Montana Wife. Jillian Hart
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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 the 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