Montana Wife (Historical) (4 page)

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.

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.