Montana Wife (Historical) (17 page)

She heard Kirk's gait approach, saw the cup disappear
from her field of vision, for there was only Daniel. Daniel crouching before her, wide shoulders as sturdy as the Rocky Mountain front she could see from her parlor windows.

Unyielding granite mountains so big and harsh they seemed like invulnerable shields thrust up at the sky. And at the same time so beautiful, they hurt to look at.

That was Daniel. Invincible. She should have known he could handle a Montana blizzard.

“Never go outside to find me again.” His words were sharpened to a point, and yet the brush of his fingers at the curve of her chin was caring.

“I was afraid you couldn't know your way from the barn. Or—” She shut her eyes briefly against the image. “Or that you'd f-frozen to death in the field.”

“I've survived more than one blizzard curled up in a hay mow. Or a haystack.” The memory drew down his mouth and the light in his eyes dulled to a sad shadow. “I'm not so easy to kill off.”

His attempt at humor wasn't funny at all. Her eyes stung. Maybe she cared about him more than she realized. “I would never want anything to happen to you.”

If possible, the sorrow shading his eyes darkened. “Nor could I stand that for you. I knew it was going to blizzard. Why do you think I sent Kirk in when I did?”

She swallowed against a rising tightness in her throat. “And you started bringing in the horses?”

“As soon as I scented snow on the wind. The storm struck about ten feet from the barn, so I got the horses in. I rubbed them down and fed them and the cow, and tied a rope from the end post to my waist. I kept reeling myself back until I found your little backyard gate. There's a rope from the porch rail to the barn, so don't you worry about me losing my way.”

Daniel heard the roughness in his voice, so thin, emotion shone right through it. Embarrassed, he turned away and jacked off his boots. Hanging his wraps up, ice fell everywhere. There had to be a broom somewhere around. Maybe in the pantry—

“Daniel.” The way Rayna said his name was a way he'd never heard it before.

The effect rolled through him like winter thunder. Strangely drawing him around as if against his will.

There she was, a pretty slip of a thing, gazing up at him with those big golden lashes and a shine in her eyes that made him feel as if he were tumbling right off the edge of a cliff.

Behind her burned a lamp, seated against the glass panes, flaming brightly. A light to lead him in from the dark.

Undone, he took refuge in the dim pantry, chilled as it was closed off from the warm kitchen.

In the darkness, he wiped a hand over his face and waited until the roaring winds outside the walls drove in enough cold to freeze back up his heart.

 

Sleep eluded her. Rayna sat in bed with the thick blankets pooled around her and reached for the scrap bag she'd brought upstairs.

Maybe it was the wind blowing with hell's fury that troubled her this night. Last winter had been snowy enough but the storms blowing in had been more timid than savage.

Or maybe the truth was, she was alone with the storm. She'd had trouble sleeping without Kol as it was, and the blizzard tonight sounded like a living thing clawing at the walls, howling to get in.

It's just a storm.
That was all. Nothing more. Yet the
noise kept her unsettled enough that she'd given up trying to sleep. Sorting through the rag bag, she figured it was just as well. She'd spent enough time not sleeping at night, just lying here, that she may as well be productive.

One thing she needed, if this weather held up through the season, was to replace her quilt. She wasn't cold beneath the pile of blankets, but she wasn't warm, either. Betsy had some lovely fabrics. Scraps left over from her sewing through the years. Rayna climbed out of bed, rummaged in the closet until she found the old pillowslip she kept her own scraps in, and began sorting through it.

The soft weave of cotton against her fingers felt familiar, soothing. She tried to concentrate on the colors and patterns, deciding what kind of fabrics she had that matched and what style of quilt she'd piece. Maybe an Irish chain. Or a nine-patch cabin. There were certainly enough calico scraps to make a pinwheel. Yes, that's what she'd do.

Sorrow rasped in her chest. That quilt she'd made as a young woman dreaming of marriage had covered the bed in this room for nearly half her lifetime. How sad, in replacing it, all hope was gone from her. That she was making, in the end, a quilt stitched not with a girl's dreams but with a woman's practical need.

Yes, this was a sensible quilt, not made with fancy fabrics special ordered from back East. But with the material at hand. She sorted through the calicos and plain cottons. She folded up anything that reminded her of the pretty pastel pinks and blues of her marriage quilt. That left the deeper colors, muted emeralds and rubies, marigolds and sapphires. More mature and sensible for it would wear well.

She didn't know why her eyes stung. Perhaps because this was another step away from her old life. From the way she'd lived as Kol's wife. Wanting to hold on and knowing she had to let go, she laid out the fabrics by color. Decided on the border colors of butter yellow instead of the white she'd used before.

It's not as if I've stopped loving you, Kol,
she thought as the storm gathered up a new level of fury with which to batter the walls. As if in protest.
I'm simply…surviving.

The ring on her finger glinted once in the lamplight. As if to remind her that she now belonged to another. A man she didn't love. A man sleeping downstairs. The memory of his touch on her chin remained like a ghost brushing against her. The hard shelter of his chest, the invincible band of his arms enfolding her, the way he'd held the cup to her lips—

He's your husband now,
the wind seemed to whisper. There, at the edge of the shadows, further than the reach of the lamp, was a figure. A gregarious teddy bear of a man with merry blue eyes and platinum hair beginning to thin in front. He held out his hand to her and joy blazed in her heart. Then he was gone and the wind rattled the walls and she jolted awake.

Staring at the closed door where she'd sworn Kol had been standing, she was confused. Had she been dreaming? Her mind was fuzzy, she'd clearly been asleep. Of course it was a dream. There was no way to ever see Kol again, not on this earth, but even so, she'd dreamed of him. And, oh, to have seen him again in such vividness, brighter than any memory… She wiped the wetness from her eyes. She felt better somehow. And she knew what she had to do.

She put away the pieces of fabric, stacking them
neatly by color and replacing the scraps that would be of no use. With care she set the fabric on the closet floor and the scrap bags beside them.

Then she straightened, certain of her course, feeling the chill creeping through her long johns beneath her flannel gown. Wrapping up in her housecoat first, she eased down the hall and checked on Hans. Slumbering, he lay nearly hidden beneath extra blankets, so sweet and at peace—for now.

Frost clung to the banister and the small finish nails in the stairs. Snow dusted the floor in front of the parlor window, wetting her feet. The room was pitch-black and she felt her way. Her toe crashed into the leg of the sofa.

“Rayna?” The blankets rustled. “Is something the matter?”

“N
o.” She wrapped her arms around her middle, where the cold in the room seemed to settle. “Why don't you come up with me? It's so cold, neither of us can keep warm alone.”

“Did my chattering teeth keep you awake?”

“Yes. I figure the only way I can get some sleep is for you to stop making so much noise.” She continued the jest.

His chuckle flowed like warmed molasses. “Guess I'd better do the honorable thing and follow you to bed.”

It was there in the air between them. The flicker of acknowledgment, of what went on between a man and his wife in private moments.

She swallowed against the uncertainty clumping in her throat. “I'm not ready for—”

“I know.” As if he could see her perfectly, his hand found her shoulder in the dark. His touch possessive and reassuring all at once.

And it made her
feel.
The place so empty behind her breastbone ached like a broken tooth, and she moved into the shelter of his arms, sinking against his granite-
like chest. Held on tight when she felt as if every part of her was falling.

His breath came warm in her hair and his words were muffled but sure. So sure. “I'm a patient man, Rayna. All I want is to take good care of my wife.”

His words made it easier to gather up the blankets, which he took from her, and lead him up the stairs. It was strange knowing it was him on the stairs just behind her. Knowing she was leading him. He followed and spread out the blankets as if there was nothing to this. As if he was at ease being so alone together.

She helped smooth the blankets. The pile was thick. In the lamplight she realized the fine figure he made, the ripple of lean muscle and astonishing male strength. She couldn't help looking upon this man in his gray long johns, the fabric clinging to him like a second skin.

For the second time since they'd married, she gazed at him and wondered what making love with him would be like.

Tender. She shivered once, ashamed at her thoughts. She didn't love this man, and yet she was thinking about him as if she did. As if she would eagerly stretch out beneath him and invite his intimate touches, his kisses upon her breasts, that long, thick ridge outlined by his long johns hard and pressing urgently into her.

She'd gone without that kind of intimacy, that's all this was. Not a betrayal, because in her heart she would never love another. Just…a woman's need. To be held and cherished. To be lost in the need to bond with her mate.

Daniel stepped into the lamplight. Held out his hand. “Let me help you.”

She was perfectly capable of getting herself to bed, but the part of her that had been so alone acquiesced.
She held her breath as he drew near, swept the housecoat from her shoulders and folded the garment carefully on the foot of the bed.

She couldn't seem to look away from the hard, inviting plane of his chest. If she leaned against him, she knew the comfort she'd find there from this man who was her husband. Who cared for her.

She didn't want to care for him. But he tipped her chin and covered her lips with his. A full kiss, brief, firm, gentle. The bottom fell out of her soul as he eased her onto the bed and held the covers for her.

The seed rooted in her chest unfurled a bit more. He covered her as if she were so precious to him. What passed for a hint of a smile touched his lips. The lips that had made hers tingle. And then he blew out the lamp.

An unfamiliar wanting swept through her. Not lust and not love. She didn't know what it was. Listening to the bed ropes creak and feeling the feather tick shift beneath his weight as he stretched out on his side of the bed, she fought the urge to reach for him. To find out if she held on to him, would it make the ache in her empty heart go away?

“Rayna?” His voice was a pleasant rumble that moved through her. “You're shivering.”

“I'll warm up.”

“I'm shivering, too.” He pulled her against him, his strong arms enfolding her, and she settled like a spoon against him.

It was easy to relax into his body's heat. The chill slowly evaporated and the sheets grew warm. She could move away, but she didn't. It was nice to simply be held. To rest against the iron shelter of his chest and thighs.
And to feel that part of him, rigid and enormous against her upper thigh.

The want within her bloomed and she was no longer cold. The ache in her chest increased as he pressed a kiss into her hair.

“Good night, my wife. As long as you're in my arms, I'll keep you safe. Sleep well.”

What did she say in return? That she was so grateful she wasn't alone? But that wasn't right. She could face her life without a man to hold her.

“I'm so glad that it was you who came that day to harvest the wheat. That the man I had to marry for my sons' sake was
you.
”

She didn't know if he heard what she meant. She wasn't certain if she could find the words at all. But Daniel's contented sigh seemed to signal that he understood in some way.

That of all the possible turns her life could have taken, she was deeply grateful that this man of stalwart goodness was holding on to her.

 

Daniel awoke to silence. Somewhere in the back of his mind he recognized that the blizzard had blown out in the night. But what he noticed was the wonder of waking up to find Rayna in his arms.

She was lilac sweetness. That was about to be his very favorite scent, for it would always remind him of this. Of opening his eyes to her relaxed in sleep, her hair like silk everywhere, her woman's softness tucked against him, her fingers twined in one hand. Her hand covering his other, which happened to be resting on her breast. He was stone hard against her lush bottom, and it was a great effort to keep his hunger from taking over.

One day she would trust him enough to reach out as
she was awakening. Opening to him the way a lover should, smiling and sated, to let him cover her. To love her the way he wanted to.
One day.

For now, he removed his hand from her spellbinding softness. There was a good chance he'd be thinking all day about the way her supple breast had spilled over his fingers. Careful not to wake her or to let in the frigid air, he moved away from the faint lilac scent clinging to her hair and slipped out from the covers.

The cold nipped at his heels and slid up his leg as he grabbed his work clothes and stumbled into them—taking care to be quiet so as not to wake his wife.

She slept, her full lips slightly parted, her hair fanning out against the white pillowslip. Faint twilight crept through the part in the curtains, so he could take his time gazing at her. Letting the sight of her fill him up to get him through the day ahead.

The rooster was doing his best to raise the barnyard by the time Daniel pulled the back door shut behind him. He stepped out to find the boards bare at his feet.

The whole prairie lay in a thin coat of white, crusted and frozen and shining with the first piercing ray of a weary sun. The wind must have blown the snow right on to another part of the prairie.

One piece of good luck. Instead of spending his morning shoveling out, he headed with a whistle to the barn, where the cow greeted him with a welcoming low and the horses shifted awake in their stalls.

He milked the cow, left a fair amount in a cracked bowl in the corner for the barn cat. Then he fed and watered the animals and cleaned their stalls.

The sun was lifting up through the long streamers of fat clouds by the time he headed back to the house. The
fire had been fed, judging by the thick plume of smoke rising up from the stovepipe.

And there was Rayna, framed by the frosted window, more beautiful in her work dress and apron, with her hair tied simply at her nape, than anything he'd ever seen.

Tenderness expanded in his chest. An odd, fragile feeling that left him feeling naked and vulnerable. But he welcomed it just the same.
This is what love must be.

He could watch her forever. The way she moved, elegant and feminine. The line of her slender arm. The curve of her neck and shoulder. Her fairy profile.

His body remembered the alluring heat of her body. The enticing curves and sensual softness. He'd never had such a fine night of sleep.

The door flew open, stirring him. He leaped into motion so he wouldn't be caught staring like a smitten dunderhead.

It was Kirk, come to take the milk pail. “Ma said breakfast is ready. I think I can drive to school again, don't you?”

“You handled everything just fine yesterday.”

A gleam of pride came into the boy's eyes. He liked being responsible enough to take care of his family, too. With a hint of a grin, Kirk disappeared the way he'd come. Daniel followed him into the delicious scent of fresh boiled coffee and sausage. Buttery pancakes steamed on the platter Rayna was in the act of setting on the table.

She looked up with a small smile. He could feel the warmth behind it in the vulnerable spot in his chest. A cup of coffee steamed on the table at his set place.

She must have seen him coming and poured him the first cup.

Before he could move to remove his boots and wash
up, he felt a tug on his pant leg at the knee. He looked down at the white-blond head of the little boy. Head tipped back, his big blue eyes stared up, mirroring pain and innocence.

“Ma said I had to tell ya. I'm sorry.” He swallowed, as if that took a lot of gumption to say, and then glanced over at his ma.

Rayna nodded to him as if in encouragement as she set out the platter of sausages.

Hans took a shaky breath. “Fer yellin'.”

“That's okay.” He didn't know what to do with the little fella, so he ruffled his hair.

The boy grabbed his hand and glowered up at him again. Maybe that was something his father used to do. For a brief moment, they stared at one another, big man and little boy. In that moment Hans's fingers gripped his so tight, as if holding on. Before he let go and ran as fast as he could to bolt into his chair.

Yeah, Daniel knew how that felt. To be so little and helpless in a world too big and powerful. To have so many feelings to name starting a war inside you.

Most of all, just wanting a little protection and care.

Yeah, he knew just how it was. So he took care in sitting down at the head of the table. Took his time buttering up his stack of pancakes before sliding the butter dish toward Hans.

The boy didn't look at him, but he took the butter. And it felt as though a truce had been declared.

He sent over the maple syrup, too, real syrup that smelled as sweet as paradise.

Over the top of Hans's head, bringing the last platter to the table with her, he saw that Rayna was watching them.

And smiling.

 

The memory of Hans's quick goodbye kiss before he'd grabbed his mittens and run out the door remained with her.

As she hurried through her morning chores, she held the picture in her mind of Kirk holding the horse he'd saddled, one of Daniel's three saddle horses, books and lunch pail dangling on a catch from the saddle horn.

It felt so normal, somehow, the boys heading off to school as she went around the familiar routine of her daily chores. Dishes and sweeping and putting another pot of coffee on to boil, searing a roast Daniel had taken from his cabin's cellar and then setting it to slow cook. Rinsing the beans she'd set out the night before to soak and putting them on to simmer the morning through for noontime soup.

Now and then she looked outside, but she couldn't see Daniel. Only when she was upstairs, smoothing wrinkles out of the sheets and blankets, could she see him. A dark gray figure of a man against the brown wounds in the earth. The near perfect lines of furor broke the earth for nearly as far as she could see.

She plumped his pillow and smelled the faint scent of him on the pillowslip, the wonderful, comforting scent of salty male skin and wood smoke and leather. Was it wrong to have reached out for him last night? To have cuddled close to him when she awoke in the night instead of shifting away?

It was only wrong because she could not give him the love he deserved in return. And he did deserve to be loved. Look how hard he worked for all of their sakes. She took a few moments of idleness, when there was so much to be done, to watch him from the window.

Head bowed, shoulders braced, back powerfully set, he manhandled the plow through the stubborn prairie.

He'd done so much for her and her sons. He deserved all the kindness and affection she could give him—and more. She would do her very best for this man who wanted his life to mean something. Who had never been loved.

After changing, she went in search of boots that might fit. Kirk's were big, but they would serve. She checked the roast and beans, turned down the damper to keep the heat low while she was out, and filled the jug with coffee. That done, she buttoned into an old flannel work jacket of Kol's. Everything was too big, but she could make do, and hurried through the bitter chill to the barn.

It was fortunate Daniel had two sets of workhorses. The old curl-toothed plow was hidden in the back of the barn, a relic from leaner years, but it was small and not too cumbersome.

It took a while to figure out the harnessing and she nearly dislocated her shoulder lifting the heavy yokes over the Clydesdales' heads, but finally the task was done. She disengaged the metal tooth and took charge of the reins.

The huge workhorses both looked over their shoulders at her in unison, as if amused a woman was attempting this. But she was firm with them and they obeyed, ambling forward into the eye-stinging cold of the morning, steam rising from their nostrils as they exhaled and from the heat of their coats.

Rayna breathed in lung-burning air. The entire prairie lay in a crisp frozen hush as she headed out to join Daniel. As cold as it was, she refused to turn back.

It was a long way out finding him, but when she neared, she realized he'd spotted her approach and
stopped his work. To stare at her with one arched brow as she pulled the big horses to a halt. He drew himself up like a bear ready for battle, his gaze darting from the horses to the plow to her dressed in a man's work clothes.