing.

Nick’s chest tightened. Good thing he wasn’t interested in one of those women. They were cruel, no matter how soft and feminine they looked. It was too dark to see Mariah’s face, but he knew she’d been hurt. Her shoulders stiffened. He could see it. Just as he could feel the pride holding her up as she kept walking, without missing a beat. As if laughter was not lifting on the wind behind her, drowning out the first sweet strains of a new waltz.

She breezed past where he huddled on the shadowed bank, the row of parked buggies and wagons hiding him from her sight. He couldn’t help noticing that while her shoes were patched, they were polished and serviceable. Just like the woman. Practical Mariah. She was hardworking and wore black like a widow, already given up on life.

He wanted to keep hating her, but how could he? She’d been as tied to her father’s cruel demands as he’d been to the mistake he’d made with young Lida Brown. They’d both been trapped in unhappy lives. He knew the pain and the sting of the regrets that came with it.

He could make her life better. And his children’s. With one simple question.

He climbed to his feet, dragging deep on his cigar. Maybe the rich smoke would give him the courage he needed as he made his way down the rode. “Hey, Mariah.”

“Nick.” Startled, she dropped her basket in her wagon bed, stiffening like a porcupine ready to strike. “What are you doing out here? Or have you found your bride all ready?”

“I found her. Least ways, I hope so.”

“Oh, why that was certainly quick.” Her voice came as sharp as the crack of the tailgate as she slammed it shut. “Let me be the first to offer my congratulations.”

Her voice sounded strained. Hurt? That didn’t sound at all like Mariah. “Don’t go congratulating me yet. I haven’t gotten around to ask her.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s one of those do-gooder, busybody types. Always doing for some event or another. Like this fund-raiser tonight.”

“Oh, then I must know her.” She turned her back on him and hiked her skirts up to march into the tall grassy field. “You must mean Betsy. She’s a good friend of mine. Truly, she’ll make a good mother to your children. She’s kind and I—”

Was her voice wobbling a little? Nick snatched the picket rope before she could grab it and yanked hard on the lead to bring the young ox to heel. “It’s not Betsy I intend to marry. It’s you.”

“Me?” She froze in midstride, her skirts tumbling from her hands, and the air from her lungs.

He kept walking, leaving her behind. As he hitched the animal to her wagon, he stole a couple glances at her standing there, frozen as a statue, washed in patches of silvered moonlight. She was a beautiful woman with a gently sloping nose, the high delicate cut of cheekbone, the soft full mouth, and he knew, blue eyes so bright they could make the sky look pale by comparison.

His heart thumped in his chest, simply from looking at her. Still some of the boy in the man, he supposed. The boy in love for the first time—after all the bitterness of marriage, the heart didn’t forget. But it was not his heart that saw the woman now.

No, it was the man appreciating her soft, full bosom. He’d never quite noticed how pleasantly she was proportioned. A narrow waist, not too tiny, but just right. How well his hand had fit there when they’d danced. Her skin as soft as warmed silk. Her hair fragrant with lilacs and soft against his shaven jaw. How small she’d felt against his chest.

“I told you, your obligation is over and done. Got that?” She marched right up to him, skirts flaring, and yanked the reins out of his hands.

“Yep, I heard you loud and clear, ma’am.” He took her elbow, since he knew she’d refuse a hand up, and helped her into the wagon.

“I don’t need your help or your pity, Mr. Gray.”

“Pity? Mariah, I was being sincere.”

“Sincerely charitable, I suppose. Good evening.” Her chin shot up, all fight, all pride. The fierce spinster to the core as she snapped the reins hard enough to startle the ox into forward motion, jerking the wagon swiftly away from him.

But not before he caught the sparkle of tears in her eyes.

Aw, jeez. He’d hurt her. He stood there a long while, watching her wagon disappear into the darkness. What did he do now?



Mariah felt her way up the porch in the dark. The night felt so quiet as she stood there in the shadows, hesitating to turn the key in the lock because she didn’t want to go inside. There was no one waiting for her. No husband to welcome her, no children running in their nightshirts who’d missed her all evening long.

Regrets. Why did she feel things so keenly tonight? She wished she could push them aside, but they remained, a heavy sharp blade in her breastbone. Did it have to be so darn quiet here? The door hinges squeaked like chalk on a board and her shoes tapped as loud as a war drum on the wood floor she’d polished only yesterday. The emptiness echoed around her and did not fade when she hurried to light a nearby lamp. The faint glow of the flame on the wick only illuminated the truth of her life—rooms in perfect order, not a speck of dust in sight, but without anyone to fill them.

Just her. It didn’t seem enough. Not tonight. Not after dancing in Nick’s arms. Not after what he’d said to her.

Marry him? She couldn’t marry him. He didn’t like her. She didn’t like him. He’d proposed to her out of pity, for heaven’s sake. Pity. As if she were a sad, lonely old spinster in need of charity.

Angry, she dumped her reticule on the hallway table. There was her reflection staring right back at her, the face of a woman no man could love. Or so Pa had told her, and told her often. And as time passed and she went from schoolgirl to spinster, she’d come to believe it.

Nick couldn’t have meant his proposal. She was old, and getting older by the minute. The dim light accentuated every wrinkle and imperfection on her no-longer-youthful face. Not that she was ancient, it was just that life had a way of marking a person, like rings in a tree. Sadness had marked hers, and she hated seeing it there. Had to wonder if Nick had seen it, too.

Oh, stop thinking about that man! She shrugged out of her shawl, hung it with a curse on the wall peg and made it all the way to the kitchen before she realized she’d forgotten her basket in the back of the wagon. What was wrong with her tonight? Even standing in the dark of her kitchen, surrounded by the sounds of emptiness and the wind scraping the lilac branches against the siding, she couldn’t seem to make her mind stop reeling her back in time to the sensation of waltzing in Nick’s strong arms.

It’s not Betsy I intend to marry. It’s you, he’d said in that deep dark voice of his, as intriguing as a rogue’s, making her shiver from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. He couldn’t mean it. She didn’t know why he’d even asked, and maybe he didn’t, either. He had to have proposed knowing she would reject him. Right?

Breathing in, she could remember Nick’s scent and feel the warmth of his shirt against her cheek, the security of his strong arms holding her. A part of her would always yearn after him, as she had when she was young, watching him marry another woman. And, as the years crept by, offering congratulations on the birth of his children. Watching from her father’s kitchen window as his family surrey swept by on the way to town, with Lida at his side.

Pain filled her, at the loneliness of her own life. It wasn’t better being alone. She didn’t care how right her father was. If she could pray for any one thing and have it granted, no holds barred, then it would be to have a heart that could love. A heart that wasn’t cold and used up, like a hunk of winter’s ice. One that bloomed like the wild prairie roses, and no harsh winter or dry summer could stop their stubborn blooms.

But she was her mother’s daughter. Ice to the core. Good for only one thing—hard work. At least she did that well.

Taking solace where she could, Mariah crossed the dark kitchen, petticoats swishing in the silence. She felt proud of how hard she’d worked tonight. Her contribution made a difference. They’d raised more than half the money they needed for the school addition. See? Her life had meaning enough. The children of this town would have new desks and plenty of room so they could become better educated, and a new heater to keep them warm through the winter.

She found the match tin by feel and snapped open the lid. The curtains were open, giving a view of her backyard and orchard, and a glimpse at her neighbor’s house. Lights blinked on in their windows like beacons in the night, drawing Mariah’s gaze. Their curtains were open, too, and she caught sight of the Bryants, returning from the dance, no doubt. Mrs. Bryant balanced her year-old son on her hip, while herding her other two small children through the front room toward the bedrooms in back.

It was just a slice of their lives Mariah could see through that window, but how warm it looked. How cozy. Mr. Bryant came into view and laid a gentle hand on his wife’s shoulder. She gazed up at him with a smile. How happy they looked, man and wife. There was love there, a kind Mariah knew nothing about. She closed her eyes and turned away.

No, she belonged here. In the house she grew up in. In the house where she’d cared for her father until his death. It was hers now. And she would live out her days here, not troubled by the demands of children and a husband and by her own inadequacies.

No, she was happy here—alone—and she was content with that. Mariah snapped the curtains shut against the night and other people’s bliss.

She vowed not to think of Nick again. And she didn’t. Not when she fetched the basket from the wagon and unloaded her dishes. Not when she prepared for bed. Not even once, in her dreams that night, or any of the nights that followed.




Chapter Five


“M ariah!” Rayna Ludgrin’s knock echoed through the warm house the next Monday morning and was followed by the squeak of the hinges. “Mariah! Are you in here? I’m a little early, I know. Some of your dishcloths got mixed up with mine. I’d best return them while I’m here, or I’ll forget all about it.”

“Good thing, because I have some of yours.” Mariah sprinkled water on the collar of Nick’s blue muslin work shirt. “How much did the dance bring in?”

“We topped last year’s in donations.” Rayna bustled through the door like a whirl of gaiety and dropped a neat pile of a dozen dishcloths on the crowded table. “Oh, you look busy. Your business is growing.”

“It’s improving.” Mariah had told no one, not even her closest friend, how hard it had been making ends meet. “Have you heard from Betsy? She was dancing with the gunsmith when I left.”

“Betsy ought to be here in a few minutes. She’d never miss our weekly tea time. Speaking of Friday night’s event, what about you? I saw you waltzing in Nick Gray’s arms.” Rayna helped herself to the tea water simmering on the stove. “It was the talk of the dance.”

“Hardly. It was one waltz.”

“Yes, but did you see the way he looked at you?”

“I did happen to notice. That’s why I’ve vowed never to speak to him again.”

“Mariah! If you keep this up, you’ll never marry.”

“Marry? What does that have to do with Nick Gray? Oh, sure, you mean his act of pity. He danced with me out of his conceited, self-centered sense of obligation.” She blinked hard and stabbed the point of the iron into the seam of the muslin’s narrow collar. “So, he must have chosen a wife by now. Those children of his need a woman’s care. Who’s the lucky bride?”

“I have no idea— Wait, I hear Betsy. Why, Betsy, good morning.”

Mariah’s hands stilled for a shocked moment. What was wrong with Rayna? Why was she avoiding the subject of Nick Gray?

“Good morning, or, well, a few minutes to noon.” She waltzed in, looking happy as a lark in a pretty blue calico dress with a matching bonnet, balancing a pink bakery box in her gloved hands. “Guess what? Zeke asked me to go driving with him on Sunday.”

“He’s a good man, Betsy. I’m glad for you.” Mariah set the iron in its stand. Maybe this romance would work out for Betsy, but what about Nick Gray?

He’d proposed to someone else.

Pain pierced like an arrow into Mariah’s chest, making it hard to breathe. She couldn’t let her feelings show. Keeping her chin high, she turned the shirt on the edge of the board, smoothing the fabric until it was perfect.

There. Another shirt done. She folded it precisely and laid it on the stack of others.

It’s all right. You didn’t expect he really wanted to marry you. But that didn’t stop her heart from breaking or the disappointment from welling up like a geyser. She hadn’t realized how much she wished Nick’s proposal had been a real one.

Blinking hard, she set the iron aside, her work done for now. She had a few hours to spend with her friends. This afternoon she had more garments to iron and deliveries to make.

Nick Gray’s choice of bride was not her concern.

It was just as well. She was content with her life. Look at all she’d accomplished. Rayna was right—her laundry business was beginning to flourish. The fund-raiser had been a success. She had friends, her own house, and her independence. What more did a women need?

“A good man.” Rayna waggled her brows as she gathered china from the corner hutch. “Betsy, did you hear what Mariah said? He’s a good man, she said of the gunsmith. What did you mean by that?”

Mariah blushed as she snatched the stack of plates from Rayna. “Just what I said. Zeke is a good prospect for a husband. He’s an honest businessman. He’s kind. He makes a good wage. I think you ought to let him court you, Betsy.”

“That’s what I’m going to do.” Betsy smiled. “Rayna, did you hear what Mariah said? She said a man who’s a good prospect for a husband is honest and kind.”

“Huh! Mariah, just goes to show what you know.” Rayna winked, sharing a private grin with Betsy as she gathered small plates from the high shelf. “Mariah has never been married, so we’ll have to forgive her ignorance.”

“Hey! I’m not ignorant!” Mariah protested, used to the ribbing of her friends. “I can’t imagine why you two think marriage is such a joy—”

“Not a joy,” Betsy corrected. “A pleasure.”

“Oh, yes, it’s that.” Rayna nodded, blushing. “Oh, the pleasure.”

“You two, I’m shocked at you. To think I call such lusty, indecent women my friends.” Laughing, too, Mariah grabbed the bread plates from Rayna, stacked them on top of the china she already had and marched toward the dining room, pushing through the glass door.

Really. They were talking about intimacy, and as embarrassed as Mariah was, she was more curious.

“Me? Indecent?” Rayna blushed harder. “Why, I should hope so.”

“That is what I miss most about being married.” Betsy sighed with longing, the fondness in her voice unmistakable. “Charlie was a thoughtful man. Oh, and so tender. As much as I miss him, I miss that tenderness with a man. That intimacy.”

Mariah set the plates on the lace-covered table, alone, listening to her friends in the other room, voices low, talking of marriage with such fondness. Remembering how thrilling it had felt to be held in Nick’s arms, snug against his chest, made her wish for the first time that she knew what her friends were talking about. What true intimacy with a man felt like. Was it that wonderful? Was it special to be so loved?

Yes, it was. Why wouldn’t it be? Longing filled her so sharp and sweet, tugged at the cold edge of her heart like spring’s first sunshine on frozen tundra. What she would give to know that wonder. To be treasured and held like that. To have Nick hold her in that special way.

He doesn’t want you, Mariah. Nick would marry someone else, just as he had last time, and the man she’d loved forever would be out of her reach. The same man that her father had sent away when she was young and halfway pretty, when she’d had a chance of being loved.

Now that chance was gone for good. Mariah could see her reflection in the mirror over the fireplace. She didn’t like what she saw. Hers was the stark, unhappy face of a woman who looked older than her years.

That’s not me, she thought. It couldn’t possibly be.

But it was. Time had changed her on the outside. There was no doubt about it. She couldn’t go backward. She really didn’t want to. It’s just that… She sighed. The longing within her was the sixteen-year-old schoolgirl she used to be, who had never stopped loving Nick Gray.

I hope his new bride, whoever she may be, makes him happy. He deserves that. And his beautiful little girl, with those wonderful gold curls tangled and falling everywhere, she deserved a kind mother. Mariah ached, remembering the child. Remembering how hard Georgie’s small fingers had held tight with a mountain of determination. So fragile and dear and amazing.




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