Montana Wife (Historical) (8 page)

“I'll get the doctor.”

“No—” She couldn't afford it. She didn't want it. “I'm not ill. I just…it was a shock, I guess.”

“What was?”

“I was counting my chicks before the eggs hatched. That isn't wise.” She didn't know what she'd do now.

“Hmm, did you hear from Kol's relations?” His hand
closed over her fist where the parchment was still balled tight.

She still had the letter? “I was so sure he would offer real help. We don't require much, a corner of his house. The attic, even. Right now I'd settle for a space in his barn.”

“You have no other family? What about you? Sisters? Brothers?”

“No siblings. My brothers died long ago, both of scarlet fever. And my parents died many years ago.” She couldn't concentrate for the press of his hand on hers offering her comfort and empathy and strength—but only for this moment.

She could shoulder this burden alone, but for an instant, it felt good not to be alone. To feel the hard male warmth of his skin and muscle and bone, and the sense of protection he emanated.

“There's no one else?”

“Back in Sweden. My mother and father came from there.”

He fell silent. “Then let me see.”

“The letter? No, it's horrible. He needs Kirk to work for him.”

“And the younger boy? What are you going to do with him?”

“I'm not going to let either one of them work. They're children. They need to go to school. They need their father.” She needed their father.

Right now Kol would know what to do. He always did. Everything he'd done was always right, or it had seemed that way. He'd always been her center, her strength. Now he was gone, and she had to find her own strength. It was in her, and she would find it.

But it wouldn't hurt to confide in Daniel. Would it?

“Let me see.” He took the balled-up parchment from her fingers and patiently straightened it out. “Please, read it for me.”

“I had hoped to lease the land to you, or to sell it and keep the acre the house sits on. I'd hoped I could find work, enough to get by on. But there is no work in this town. Shops are closing up. We are not the only family losing their farm.”

He appeared to scan the lines, and his mouth tightened with frustration. “Tell me. What about your youngest?”

“He's found a place for Hans. The town smithy has room in his home and has offered to teach him his trade, in exchange for his labor. Oh, but he's a
child.
” The image of her sweet baby, his face smudged with ash and smoke from the blacksmith's fires, made her sick.

Fighting the sudden watering of her mouth, she crawled toward the aisle but couldn't make it any farther. She emptied her stomach, wretch after wretch carving up her throat, leaving her shaken and weak. Daniel Lindsay crouched beside her and held back her hair.

When she was through, he withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket, unfolded it and carefully wiped her lips and chin. “It's a common fate for children to get room and board in exchange for long days of farm work.”

She shook her head, scattering her soft blond curls that were escaping her hairpins. She looked beautiful—and too young and vulnerable to be a widow. “I've never heard of such a thing.”

“I have.” Grim, he closed off his memories of that time. “I don't recommend that for your boys, Rayna. No child should grow up little better than a slave.”

“No. Not my boys.”

There was the iron in her, not glaring or brash, but silent and strong. An unwelcome twist of emotion wad
ded up in his chest, cutting off his air, opening his heart. He returned the dipper to the pump, taking his time, but it wasn't time enough for the fierce ache that went with that tangle of emotions to fade. It grew until his eyes smarted from the pain of it.

No kid deserved a life like what could await Rayna's boys. Work, work and more work. Hunger and more work. Fear and—
No, don't do it, man. Don't remember.

He filled the dipper and drank deep. Nothing. He splashed water on his face and the shock of the cold water helped. But there was nothing on this earth that could scratch out the effects of the suffering he'd endured as a boy, and he felt half sick with the thought of Kirk and Hans going through the same thing.

Daniel squeezed his eyes shut against the memories. Kirk was already showing the impressive signs of the good man he was becoming. He didn't deserve to know what it was like to work fourteen hours in a sun-scorched field with open wounds on his bare back stinging from his own sweat.

To work beyond exhaustion just so he wouldn't feel the bite of the foreman's whip—

A distant metallic clatter tore him from his thoughts. From the brief image of cotton fields to the shadowed warmth of the livery stable. Safe, with the dipper at his feet. He didn't remember dropping it.

He went to retrieve it, the bunch and pull of his muscles as he knelt reminding him of the man he was. When he reached for the dipper, his fingertips were whole and not bloodstained. Not the hands of a cotton picker but that of a man in control of his own life. He gave thanks for that every day.

He gave thanks for it now.

“Daniel?” Rayna was in the aisle, her butter-yellow
dress glowing like a gentle spring dawn, hugging her willowy woman's body.

With her hair tumbled down and falling loose around her face and shoulders, cascading over her breasts to curl at her waist, she was a vision. A rare glimpse of goodness and gentility and kindness so powerful he stood in a daze, unable to tear his gaze away.

No wonder Kol had protected her. Kept her safe from the world of cruel, ruthless men. Who would protect her now?

It wasn't his right or his duty. And he couldn't figure that a fine lady like Rayna, with her fancy shoes and reticules to match her numerous dresses, would see much in a man like him. One who had no fancy buggy or fine airs. Just a man with a section of land who felt satisfied with how far he'd come in life. And aspired for nothing more.

“Your coat.” She held out the worn garment to him.

He took it and didn't know what to say.

She apparently did. “It seems as if I'm always returning your coat. I'm obliged to you, Daniel. I would have been mortified if I'd become ill on the street in front of everyone. Thank you for sparing me that.”

“Just afraid you'd fall and get hurt. I didn't do much.”

“It was everything to me. I—” She was strength and fight, despite the tears filling her eyes. Tears that shimmered but did not fall. “Your kindness matters.”

She gestured again for him to take the coat she'd gathered up, shaken out and folded with care. He couldn't seem to make his feet move forward and he felt awkward, the simple effort of reaching out to take the garment felt strenuous.

Why did being near her make him want to head in the other direction?

When he wanted to run, he forced his fingers to grasp the collar of his winter coat, hardly aware of the sheepskin lining against his skin as sweat broke out on his brow. 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 to cherish.

Unaware of his thoughts, Rayna lifted her right hand, no longer bandaged, to stroke her loose hair away from her eyes.

Although 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.

 

“I'm sorry, Mrs. Ludgrin. I can give you a room in exchange for work, but not board. No, I just can't do it.” Thora Arneson softened her words with an apologetic shrug. “Not with two growing boys. I can give you a discounted rate on board, but that is the best I can do in these hard times.”

Rayna knew the soft-spoken woman was simply being honest. She knew Thora from their school days, though she'd been several grades behind Rayna and they'd never been more than acquaintances. But working for someone as decent as Thora
had
to be better than the alternatives she dare not consider. “I could work more nights a week.”

“Three is all I can afford to offer you.”

“Then I would be grateful for the work.”

“Wonderful.” A rare smile touched the pale woman's face, showing a surprising loveliness. “I am so sorry for your circumstances, and I know you will be a good employee. As I said, I don't have a room available right now, but in a few weeks there will probably be space for you and your sons by then.”

“I can start work right away?”

“As soon as tonight, but I understand if you'd rather wait—”

“No, tonight is fine.” She needed the money. She needed all the security she could give her sons, and a weekly payday was the best place to start. “I can't thank you enough, Thora.”

“You're thanking me? Goodness, I've had the hardest time finding good workers. I will see you tonight at eight o'clock?”

It was done. As the somber shadows stretched across the town streets, Rayna gritted her jaw against the burning pain. Her shoes. She had to find something more practical, and yet, how could she afford it?

Mentally she counted the greenbacks tucked safely in her reticule. Between food and sundries she and the boys had needed through the week, the roll of fifties Kol had always kept in the house was quickly thinning.

As shoppers scurried along the boardwalk, hurrying about their late errands before supper, she lingered outside O'Dell's, the finest clothier in all of Bluebonnet County. The front window displayed the fine wool skirts, lightly gathered and beautifully tailored new fashions for the winter to come.

So beautiful, her fingers itched to stroke the rich fabric. But she had no use for a fancy day dress, and the
brushed-leather boots on display were no more sensible than the ones she now wore and out of her means.

The general store near the tracks had the best prices in town. She'd never shopped there, but Betsy did, and Betsy was a widow struggling to provide a living for herself. Yes, that was where she would start.

From now on, she would be practical and pennywise. She'd never managed a budget, but it was a matter of mathematics, right? She'd excelled at mathematics in her school days, and she wanted to keep her sons. Protect them.

No child should grow up little better than a slave.
Remembering Daniel's words, she fought back horror. There was no way on this earth she would allow her sons to spend the rest of their childhood years in hard labor.

She'd work her fingers to the bone and herself to death first.

 

Daniel had forgotten the exact reasons why he'd stopped going to taverns long ago. Maybe he'd needed tonight to remember why he preferred the lonely quiet to the smoky noise and easy pleasures for sale in the bad part of town.

Only the whiskey had been any good, but he'd paid a steep price for the two snifters he'd downed and had left smelling of cheap cigars. The card games held no interest for him, nor did the women parading around in their undergarments—he'd satisfied his curiosity over women, booze and gambling when he was young enough to be so foolish as to waste his hard-earned money.

He was no longer a foolish boy. Never wanted to be like those men spending their money and lives in dark
places. It'd been thoughts of Rayna that had driven him there. The pleasant fragrance of her skin, the whisper of her hair falling loose over her shoulders, how big and tall he'd felt next to her dainty feminine softness.

On his way out of town, he rode past rows of houses, their small windows dark and quiet. Folks were tucked in for the night, sleeping while they could before dawn came and with it a hard day of work.

Daniel always wondered about houses like these with tended patches of grass where children played during the daylight hours, watched over by their mothers who cleaned and cooked and sewed. Was it as peaceful at it looked? Or was it just as desolate behind those closed windows and locked doors as the families he'd lived with in the country?

He supposed he'd never know. He just got to thinking about it because of his contact with Rayna. The first day he'd come knocking at her front door, he'd gotten a good glimpse inside that fancy house. Spent enough time with Kirk in the field to see a boy full of dreams and grit and innocence.

The boy had no idea what lurked in the hearts of some men. Kirk had grown strong with his life of love and safety. He'd never known hunger and, Daniel wagered, the slice of a bullwhip on his bare back. And never should.

It wasn't his lookout. He'd learned long ago to take care of himself first, for no one else would. But he'd liked Kol, and he liked Kirk and Hans. And Rayna… Why, there was no denying he found a lot to admire in the woman. And it wasn't only admiration he felt.

That troubled him, too. He was glad when the last row of houses gave way to sprawling fields, fallow and silent, blending with the black horizon and blacker sky.
With the town far behind him now, he took a deep breath. He never felt at ease among so many people. Maybe he'd thought he could lose his problems in the noise and smoke of the tavern tonight, but he'd been wrong.

His troubles were still tangled up in his chest. The rocking gait of his gelding, the puff of wind against his face, the faint sound of a coyote calling and another answering far off across the prairie. The night was alive as an owl swooped by on wide, silent wings, hunting in the fields.

Daniel breathed deep and recognized the heavy clean scent of rain. He braced for it, having left his rain slicker at home, but didn't mind it. He liked the rain and the night, almost as much as he liked the freedom of the wide-open space around him and above him.