“Where are you going to go?”

His tone was flat, his jaw tensed as if he were still fighting a temper. His blue gaze shot past her to watch the children.

“I don’t know.” Her throat went dry. Her tongue felt thick as she answered. She trembled not from fear of him, she truly didn’t believe he would strike her, but from the unknown.

“You can’t keep living out of a wagon,” he said. “I have an empty shanty out back of my house that no one’s living in. You and your children can stay there for the night.”

“What?” She stumbled back. “But—”

“There will be no argument,” he bit out, interrupting her. “None at all. I buried a wife and son years ago, and to see you and them neglected like this—with no one to care—” His jaw ground again, and his eyes were no longer cold.

Joanna didn’t think she’d ever seen anything sadder than Aiden McKaslin as the sun went down on him.

Without another word, he turned on his heels and walked away, melting into the thick shadows of the summer evening.

JILLIAN HART

makes her home in Washington State, where she has lived most of her life. When Jillian is not hard at work on her next story, she loves to read, go to lunch with her friends and spend quiet evenings with her family.

Jillian Hart
High Country Bride

www.millsandboon.co.uk

I wait quietly before God, for my hope is in Him. He alone is my rock and my salvation, my fortress where I will not be shaken.

—Psalms 62:5–6

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

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

Angel County, Montana Territory

June, 1883

It was a hot day for a wake. Joanna Nelson swiped the dampness from her forehead, closed the oven door with her foot and slid the sheet of biscuits onto the wooden cutting board. The kitchen window was open wide to let in the sweltering wind. It gave her a clear view of the horse and buggy lumbering along the road, kicking up chalky dust.

Few mourners had shown up for her pa’s brief funeral in the graveyard behind the church. None had yet made their way to the house. Just this lone horse and buggy ambling tiredly through the heat waves on the dirt road. When the vehicle was near enough, she recognized the driver. Not a mourner, but one of the bankers from town, dressed up in his fancy work suit.

This was not a social call, she suspected. No, Edwin Wessox had been a regular visitor over the last year, because of the bank’s worry over Pa’s debt. With her father gone, this visit did not necessarily mean good news. Without a doubt, it concerned the mortgage on the farm. She knew, because this had happened to her once before—after her husband died, one year and three months ago. The banker had paid a visit to her not three hours after she’d laid her husband to rest.

Would they be allowed to continue on with the payments? Her stomach twisted in a nervous knot. Don’t expect the worst, she told herself. She slid the biscuits from the baking sheet into a cloth-lined bowl. Her half brother had come to stay when the doctor had given Pa the diagnosis. Lee said he wanted to keep farming the land, although he didn’t like farming.

It will be all right, Joanna. She took a deep breath and poked her head into the parlor. Lee sat by the open window with a hand to his forehead, looking as shocked as she felt. He didn’t so much as blink an eye, much less look in her direction. He clearly had a lot on his mind.

“The banker’s coming,” she said, then went back to her kitchen work.

She didn’t know if that news would make her brother stir. They were not close; he’d only come after she’d telegraphed him. As she hefted the pot of beans from the oven, she tried to keep hopeful. Heaven knew, hard times had rained down on her before like the worst kind of storm. Things had started to get a little easier, finally, while she’d been staying here with her pa.

Please, Lord, she prayed, don’t let things get worse for us. Praying these days was more habit than belief. She set the bean pot down on the battered wooden table and feared the Lord and all his angels had forgotten her.

Upstairs, she heard the patter of her young son’s bare feet, as if to remind her of all she had to protect. Her little girl trailed after him. The two of them sounded like a stampeding herd barreling down the steps.

“Ma! Ma!” James burst into the kitchen and ran straight to her skirts, burying his face in her waist.

Daisy raced after him. She was too young to remember the consequences of her father’s death, but was upset because her older brother was. She fisted her hands in the extra material of Joanna’s skirt and held on tight.

Since she was as good as hobbled, Joanna left the potatoes to their boiling and scooped her little girl into her arms. Poor baby. Joanna kissed her daughter’s brow and snuggled her close. “Why are you crying, little one?”

“I don’t wanna live in the wagon. James said.”

“Is that true? Did you say that to your sister?”

James held on tighter and didn’t answer.

Too many losses, too many upheavals, too much uncertainty. Joanna hated how it had marked her children. “I have dinner on the table. Let me take a look at you. However did you two get so dirty?”

“In the attic, Ma.” James tipped his head back to look at her, his sweaty brown hair sticking straight up.

She smoothed it down, wishing she could smooth away bigger troubles as easily. “It will be all right. Now, go wash your hands and faces while I see to our company.”

The worry did not leave James’s features when he released his hold on her, or when he took his sister’s hand and led her to the washbasin by the back door. Joanna straightened, her skirts sticking to her as she left the hot kitchen for the front door.

Mr. Wessox was tipping his hat to her on the other side of the screen. “Ma’am, I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” Dread quickened her heartbeat and made her hand tremble as she unlatched the door. “Please, come in. Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, I’ve come to speak with Lee.”

Of course. It was a man’s world, and Lee was to inherit the ranch. She knew that. But the nerves jumped in her stomach like oil on a hot pan as she hurried back to the kitchen. Her gaze went first to her little ones in the sunny corner. James was holding the towel for his sister as she splashed her hands in the basin.

What is going to happen to us, Lord? To them? She tried to believe—she had to believe—that Lee would be able to stall the banker as handily as their father always had. She and her children would keep this solid roof over their heads. The garden was flourishing, the cow was giving good milk and the chickens were laying so well there would be plenty of food on their table.

Harvest season was coming up, and although Lee hadn’t wanted to talk about it, he would clearly need her help when it came to threshing time. Joanna knew there would be harvest workers to feed—that was a large task he could not do without help—and then they had the canning and preserves to do and the garden to put up. Come winter, perhaps she could get some kind of job in town, cooking or cleaning for part of the day to bring in a wage.

All this had kept her up the last few nights, and it all—her future and her children’s—depended on Lee and the banker. She couldn’t help peering through the doorway, but the men were sitting in the corner, out of her sight. She heard the drone of their voices, too low for her to make out a single word.

“Ma, we’re all washed up.” James held the towel while Daisy dried her little hands.

“We’re real clean, Ma.” Daisy’s flyaway blond hair stood out at all angles in the dry air. She looked like the precious blessing she was in the little calico frock and white apron Joanna had finished sewing last week, cut down from one of her own dresses. She wished they had money enough for a new piece of fabric, but Daisy looked dear, anyway.

“I’ll dish up your supper for you, and you two can eat on the back porch in the shade.” At their enthusiastic response, she took a couple of clean plates from the drainer and filled them from the stove.

When she carried the full plates to the back door, she noticed a team pulling a wagon down their driveway. Well, good, at least someone had come. She couldn’t make out the driver through the blistering glare of the sun. The big dark draft horses looked familiar, however. Then she recognized the man on the seat. It was their neighbor to the north, Aiden McKaslin. The dour, disagreeable man had come to pay his respects? That surprised her. He and Pa had not gotten along at all, even though they attended the same church.

“Sit down right here, you two.” She set both plates on the small wooden table she’d brought out from the kitchen earlier. The chairs scraped as the little ones climbed up and settled in. “James, say the blessing, please.”

“Yes, Ma.” The little boy scootched forward in his seat and gave his sister a serious look. “Are your hands folded, Daisy?”

“Yes.” She blew out a sigh of frustration, stirring the long platinum-blond strands of her hair. “He’s bein’ bossy again, Ma.”

Joanna pressed a kiss to the crown of her daughter’s head. It was hard being little. She remembered it well. “I need to go greet Mr. McKaslin, so you two mind your manners, all right?”

“Yes, Ma,” they both said gravely.

She left them to the sound of James’s serious prayer, trying to keep them in her sight through the window as she headed through the house toward the front door. She was surprised to see the banker and Lee in the front yard already, shaking hands. They were both smiling, and her brother seemed relieved.

Apparently their business was over. Their smiles had to be a good sign—the bank must be willing to let her brother continue on with the payments. The burden of worry slid right off her shoulders like rain from a tin roof. Her children would have a solid, good home. It was a lot to be thankful for.

Aiden McKaslin pulled his draft horses to a stop and stared straight at her. “I’ve come to take back the cow I didn’t receive full payment for.”

“What? You’re not here for the wake?”

“I’m busy, ma’am. I’ve only got time to take the cow.”

“The milk cow?” Her children needed the milk. She looked to Lee, but he stopped chatting with the banker to shrug in a careless way.

“Let him take the cow, Joanna. We can’t keep her.”

“We c-can’t?” She hadn’t considered they might be that bad off. Her brother turned his back and continued walking the banker to his horse and buggy, which were parked in the shade.

Well, they could get along without a cow. Heaven knew they had been much worse off before and managed well enough. What mattered was that they could keep the house and land. This thought bolstered her as she hurried across the crackling dried lawn.

Aiden McKaslin stopped to face her. “I’ll return the payments your father already made.”

He tugged some folded twenty dollar bills from his muslin shirt pocket and held them out with a steady, sun-brown hand. A capable hand, she noticed, not quite able to meet his gaze. Shyness seized her, for he was a big man, tall and physically intimidating. She felt very small as she took the bills.

“Thank you, that’s awful decent of you. I—” She blushed, realizing how sorry she must look. She smoothed the grease spackles on her patched apron. “The cow is picketed out in the field. You can’t see her from here, but she’s just behind the barn in the shade by the creek.”

“I brought my own rope, so I’ll leave you her halter, picket rope and pin. You may be able to get another cow later on, and those will come in handy.”

It felt as if a rock had settled in her throat, and she couldn’t seem to answer him. She could only nod as she slipped the two twenty dollar bills into her pocket.

“I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am.” He tipped his hat. She could see his shadow on the ground at her feet before he whipped around and strode away toward the barn.

“Ma?” Little Daisy stared at her through the slatted porch rails, clutching the weathered wood with her small hands. Tears stood in her eyes. “My plate slid off the t-table. It’s all in the d-dirt.”

From around the corner, just out of sight, James called out, “Weren’t my fault, Ma!”

One tear trickled down Daisy’s cheek. “I real s-sorry.”

Joanna remembered to count to ten and then took a deep breath of the hot, dusty air. She reached between the boards and caught the wetness on her fingertip. “It’s all right. Go help your brother clean up, then come around to the kitchen door and meet me.”

“Y-yes, Ma.” Her daughter hiccuped once, spun in a swirl of pink calico and padded off on bare feet.

Poor baby. Joanna watched to make sure no more tears fell as Daisy hopped down the step to kneel beside her brother. Their hands worked quickly. The mess couldn’t have been very much. After she filled a second plate for Daisy, Joanna would see to the rest of the cleaning up.

She felt an odd tingling at the back of her neck. It wasn’t a good feeling. She peered around, but Mr. Aiden McKaslin had already cut behind the barn and was out of sight and earshot—and quickly, too. A staid bachelor like him, close to thirty years old, probably had an unpleasant opinion of children and their messes. She’d married a man just like that.

The last thing she intended to do was pay him any mind. The banker was driving away, kicking up more chalky dust into the heavy air. Lee headed off to the barn. Most likely to talk with Mr. McKaslin, who was likely tying the cow to the back of his wagon now.

If only they had enough money in hand. Joanna wistfully glanced into the blinding shafts of June sunlight. She would have liked to have milk for the children. But beggars could not be choosers, and she was glad for what they did have. As she hurried around to the door, she spied the garden beginning to crisp beneath the harsh sun. She’d have to remember to give the vegetables an extra watering after she was through in the kitchen.

While she dished up another plate, she caught sight of Mr. McKaslin returning from behind the barn with their Jersey cow on a lead rope. Something about the man caught her eye. She’d seen him in church, of course, but he was the type of worshipper who arrived at the last moment, kept to the back and slipped out before the final hymn. There was a sadness to him that hung over him like a storm cloud. It was that melancholy that kept him from being truly frightening.

Had she offered him a meal? She couldn’t remember. Her mind was a muddle and she felt frayed to the last thread. She put more fuel in the stove and more water to heat. She went to the back door, but Mr. McKaslin was already in his wagon and driving off, the cow trailing behind. Before she’d blinked twice, there was only a dust cloud where he had been.

Daisy stood leaning at the rail with those wide blue eyes of hers even wider. “Why’s Uncle Lee all packed up on the horse?”

“Packed up? No, he’s probably out back in the fields, gone to chat with Mr. McKaslin. Don’t you worry about it, honey.” She set the plate on the table. “Here, sit down and eat your dinner.”

“Okay…” Daisy said in one long, drawn-out sigh.

As Joanna brushed a comforting hand over her daughter’s head, a movement caught her eye. There, against the background of the growing wheat fields and the fading patches of red on the barn, was Lee astride Pa’s horse. Daisy was right. There were two bulging packs behind his saddle and a satchel hung over the saddle horn. Lee had his black hat drawn low and didn’t look her way.

James glanced nervously over his shoulder. “Ma, where’s he goin’?”

“I’m sure to settle a few business matters in town, is all.” A punch of apprehension hit her square in the stomach. Something was very wrong. She forced a smile into her voice for the children’s sake. “Stay right here on the porch, eat your dinner, and I’ll get you a surprise for dessert.”

“There’s dessert?” James swiveled toward her, his uncle forgotten. “Honest?”

“Is it cake?” Daisy asked with a fork halfway to her mouth.

“You’ll have to wait and see.”

Lee rode out of sight behind the house, and it was hard to keep her step natural as she headed straight to the kitchen. The moment the door slapped shut behind her she rushed through to the front yard. Lee didn’t look behind him, but his back stiffened, so he had to know she was hurrying after him.

“Lee?” She had to keep her voice low so the children would not be able to overhear this. “Lee? Where are you going?”

“Away.” He bit out the word, then appeared annoyed as he reined in the horse. “Truth is, I sold the place.”

“You what?” She couldn’t be hearing him right. Maybe it was the lack of sleep last night and the emotional upset over the funeral. It was all the hard kitchen work in this stifling heat. Yes, that’s what it was. “For a moment there, I thought you said you’d sold out, but there’s still the crop in the fields.”

“I sold it, too. The banker said you’ve got until nightfall to get out.”

“Get out?” There was something wrong with her mind. She could hear Lee’s words, but her brain was not making sense of them. Surely he didn’t say—“You want me to get out of the house?”

“You can’t live in it if it belongs to someone else. The banker bought the place for his sister. She’d like to get settled tonight.”

“Tonight?” The earth began to spin. “Lee, what about the children? You aren’t putting us out, are you?”

“You aren’t my lookout. They’re your ragamuffins, not mine. I’m not beholden to them or to you. Pa left me this place fair and square. It’s mine to sell.”

“But before Pa died, you said…” Not only was the earth spinning, but it was tilting, too.

No, this can’t be happening. This cannot be right. She had to be ill from the heat, that was it. Her mind was fuddled from too little sleep and too much worry. “Y-you said we could live here.”

“I know what I said.” Lee glared down at her. “I came to help you take care of the old man. The crops are still doing well in the fields because of me. The banker met my price and I took it. Leave the pigs and the chickens when you go. They’re part of the sale, too.”

“But—” Her brain seemed stuck on that word like her feet to the dirt. “It’s not right. You just can’t—”

“Sure I can. I only came back here for the money. You know I never held much regard for our old man. He was a louse.”

“But you said—”

“In this world, you’ve got to look out for yourself and no one else. It’s the only way to survive.” Lee gazed down on her with pity. He pulled his billfold from his shirt pocket. “Here.”

She stared at the twenty dollar bill he held out, the end flapping in the brisk scorching wind. The truth hit her like dry lightning. “You really sold the land and you’re keeping all the money.”

“It’s legal. Pa left everything to me. You know that.”

“But you said you would stay to farm. You promised. You gave your word.”

“Yeah, well, I hardly expected you to help me out if you knew.” Since she didn’t take the money, Lee tossed it at her. The wind snatched it and blew it away like a dry leaf. It stuck to the wall of sticker bushes growing along the road and flapped there, helplessly trapped.

Joanna gulped hard. She fisted her hands, fighting to stay calm. Getting upset would not make this easier. “You lied to me. Lee, you’re my brother.”

“Half brother. Take my advice and start packing. That banker’s not a nice man. He’ll put you and your young ones out by force. Do you want that?”

A bead of sweat rolled down her spine. She shook her head once, but the horse was already trotting away, kicking up bits of earth and small rocks. In the matter of a few heartbeats, all that she could see of her brother was a thick cloud of dust.

He’ll put you and your young ones out by force. The image of that tore through her and, without thought, she moved forward. She snatched the twenty dollar bill from the bush, ignoring the bite of scratches across her knuckles. She added the bill to the money Mr. McKaslin had given her. The sun was already sinking in the sky, the day more than half over. She had a lot to do if she wanted to spare her children any unpleasantness.

Woodenly, she stumbled into the kitchen, checking through the open window to see them seated at the little battered wooden table, comfortably finishing their meals. The wind puffed James’s dark hair straight up like one big cowlick. Daisy sat as dainty and as dear as a princess.

Lord, please help me to manage this well. For their sake. She might have prayed further for shelter and work and somewhere to go, but she’d learned from experience that the good Lord did not hear many of her prayers. So she kept them simple.

“What’s for dessert, Ma?” James had hopped off his chair and stood at the window, happily watching her through the mesh screen.

“You sit down and watch your sister, handsome, and I’ll bring you both big pieces of cake.”

“Cake! I knew it.” Delight rounded his sweet face and he dashed the short distance back to his chair.

That’s my answer, she realized as she found a knife and went to work on the cake hidden in the cellar to keep cool and fresh. This will be an adventure, a special trip. Not a scary life living out of the wagon. They would be explorers, like in the book she was reading to them, a few pages at a time, at night.

She swallowed all her fears and worries, put a smile on her face and cut two huge slices of cake. Her mind was busy making plans of how to pack and what they would take as she pushed her way through the screen door.

Two darling faces turned toward her in sheer delight. “Cake!”

She knew from sad experience that the Lord might not provide for them, but she would find a way.

Chapter Two

If it wasn’t one problem to deal with, it was another. Aiden McKaslin drew his horse to a halt and squinted into the long rays of the setting sun.

Sure enough, there at the edge of his property, just inside the boundary fence, was a squatter. A covered wagon huddled in the shelter of an old maple. Judging by the fraying cover, it had seen better days. The smoke from a newly lit fire rose thick and unsteady from a tidy circle of stones.

What with the glare of the sun, and the shadows the tree made on the ground, he couldn’t see a living soul. Just two horses nipping at the growing grass.

He yanked his Winchester from the saddle holster by its barrel and cocked it with one hand. Aiden carried the weapon mostly for the wild predators that got to eyeing his livestock for dinner now and again. But when he ran into trouble of the human sort, he was doubly glad he always rode armed. He’d had trouble like this before, and experience taught him that squatters were mostly criminals.

He hated trouble, but the law was a good five miles away, so he approached the camp with caution, studying the lay of things with a careful eye. There was wearing of the earth around the stubborn tufts of grass at the creek bank. The careful sweeping of footprints out of the dirt seemed to be a clue that whoever was staying here might not want to leave a sign of how many of them there were. The trampled grass around the wagon was another hint—still fresh, but with significant usage.

What if the men were dangerous? Aiden drew his horse to a stop and considered. He was out in the open now. Too late to retreat. Trouble like this had occurred early last year, and a ranch hand had been shot and left for dead by squatters. They’d never been caught. Thankfully, the hired man had survived.

Aiden would rather deal with dangerous wildlife anyday than a pack of armed criminals.

Then he saw something in the dust by the right rear wagon wheel. He leaned forward in the saddle, squinted a bit and realized it was a small, crudely carved wooden horse—a child’s toy. A child’s toy? Not what he’d figured on finding here in a squatter’s camp. Then he heard a rustle, and a puff of dust rose from beneath the wagon.

He lowered the hammer and the rifle. “Is your pa around?”

A round face peered between the spokes of the wheel. “Nah. He rode away to heaven.”

Aiden studied the wide brown eyes and dark hair sticking straight up, recognizing the child. The widow’s kid who had lived on the neighboring ranch for a spell. Probably another sad story, he figured as he dismounted. He was learning that life was full of sad stories. Even though he’d lost his heart long ago, and there was nothing but an empty hole where it had been, he steeled himself. He didn’t want to feel a thing, and he knew this situation was going to be full of sadness. “Your ma then?”

“She said not to talk to nobody. Shh, Daisy.” There was more rustling and the boy drew back.

To his surprise, a little girl with white-blond hair held back with a bright pink ribbon crawled out from beneath the wagon bed. She brushed the dust off her skirt primly. “Ma didn’t say I couldn’t talk to nobody.”

Aiden couldn’t rightly say that he wasn’t affected by that cute little girl. Such a wee thing, not much to her at all, and living out of a covered wagon. The little boy crawled out, too, looking annoyed with his younger sister. He drew himself up tall—he couldn’t be more than seven or eight years old—and scolded his sister for not minding.

They hadn’t been living here long, Aiden decided as he glanced around. Everything was neat and tidy, and a woman’s presence might explain the swept dirt. While he didn’t have the best opinion of most women, he’d learned even the worst of them liked to dust and sweep with a vengeance.

The little boy was shaking his finger at his sister. “Ma said to stay hid. You oughtn’t to be talking to strangers.”

“Are you a stranger?” The little girl gazed past her brother and straight into Aiden’s eyes.

He choked a little, feeling a gnawing of something in his chest. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like feelings. Life was too hard for them. A smart man didn’t give in to them. He set his jaw tight and answered between clenched teeth. “Your brother is right. You ought to mind him.”

“Oh.” The little girl wilted like a new seedling in a late freeze. “Do you know where Ma is?”

“No. She’s not here? Did she go off and leave you?” There it was. Fury. It roared through him unbidden and with a power that he hadn’t felt since—

“Excuse me.” A woman’s voice carried like a gunshot on the wind. “Step away from my children.”

He did as she asked, so as not to startle her. But as he pivoted on his boot heel to face her, he steeled himself a tad more. He still wasn’t prepared for what he saw. Exhaustion was a mask obscuring her young face. Her dress was clean and proper and pressed, and her soft blond hair braided casually in one long tail that fell over her shoulder. The air of her, the feel that hung over her like a cloud, was pure hardship.

His emotions weren’t ironclad enough, because he felt the tug of pity. And more. The fury remained, digging deep. “This is my land, ma’am. You can’t go leaving your children alone here.”

“I didn’t leave them alone. I was down at the creek.”

As she strode to the crest of the rise, he could clearly see the two five-gallon buckets she carried, one in each hand. She was a tiny thing, and water was heavy. He was striding toward her before he realized he was moving at all.

There was fear in her eyes—fear of him, he realized, as he yanked the first bucket out of her hand. She drew back fiercely, sloshing water over the rim and onto her faded skirts, clutching the remaining bucket’s handle with a death grip.

“Give me the water.” He tucked his rifle against his forearm and held out his free hand.

Her eyes widened at the sight of his rifle, pointed downward at an angle toward the grass.

Women. He ought to have remembered what they were like, having once been married. He did his best to keep his annoyance out of his voice. “I use my rifle for defense, nothing more, ma’am. Now, give me the bucket.”

She swallowed visibly, as if she were about to hand over a potful of money. He had frightened her more than he’d realized.

Shame filled him and he took care when he lifted the heavy bucket from her small hand. He cleared his throat, not at all sure how to say what he had meant to say. Talking had never been his strong suit. He hefted the heavy water buckets and lugged them toward the camp, where both little children watched him wide-eyed. Anyone could see they were well-behaved, that their ma was doing a good job raising them up.

“Where you want these?” He glanced over his shoulder, but the woman seemed frozen in place on the rise. Mrs. Nelson looked like a sensible sort. Her pink calico dress might be faded, but it was simple and clean, void of frippery.

She came across as a decent lady down on her luck. And she was staring at him with fear on her face. Not the terrified sort of run-and-hide fear. No, the fear he saw on her delicate features was the kind that made him even angrier. The kind that spoke of ill-treatment.

“Where do you want me to put the water?” he repeated in as clear of a voice as he could manage.

Mrs. Nelson visibly swallowed. “Under the tailgate.”

Without a word he turned and marched angrily on, his boots clumping against the hard-packed earth. He hauled the buckets to the back of the wagon and dropped them with a small puff of dust. When he straightened, he realized both children had followed him, single file, and were staring up at him with dust-smudged faces. Mrs. Nelson’s skirts snapped as she hurried to stand between him and the young ones.

That only made him madder. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ll not have you using that tone in front of my children.” Her dainty chin came up, and she was all protective fire, though the old, worn fear was still there.

He hated that fear. It was all he could do to keep his tone low and his voice calm. “This being my land, ma’am, I’ll use whatever tone suits me. Now, answer my question.”

That chin lifted another notch before she turned to speak to her little ones. “You two go on and wash up for supper, while I speak to Mr. McKaslin.”

They nodded and politely went straight to it. The little boy fetched a bar of lye soap and a worn but clean towel from the back of the wagon, and took charge of seeing to the hands and face washing of his little sister.

With the children busy, Aiden followed Mrs. Nelson out into the grass. She turned to face him with her arms crossed over her chest and her spine straight. “We had no place to go, Mr. McKaslin.”

“You have family.”

“Family? I have no one and you know it.” She held herself very still. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get my children into the wagon and we’ll be off your property by sundown. That is what you want, isn’t it?”

“You just said you have no place to go.”

“And a man like you cares?” She heard the heartlessness in her own voice and stopped, took a breath and a moment to compose herself. She might be homeless, but she had her dignity. “I cannot reimburse you for our stay on your land. I am sorry for that.”

“Sorry?” A muscle worked in his granite jaw. He repeated the word as if he’d bitten into something sour. “Sorry?”

“There’s no need to be so angry.” She took a step back and drew in a gulp of air. “We hardly did any harm.”

“Any harm?”

“We wore away some of your grass, and the horses grazed on the bunchgrass, but it wasn’t as if you were using—”

“This is unacceptable.” A vein throbbed out at his temple. “You’ve been living here for how long?”

“Since Mr. Wessox found us camped out at the edge of his farm on the other side of the creek.” She curled her hands into fists, keeping her chin set and her tone even. This was not the first irate man she’d ever had to manage.

“How long?” Tendons stood out in his muscled, sun-browned neck.

“We were only there a few weeks.” She felt very small. “We’ve been on your land for a little longer.”

“And you have no family?” A tick started in the corded muscles of his jaw.

“You already know the answer.” She took a few slow steps in retreat. She could not get to her wagon—or her children—without going past Mr. McKaslin. “My half brother has no interest in helping us. There is no one else.”

“What of your husband’s side of the family?”

“As he’s passed away, and his family did not approve of me, they want nothing to do with us. Not even for the children’s sake.” She didn’t know how it could possibly be, but her words seemed to make the man towering over her even angrier. He appeared to be restraining his fury, but it was a terrible sight. He was more than twice her size and strength, and as he began to breathe heavily with his anger, he seemed invincible.

A thin thread of fear shivered through her, but she firmly clutched her skirts, lifting them so she would not trip. Her first wobbly step took her closer to him. Closer to his rage. “Excuse me.”

To her surprise, he let her walk by. She did her best to ignore the stone pillar he seemed as she hurried past him, adrenaline kicking up with every step she took. Her children were waiting, sweet and good, with their faces and hands washed. They were carefully wiping up their water splashes. Her heart warmed toward them as it always did, and she hoped she could keep them safe.

“Ma?” James leaned close, all brightness gone from his face. “That man’s gonna make us leave again, ain’t he?”

Before she could answer, Daisy fisted her little hands in the folds of Joanna’s skirts and looked up with frightened eyes. “I don’t wanna go.”

“Why ever not?” She did her best to put a smile on her face and soothing love in her voice. She knelt down so they could look into her eyes and clearly see they should not be worried. “We always knew this was just a stopping off place. Why, we’re ready to go and start our next adventure. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

“No.” James would not be fooled, her poor little boy. “Do we gotta go now? Before supper?”

Aware of Daisy’s lower lip trembling and how intently the little girl watched her, Joanna tried to weigh her next words carefully. She did not want to make promises she could not keep. But neither did she want to be so truthful it shattered her children. She was out of options, and her prayers had simply gone unanswered for so long, they might never be again.

All she could do was the best she knew how. “All right, you two, start rounding up your toys. Be sure to get them all. We don’t want to leave any behind.”

“Okay, Ma.” James sighed with sadness, his shoulders weighed down as he went to bring in his wooden horses.

“Yes, Ma.” Daisy sniffed, her head down, and trudged away.

The wild grasses crunched beneath Mr. McKaslin’s boots. She dreaded facing him again. He strode toward her through the waving stalks, his work clothes rippling slightly in the strong westerly breeze and hinting at his steely strength. Vulnerable, she braced herself for whatever wrath he’d come to inflict on her.

He had some right, she admitted, for they were squatters. They were illegally using the land he worked hard to pay for and to maintain. She was, essentially, stealing from him. That shamed her.

Silence stretched between them, and she felt the rake of his gaze, taking her in from the top of her windblown hair, where escaped tendrils snapped in the wind, to the toes of her scuffed, patched shoes. She watched him fist his big, work-roughened hands, and expected the worst.

“You never told me, Mrs. Nelson. Where are you going to go?” His tone was flat, his jaw tensed, as if he was still fighting his temper. His blue eyes glanced past her to where the children were going about their chore.

“I don’t know.” Her throat went dry. Her tongue felt thick as she answered. “When I find employment, I could wire a payment to you. Rent. Y-you aren’t thinking of—of bringing the sheriff in?”

“You think I want payment?” Aiden’s voice boomed like winter thunder. “You think I want rent money?”

“Frankly, I don’t know what you want.”

“I’ll tell you what I don’t want. I don’t want…” His words echoed like cannon fire as he paused, and a passing pair of geese overhead honked in flat-noted tones. He grimaced, and it was impossible to guess what he would say or do.

She trembled not from fear of him—she truly didn’t believe he would strike her—but from the unknown. Of being forced to take the frightening step off the only safe spot she’d found since she’d lost Pa’s house.

When you were homeless, everything seemed so fragile, so easily off balance. It was a big, unkind world for a woman alone with her children. She had no one to protect her. No one to care. The truth was, Joanna had never had those things in her husband. How could she expect them from any stranger? Especially this man she hardly knew, who seemed harsh, cold and hard-hearted?

And, worse, what if he brought in the law?

“You can’t keep living out of a wagon,” he said, still angry, the cords straining in his neck. “Animals have enough sense to keep their young cared for and safe.”

Yes, it was as she’d thought. He intended to be as cruel as he could be. She spun on her heels, pulling up all her defenses, determined to let his hurtful words roll off her. She grabbed the towel the children had neatly folded and tossed it into the laundry box in the back of the wagon.

“Mrs. Nelson. I’m talking to you.”

“Yes, I know. If you expect me to stand there while you tongue-lash me, you’re mistaken. I have packing to get to.” Her fingers were clumsy as she hefted the bucket of water she’d brought for washing—she wouldn’t need that now—and heaved.

His hand clasped the handle beside hers, and she could feel the life and power of him vibrate along the thin metal. “Give it to me.”

Her fingers let go. She felt stunned as he walked away, easily carrying the bucket, which had been so heavy for her. Quietly, methodically, he put out the small cooking fire. He did not seem as ominous or as intimidating—somehow—as he stood in the shadows, bent to his task, although she couldn’t say why. Perhaps it was because he wasn’t acting the way she was used to men acting. She was quite accustomed to doing all the work.

James scurried over, clutching his wooden horse, to watch. Daisy hung back, eyes wide and still, taking in the mysterious goings-on.

He was different when he was near to them, she realized. He didn’t seem harsh, and there was no hint of anger—or, come to think of it, any other emotion—as he shook out the empty bucket, nodded once to the children and then retraced his path to her.

“Let me guess.” He dropped the bucket onto the tailgate, and his anger appeared to be back. Cords strained in his neck and jaw again as he growled at her. “If you leave here, you don’t know where you’re going and you have no money to get there with?”

She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Then get you and your kids into the wagon. I’ll hitch up your horses for you.” His eyes were cold and yet not unfeeling as he fastened his gaze on hers. “I have a shanty out back of my house that no one’s living in. You can stay there for the night.”

“What?” She stumbled back, and the solid wood of the tailgate bit into the small of her back. “But—”

“There will be no argument,” he snapped, interrupting her. “None at all. I buried a wife and son years ago, what was most precious to me, and to see you and them neglected like this—with no one to care…” His jaw clenched again, and his eyes were no longer cold.

Joanna didn’t think she’d ever seen anything sadder than Aiden McKaslin standing there in the slanting rays of the setting sun.

Without another word, he turned on his heels and walked away, melting into the thick shadows of the summer evening.

Chapter Three

As he led the way across his land, it was all Aiden could do not to look behind him. He knew the covered wagon was following him across the rolling prairie, but he steeled his resolve. He would not turn around and see that woman alone, thin from hunger and pale with strain. He could not take any more, so he contented himself with listening to the plod of the tired horses’ hooves on the sun-baked earth, and the rhythmic squeak of the wagon’s rear axel.

Yep, he didn’t like this one bit, but he hated even worse the notion of sitting home tonight, comfortable and safe and fed, knowing that a nice woman and her children were unprotected and uncherished and alone.

No, it just wasn’t right. Emotion clogged his throat, making it hard to swallow, making it hard to breathe. He refused to let his gaze wander to the east, where the family cemetery lay in shadow, the headstones tall enough to see from his saddle. That’s what got him all stirred up. Seeing this woman alone, and her small children homeless, rubbed at the break in his soul that had never healed properly.

He didn’t see how it ever could. A loss like that was too much for a man to take.

It was a long ride home through the low rays of the sun. A cooling breeze kicked up, and he drew in the fresh air until it settled in his lungs. He let his chest empty of all the feelings in there. By the time he spotted the sun winking on the windows of home, he was safe from his wounds again.

The young boy’s voice rose above the call of a quail and the rustling wind in the grass. “Ma! Ma! Is that where we’re gonna live?”

Aiden tried not to be affected by the young’un’s excitement, nor by his mother’s gentle response.

“No, sweetheart, that’s where Mr. McKaslin lives.”

“But it’s so big, Ma. Are you sure?”

“Yes. We’re going to live in his shanty.”

“Oh.”

Aiden steeled himself to the sound of the small boy’s disappointment, too. He told himself the shanty was snug and would do just fine for them all, but the truth was, he couldn’t stomach the notion of having another woman in the house he’d built for Kate.

He followed the fork in the road that skirted the barn and led south from the main house to the small dark structure of wood and plaster. He heard the children’s quiet questions to their mother and tried not to hear the soothing lull of her answers as he dismounted.

Opening the door and finding the nearest lantern kept his mind off the ragged family climbing down from their wagon in the front yard. By the time he’d lit the second lantern, the boy stood in the open doorway, looking smaller for the darkness and shadows cast over him.

The child’s serious eyes were unblinking as he watched Aiden cross the one-room house to the cook-stove in the corner. If his guess was right about Mrs. Nelson, she would want tea with supper and wash water for cleaning up. He knelt down and began to build a fire with the bucket of kindling and sticks of wood left over from when his middle brother had been living here.

The boy said nothing, just watched with wide eyes. Aiden tried not to think much about the child. Not out of heartlessness—no, never that.

By the time he got the fire lit and flames licked greedily at the tinder-dry wood, the woman arrived at the door with her littlest on her hip. Without a word she glanced around the shanty. Her face was gaunt in the half darkness, her feelings masked. He couldn’t tell if she was disappointed in the shelter or relieved.

After closing the stove door, he rose to his feet. “I’ll bring in some water for you, ma’am. I’ll send my brother out with supper.”

“No. Thank you, but no.” She looked stricken. “I’ve already been so much trouble to you. I can’t be—I won’t be—more beholden to you. I—”

“You shoulda thought of that when you decided to live on a piece of my property.” He watched her rear back—just a step, just a small movement, but somehow it felt like a larger motion. As if he’d truly insulted her. It was not what he’d meant.

Tread softly, man. He checked his voice, gentling it as much as he was able. “Just put aside your worries for tonight. I’ll sleep easier knowing you and your young ones are safe instead of sleeping out there alone on the prairie. Do you understand?”

“Fine. Then we’ll speak again tomorrow. I am grateful.” Tension still tightened her face, and the flickering light seemed to emphasize the hollows and lines there, in those lovely features that ought to be soft with happiness and contentment.

It was not a fair world, and he knew it as much as anyone. He jammed the match tin onto the shelf with a little too much force. Watching the way Mrs. Nelson’s gaze moved with relief and pleasure around the shanty shamed him. The place wasn’t much. He wasn’t sure what his Christian duty was, but he hoped he was doing his share. He touched his hat brim. “’Scuse me, ma’am, I’ll say good night, then.”

“Thank you for your kindness.” She moved from the doorway with a rustle of petticoats and a hush of skirts, careful to keep her distance from him. “Good night, Mr. McKaslin.”

When he crossed the threshold, he could feel her sigh of relief. He made her uneasy, and it troubled him as he hiked through the growing grasses, for he was uneasy, too. He’d never thought there would be another woman on his land—even for just the night and even in the shanty.

He kept going until the shanty was nothing more than a faint black outline against the shadowed sky. Kindness, Mrs. Nelson had called it, but it was nothing of the sort. He was only doing the right thing, and that did not come without cost.

“Ma, that was a mighty fine supper!” James’s grin was so wide it was likely to split his face. “I cleaned my whole plate.”

“Yes, you did.” Joanna lifted the kettle of water steaming on the back of the stove. “You be sure and thank Mr. McKaslin the next time you see him.”

“Yes’m. I’m puttin’ him in my prayers tonight. I was gettin’ mighty tired of creek fish.” The little boy slid his plate and steel fork next to the washbasin on the table. “Are you sure we can’t stay here forever?”

“Yes, I’m sure. This is only for tonight.” Holding her heart still, Joanna carefully poured the steaming water into the basin and returned the half-full kettle to the stove. Mr. McKaslin. Now, there was a puzzle. She could not figure that man out. In the field, when she’d come up with water from the creek, she’d been afraid of him. He’d been so angry. Now she realized it wasn’t anger at all. No, not if he’d brought them here.

She reached for the bar of lye soap she’d brought in from the wagon earlier, and began to pare off shavings, which fell into the hot water to curl and melt. She felt a little like those shavings, wilting a bit. She wasn’t used to taking charity, but as she watched her children move about contentedly, she was grateful to Mr. McKaslin. Somehow she would find a way to repay him for his kindness.

Daisy sidled close with her plate and yawned hugely.

“Is it time for bed already?” Joanna glanced at the shelf clock, which sat mute, the motionless hands frozen at ten minutes after one, clearly the wrong time. “Go on, you two, wash up and get changed.”

“Ma.” Daisy tugged on a fold of Joanna’s skirt, looking up with big blue eyes full of worry. “What about the angels?”

Joanna’s heart twisted hard. The first night they’d slept in the wagon, she had told them that the wagon cover was better than a roof because it made it easier for the angels to watch over them. “The angels will be able to keep an eye on you just fine, baby. Now, you wash up and we’ll read more from our book. How’s that?”

Daisy’s smile showed the perfect dimples in her cheeks.

“That’d be mighty fine!” James, listening in, looked as if he could not believe his luck.

As they scampered to finish their washing up, Joanna left the dishes to soak in the water and plucked a sheet from the small box she’d brought in earlier. There, in the small mirror above the washbasin, her face was staring back at her.

That’s me? She froze, gazing at the strange woman in the mirror. She’d never been pretty, and she knew it. Her husband had always taken pains to point out her plainness. But she could never remember looking this poorly. Her hair—her only vanity—was dry and flyaway instead of glossy and sleek. Her face was ashen and the hollows beneath her eyes were as dark as day-old bruises. Her cheeks were gaunt and her eyes too big. Sadness had dug lines that had not been there before.

That was not her, she thought, ashamed. That was not the face of a twenty-eight-year-old woman. No wonder Aiden McKaslin had barely glanced at her, and, when he did, it was with that shuttered look of annoyance. What must he see? What must he think of her? And why was she remembering how kind and strong he’d seemed, too? And how changed he’d been around the children?

It didn’t matter. After tomorrow she would never see him again.

Tomorrow. That was one thought she wanted to avoid. As hard as she tried not to admit it, she and her children were now covered-wagon people—the homeless people of the West—and she could no longer deny it.

Should they stay in the area? Find another forgotten piece of prairie to park their wagon on? It was too early for harvest work in the fields. And where would she leave her children while she was working?

Should they leave Angel Falls? The horses were in no condition, as old as they were, to pull the wagon a long distance. She did not have the money to stay—particularly come morning, after she squared up what she owed to Aiden McKaslin.

“Ma!” Daisy’s sweet voice broke into her thoughts. “I can’t reach.”

She blinked, realizing her daughter was waiting for her to unbutton her little dress. Joanna banished her worries with a shake of her head—there would be enough time to dwell on them later, when she was unable to fall to sleep—and tackled the tiny buttons marching down the back of Daisy’s pink calico dress. “There, now. Go get your nightgown and I’ll have your bed nice and ready.”

“Yes, Ma.” Daisy scampered off to where their satchel of clothes sat on the floor. She knelt, all sweetness, to peer inside the bag and search for her nightie.

Yes, Joanna had some decisions to make. She shook out the worn muslin over the straw tick with a snap. The fabric fluttered into place, and she bent to smooth and tuck quickly. Her troubled thoughts turned to Aiden McKaslin. Funny, her pa had lived next door to the McKaslins for the last five years, and he’d never said much about Aiden except that he was highly disagreeable. Then again, Pa had been highly disagreeable himself.

Joanna had seen Mr. McKaslin in church since she’d come to stay with her father, but didn’t know anything about him at all. Certainly not what he’d said. His words came back to her. I buried a wife and son years ago, what was most precious to me, and to see you and them neglected like this—with no one to care—

Not only was she sad for this man who had lost so much, but she admired him, too. He was a good man—rare, in her opinion—or at least good enough to care about someone not his concern. There were men who would have thrown her off the land without blinking. Some would have threatened her with the sheriff.

But Aiden McKaslin had brought her here. She looked around the structure, so solidly built, and clean, except for a little dust here and there. There was a stout roof overhead and not a single crack in a wall. Real glass windows stared out at the gathering darkness and showed a round moon hanging low over the valley. Yes, she would remember Aiden McKaslin in her prayers tonight.

By the time she’d added a top sheet to the straw tick and the quilts from the wagon, the children had said their prayers and were ready for bed. She tucked them in, kissed their brows and told them what a good job they’d done today. When she turned out the lantern by the bedside, after reading to them as she’d promised, she left them sound asleep. She finished the dishes in the meager light of a single lantern, listening to the sounds of the night. Thinking of her problems and her limited choices to solve them overwhelmed her.

When the dishes were done and put away into the crate, she sat down with her mending. She worked while the fire burned down and moonlight moved across the floor of the shanty. Midnight came and she was still sitting with a needle in her hand, wondering what the morning would bring.

She hoped she would be strong enough to face it.

Aiden looked up from his newspaper when he heard Finn’s boot steps pounding into the kitchen. Sure enough, there was his little brother—twenty years old—worked up into a fever. No surprise there. Aiden took a sip of his tea, assessing the boy’s mood over the rim of his cup. Finn could surprise you, but it was best to try to at least figure out his state before attempting to deal with him. As much as Aiden loved his youngest brother, he had to be honest about his flaws and weaknesses—there were many of those. Judging by the disgruntled frown, the crease of annoyance in Finn’s forehead and the angry way he tossed the harness strap across the back of one of the chairs, Aiden figured his brother was working himself up into a temper.

Best not to react to it or encourage it. “I see you had trouble fixing that harness. Why don’t you get a cup of tea? We’ll tackle it tomorrow.”

“Trouble? I didn’t have any trouble.” Finn took off his battered work hat and plucked his newer, going-to-town hat from the wall peg. “What I have is a problem sewing that up for her.”

“It’s what I asked you to do. Technically, you would be doing it for me.”

Finn cursed. “Do you think having a woman live out there is a good idea?”

“No, but what else would you have me do with her?”

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

“Oh? Do you know the Widow Nelson?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finn grabbed his Sunday coat from the wall peg.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What free ride?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Four

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There was no need to do my chores.”

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

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

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

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

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

His hand, so very large, reached out and covered her wrist, stopping her. His fingers, so very warm, squeezed gently. “I’ll finish up here. You had best go see to your little ones.”

“They’ll be fine enough until I finish.”

“Please.” It was the plea in his eyes that moved her, that revealed a man of great heart. “I’m not comfortable letting a woman do my work. I’ll bring you some of the milk after I strain it.”

How could she say no to the man who had given her one night of safe harbor? One night of peaceful sleep? He was like a reminder of hope on this perfect, golden morning, even with the shadows that seemed to cling to him.

“Go on.” It was softly said, and surprising, coming from such a hard-looking man. “You have done enough for now.”

She swallowed, lost in his midnight-blue eyes. They were shielded from her, and as guarded as the peaks of the Rocky Mountains towering over the long stretch of prairie. Curiosity filled her, but he wasn’t hers to wonder about, so she pulled away and rose from the stool. With the first step she took, she felt a pang of lonesomeness. Her hand, warm from his touch, was cold in the temperate morning.

He watched her with his penetrating gaze, unmoving. Behind him on the porch, another man came to a sudden halt, yanked down the wide brim of his hat to shield his eyes from the sun without bothering to disguise his disdainful frown in her direction.

Last night Aiden had mentioned a brother. A brother who made him look even kinder and ten times more mature and masculine by comparison. The intensity of this man’s scowl made Joanna shiver.

“Don’t mind Finn.” Aiden’s comment carried on the breeze. “He’s got a lot to learn about life and manners.”

Across the yard, Finn muttered a terse answer that was drowned out by the harsh clatter of his boots on the steps. Anger emanated from him like heat from a stove. Joanna took one look at him and stayed where she was.

“Don’t blame you for not wanting to cross his path.” Aiden had hunkered down on the stool beside the cow. “When Finn’s got his dander up, he’s meaner than a rattler trapped in a brush fire. I apologize for him.”

“There’s no need. I’m the trespasser here.”

“You’ve gone pale. He upset you.”

“No, he reminded me of someone. M-my husband.”

That explained it. Aiden didn’t need to know anything more to see how her life had been. Sourness filled his stomach. Life was hard enough without such people in it. “Finn would make a poor husband.”

She didn’t comment, but the way she tensed up, as if she were holding too much inside, let him know more than her answer ever could. “Come by in, say, thirty minutes and I’ll have breakfast on the table. Your young ones might as well eat while we figure out what you and I are going to do.”

“About what I owe you?”

“No.” Tied up inside, he said the word with all the patience he had. “You have to go somewhere, Joanna. You can’t keep living out of your wagon.”

He could see her face beneath the shadow of her bonnet. Really, she was very lovely; her forehead and nose, cheekbones and chin were so fine they could have been sculpted of porcelain. Her big blue eyes were as pretty as cornflowers and her mouth looked soft and cozy, as if she had spent a lot of her life smiling. Once upon a time.

Her brows knit and her chin shot up. “Plenty of folks live out of their wagons when times get hard.”

Pride. He knew something about that. “I wasn’t criticizing. Only saying that eventually winter is going to come. Maybe I can help you with that.”

Her throat worked at the word help. Pain shot across her face. Whether she suspected his motives or wanted nothing to do with his help, he couldn’t know. She gave a nod of acknowledgment—not of agreement—and went on her way through the growing, seed-topped grasses.

Painted with dawn’s soft golden light like that, framed as she was by the crisp lush green of the prairie, Aiden felt he was seeing her for the first time. She was a truly lovely woman. He might even say beautiful.

He wasn’t proud of himself for noticing.

Joanna kept swallowing against the painful burn in her throat as she whisked a dollop of milk into the egg batter. Eventually winter is going to come. Aiden McKaslin’s remembered words made that pain worse. Maybe I can help you with that. Charity. That’s what he saw when he looked at her. A woman to be pitied.

Shame filled her, because it was the worst sort of criticism. She stopped whisking to flip the thick-cut bacon sizzling in one of the frying pans. Charity was all pretty and tidy and wrapped up real nice when you were the one giving it. It was different when you were on the other end. She’d been able to keep her chin up before, because she had been doing her best. There had been solace in that.

Now he thought she expected his help, that she would accept it. He meant well, but she was afraid of being in a man’s debt. Even in a good man’s debt. Anyone could see that Aiden McKaslin was a good man.

“Ma.” Daisy gave her rag doll a squeeze where she sat on a chair at the round oak table. “Can I get a drink of water?”

“You just had one, baby.” Joanna knew the child wasn’t asking for water, but to be able to get down from the chair and move around. “This isn’t our home, so we have to mind our manners. I want you to please sit there a little while longer.”

“Oh. Okay.” The little girl sighed and squeezed her doll harder.

“Ma?” James fidgeted in his chair and swung his feet back and forth. “I’m awful hungry. Especially for some of that bacon.”

There was no missing the hope on his face. Real bacon. They’d had such a luxury when they had their own little plot of land and their own pig to butcher. Joanna sighed, remembering those times, harder in some ways, better in others. “This is Mr. McKaslin’s breakfast. We ate in the shanty before we came here.”

“I know, but I was hopin’…” He left the sentence dangling, as if afraid to ask the question he already knew the answer to, but wanting to hold on to that hope.

She couldn’t blame him for that. “Maybe there will be a surprise for two good children later on. How about that?”

“Yes, ma’am!” James stopped fidgeting and sat up soldier straight, eager at the thought of a surprise.

“Oh, yes.” Daisy offered a dimpled smile.

It took so little to please them. Joanna’s heart ached as she poured the eggs into the waiting skillet. If only there was something more than another few pieces of saved candy for them. They deserved more than she could give them—at least now, anyway. In a month’s time, there would be fieldwork to do. It was hard labor, and she still didn’t know what to do with her babies while she worked, but at least she could hope for real wages. Hope for a betterment of her children’s lives.

The eggs sizzled and she whisked them around the pan, reaching for the salt and pepper. She surveyed her work in progress. The bacon was crisping up real nice, the tea was steeping and the buttermilk biscuits in the oven were smelling close to done. Cooking for the man wasn’t much of a repayment, but it was all she had to offer.

The back door swung open and there was Aiden, leaving his boots behind in the lean-to and staring at her with shock on his stony face. The kindness she’d come to see there vanished, replaced by a cold blast of anger.

“What are you doing?” His voice was loud enough to echo around the room. He came swiftly toward her, with raw fury and full power. “Get out of my kitchen.”

She’d expected him to be happy that she’d cooked for him, saving him the chore. She kept stirring the eggs so they wouldn’t congeal. “In a moment. I’m nearly done here. I didn’t mean to intrude. I know it was forward of me, but—”

“I want you out.” He drew himself up as if ready for a fight.

Yet she was not afraid of him. She heard Daisy crying quietly at the table and James hop off his chair to come to her aid.

“Outside, both of you.” She laid down the whisk. “Aiden, the biscuits are ready. Let me take them out of the oven.”

“Now, Joanna.” The words came out strangled.

He was not angry at her, she realized. There, behind his granite face, she thought she caught something terrible—grief and sorrow—before that glimmer of emotion faded from his eyes. He stared at her, cold and imposing. He did not have to say another word. His face said it for him. She was not welcome here. Coming had been a mistake. An enormous mistake.

Miserable, she turned away. She had to detour widely to avoid bumping his arm with her shoulder, for he’d planted himself in the middle of the kitchen. Shame made her feel small as she hustled to the door, where her children waited, wide-eyed and silent, in the lean-to.

So much for her brainy ideas. She took James with one hand and Daisy with the other. They tumbled into the blinding sunshine together. Dust kicked up beneath their shoes as they hopped off the last step and into the dry dirt. To the right lay a garden, the vegetables small and stunted, wilting in the morning sun. Duty cried out to Joanna to water those poor plants, for their sake as much as for Aiden’s. She glanced over her shoulder, remembering the awful look on his face.

She could see him in the shadows of the kitchen, standing where she’d left him, his shoulders slumped, his hands covering his face.

She’d never seen a man look so sad. Her feet became rooted to the ground, even though James was tugging at her hand. Something held her back. Something deep in her heart that would not let her leave the man behind.

He’d loved his wife. He really had. Joanna stared at him, transfixed by the shadows that seemed to surround him, by the slump of defeat of his invincible shoulders and the hurt rolling off him like dust in a newly tilled field.

She could see as plain as day what she’d done. Had there been another woman in this lovely house he’d built for her since her death? Probably not. He’d simply walked with no warning into the kitchen from his work in the barn to see a woman standing where his wife had once stood, cooking his breakfast.

Sympathy flooded her. Joanna hung her head, staring at her scuffed and patched shoes dusty from the dry Montana dirt. What she’d done with the best of intentions must have cut him to the soul.

How did she make this right? Would it be cruel to try to stay and work off what she owed him, and put him through this kind of remembering? Or was it better to pack up the children and leave? Which would be the best thing to do? There had been a time in her life when she would have turned to the Lord through prayer for an answer.

Now, she merely felt the puff of the hot breeze against her face and the muddle of agony in her middle. It was strange that Aiden’s hurt was so strong she could feel it as easily as the ground beneath her feet.

“Why’s he so mad, Ma?” James asked quietly, his hand tight in hers.

“He’s had a great loss.”

“Oh. Does that mean he had a funeral?”

“Yes.”

“He’s sad. Like I was when Pa died.” James’s breathing caught in a half sob, and he fell silent.

Joanna had never known that kind of sorrow, one that was deep and strong enough to have broken a person in two. Out of respect for Aiden’s privacy, she turned away. She made her feet carry her forward, past the garden and those tender parched plants, and she did not look back. Although not looking made no difference. She could feel the powerful image of him standing motionless while the bacon popped and the eggs cooked in that lovely kitchen he’d no doubt built with love and his own two hands.

As Aiden set several biscuits on a platter, Finn banged in from the lean-to wearing his barn clothes and a scowl. His brother took one look at the buttery biscuits and the fluffy eggs on the table and shook his head.

“What did I tell you?” he grumbled as he poured himself a cup of tea. “Hooks.”

Guess there was no need to mention who had cooked breakfast. And a mighty fine one, too, judging by the smell of things. He’d loved Kate dearly, but she was not a good cook—not even a passable one. But Joanna, why, she could put his ma to shame in a cooking contest.

“I’m just glad not to have to fix breakfast,” he told his brother. It was partly the truth—close enough—but not the whole truth. It still hurt to remember how she’d been standing at the fancy range he’d ordered in to surprise his wife.

“This is how it starts.” Finn’s scowl turned to a grimace as he drew a chair back with his boot and slumped into it. “She’s gettin’ into your good graces. Treating you to a meal so you can see what a good wife she’d make.”

“I suppose the fact that she’s been living without paying rent on the back pasture, and wanted to do something in return, has little to do with it.” Now that Aiden’s mind had cleared, and the agony was gone from the empty place in his chest where his heart used to be, he could see what she might have been doing. For some reason he didn’t want to think too hard on, he could understand Joanna Nelson pretty easily.

He slid the platter into the warmer—food he intended to take over to the children later. “She’s just doing what she can. Heaven knows I could use having my load lightened a bit.”

Finn, as usual, either ignored the comment or didn’t figure it applied to him. “See? That’s how it’ll go. Next thing you know, she’ll have this house spick-and-span and her brats—”

“That’s enough, Finn.” Aiden reached for the teapot. “Mind your manners. Those are good kids.”

“—living in the upstairs bedrooms. Watch.” Finn took a loud slurp from his cup. “Open your eyes now and smarten up, Aiden. Stop her while you can, otherwise you won’t know what hit you. You’ll have a wedding ring on your finger and three more mouths to feed, and she’ll be gettin’ a free ride.”

If there was something he couldn’t imagine, it was a woman like Joanna behaving in such a way. No, she was quality—simple as that. A real good, hardworking, God-fearing woman. Aiden rolled his eyes and carried his steaming cup to the table. “I don’t want you talking about her like that.”

“Sure, don’t listen.” Finn was already crunching on the bacon Joanna had fried up. “You’ll see that I’m right.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something? How about grace?”

“Why bother?”

Aiden shook his head. The boy was never going to learn. “You might not want to believe in God, but that doesn’t keep Him from believing in you. Sit up straight, stop chewing and bow your head.”

Finn’s grimace darkened but he did as he was told.

“Dear Father,” Aiden began, bowing his own head and folding his hands. “Please bless this meal we are about to receive. Thank you for your bounty and keep us mindful of our blessings—”

“Amen,” Finn interrupted, with the intent to end the blessing, as if that was about all the religion he could take on an empty stomach.

One day, Finn was going to learn, but in the meanwhile, Aiden added a silent prayer. Lord, please watch over Joanna Nelson and her children. Show me the right way to manage this. “Amen.”

He opened his eyes, and saw Finn already biting into one of the biscuits, moaning because it was so good. Aiden didn’t need to take a bite to know that for himself. The buttery fragrance was making his stomach rumble. He reached for one and broke it open. Light and fluffy, better than even Ma could make.

There, out the window, he could see Joanna crossing the lawn toward the barn. She was walking with a fast stride, her head down, her shoulders set. She looked like one determined woman. One who always did the best she could.

Odd how he could see her so clearly. He slathered butter on the biscuit and took a bite—sheer perfection. No doubt about that. Finn was already digging into the scrambled eggs, and so Aiden did, too. They were light and fluffy, with plenty of flavor. Saying she had a gift for cooking would have been an understatement.

He chewed and chased it down with a gulp of tea, watching as Joanna disappeared into the barn. He stood up, wishing he could take his plate with him.

“Don’t you do it, Aiden,” Finn warned, as if he were about to take a plunge headfirst off a cliff. “Don’t you ask her to stay and cook for you.”

“Mind your own business.” Aiden didn’t look back. He was in no mood to put up with his slacker of a brother, who did the least he could get by with. “I expect you to take a page from her book and work harder at earning your keep around here.”

Finn grumbled something, but Aiden gave the lean-to door a slam so he wouldn’t hear it. That boy could get his dander up in three seconds flat. Maybe because there wasn’t an ounce of appreciation for the roof over his head.

“Joanna?” He wasn’t surprised to find her at the end stall, where he’d stabled her two horses. “Don’t trouble yourself with the team. I’ll bring them out after I’m through with breakfast.”

“I would like to get a good start on the day.” She gave the lead rope a twist to release it, and tried to back the old work horse into the aisle. “I have the wagon packed, so ten more minutes and we will be on our way.”

“To where, Joanna?”

“I shall figure that out on the way there.” She gave the gelding’s halter a gentle tug. “C’mon, boy. Back up. C’mon.”

Aiden laid the flat of his hand on the horse’s rump, stopping him before he could move. “I didn’t mean to run you off. I never should have spoken to you like that. I was surprised to see you there. Unprepared.”

“I understand.” She still wouldn’t look at him. “I overstepped my welcome. I only meant to do you a kindness, to pay back how you’ve been kind to us.”

“I know that. I’ve been a widower a long time. Maybe too long.” Pressure built in his chest, directly behind his sternum, making it hard to talk. Hard to feel. Hard to do anything. “I didn’t mean to be so harsh.”

“I said I understand.” She sounded a little firm herself.

He hated that he’d done that to her. “That was Kate’s kitchen. I wasn’t prepared to see—” His throat closed up. The rest of him did, too.

“Another woman standing in her place.” Joanna finished for him.

Amazing that she could know that. Amazing that she could see what no one—not even his family—could understand.

“Don’t worry, Aiden. I didn’t mean to make you remember something that brings you so much pain. I intended to be leaving, anyway. I have a debt to you, and I will pay it. One way or another, you can be sure of that. Now, if you’d let me take my horse, I’ll be on my way.”

She was such a little bit of a thing, frail for all her strength. There was a world of fortitude in the set of her chin and the steel of her spine, but it wasn’t right to send her off just because it would be best for him.

No, that wouldn’t be right at all. He squeezed his eyes shut for just a moment, trying to listen to common sense, or maybe to that voice from heaven giving him a little direction. Just one word came to mind. “Stay.”

Chapter Five

Had she heard him right? Joanna’s fingers slipped from the halter. Dancer stared at her, patiently swishing his tail, as if there was no explanation in his mind to her behavior.

In truth, she couldn’t explain why Aiden’s kind request turned her to stone. Or why the feeling was worse than the fear gathered up inside her like a hive of angry bees. Being alone in this wide world was not a comfort. But neither was accepting a good man’s charity. All she had to remember was the look of horror and hurt on his handsome face to know the right thing to do. “I’d best take the children and move along. You don’t truly want me here.”

“No,” he agreed. “You’re right about that. But you owe me, Joanna. I expect us to be squared up before you head off. I don’t think I’ll get what you owe me otherwise.”

“You’re worried that I won’t keep my word?” Her throat felt tight, her eyes hot.

“Absolutely. You might be the kind of woman who means to keep her promises, but there’s no saying what will happen to you once you’re off this land. Hardships come along, as both of us well know.”

Kindness rang in his voice like the toll of a church bell. Like salvation on Sunday morning. “Yes,” she said quietly. “There is no telling what’s up ahead of any of us.”

“You might get in a worse situation. Or can’t find a job, like you haven’t found one in these parts. Then where will I be?” Aiden came close, close enough so that she could see the goodness in the man. Down deep and all the way to his soul.

Oh, she could see what he was up to, finding a way to keep her here without her pride getting in the way. Making it seem as if it was her duty to stay. When the truth was this had to be costing him something terrible.

She swallowed hard against the pride building in her throat. “So this is about money.”

“It is.” The softness in his eyes—and the sadness—said something different.

So did the twist of her soul. She was awestruck by this man’s generosity. She was touched by the chance he was offering her. “What will it take for me to pay back what I owe you?”

“I’d expect meals cooked or at least made up ahead. Maybe some cleaning and laundry. Heaven knows the garden needs someone interested enough to tend to it every morning.”

“Heaven knows,” she agreed, understanding a deeper meaning. He was offering a hand to a drowning woman. She thought of the hot dusty miles, the crack in Dancer’s left front hoof, the weeks—maybe months—on the road and how hard that would be on the children. She would have to travel until she found work. Who knew how long or how far away that would be? Times were hard in Montana, true, but the drought had stretched beyond the territory’s borders.

“At harvest’s end, you and I will talk. If we can find you a paying job for a few hours a week, which I think I can do, then you ought to be set to move on then, wherever you have a mind to.” His jaw tensed, betraying him.

This wasn’t easy for him. Nor was it for her. She took a ragged breath. The gelding lipped her bonnet brim, and she rubbed her hand along his warm, sleek neck. How could she say no? She’d be able to work off what she owed Aiden. She’d have a real roof over the children’s heads and a stable for the horses. The crack in Dancer’s hoof might have time to grow out. She might have the chance to work for cash in her pocket. Money for good meals and new shoes for the little ones. A little savings to put by for a trip.

He was offering her so much. But saying nothing about himself, about how hard this would be for him. That meant staying was not the right answer, either. Yet it was best for her children. She thought of James and the unspoken sadness in his eyes at having to leave another house. She thought of Daisy, too little to understand, but needing security and comfort all the same. Joanna thought of how hard she had wished for just one chance to improve her life. This was certainly a chance she had to take.

Then she studied the man in front of her. His eyes were dark and bleak. His presence like stone, cold and remote.

“How can I say yes?” she said into the silence that had grown between them. “My being here upsets you.”

“I know.” His hands curled into fists. “But I have my sense of duty.”

“You pity me. That’s not reason enough.” Everything within her longed to stay. To repay him for his kindness at giving them lodging and supper. To have the chance to provide better for her children. But at what cost to him? “I saw you in the kitchen after we left you. I’ve never seen that kind of emotion.”

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