Montana Wife (Historical) Page 3

  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

  The 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 L
udgrin 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 t
he 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.