“Your kindness matters.”

Rayna gestured for him to take the coat she’d gathered up and folded with care. He couldn’t seem to make his feet move forward.

For a brief moment he inhaled her sweet warm woman scent that made him think of lilacs and spring breezes and lark song. Desire stirred in his blood, for he knew she would smell like that all over. Knew her smooth skin and soft curves were made for a man to caress and cherish.

Unaware of his thoughts, Rayna lifted her right hand to stroke her loose hair away from her eyes. It wasn’t a seductive movement. It might as well have been, for the blood roaring in his ears.

“I need to finish my errands. Good day to you, Daniel.”

She walked away, and it felt to him as if she took all the light with her, leaving him in utter darkness.

Praise for Jillian Hart’s recent books

High Plains Wife

“Finely drawn characters and sweet tenderness tinged with poignancy draw readers into a familiar story that beautifully captures the feel of an Americana romance.”

—Romantic Times

Bluebonnet Bride

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

—Romantic Times

Cooper’s Wife

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

—Rendezvous

Montana Wife
Jillian Hart

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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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

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

Chapter One

Montana Territory, 1883

R ayna Ludgrin twisted the lace handkerchief in her hand, the delicate material shockingly white against her black dress. This was a nightmare, the kind that felt so real that when you awake in the dark of night, there’s that moment of confusion before realizing it’s only a dream.

She was ready to wake any time now. Ready for the scorching-hot sun to fade into darkness, for day to wane into night and for the cemetery to vanish so she could rouse to the peaceful shadows of her bedroom. So the webby remains of this bad dream could taper away and her husband could be alive and sound asleep beside her, as he was meant to be forever, flung on his back and snoring like a freight train barreling down a straight stretch.

She blinked, still in the chair at the graveside with the blistering sunlight tight on her face.

“Let me take you home now.” Betsy’s black-gloved hand caught hers.

The service was over, and so should the dream be, too. Rayna stood up from the hardwood chair someone had brought earlier from inside the church. Betsy, her dear friend, guided Rayna around the corner of the grave where a pine casket lay with Kol inside.

But if this was a dream, why could she see the green grass and breathe in air tainted with the sharp scent of earth? How come she felt the grief like the breeze on her skin?

“That’s it,” her other dear friend, Mariah, was at her other side, clutching her other arm. “Step up here. That’s right. Betsy, she needs to lie down.”

“I’ll run up and ready her bed,” another voice said from somewhere beyond the haze of her despair.

Footsteps dashed off, or was that the uneven thump of her own shoes on the porch steps? Rayna was confused, but from the moment Dayton’s daughter had knocked on her door with the news of Kol’s collapse and death, time had stood still.

He’s not dead. He can’t be dead. The force of fear and grief and loss expanded like a soap bubble beneath the whalebones of her corset.

Her eyes snapped open and she was sitting in bed in the dark. The hot sun and green cemetery had vanished. The peaceful stillness of night surrounded her. So, she’d been dreaming, after all, but Kol’s death was still a reality.

A faint glow from a setting moon gleamed on the lace curtains breezing at the window, illuminating the patchwork quilt on the bed. The quilt she’d made during Kol’s courtship. The patches she had cut and sewed with care, every stitch of her needle made with all of the love in her heart for Kol and with the hope for a happy future as his wife.

The harsh rasp of her breathing was the only sound in the room. The hope chest tucked beneath the window, the chair in the corner, the graceful curve of her looking glass by the wardrobe were all as they should be. See? Everything was fine.

But it wasn’t.

She didn’t have to look beside her to see the truth. She could feel the empty place where no man lay sprawled on his back. Hear the silence instead of the rhythmic snoring that had disturbed her sleep for the past fifteen years. There was no comforting warmth in her bed.

She was alone.

The faint hues of the interlocked circles on her quilt, representing wedding rings that by day were a cheerful calico patchwork, were shades of gray in the night. Cold prickles, as sharp and as merciless as needles, stabbed behind her eyelids.

No amount of wishing would bring her dear Kol back. He was dead and buried. His heart had failed him while he’d been helping the neighbors with their harvesting. He was never coming back.

Ever.

Rayna wrapped her arms around her waist, as if she could hold in the pain and the sorrow lodged in her heart.

“Ma!” A little boy’s fear vibrated in that single word. “Ma, Ma!”

She was out of bed and across the hall faster than a bolt of lightning could travel, on her knees beside her youngest son’s bed before he could cry out again. Hans was in her arms, that sweet smell of little boy, the warm, solid dearness of him.

She was grateful that he was safe and tucked against her heart, his sobs shaking through her as if they were her own. She would give her life to make his pain stop.

“Mama’s right here, my baby.” She pressed kisses to the crown of his head where the cowlick just like Kol’s stuck up at all angles. “Mama’s here. It’s all right.”

“I d-dreamed about P-Papa.”

“So did I.” She rocked him, her dear, precious child, cradling him tight, trying to will all the pain out of him and into her. But he cried all the same.

Helpless, she could only comfort him until his sobs quieted into tears and, finally, aching silence.

She laid him on his bed and tucked the sheet snug around his chest. He was lying as if asleep. He wasn’t. She could tell. How did she make this better? This was no cut knee to bandage or no broken toy to fix.

She sat on the edge of his feather mattress and sang the lullabies her mother had sung to her in Swedish, her first language. She no longer remembered what the words meant, but the songs were melodies of love and comfort, and so she sang until her throat turned hoarse and her son relaxed into a dreamless sleep.

Only then did she rise, blow a kiss to his brow and steal from the room. She left his door ajar so she could hear him should he stir again.

Her bare feet whispered on the polished floorboard and emptiness accompanied her to her room. The moon had set and there was only stardust to guide her to the window as she brushed the lace curtains from the sill and gazed out at the seed-heavy fields of wheat.

Wheat that had to be cut before the grain fell from the stalks. But how? Kol, how am I going to do this without you?

You will find a way, you always do. That was his voice she heard in her thoughts, words he would often say to her. Remembering him renewed the pain of his passing. Made the ache within her explode and leave only pieces of her heart as she buried her face in her hands.

She had children. A homestead. Responsibilities. Yes, she would find a way. What hurt to the depths of her being was having to make her way without Kol.

It wasn’t being alone that troubled her the most. No, what broke her from the inside out was realizing the night would end. Dawn would come. She would have to live that day, while Kol could not.

Unable to climb into her lonely bed, she sank to her knees on the unforgiving floor. She buried her face in her hands and cried for the life Kol would not have.

For the care she would never be able to give to him. She cried for the man she’d vowed to cherish until death parted them.

Death had parted them. The love had not.

It was too soon after the funeral and Daniel Lindsay knew it, but what was he going to do? Let the opportunity go to someone else? No. His conscience troubled him, but it didn’t keep him from rapping on the Ludgrin’s front door even though two whole days hadn’t passed since the funeral.

Life went on; it was the sad truth. He couldn’t say he knew what it was like to lose a loved one. He’d never had any family that he remembered to lose—

The glass handle turned and the door squeaked open. A round-faced little boy gazed up at him with sad eyes. Daniel pegged the little guy to be about seven or eight years old, too damn young to be without a father. This, Daniel sorely knew.

“Is your mother home?”

His solemn eyes blinked. The breeze batted at his white-blond hair sticking straight up at the crown. “Ma’s out back.”

Out back? Probably tending to the livestock. Kol might be gone, but the cattle still needed fresh water. “I’ll go look for her.”

“She’s hard to find cuz the wheat’s so tall. I gotta watch her from the window upstairs.” The boy pointed straight through the roof.

His chest ached for the tyke, who was anxious to keep track of his mother as if he could lose her, too. Daniel couldn’t help feeling sorrow, for he knew something about loss. He’d grown up in a string of orphanages. He knew what it was like to wish for a family lost. It was sad this son of Kol’s would know the sting of loss the rest of his life. No kid should have to live with that. It left scars on the man Daniel was to this day.

How would it affect the little Ludgrin boy?

The door squeaked closed as he knuckled back his hat and followed the wraparound porch to the steps leading to the side yard.

Flowers bloomed everywhere, fat roses and yellow climbing flowers that smelled good enough to eat. There wasn’t a weed in sight, and that said something about the care Rayna Ludgrin took with her house and, he hoped, with her life.

Would she be fair? Would she listen to what he had to say, even if it wasn’t the most appropriate time to be saying it?

As he opened the white, hand-carved gate and clicked it shut behind him, he could see the care Kol had taken, too. Kol had been a good man. Judging by the look of the place, he’d been a good husband. The barn was newly painted, the roof in good repair. Every joint in the split-rail fence solidly hewn. The cattle looked well fed. The sleek, matched bay horses were groomed and their brown-velvet coats gleamed with fine health.

Surely his wife wouldn’t want to see all her husband’s hard work fall to ruin. It wasn’t as if she could harvest the hundred and sixty acres herself.

Where was she? Daniel looked around, in case he had somehow missed her. He was alone in the shade of the fruit trees. She wasn’t at work in the ripe acre-size garden. Nor was she in the pasture where the livestock drowsed in the hot afternoon sun.

How far out back had she gone? Daniel wandered past the fence line and called out a greeting before he stepped foot inside the barn. Only the faint echo of his hello in the rafters and the beat of his boots on the hard-packed earth answered.

She wasn’t here, either.

A fresh new trail of horse hooves and the deep rut of wagon wheels marked the dusty path. Daniel followed them, wandering from the barn and into golden fields where the fat, seed-heavy heads of wheat spread for miles in every direction.

There, about a quarter of an acre due south, rose a cloud of chalk dust, a brown smudge hovering above the fields of gold. Someone was harvesting the Ludgrin’s wheat. Someone had beat him here. He’d waited too long. Cursing, he walked faster. Who had beaten him to the draw? Who was harvesting Kol’s wheat and for what price?

He shouldn’t have waited an extra day, shouldn’t have waited at all. When he thought of Rayna Ludgrin, pale and fragile at the funeral, he was at a loss. He couldn’t trouble the grief-stricken woman, not at her husband’s gravesite. He wasn’t a heartless person.

Neither, he figured was she. Although she’d suffered a terrible tragedy, she had to be starting to realize what she was up against. She had crops ready to drop in the fields. There were financial consequences that came from that. It had to be overwhelming to face her husband’s death and the responsibility that went along with farming all alone, all at once.

It was only natural that a person in that circumstance would want help. She’d said yes to the first man to approach her. Why wouldn’t she? It only made sense. Daniel felt like a clodpate for waiting. He’d meant it as a show of respect, but apparently that hadn’t been necessary.

As did many women he’d come across—most, in fact—Rayna Ludgrin probably only cared that a man was providing for her. Doing the hard work for her.

Yep, he knew that about some women. His low opinion of the gender was one of the reasons he’d never married. It was hard to find a smart woman who was kind and industrious.

He removed his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow. What he ought to do was to accept defeat, turn around and get back to his wheat. Why his boots kept heading deeper into Ludgrin’s fields instead of back toward his own, he couldn’t rightly say. Maybe he wanted to see who had beaten him to the gun.

It wasn’t any of the Dayton grandsons, because he’d seen them hard at work on the Dayton land on his way over. Who did that leave? The rest of the surrounding ranchers all worked together, buying one harvester between them and working as a team to bring in all the crops. An effort that Daniel had been invited to join but had turned down. He’d learned his hard lesson long ago. It was better to be alone than to trust someone else. Best to stand on his own two feet.

The tall rows of dense endless wheat gave way before him. Instead of the bright paint of a newfangled harvester, he saw the tailgate of a wagon. A hand scythe lay propped against the rear axle. The cutting implement was so old the blade was rusted at the joints and the wooden handle was cracked.

Daniel followed the wide swath where fallen, plump-headed wheat stalks lay on their stubble. The clearing was sizable, the same breadth as the town square. And cut by hand, too.

Whoever was doing this had to be plumb crazy. Or desperate for a little extra cash. That was probably it. Mrs. Ludgrin had no notion of how farming was done, like many women he’d come across. So she’d been sweet-talked by someone in town who thought he’d cut what he could and pocket the profits for himself.

White anger seared through him at the injustice. Some men were swine, he already knew it, and whoever was taking advantage of the widow was going to get an earful. Kol Ludgrin had been a fine neighbor, and he would expect Daniel to keep an eye out for Rayna’s well fare—

He stalked around the wagon, expecting to find some no-account sitting in the shade, taking a swig from a flask, no doubt. Daniel’s hand was already at rest on the holstered Colt .45 at his hip, just in case he needed it. A man had to be prepared.

The glare of the high-noon sun flashed in his eyes. Blinded, he knuckled his Stetson low so the hat brim shaded him from the brilliant sun.

It was a woman, dressed in a pair of trousers and a man’s short-sleeved work shirt, upending a jug of water over her head. She was half turned to him; she couldn’t have heard his step over the water streaming down her gold locks.

The liquid dampened the cotton along the nape of her neck, touching her ivory skin. His heart stopped beating as that lucky rivulet of water trailed the curve of her shoulder and meandered down the outside swell of her breast. Her uplifted arm gave him a fine view of her dark nipple puckered against the thin white cotton.

Don’t look, Daniel. What are you doing? That beautiful sight was not meant for his eyes. Heat spit into his veins and he took a step back. Not all the heat that burned through him was lust.

Embarrassed, he pulled his Stetson lower and cleared his throat. “Excuse me, ma’am.”

The water jug slipped from her fingers and hit the ground with a thud.

“Mr. L-Lindsay.” Rayna glanced down at the shirt sticking to her like a second skin and stepped diplomatically behind the rails of the wagon bed. “I d-didn’t expect anyone to find me out here or I would have, uh, dressed more appropriately.”

“Don’t worry, ma’am.” His face blazed as hot as the sun, no doubt she knew what he’d seen. “I didn’t expect to find a woman doing this work.”

“The wheat will not harvest itself, will it?”

He stared at a rock in the earth. “You cut all this?”

“My older boy was helping me, but he went to town on an errand.” Even though the side rails of the wagon bed hid her and Mr. Lindsay averted his gaze, Rayna felt more naked than clothed as the sun warmed the damp fabric hugging her uncorseted figure.

Goodness, what he must think of her! “I have a wagon wheel in need of repair—I sent Kirk since I could cut wheat faster.”

“By hand?” The way he said it, with that left hook of his dark brow, made her feel foolish.

She’d worked since just before noon and had made hardly a dent in the acres of gold that rustled around her, undulating like a slow tide on a mile-wide lake. So much wheat, it was overwhelming. Her responsibilities weighed on her each time she looked up from her cutting.

How was she ever going to cut it all? Not by wasting her time talking with another man come to swindle her. “I would appreciate it if you’d be on your way. I have a lot of work to do until dark falls.”

“Why aren’t Kol’s friends helping you?”

“Because they are busy bringing in their own crops, I imagine.” She fought to keep the edge from her voice. Every muscle within her exhausted body shrieked with a sharp, ripping ache as she lumbered around the tail of the wagon and took the scythe in hand. The worn wooden handle scraped against her dozens of blisters, popped and weeping.

With her back to him, she didn’t need to worry about propriety. “Please, be on your way, Mr. Lindsay. I’m of no mind to give away the wheat my husband worked hard to sow.”

“Give away?”

“I’ll harvest it myself before I hand over this crop for free, so listen up and take your leave, like the others who came to my door this morning. I may be a woman, but I am far from stupid, and I’ll not be robbed blind. I have my boys to think about.”

“Do you mean other ranchers around here have wanted your wheat. For free?”

“Not only for free! Most insisted upon a generous fee for the privilege of harvesting it.” She sent the sharp curving blade through the tender stalks and they fell with a tumble of chaff.

What was in the hearts of some men that they came like vultures, looking for quick money? It made her angry, that’s what it did, and the heat of it flashed like a flame in the center of her stomach. It was a good thing! She wasn’t as aware of the pain in her raw hands and the gnawing ache in her spine as she swung the scythe.

More chaff tumbled like rain to the earth as the stalks fell, lost amid the stubble. Would she lose half the wheat before she could get it into the wagon?

Frustration burned behind her eyes, gathering like a thunderstorm, and the pressure built within her. “That’ll be all, Mr. Lindsay. Don’t you have a crop to bring in?”

“That I do.” His shadow fell across her. The worn leather toe of his boot blocked the next swing of her scythe. “I have come to bring in yours, too.”

“Thank you, but I am declining your offer.”

“There’s no reason.” He did not move but stood as solid as granite as she swung the blade around him.

His wide hand settled on the wood, stopping her. Daniel Lindsay was a big man, tall and broad. Standing as he did, towering over her, he was intimidating.

Would another seemingly kind neighbor bully her? Kol had been the first to help any number of their neighbors over the years and without a single expectation of payment or compensation, no matter the crisis.

Was this how his generosity was to be returned? “I’ll thank you to let go.”

“It’s not right, you laboring this way.”

When she expected hostility or scorn, Daniel Lindsay’s words were kind. “I have my harvester waiting alongside the road. May I have your permission to take down a section of fence so I can harvest this wheat? I’ll get you the best market price I can at the station.”

“You’d do that?” She knew her mouth was hanging open, but she couldn’t seem to close it. He’d come here to help her? When so many hadn’t? “I imagine you’ll want to be paid for your trouble, the way Mr. Dayton did.”

His dark eyes narrowed. “What did he offer you? A right to half the wheat?”

“Half? He said I could keep a quarter of the value he got at the mill.”

“That swindler. He’d cheat Kol Ludgrin’s widow?” Daniel Lindsay’s hard face turned to stone.

Rayna swallowed. She released the scythe and crossed her arms in front of her breasts. He wasn’t looking at her, but she felt vulnerable. Angry, he was, and an imposing man while doing it. “I would appreciate it if you would be on your way.”

“No.” He strode away, taking her scythe with him. There was a clunk as he tossed it in the back of the wagon bed. “Kol helped me bust sod that first spring I came here. I was as green as a Kentucky boy could be. He gave me his help and his advice while we worked. Some of that made a difference, and I managed to hang on. I’ll harvest your wheat free of charge, Mrs. Ludgrin, for what he did for me.”

“What else are you wanting?”

“Only that I have the first option to lease the land, if that’s what you decide to do. Or buy it, if you’re of a mind to sell out.”

“The first option? I don’t understand.” She felt the burdens upon her shoulders weigh more heavily.

“You can trust me.” It was kindness, nothing more, as Daniel Lindsay gathered the long reins from the tangle on the sun-baked earth and held them out to her. “Go home. I’ll manage from here.”

“Y-you don’t want money? Or the land? Mr. Dayton had asked for it outright.” Crop’s already rotting in the fields, he’d lied to her with the fervor of a traveling salesman. But this neighbor, Mr. Lindsay, had his own lookout. Why was he doing this?

“One good turn deserves another,” Daniel said as he laid the reins in her bleeding hands.

Chapter Two

T he powerful knock rattled the front door in its frame, echoing through the house and into the scorching kitchen. Startled by the disruption, Rayna set three pans of bread on the stovetop to cool, if such a thing were possible in the stifling heat.

No breeze stirred the lace curtains as she tossed the hot pad on the table and hurried through the rooms. Her youngest was upstairs taking a nap, for his sleep during the last few nights had been interrupted by nightmares and she did not want him startled awake.

She yanked open the door just in time to see old man Dayton with his beefy fist in the air, ready to knock a second time. The man clothed in trousers and sweat-stained muslin spit a stream of tobacco juice across the porch into the dirt at the roots of her favorite rosebush.

Not a benevolent man. He hadn’t come for a pleasant visit.

She might as well stand her ground from the start. “Your son was here earlier. I’ve found someone else to harvest the fields for me.”

“I saw that tenderfoot from Kentucky haul his old threshing machine down the road past my place.” Another stream shot across her porch. “He ain’t worth dirt when it comes to cutting wheat. He probably offered to do it cheap, and I’m sure money is a concern, so here’s what I’m gonna do for you.”

“And what a courteous way to convince me to let you harvest my wheat. For what? Only three-quarters of the profit? Or are you willing to drop down to only half?”

“Now, Rayna, you know the growing of a crop is the easy part. A little dirt, seed and enough sunlight make the wheat grow. But harvesting it, that’s backbreaking labor. I’ve got the newest harvester. It came by railroad last week, and it wasn’t cheap.”

“After all that Kol has done for you over the years. He died in your fields. And you would charge me?”

“Friendship is one thing, Rayna. Business is business. A woman can’t understand—”

“I understand all too well. I’ve made a business decision and I won’t be changing it. Good afternoon, Mr. Dayton.” Careful of her bandaged hands, she shut the door with force.

The flat of his hand on the wood and the jam of his boot in the threshold stopped her. “Be smart. You can’t be thinking you will actually keep your land?”

“I would never sell my home.”

“You’ll have to. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

Her Kol had built this house with his bare hands, and she’d helped him by holding the floor joists in place, handing him nails and bandaging his scrapes and gashes as they went. She’d been young and in love and expecting her oldest son. How happy they’d been.

Her children had been born in this house.

“Please remove your foot. I’d like you to go.”

“Fine. You’ll learn soon enough. It’s a hard, brutal world without a man to provide for you. Who do you think is going to furrow those acres of wheat come spring? This isn’t about the harvest, it’s about the land. I’ll give you a fair price.”

“Before or after you practically steal the wheat from me and my sons?”

“Rayna.” As if pained, Dayton shook his head as he backed away. “This is a pity, it sure is, how a pretty woman like you won’t face the truth.”

“What truth?”

“There’s no shame in it. It ought to be hard to lose your man. But you have to accept it. You can sell now while you can get out with some cash in hand, or you can struggle until you go broke, or you and I can arrange a deal.”

“No deal.”

“Listen to me. The bank’s gonna take this place out from under you. I’m the only one around here with enough cash in hand to stop them. The only one who cares.”

The bank? A horrible flitter of fear bore into her midsection. Why would Dayton mention the bank? And why was he looking at her as if she were for sale right along with the land?

There was no mortgage on this property and she knew it. Her dear Kol would have told her if he’d done something like borrow against their hard-earned homestead. They’d had the best harvests three summers in a row, and there was no reason for Kol to have gone into debt.

Dayton was just trying to intimidate her into selling. Make her uncertain so she would practically give him some of the best wheat land in all of Bluebonnet County. That was all.

Fresh anger roared through her. Where was his charity, his neighborliness?

“Ma! I’m back from town.” Kirk’s awkward gait thudded on the porch as he lumbered to a stop behind Dayton. “Uh, excuse me for interrupting.”

He was such a good boy, practically a young man, always remembering his manners. He looked so like Kol with his white-blond hair and jewel-blue eyes, and with the promise of strength in his rangy limbs. Pride surged through her, another raw emotion displacing the sudden anger at Dayton.

First grief, anger and now pride. All in a few minutes’ time! What an untidy mess she had become. If Kol were here, he would gently wrap his powerful arms around her and draw her to his barrel chest and tickle her forehead with his beard until she laughed.

“Now, Rayna,” she could hear him say as if he were in the room right along with her. “Life is a muddle, we all know that, so take a deep breath and stop all your fussing. There’ll always be plenty enough time for worrying later, but not nearly enough time for loving. So, give me a kiss, my love.”

Kol, I need you.

Her heart cried out for him, as if her feelings could have enough power to summon him up from the next room or wherever he had gone off to.

That’s how it felt, as if her beloved husband were somewhere close, just out of sight. As if any moment he’d be walking through the kitchen door with dirt on his boots and sweat on his brow, calling out for her.

“Rayna?” Dayton seemed alarmed. “Are you all right? I can fetch the doctor.”

“I’m fine. Just—” Missing my husband. She lifted her chin, tamping down the grief far enough so she could finish her day’s work. She didn’t want her oldest son to be worried. “I’m just thinking. I’m not interested in your offer. Goodbye. Come in, son. Where’s the part?”

Kirk looked uncertain as Dayton filled the space in front of the door, refusing to leave.

Rayna motioned her son inside and closed the door, although the windows were thrown wide-open to catch some hint of a breeze. She could hear Dayton’s slow steps as he paced the porch.

Fine, let him pace. He would eventually tire and leave. She would not sell the only home her boys knew.

She led the way to the kitchen, where the Regulator wall clock marked the time—a few minutes more until the final batch of bread was ready.

“Mr. Kline wouldn’t give me the part.” Only fourteen, Kirk planted his feet like a man, held out his hands the way Kol would have done, a stance of dignity. “He said I couldn’t put any more charges on our account. He needed cash.”

“How rude of him. Did you try the hardware—”

“I went everywhere. They all said no. I can whittle a piece after I get done working tonight. We’ll make do.” Kirk fisted his hands, trying to look strong and dependable. “I’d best get out in the fields. I’ve got wheat to cut.”

He was too young to be forced into a man’s responsibilities. Still, she was proud of him. “You won’t be harvesting alone. Mr. Lindsay was kind enough to bring his harvester.”

“For what price?”

“For free. Mr. Lindsay is doing us a fine thing, helping us.”

“Pa’s friends should have done that. He paid his share for the new harvester Mr. Dayton bought and he—” Anger left him searching for words.

It was the grief behind the anger, Rayna knew. It was a hard truth that in this world, people were not often just. Some people did rise to the occasion.

“We have a true friend in Mr. Lindsay.” Careful of her bandages, she sliced off a thick piece of warm bread for Kirk to snack on. “The butter crock’s on the table. Wait, let me cut a few more to take with you. Perhaps Mr. Lindsay is hungry.”

“I’ll fill the water jug on the way.” Kirk dug a knife from the sideboard’s top drawer. “Ma, I heard what Mr. Dayton said. How are we gonna do all the work without Pa? Will the bank take our house?”

“Don’t you worry. Your father would never have put us in a bad position. You remember that. He loved us. We will manage just fine. I’ll find a way.”

“I can help. I can take care of all the animals and the haying. I can do that by myself without any neighbors helping.”

He took the bread slices she offered, wrapped in a clean cloth, and added them to the lunch pail he’d retrieved along with the butter crock. “I heard you crying last night, Ma. I know you’re sad. But don’t you worry. I’m a man. I can take care of you.”

“I know you can.” Rayna resisted the urge to call him her sweetie and press a kiss to his brow.

Her son was growing up. Emotion ached in her throat as she watched him sprint through the back door. The screen slammed shut in his wake, echoing through the kitchen.

As if nothing had changed, she turned to the stove, mentally listing what she would need to prepare a big supper tonight. Kol would be hungry from working all day in the fields—

The air rushed from her lungs. She leaned against the counter, dizzy. She’d thought of Kol out of habit, from years of cooking for him.

He’s gone, Rayna. You have to accept it. You have to stop thinking that he’s next door or at town or on his way home. It should be simple, but it wasn’t. His chair was tucked in its place at the table. His favorite plaid shirt hung on the peg by the door.

She fought the urge to snap up the garment and hug it tight, to breathe in his scent still clinging to the fabric. As if that could bring back all that she’d lost.

Kol wouldn’t want her falling into pieces. He needed her to be strong, as she intended to do. For their boys.

It’s what she would do, because she loved him. She’d put aside the sadness and find enough strength to finish up the last of the baking. The loaves were ready, plump and golden. She breathed in the delicious yeasty smell.

The hot pad tumbled from her fingers as she realized what she’d done.

She had baked an even dozen loaves, as if Kol would be here to eat them.

“Whoa, boys.” Daniel hauled back on the thick double reins, drawing the lathered teams of Clydesdales to a stumbling stop.

He ignored the thick grit in his mouth and his sandy thirst as he swiped streams of sweat from his face. He bent to unbuckle the horse collars from the traces.

The crash of some wild animal plowing through the field rattled nearby heads of wheat. The forward team shied, turning in the leather bindings.

“Hold on, boys, nothing to be afraid of.” He tightened the lead set of reins to bring down the big black’s head before he could get the notion to take off in a dead run and lead the other horses into revolting right along with him.

His workhorses were a steady bunch. They ought to be tired enough that nothing short of cannon fire ought to spook them, so what was riling ’em up?

A flash of color emerged from the golden stalks. He spotted a whitish-blond-haired boy, rangy and tall, and out of breath. Fear widened his eyes as he gazed up at the giant black trying to bolt.

“I’m sorry, mister. I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t worry about it, kid.” He laid a hand on the black’s shoulder, leaning between the traces to do it, a dangerous place to be.

The mighty Clydesdale calmed, now that the big animal realized it was only a boy.

“He’s not used to much company. It’s pretty quiet over at my place. Come on over. He won’t hurt you.”

The older of Kol’s boys took a wide berth around the snorting gelding. “I brought water and something to eat.”

Daniel took one look at the offered tin pail, battered from years of use, and shook his head. He was too hot to have any appetite. “Maybe when the sun goes down, but I’ll take the water jug. Is your name Kirk?”

“Yessir.” He offered the heavy crock.

Was it the one Rayna Ludgrin had been using? Daniel wondered as he pulled the cork. It had to be. There was a faint hairline crack at the mouth where it struck the earth when she’d dropped it.

How beautiful she’d looked. How alluring. The sudden image, unbidden and unwanted, shot into his mind. The memory of the water trickling through her honey-blond hair remained. A forbidden thought, but there all the same.

He closed his eyes as he drank. The cool rush of ginger water chased the grit from his tongue but did nothing to dispel her memory. Of her soft woman’s curves and her clean, lilac scent.

His gut punched. Enough of that. It was wrong to think of her that way. He was a man. He had a man’s needs. What he didn’t need was a woman of his own. No. He was a man who lived alone by choice. There were times when he regretted the choice and the loneliness.

That’s all this was. The lonesomeness of his life affecting him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been touched by anyone.

Unless it was old Mrs. Johansson down the lane, when he’d stopped to help her corral her runaway milk cow. Was that seven months ago? He’d offered to fix the broken fence line for her. The elderly widow, hampered by rheumatism, had been so grateful, she’d baked him a chocolate cake and delivered it along with a grandmotherly hug the very next day.

Seven months ago. Hell, nothing terrified him more than ties to another human being. Any ties.

“Thanks for the water, kid.” He corked the jug and got back to work.

“Uh, ’scuse me, mister.” The boy trailed after him, tall for his age, bucking up his shoulders like a man ready to face his duty. “It’s downright neighborly of you to lend a hand.”

“It’s the right thing to do. Your father was a good man. He helped me more than once. I owe him.”

“If I help you, then the work will go twice as fast.”

“That it will.” Daniel tossed over the second set of reins. “You know how to handle draft horses?”

“I feed and brush and exercise ours every day. You still got wheat to cut on your land?”

“That I do.” Daniel kept a short lead on the black, turning into the bright, stabbing sunshine. The field fell away to a creek that was more puddle than running water.

“Then I’d best help you with your harvesting, too,” young Kirk declared, chest up, chin level, shoulders braced. “That’s the way things are done. When someone helped my pa, he helped them right back. That’s what I intend to do.”

“You’re a good man, Kirk Ludgrin.” Daniel let the horses drink as he sized up the boy beside him.

You’re going to grow up too soon, boy, and there’s nothing I can do to help you. Circumstances happened, there was no stopping the bad that changed a life.

It was in the rising up to meet the circumstance that defined the man.

Daniel was glad he’d come. It felt right to repay Kol for an old debt.

“Walk with me to your barn,” he told the kid. “We’ll use your team for the rest of the afternoon, if you’re willing. My horses here have been working since sunup and they’re dragging their feet.”

“Yes, sir,” the boy answered, too young to feel responsible for the land he walked on. Too young to provide for the woman and children who lived in the pretty gray house on the rise, a home surrounded by roses and sunlight and endless sky.

If Daniel squinted, he could see Rayna Ludgrin kneeling in her garden. Such an attractive, slim ribbon of a woman, there was hardly nothing to her. He imagined the wind was ruffling the cotton fabric of her simple calico work dress and batting at the ties of the sunbonnet knotted beneath her chin.

A strange yearning filled him like nothing he’d ever felt before. It was different from need, different from lust, and it hurt like an old wound in the center of his being.

He had no time to give thought to it. There was work to be done. Wheat to cut. He had no leisure to waste on thoughts of a woman.

Or to wonder if her hands were bandaged and if they still bled.

Chapter Three

T he low rays of the sun speared through the endless and mighty Rocky Mountains, glared across the miles upon miles of high rolling plains and bore directly beneath her sunbonnet brim. Rayna’s eyes watered with the brightness as she trudged down the dirt path paralleling the fence line.

She was running late, darn it! Daniel and Kirk had to be starving.

She hurried, but the world around her took its own time. Larks trilled their merry songs, as they did every evening. Milk cows and beef steers rested in the shade from the orchard, their great jowls working their cuds as she scurried past.

“Nothing for you, sorry,” she told the animals, who were eyeing her basket hopefully. She shifted the crock against her hip, readjusted her grip on the supper basket and kept going.

A steer bawled after her in complaint.

One thing about hard work, it required all of her concentration. She’d had less time to grieve or to worry about Dayton’s comments on the bank as she’d hurried through her necessary household chores.

The path of gold she followed gave way to a sizable clearing. Neat stalks of straw lay seasoning on the ground and at the far edge of the clearing was her Kirk perched on the wagon seat. His hat was pulled low to shade his face and his bare torso shone red-brown from a hard day in the sun. Why, he looked more man than boy as he handled the team.

She was proud of him and the bubble of love that expanded within her every time she saw him, so sweet and pure and unbreakable, remained. Kol would want her to be strong for their sons. She steeled her spine, sure of her course.

“Mr. Lindsay?”

She could see his boots on the other side of the threshing machine.

He didn’t answer. Did he know she was here?

“Hold up, Kirk!” Lindsay’s bellow rose above the machinery, booming like thunder. “Ease up on the horses. Keep the reins short once they stop.”

The man emerged from behind the machine. Rayna saw a flash of bronzed skin and muscled shoulder as he thrust his arms into a blue work shirt. He shrugged the garment into place without bothering to button up, offering glimpses of a strong chest.

Rayna’s face heated. She’d never seen another man without his shirt. She didn’t know where to look.

“Good. I’ve been waiting for you.” Lindsay hefted up the ten-gallon jug as if it weighed nothing and drank from it with long, deep pulls.

Didn’t he intend to button his shirt?

“Ma! Did you see? Daniel let me drive the team! And I handled ’em good, too. Just the way Pa showed me.”

“I saw. Your pa would be proud of you.”

“Do you think?”

“He’s done a fine job.” Daniel Lindsay handed over the water with a brief nod of approval. “It looks like your ma has brought your supper. Sit down and eat, boy. You deserve a rest.”

Kirk dug into the basket. He tore into a chicken leg while he unloaded plate after plate of food with his free hand, monopolizing the meal. Daniel Lindsay returned to his machine, as if he planned on working.

“I made food enough for all of us,” she said. “Please, come eat.”

He gathered both sets of reins and settled the thick leather straps between his wide fingers. “I don’t stop until dark.”

“But you need to keep your strength up.”

“I need to get as much done as I can. A storm’s coming.”

“What storm?” There was hardly a cloud in the sky. A wisp of white at the rolling edge of the horizon cut through the low sun like a razor blade. “I don’t see any thunderheads.”

“I smell ’em. It may blow over. It may not. Either way, I won’t sit on my arse when there’s work to be done.”

“I could make you a sandwich—”

“No.” He snapped the reins, calling out to the horses.

The teams pulled forward, lunging against their heavy leather collars. The machine groaned to a start, blades clacking.

“Then tell me how I can help.”

“You can go in the house where you belong.” Daniel didn’t expect her to understand. “You’ll be happier there.”

“I’m not afraid of a little farm work.”

“Then let me see your hands.” He slackened the reins and the horses halted. What was she going to do? Work in the fields like a man? She was a beautiful woman, not rough and made for hard work.

No, Rayna Ludgrin was creamy flawless skin and china-doll fragile. He reckoned he could span her waist with his hands. “You’re wearing gloves, so I can’t see the bandages.”

“That’s the idea.”

“You need to take care of that.”

“You need to stop and eat, but you’re not.” Pride drew her up straight. She was steel, too. “I don’t see any storm clouds, but I’d rather err on the side of caution. The least I can do is help you. We will get more work done together.”

“You have to be tired.”

“I’ve been tired before.”

“But it’s demanding work—”

“I don’t have time to argue with the likes of you, Mr. Lindsay. While I appreciate what you’re doing, I won’t be more beholden to you than I have to be.”

I’ll be darned. He had to admire her gumption. “Keep the wagon slow and steady. Too fast, and the grain hits the ground.”

She hitched up her skirts to climb aboard the wagon. She looked out of place with the rough leather gloves, which had to have been Kol’s, engulfing her hands. She sat daintily on the bench seat, as if taking tea.

She made him feel big and awkward. He was aware of his too large hands and feet. He was a rough man, he knew it. Growing up the way he had, he couldn’t be anything else. He wouldn’t be ashamed of it.

“Sure you can handle these big boys?”

“I know how to drive.” She held out her gloved hands, asking for the reins.

He knew plenty of men who couldn’t handle draft horses. He’d keep an eye on her while he worked; he wouldn’t want her to get hurt, that was all. He held out the reins and her hands gripped the thick straps ahead of his. Her touch tapped like a heartbeat through the lines.

Odd, how he felt a jolt deep inside.

Pay attention to the horses, Daniel. He didn’t like the way the big sorrels were testing the bit, rolling it around in their mouths. They were aware of the change in drivers.

“Keep a short rein on them. No, look.” He toed up on the foot rail and reached across her arms, catching the sweet scent of spring lilacs on her skin. “Like this. Not like you’re used to driving the buggy. Hold the reins two-handed, between your fingers for better control. Tight with no slack. Keep tension in the lines.”

She followed his example, moving those gentle hands of hers and leaning forward so the starched brim of her sunbonnet brushed the outside curve of his jaw.

He jerked away, releasing the reins. His chest was pounding. He was nervous about her safety, nothing more.

“More tension,” he told her. “You should feel the strain in your forearms.”

He caught the nearest gelding’s bridle and made sure the animal wasn’t nipping the bit. “That’s better.”

The muscles in her forearms burned, but Rayna held the lines. Her fourteen-year-old son could do this, so could she. She waited for an eternity, or shorter, sweat dampening the band of her sunbonnet. Daniel checked the equipment, readied his team pulling the harvesting machine, and called out.

She shook the reins, but it wasn’t enough to urge the animals on.

“Harder! They’ve got thicker hides. They have to be able to feel it.”

He was patient while she tried again. On the third attempt, the thwack of leather against those broad rumps got the horses’ attention and the gigantic animals lurched forward.

“Whoa, slow ’em down!”

Rayna hauled back on the reins and the team stopped. She waited, dreading his reaction. He was going to tell her to get in the house where she belonged, and she wouldn’t. “Let me try again.”

His jaw was tight, but he said nothing more.

She could do this. She had to. With all the strength left in her arms, she manhandled the thick reins. The geldings stepped out, moving slow enough to keep pace with the machine.

Hulled grain spit into the wagon bed. Her grain. For her children. This could work, she would make certain of it. She would help bring in this crop.

What if Dayton was right? What if there were bank loans to be paid?

Worry gathered like the clouds on the horizon, black and ominous.

Daniel was right. A storm was coming.

When the last of twilight was wrung from the shadows, Daniel looked up from his work. She was mostly a silhouette, but he could make out the harsh line of her back against the black void of the prairie.

Why was he drawn to her?

He felt sorry for her, he supposed. As sad as she had to be, he tried to imagine the strength of will she had. After a long day of work, she still perched pole-straight on the unforgiving wagon seat. Her arms visibly trembled from exhaustion.

She was a hard worker; he admired her for it. Her hands had to be bleeding again. Did she complain? Did she find a reason to shirk?

No. Not once. The few times they’d stopped for water, she’d been eager to get right back to work and quick to thank him again for his help.

It was wrong of the neighbors not to lend a helping hand. Where were the Daytons? They were harvesting their crops instead of the Ludgrin’s grain, which should have been started on at first light today.

It burned his gut that those men wouldn’t help Kol’s widow. Not unless there was something to be gained.

He called out—Rayna was so tired she didn’t comprehend his words at first. She startled into awareness, looking out in surprise at the few stars twinkling on the eastern horizon. Her shoulders slumped; she saw the fast-moving clouds, too.

By the time she hauled hard on the reins and the wagon creaked to a stop, the coming storm had blotted out the last stars. The black sheen of the night prairie became a fathomless void.

He hated the dark, but he took his time, fighting the fear in his chest. Swallowing against the coppery taste in his mouth, he pulled the match tin from the box beneath the thresher frame. He struck the flint, the flame flared and he hit the wick of the lantern.

“Are you stopping for the night?”

“No. Are you holding up?”

“If you stay, I stay.”

She couldn’t have gotten much sleep in the past few nights. The effects of it were etched like heartache into the corners of her eyes and around her soft mouth. She looked likely to topple from the seat and get hurt in the process.

“I guess I don’t need this anymore.” She untied the bow at her chin. Her sunbonnet came away and the glimmering cascade of her hair tumbled over her shoulders like water falling.

He handed her the ceramic jug. “The lady first.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you have it?” Her arms looked wobbly as she struggled to lift the heavy crock. He reached out to steady it. “Here. Let me help you.”

“I can get it.”

“Not without spilling.”

Her slender hands, lost in her husband’s big leather gloves, felt fragile under his. He held the container steady while she drank. Odd, how he could feel her life force like the bite of electricity from a telegraph, zinging from her fingers and into his where they touched.

The shadowed column of her delicate throat worked as she drank, and he tried not to look at the vulnerable hollow at the base between her collarbones, where she’d unbuttoned the lace-edged collar of her work dress to allow in a cooling breeze.

She’s a new widow, get a rein on your thoughts, man. Ashamed, he was grateful when he could take the jug from her. Water clung to her lush bottom lip.

He tossed back the jug and drank long and deep, letting the coolish water slide down his throat. What was the matter with him?

He was lonely—he couldn’t deny it. He’d sure like a wife as fine as Rayna, but how did a man find a woman he could trust? How could a man who’d grown up the way he had come to trust anyone that deeply?

“The wind is kicking up. Do you suppose we’ll get lightning?”

“That isn’t my worry.”

“Then we should hurry. We need to get as much of this crop harvested as we can.” She sat straighter on the bench seat, gathering the reins with renewed purpose.

He’d chosen this time to stop for a reason. He stowed the ceramic jug beneath the seat, behind her slim ankles and the dust-covered black shoes she wore. She wasn’t going to like what he had to say.

“The wind’s kicking up. My guess is that lightning’s gonna start anytime. So why don’t you climb down and help me move the team in? Can you hold the second set of reins for me?”

“You want to head in?” Rayna swept from the wagon seat in a blur of fabric and grace. “You’re going to quit?”

“No.” He watched her study the sky. He knew she was going to argue.

“You’re right. The storm’s coming in too fast. You can’t see it, but I can feel it. We have to save what wheat we can.”

As if to prove it, abrupt lightning snaked across the black void of sky to the southwest, giving brief light to a wall of gray skimming across the roll and draw of the plains. Coming fast. Coming right at them.

The tinny crash of thunder made the horses dance in their harnesses, and Daniel calmed them absently, counting. How far away was the oncoming rain?

Five miles. They had time enough, but not by much. He would save this load of wheat, but what about the rest? What about his crop?

All it would take was a gusting wind to ruin his future and Rayna’s livelihood.

Worry pinched in the corners of her eyes and it was the last thing he saw as he blew out the lantern. He took it with him, stowing it carefully on the wagon floorboards. The last thing either of them needed was a fire in the fields.

Rain burst overhead as if thrown from a spiteful sky. Big, fat dollops hit the dust in the path ahead of the wagon, leaving inch-wide stains. Could they make it to the shelter of the barn in time?

Rayna gripped the bouncing seat as Daniel laid on the reins. The teams of horses reached out, racing against the wind the rest of the way and into the wide mouth of the barn. The sky opened up and flooded the world with angry rain. Lightning sizzled across the zenith, chased by a rapid beat of thunder.

Daniel leaped off the seat, leaving her behind. Breathless and grateful her wheat was dry, Rayna tugged off Kol’s work gloves. The shape of his hands was worn into the seasoned leather.

If Kol were here, he would have done as Daniel did. He, too, would have been helpless to hold back the lightning and rain and stop the fierce gale that tore ripe kernels from the chaff, pushing the sea of gold like waves in the ocean. Rayna closed her eyes against old childhood memories, crossing on the steamer from Sweden to America, lost and alone.

That’s how she felt now. She was no longer that child in a strange new world, but she had lost her anchor. Kol. Her strong, life’s companion who had made her feel safe and protected. No matter what happened, she’d known they would see it through together.

I’ve lost your crop, Kol. When she most wanted to feel his arm around her, pulling her near, there was only a cool gust of wind at her nape. She shivered and set the gloves aside.

Daniel stood in the wide threshold of the barn, shoulders squared, feet planted, a dark, solitary man outlined by the white flash of lightning and the black void of sky and prairie. He had to be thinking of his fields and of his future.

He could have been harvesting his wheat instead of hers. He would have been better off if he had been. Rayna eased off the wagon seat, ignoring the sting and burn of her overused muscles, moving toward that lone silhouette.

How could she ever return in kind what he’d sacrificed for her family?

She curled her fingers around the wet wood of the door frame and cool rain sluiced down her skin. She shivered. The icy wind drilled into her bones. She felt as if the marrow were bleeding out of her. She didn’t know what to say to Daniel.

Lightning split the world of night and storm into pieces, giving a quick glimpse of the wind battering the sea of grain, now only reeds of straw.

“Rayna?” A steely hand clasped her shoulder, a strange grip. “Are you all right? You look ready to faint. Maybe you ought to sit down.”

Daniel guided her to a hay bale for her to rest on. He seemed distant and tentative as he ran his hand down the length of her arm, his touch foreign and yet gentle. He cradled her hand in his.

“You’re bleeding.” He traced the edge of her bandage with his large thumb. “I can’t do anything about your wheat. I’m sorry. But I can take care of this.”

“You lost your wheat, too. Everyone around here—” Her throat tightened and she fell silent. It was too much to manage. She would think about the effects of the storm tomorrow. “Where’s Kirk? I ought to be helping him. I need my gloves, so I can shovel—”

“No.” He released her hands and, when he rose, she shivered. He’d been blocking the wind. It hit her full-force, bringing mist from the rain to wet her face like tears.

The next time she saw him, he was carrying her oldest son against his chest like a child. Fast asleep, the boy’s white-blond hair was tousled and sweaty, his rangy form slack with exhaustion. Daniel carried him to the house without a word.

Gratitude broke inside her like ice shattering and leaving nothing but emptiness in its wake. She was grateful for the man’s kindness. His hard work.

Kirk had worked himself past his endurance today. Is this what lay ahead for him? Being forced to do the work of a man, when what he deserved was the rest of his childhood?

I’ll simply have to rent out the land, she realized. Daniel had certainly earned the right to that. With the rental income, would it be enough to cover her living expenses?

She had no idea; Kol had insisted on handling all their finances. He hadn’t wanted her to worry, he’d said, and since calculating the profit to be made in planting an extra field of corn instead of wheat was his decision to make, she’d left it to him.

She’d had that much faith in him.

A movement caught her attention. Daniel had returned, ambling through the shadows in the depth of the barn. The hammer strikes of rain on the roof, echoing through the night, hid the sound of his approach. The cloying darkness of the storm hid the bulk of what he gripped in one hand. He knelt before her and the razor’s edge of lightning flashed white across his granite features.

“You had a lot depending on this harvest,” she guessed.

He said nothing as he reached for her hand. The chilly whisper of metal whisked along her skin.

Raw pain made her eyes tear. The bandage fell away.

There was a clink as Daniel let go of the scissors. “Do you even have any skin left? You need a doctor to look at this.”

How much did a house visit cost? She had no notion. Or if she could pay. “It’s not bad. Just a little blistering.”

“The same way there’s just a little breeze outside.” Instead of scolding her, he uncapped a tin he’d found on a kitchen shelf. “This may sting a bit.”

He bent to his work, ignoring the woman-and-rain scent of her. Ignoring the way soft wisps of her hair danced against his cheek and the satin warmth of her hand in his.

Respect for her expanded inside his chest. Or maybe it was tenderness he felt as he laid a fresh square of clean cotton on her wounds. Tenderness he dared not give thought to as the rain turned to hail, shattering the night.

Chapter Four

T he tick-tick of the wall clock echoed like a ghost in the darkness, marking the minutes and chiming the hours as the void of midnight deepened and with it her despair. The papers she’d dug through every corner of Kol’s big rolltop desk to find lay like black moldering leaves on the kitchen table, rustling whenever the wind gusted, bringing with it cold from the north.

Rain came with the first shadows. Icy rain that shot from the black-gray sky to pummel at the siding and strike through the windows and wrestle with the maples in the yard outside. Their limbs scraped the leaves and made it seem as if the trees moaned in anguish.

Her heart made the same sound, locked deep in her chest where no one could hear it. As rain sluiced off the roof to plink in the flower beds at the house footings and smeared the polished floor to puddle at her bare feet, she couldn’t move. Like a stick of wood she sat there, the mist from the droplets spilling through the sill. The moisture dampened her face, stained the front of her work dress and crept up the hem of her skirt.

Maybe, if she stayed still enough, the space between one breath and the next could stretch forever. Then maybe time would forget to move forward. The clock’s pendulum would freeze. The next hour would not chime. The night would not end. The dawn could not come.

She’d rather remain in this emotionless night where her soul would not have to endure another lethal wound. Another loss so unthinkable she would not survive it.

But her heart beat, her lungs drew in air and the clock’s echoing tick pounded through her, loud and unstoppable. The rain turned to mist and fog as the dark became shadow, and the shadow twilight, and the twilight dawn.

A shadow lengthened on the floor, a shade darker than the room.

“Rayna?” Daniel’s voice. His big, awkward hand gripped her shoulder.

That was not the halo of the sun behind the horizon. She would will it back if she had to.

The shadow knelt beside her, warm substance of a man pulling her from her numb cold state as the crest of the sun peered over the rim of the prairie, the distant slate-blue hills topped by gold and peach.

The world seemed to take a breath as the dawn came and tender, newborn light painted the land, illuminating the miles upon miles of downed wheat, sodden and defeated.

Nothing of the harvest could be saved. Not even the stalks could be salvaged for straw.

Her sorrow was reflected in Daniel’s eyes. On his face. His hair was a pleasant dark brown, from farther away it had appeared black, and tangled from a night in the wind and rain.

The harsh, square cut of his hard jaw was stubbled with a night’s growth. His mouth was a severe line that did not yield as he turned from the endless acres of desolation. His boots squeaked on the wet floorboards as he straightened. His grip remained.

“Even with my losses, I can afford to lease your fields. You should be able to keep your house.”

The warm, steady grip of his hand on her shoulder remained, so different from Kol’s. Heat radiated through her cold shoulder and into her arm. Into her torso. Dawn’s light spilled through the window, too bright after a night of utter darkness and it thawed her, too. The clock marked the hour, chiming in a pleasant dulcet tone five times.

Morning was here and time marched on. She’d not been able to hold it back, of course. Somehow she had to find the steel to face the decisions she must make. Decisions that would break her. She could already feel the cracks, little fissures in her soul, splintering like ice melting on a shallow pond.

She turned to Daniel, but he was gone. She hadn’t been aware of his hand leaving her shoulder or his strong masculine presence moving away. Alone, she shivered, only now feeling the coolish air skimming across her damp face. Goose bumps stood out on her forearms.

The iron door of the stove clacked into place. She recognized the rapid crackle and snapping of dry kindling feeding a new flame. Daniel’s boots knelled on the floor and the ring of his gait echoing in the still room was all wrong. Too quick, too assertive, not the easygoing thud of Kol’s gait.

He’s gone, Rayna. She knew that. Logically she accepted she would never again hear Kol’s shoes drumming the length of her kitchen floor. The air around her turned to ice, leaving her chilled and aching for the morning routine that had marked the beginning of nearly every day for fifteen years.

How he would come up behind her, wrap his brawny arms around her waist and tickle the crook of her neck with his full beard. She would laugh, spinning in his arms to eagerly accept his kiss and forgetting about the frying eggs—and remembering just in time to save them from charring.

“Rayna?” It was Daniel’s voice again, deep with concern. “I’ve got the coffee on. Are these the milk pails by the pantry door?”

Morning was here, and so the morning chores would need to be done, regardless of what was to come. “While it’s good of you and neighborly, the cows are my concern. Not yours. You have chores of your own, I imagine.”

“They’re already done. You weren’t the only one unable to sleep. I’m betting half the ranchers in Bluebonnet County didn’t get as much as a wink last night.”

The bucket handles clinked and clattered over the punch of Daniel’s gait. The screen door hinges squeaked as it was opened and banged shut with a wooden slap. Morning light found him, the golden rays laying a path before him as he cut across the lawn. The carpet of grass, with rain droplets heavy on a thousand delicate blades, gleamed like jewels in the sun.

As if there was hope to be found on this day to come. What hope would that be? Rayna wondered as she rose from the chair, wincing at her stiff knees and hips. Her muscles burned with yesterday’s hard labor in the fields, and the raw blisters on her palms had her jaw clenching.

Anger roared through her like hot, greedy flames, burning her up in one bright moment. She was at the stove in a second, not aware she’d crossed the room, huffing with a rage so intense it blurred her vision. Made her feel ten feet tall. How could Kol have done this to her? To their sons? They were nearly penniless. And mortgaged to the full value of their land.

She banged the fry pan on the stove, but the ringing bang gave her little satisfaction. She huffed down into the cellar and pounded back up the wooden steps, flinging the hunk of salt pork, the last that they had, onto the worktable. I trusted you, Kol. I trusted you to provide for us. “Don’t worry,” you always said. “I will take care of my precious wife.”

She wouldn’t have believed what he’d done if she hadn’t seen the papers for herself. Notes on the livestock and buggy. And of all things, a mortgage on their land. Their homestead. Earned free and clear through their hard work together. And he’d encumbered it without telling her.

I’m so mad at you, Kol Anders Ludgrin. Never once had he mentioned any debt. And to think there was so much of it! She lobbed the basket onto the counter and watched in horror, her anger vanishing, as the eggs inside rolled and knocked together. Fissure cracks raced through the delicate shells. The clear gel inside oozed out, bringing the stain of yellow yolk.

What was she doing, getting worked up into a rage at a dead man? She wished Kol were here so she could give him an earful. She wished for the strong breadth of his chest, the sheltering band of his arms, the way any hardship seemed bearable with the capable strength of his hand tucked against hers.

One thing was for certain. She was not done dealing with Daniel Lindsay. She found him in the barn, hunkered down on her little three-legged milking stool. He was humming the chorus of some song she’d never heard of, but she liked the sound of it, she realized with surprise.

Moll, the gentle-natured Jersey, crunched on a generous helping of corn and molasses, at ease, her weight cocked on three legs as her great jowls worked. The gentle-eyed cow turned to her and mooed a low, sweet welcome.

Daniel fell silent as he became aware of her presence. His wide shoulders tensed as he continued to work, one cheek resting against the cow’s soft brown flank. He looked gargantuan, balanced on the tiny stool, and far too accomplished as he stripped long streaks from the cow’s full udder.

With the sunlight slatting through the cracks in the weathered board walls and highlighting the capable set of him, the sight took Rayna’s breath away. Daniel Lindsay was so different a man than Kol had been. Tall and tough and distant, instead of round and gregarious and jolly.

Daniel seemed like a man who neither smiled nor laughed often.

Yet he was not harsh, she decided, remembering his tenderness last night when he’d bandaged her hands.

She unhooked the gate. “You should not be doing my work, Mr. Lindsay.”

“Are you going to warn me off your chores? Too late.” He unfolded his big frame, hefting the nearly full pail with ease. “How about we barter my labor for breakfast?”

“Rather forward, aren’t you? Helping yourself to my chores and inviting yourself to my table?” She couldn’t help the words. They came harder than she meant, but seeing him here reminded her of how her life had changed. And life wasn’t done altering on her.

Not by far. “I suppose I could fry up a few eggs for you.”

“That’d be fine, Mrs. Ludgrin. I’ll be up to the house shortly.”

“Give me the milk then, and I’ll add some fresh biscuits to our deal. I’m sure we’ll have much to discuss.” She reached over the wooden gate with her bandaged hands. Dried blood had seeped through the white cloth.

Daniel’s stomach clenched. She was too fragile for the hard work this land required.

But Rayna Ludgrin did not complain, she simply took the full bucket he handed over, steaming in the cool air and frothy with foam. The sweet scent of milk was nothing compared to the fragrance of her—a woman’s soft, warm smell and lilacs. She smelled like spring. Why that made his eyes burn, he couldn’t rightly say.

He seemed to tower over her, the small thing she was, as she handled the heavy pail as if it were light as air. For one span of a breath, only the distance of the wooden gate separated them. He was close enough to see the deep hue of the dark circles bruising her delicate skin, making her blue eyes seem huge in her pale face.

Sympathy hit like an anvil on his chest and he turned away, not sure of the tangle that seemed to coil up behind his breastbone. A tangle of emotions that he wasn’t familiar with at all. But they were powerful and he didn’t know what to do.

He grabbed the pitchfork and went to work, keeping busy until the dainty pad of her step had disappeared into silence and he was alone with the livestock.

The cow gripped his trouser leg with her teeth and gently tugged. Her grain trough was empty. She waited, her long tail swishing while he took a deep breath to fill his lungs. But the coil in his chest remained.

He snatched a battered dipper and dropped another pile of grain into the wooden tray for the cow who released her hold on his trousers, mooed in gentle appreciation and lipped up the sweet-tasting treat.

The cow in the next stall gave a long, sharp protest. He knew what to do about that—he grained her, milked her, which kept him busy enough that he didn’t have to pick apart what was troubling him. He had plenty enough of that as it was. His crop was a total loss that would set him back a year in more than just profit. Wind damage to the fences and outbuildings would cost him in lumber and sweat. He had enough of his own concerns.

He didn’t need to add Rayna Ludgrin’s problems to his already heavy load.

He wanted her land. It was as simple as that. He was willing to pay her a fair price. Good wheat land was hard to come by on these stubborn plains. It was as if the prairie fought to take back the land it had lost, and it was a constant battle for the average rancher. Montana was a hard enemy, but he was equally tenacious. The wind blew colder through the open barn doors, cutting through his long-sleeved work shirt as if in challenge.

It would be a hard go of it.

Daniel eyed the tight-hewn timbers overhead and the loft brimming with soft hay. The feed room was nearly empty, save for a hundredweight bag of grain that wouldn’t see the Ludgrin livestock far into the month. There was enough hay for feeding and straw for bedding to see the animals through the autumn, judging by the size of the stacks he could see out back.

But the winter? No. More feed would have to be bought.

The workhorses were in good shape, young and strong and healthy. The cattle—he’d have to take a ride out in the fields to get a good look; see if they’d bring a good enough price this late in the year.

He leaned the pitchfork in the corner, out of the way, and took a moment to look around. He’d learned long ago to see beyond the surface of things, so it was no trouble to purge the soggy-brown mess of the ruined crops from the acres of fields.

Yep, that was a mess now, but all a man had to do was to turn the sod before winter set in and these would be good fertile fields to sow come spring. Fields he wanted. A good water supply, even a running creek most of the year. He’d been up half the night working out the numbers on his old school slate and he knew he could just manage it.

It all depended on what those papers on Rayna’s table said. Bank notes. He couldn’t read, but he knew a mortgage note when he saw it. And judging by the number of pages, more than just the property was encumbered.

But, if Rayna was willing and her asking price was reasonable, this could be his. Sure, it would take hard labor to turn the soil, to plant and harvest one hundred and sixty acres in addition to his own bottom land that kept him busy as it was. He’d be working from dawn until midnight for a good part of the next year. That was a formidable prospect, but the gains would be worth it.

Hell, he’d come this far already. He might as well see if he couldn’t improve his circumstances.

Daniel straightened his shoulders as the tepid rays of dawn washed over him, bright but without warmth. His shadow stretched out before him, long and wide, on the ground littered with wheat chaff blown from the fields by last night’s heartless wind. Ground that would be his?

I sure hope so.

Determination turned his spine to steel. A little hard work was all it would take. He wasn’t afraid of hard work. It was the only kind he knew. What he didn’t like was that his future hinged on a woman’s decision.

She’d already agreed he’d have first option for the land. But did the bank’s mortgage cancel that? Or would she be able to keep her word if a better offer came from one of the other neighbors?

There she was—a blur of dark blue calico and matching sunbonnet—visible through the slats of the chicken pen. She emerged from the coop with a basket on her arm. She was obviously egg gathering. Hens clucked and pecked at the scatter of feed on the dirt and squawked angrily when the snap of her dress startled them.

The wan light teased her blond hair, which she hadn’t pinned up yet and fell in a long golden spill from her nape, where a ribbon bound it into a thick ponytail. With it down, she looked young and dainty, her shadow a thin wisp behind her as she swished up the path to the garden gate. She seemed far too young to be a widow and a mother of two boys, one of them fourteen years old.

That tangle of emotions was back, wedged like an ax blade right through his breastbone and bore deep until he couldn’t breathe at all. Feeling as though he were suffocating, he watched Rayna Ludgrin with her curving figure and flowing hair and her feminine graceful manner. He was a man. He couldn’t help wanting.

But it was more than that. It was admiration he felt at the grit of her spirit. Not many women would have worked like she did without complaint. Even though she trudged heavy with exhaustion and grief, she was graceful and quality. As if she were far too fine for the burden of this land.

We can help one another, he thought, a lone man standing in the threshold of the barn, caught in shadow, the cool, new light falling all around him. Summer was gone, and with it the vibrant warmth. The season had turned, and Daniel felt as if something unnamable were slipping away and just out of his reach, something he didn’t even know he’d been missing until now. When it was already gone.

Or maybe it was just that he realized Rayna had disappeared into her house. Seemingly taking the summer with her.

He left the pail of milk on the back porch, in front of the open door. Through the pink mesh of the screen, he could see her at the stove. Her back was to him as she worked, her long hair shifting and moving like liquid gold. Overcome, he turned away, wondering if her hair was as soft as it looked. It wasn’t his right to wonder such a thing.

If things went his way, she’d be gone and this land would be his. And he would be alone, as he was meant to be. As he’d always been.

His boots crushed fallen rose leaves and satin pink petals as he retraced his path across the back lawn. Toward the livestock gathering at the empty wooden feed trough. For a long second, it felt as if time had stopped marching forward and the earth had stopped turning between one step and the next. His breath stalled in his lungs. A strange flickering trail skidded along his spine.

What was happening to him?

Awareness moved through him, different from the jerk of instinct that warned him of a predator in the field, but just as strong. It was an awareness that had him turning on his heel to gaze back at the house in time to see Rayna framed in the window. With a batter bowl anchored in the crook of her arm, she returned to her work as if she hadn’t been watching him.

He headed to the far side of the trough and kept out of sight of the house while he finished the rest of the morning chores.

At the first tap of his boot on the porch, she straightened. Taking a breath, she wiped the stray wisps from her eyes and dug the hot mitt from the drawer.

You can do this, Rayna. She was a grown woman after all. She had to face the unbearable truth. What was done was done, there was no going back and changing it. Kol hadn’t meant to die, of course, and he would never have wanted her to be in this position. Never would have wanted his family broken and his land sold…

It’s too much. Too much to manage alone. He never would have wanted that for her. Anger drained out of her and her hand started to tremble. She couldn’t get a good grip on the baking sheet through the layers of dense rug yarn that padded the mitt.

The biscuits, golden and fluffy, tipped dangerously and she slid the sheet onto the waiting trivet, the one Kol had sanded and shaped from river rock the long winter when she’d been carrying Hans.

She swallowed hard, somehow managing to flip the eggs without breaking all but one of the yolks. She watched the smear of yellow bubble in the grease and steeled herself for what was to come.

The rap of his knuckles on the door frame was quiet, not bold or demanding, but seemed like the ring of gunfire. She would do this now, while the boys were sleeping in from another rough night, when it was just her and Daniel. So she could spare her boys the heartache.

Daniel Lindsay’s step was sure and sturdy as he let himself in. He was a good man, Kol had said so many a time. And would take better care of her land than Mr. Dayton or whoever won the auction from the bank. Surely that was the wisest decision. Maybe he would give her enough time to settle her affairs and contact her relatives to see if anyone would take her and her boys in.

“Did you sleep at all last night?”

It wasn’t what she expected him to say. Surely he’d seen the mortgage papers on the table; they were obvious and hard to miss. “I’ll have time to sleep later.”

“No, you need to take care of yourself now. Your boys depend on you.”

It was the decency in his voice that undid her as he gently removed the spatula from her hand, took her elbow and tugged. Who was this man who’d bandaged her hands, who’d tried to harvest her fields with his machinery and horses, who by rights should have been as happy with her change in fortune as her other neighbors?

When her feet didn’t move, he laid his other hand on her back, on the space between her shoulder blades. His touch was unwelcome. He was not her husband, and close contact with her was…well, it was wrong. But the broad pressure of his palm on her spine was comforting, too.

Lord knew how much she needed comfort right now. So she allowed his closeness and let him nudge her to the closest chair. She eased onto the seat, more tired than she’d ever been.

And more defeated.

Daniel Lindsay moved away, leaving her alone in the cool shadows. She shivered. She couldn’t get warm, even a few yards from the blazing cookstove. There was a clink and a clatter of stoneware and then a steaming cup of coffee appeared before her on the table, left there by the tall, silent man who’d taken over her duties at the stove.

The coffee was piping hot and stung her tongue. But it steadied her to ask what had to be asked. “What would you say this land, even with the house, is worth?”

“I’d have to find out all the debt owed. And if a fair deal is possible. If so, then I would make you an honest offer.”

“I know you will.” She took another bracing swallow of coffee. Felt the heat burn inside her. It was the closest thing to determination she had at the moment. “I’m afraid any offer you would want to make wouldn’t cover all the debt I owe. What happens then?”

“I’ll talk to someone at the bank and find out. Likely as not, if you can’t make your next payment or if you can’t sell for the amount of your mortgage, then the bank will repossess.”

She’d known he was going to say that.

He turned with two full plates in hand and set them on the table, one before her and the other at Kirk’s place, where he sat. A solemn man with grim lines cut around his mouth and his eyes. Not the face of a young man, but of a hardworking one. A decent man.

Gratitude warmed her more than the coffee had. When she was down, he’d pulled through for her.

He took a bite of biscuit and chewed, reaching for the loan papers. More creases dug into her brow as he scanned the pages. His granite jaw stilled.

As the clock ticked the seconds away, Rayna watched Daniel’s reaction as he appeared to read. The tension cording in his throat. The grim set of his brows drawing together as he leafed through the pages.

Like the hand of destiny laying down the final step in her path, the silence stretched between the ticks of the clock. Unbearable silence. She saw, as Daniel bowed his head and covered his face with his hands, that it was worse than she’d figured. And that meant—

No, she couldn’t face what that meant. With great control, she rose from the table and pulled two plates from the cupboards. Each scrape of the spatula as she began to fill the plates with the rest of the fried eggs, diced potatoes and salt pork gave her something to concentrate on so she could keep the truth from settling in.

If she couldn’t sell the land, with the hopes of keeping the house, then she would have no place to go. No way to make a living.

A chair scraped against the wooden floor and Daniel’s sure gait tapped on the floor. “I’ll talk to the bank. See what I can do. But I don’t know how it will turn out.”

His silence sounded oddly helpless. “I would truly appreciate any help, Mr. Lindsay.”

“Daniel.” He seemed to fill the room, his presence was that powerful. As was the shadow that fell across the floor, big hands fisting. “I wish there was more I could do.”

“You’ve done so much already. I can’t remember if I’ve thanked you.”

“It’s been a difficult time, I know.” Daniel swallowed hard, but the tangle in his chest seemed to sharpen and cut like knives at the insides of his ribs. He hated this feeling. Knew, that if he struck a deal to take over the mortgage, that he’d be taking everything from Kol’s widow and children. That wasn’t what he wanted.

“I have a good relationship with Wright at the bank. I’ll see what I can do for you.”

She layered salt pork on the two plates she was making, breakfast to be kept warm in the oven for when her children woke, no doubt. What fortunate boys they were, to have a mother like her.

It took only one look around to see the home she’d made for them, clean and comfortable and caring. The sharp feelings sliced into his chest and he turned away to grab his hat. To get as far away from this woman as he could before he remembered too much of his childhood. Or the boy that had never had a kindly woman worrying if he was hungry. Making sure he had a heaping plate of good food to start the day with.

He couldn’t spare Rayna Ludgrin one more look as he strode out the door and into the cool morning that warned of a hard winter to come.

It didn’t feel as if it were only the weather.

Daniel yanked the ends of the reins loose from the hitching post in the front yard and swung up onto his gelding’s back. With the odd feeling that Rayna Ludgrin was watching him go, he rode east and into the rising sun.

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