Montana Wife
Man and wife–facing the rigors of high country ranchingThat was the simple, solid ideal that Daniel Lindsay willingly offered Rayna Ludgrin. But she'd lived a grand passion, he knew, and he could promise only a quiet, steady brand of love…!Her soul raw with a new widow's grief, Rayna Ludgrin vowed she'd never feel love again. Still, life under the wide Montana sky was hard for a woman alone–and she pledged herself to Daniel Lindsay out of a desperate need to save her sons and her ranch. But though she'd taken him into her home as husband, could she ever welcome him into her heart?
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“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
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.
