Jillian Hart - Montana Bride

Happiness lit him up like a slow and steady light that would not be put out. He turned on his heels and paced through the house, hardly noticing the bite of bitter cold when he stepped out to fill the wood box.

“How are the dishes coming?” The door opened to the pace of his steps returning to the kitchen.

“I’m done.” Willa wiped the last plate dry and set it on the stack in the cupboard. “It took hardly any time at all. I need to thank your sister for the meal.”

“No need to, as I’ve already done it.” He sidled up to her, bringing with him the scent of wood smoke on his clothes. His big hands hefted the washbasin off the counter. “You look pale as a sheet. Are you all right?”

“It’s been a long few days.” She hung the dish towel up to dry, avoiding his gaze. Why was he being so courteous? He walked away with the basin without explanation and opened the back door. He disappeared in the swirl of snow that blew in and returned dusted with white. “I think I made a bigger mess than I meant to.”

She shrugged and spotted a broom leaning against a nearby wall. A few swipes took care of the stray snow, but he was still covered with it. The need to brush off the ice from his face surprised her. She stepped back to let him do that for himself. She’d learned her lessons well in her first marriage. Men had a way of punishing you for trying to care about them. At least this time she understood that. At least this first wedding night would not be spent like the last one … full of misery, disillusion and silent tears.

“It is nine o’clock, if you can believe that. The day flew by.” He shrugged out of his coat and hung it by the door. “I spent all day getting ready for you. Hard to believe, I know, but I’d left a lot to do until the last minute. Like getting new plates. I didn’t want you to show up and have to eat off the chipped ones I was getting by with.”

He had an amicable way about him. She had to take care not to fall victim to it. She rescued the basin he’d emptied and set it on the counter to air dry. The kitchen was toasty warm from the stove, warm enough to have chased away the cold from her bones but not the trepidation. If not for the new life she carried, she would never have remarried. She never wanted to be pushed and pulled by a man’s manipulations again, but the ring on her finger was a reminder she had made a commitment to Austin until death parted them. She would make the best of it.

“Could you show me to my room?” She held her breath, fearing what was to follow.

“You mean, our room.” He watched her intently without a hint as to what he might be thinking. “It’s the first door to your left. Come, I’ll show you.”

“Thank you.” She felt self-conscious, and every step she took through the door he held for her felt like the toll of an executioner’s bell. The front room’s crackling fire and pleasant furnishings were no comfort as she approached the wall of doors.

“I thought this smaller one would make a good room for the baby.” Austin opened the one farthest away, stepping aside for her to inspect the space. “Evelyn brought over a crib as a welcome gift. She is thoughtful that way.”

A crib. Her throat closed at the shadowed sight of carved rails and polished oak. Her head swam and Austin’s words sounded far away.

“It is the one Ma used for us. Pa made it for her when they were expecting me. You will like my father. I took over the livery from him when he retired.” His footsteps echoed against the bare floor and walls, seeming to grow in the shadows. “He’s looking forward to meeting you.”

“Of course your entire family knows about the baby.” She hadn’t even considered his family. She hadn’t thought further ahead than meeting Austin Dermot. She was still taking one moment at a time. The next moment loomed ahead of her like a ghost in the dark, the moment when Austin would lead her from this room and into the one they would share for the night.

Together.

She swallowed, not sure if she felt strong enough to face that. Worry had worn away at her like water on rock and she felt frail. Maybe it was from seeing the crib with its sweetly carved spools. She tried to imagine the time it had taken to make and could not imagine a man sitting patiently for the hours upon hours it would take to whittle, sand and stain each piece of wood.

“No, only my sister, who has sworn to keep your secret until you are ready to tell it.” He shrugged. “I did not tell them. Evelyn showed up with this yesterday. I suspect when she was cleaning for your arrival, she found the newspaper with the advertisement I’d circled. My sister is nosy.”

His grin was infectious and she found the corners of her mouth turning upward. “The crib was a thoughtful gift.”

“She cares about you already.” He chuckled. “I hope that doesn’t turn out to be overwhelming for you, since you’re not used to so much family.”

“No, I’m sure I will like her.” She blushed, awkward with the intensely private subject of her pregnancy. “I suppose we will have to break the news, but I don’t want to tarnish your reputation. I know how small towns can be. People can leap to conclusions and think the worst things.”

“There’s no shame in your situation. It must take a lot of courage to marry a man you’ve never met for the sake of your child.” The shadows hid him, but not his essence. That shone as solid and unmistakable as the lamplight tumbling through the threshold from the other room. “I meant what I said in my letter. I will treat the baby as my own. Your child is our child now, just like the others that will follow.”

“The others.” That wasn’t something he’d written about in his letters. She gulped, feeling dizzy. The future wasn’t something she looked at. It was something best left unexamined. Of course there would be more children. He was a man. He would expect certain affections from his wife.

“Maybe I’m getting the cart in front of the horse.” He chuckled and his big hand closed around her forearm as if he knew how weakly her knees knocked. “We will focus on getting this baby into the world safely. One thing at a time. How’s that?”

She nodded, overcome, shocked by the possessive heat of his hand banding her like a manacle she did not know how to break. She let him lead her from the room. Her head swam, her heart thrashed against her sternum wildly as she stumbled toward her destiny, toward her fate as this man’s wife.

One of two bedside lamps was lit, tossing a sepia glow over its bedside table and onto the wide four-poster bed. A patchwork quilt in the colors of spring draped the feather tick, and snowy white pillow slips covered plump pillows. She’d never dreamed of such a room, with a window seat and a bureau to match the carved bed’s foot and headboards. A looking glass reflected back at her and she ran her fingertips across the polished wood frame. A real mirror.

“Of course, you will want to change all this. My sister said the curtains are a shame. But my mother made the quilt. You might want to replace it, that’s fine by me, but I thought it was pretty. Better than the wool blanket I had there before.” Bashfulness had him dipping his head as he backed from the room. “Your satchel is on the window seat. I’ll leave you to get ready for bed.”

She waited until the door closed before she released her breath. She sank onto the chest footing the bed, shaking so hard she felt sick. In the other room she could hear the fall of the bolt in the door and Austin’s boots crossing the room. The sharp sound of the fireplace utensils told her he was busy banking the fires for the night. She would not have much time before he came back through the bedroom door and she had no intention of being caught undressed.