Jillian Hart - High Plains Wife

Maybe if she told herself that enough times, she would believe it. Then—maybe—it wouldn’t hurt so much.

Rayna hummed as she stacked molasses cookies from the cooling racks onto a plate. Her gold wedding ring caught the late afternoon light. Rayna would never understand. She was happily married and a mother of three sons.

What did she know about rejection? About watching the man you secretly loved marry someone pretty and vivacious? About spending every night alone in the same house for years, wishing another man would come along. Wishing for just one man to love her, despite her faults.

Mariah grabbed the oven mitts and swung open the oven door. The aroma of chicken potpie made her mouth water. The crusts were golden, the gravy bubbling through the little flowers she’d cut into the dough. Dry heat blazed across her face as she knelt to rescue the pans.

“Nick will need a wife who can cook.”

“Plenty of women can cook. One thing Mr. Gray won’t be doing is asking me to cook for him.” It didn’t matter that he would find himself another young and pretty woman. Truly, it didn’t bother her one bit.

“Nick was sweet on you years ago.”

“He isn’t now.” Remembering Nick’s look of disdain today on the road, her face flushed again.

All right, so maybe that did hurt—but just the tiniest bit. What she needed to be was practical. Earlier today she had seen it as plain as daylight on his face—she’d grown too hard and too sharp. Over time, her cold heart had grown colder. She hated that, and hated that it showed so much.

Laden with the heavy basket, Rayna lingered at the back door. “A man never forgets his first love.”

“We were not in love.”

Rayna frowned. “Maybe not, but only because your father wouldn’t allow him to court you.”

“Nick didn’t try hard enough.” Bitterness still ached in her breast, and she turned away. The years of loneliness settled in a hard lump in her throat, making it hard to breathe and harder to talk, so she opened the pantry door and pretended to be very busy.

It was a good thing she loved her volunteer work. Her cherished spot on the Ladies’ Aid had given her great satisfaction. She didn’t need a husband to be happy. Why, look at her kitchen. Not a speck of mud or a man’s grimy boots in a messy pile on her hand-polished floor. See? Her life was in perfect order, just the way she wanted it.

And if her conscience bit at the lie she told herself, she ignored it.

“Oh, speak of the devil.” Rayna’s tone held delight. “Some man is driving up in his fine fringed-top surrey. A man by the name of Mr. Gray.”

“Stop teasing me and grab the basket I have by the door, would you? I’ve packed extra dish towels.” As the vice president of the Ladies’ Aid, Mariah took pride in her experience serving and washing. “Surely, there will be a lot of dishes to wash—”

A rattle of a harness in the yard echoed through her kitchen. That couldn’t be. Surely Nick Gray wasn’t in her driveway…

He was. Her breath caught as a matching team of sleek bays pranced into sight. They stopped, looking as graceful as a waltz, their long black manes flickering in the wind. The sunlight gleamed on their bronze coats and the new surrey behind them, where Nick Gray held thick leather straps between leather-gloved fingers. He was real and not a daydream, right? Mariah blinked, and sure enough he was still sitting there.

Why was he here? Suddenly her black dress was too plain, her hair too sensible, her shoes too scuffed. But he was as fine-looking as ever. His black Stetson framed his dark eyes and matched his finely tailored black suit. He looked so masculine and dashing, he made every part of her tingle. She hated her reaction to him.

“Good evening, Mrs. Ludgrin. Mariah.” He climbed handily from the high seat to the ground, every movement deliberate and predatory and somehow breathtaking. He moved with confidence, making it clear he’d come for a purpose.

To talk to her? She couldn’t imagine why. She noticed Nick’s brother Will in the second seat of the buggy, his arm slung over the back of the seat, dressed up as well. Were they going to the supper and dance tonight?

Rayna’s smile was all-knowing as she hurried down the porch, lugging both baskets. Leaving Mariah alone to face Nick.

That wasn’t fair.

Nick stepped aside on the walkway, all gentleman. “Can I get those for you, Rayna?”

“Don’t you mind about me. Looks as though you two need time to talk.” Rayna glanced over her shoulder at Mariah and winked. “Good luck.”

Good luck? Mariah watched her friend hurry off to her parked buggy. Alone with Nick? Twice in one day? The longing within her ached. It took all her willpower not to march back into her house and lock the door. Was it too late to pretend she wasn’t home?

He swept off his hat. “You’re dressed up real nice. Suppose you’re serving at the supper.”

“I am.”

“Seeing you today got me to thinking.” He stared down at his hat. Dark shocks of his hair tumbled over his brow, hiding his eyes. He looked troubled. Contemplative. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you on the road today.”

“I need to apologize, too. I was frightened from the coyotes.”

“Yeah, well…” He looked flustered, picking at the stitching on his hat brim. “I’m awful grateful to you for protecting Georgie. ‘Thank you’ seems awfully small sentiment for what you’ve done.”

“It’s more than enough.”

As their gazes locked, Mariah’s breath caught. The longing in her chest crescendoed until it was all she could feel. Why was he here? He’d already thanked her at the time. Why make a trip out of his way to do it again?

He raked one hand unsteadily through his thick locks, leaving them deliciously tousled. Confident Nick Gray looked remarkably uneasy.

And why was that? He’d apologized. Why wasn’t he leaving?

He rubbed his thumb across the Stetson’s brim, brushing at an invisible spot. “Like I said, I kept thinking about seeing you today.”

“You did?”

“Sure. Couldn’t help it. You were on my mind all afternoon.” He lifted one big shoulder in a shrug.

He thought of her all afternoon? Her? Mariah Scott? The notorious town spinster? Her heart started to race. He wasn’t about to ask her to the dance, was he?

He can’t be. Shock left her speechless. Maybe he was. Why else would he be standing here, hat in hand? As unbelievable as it was, Nicholas Gray had come to ask her to accompany him tonight to the supper and dance.

He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “I got to thinking, with me widowed and you alone.”

“Yes?”

“I know there’s Mrs. Gunderson, but she’s at the other end of town, and after what you did today, I’d like to give you the business.”

“W-what?” She couldn’t have heard him correctly. What did business have to do with the supper and dance?

“My laundry.” He held out one steely arm to point toward the buggy.

Then she saw the baskets of clothes on the floorboards behind the front seat. Nick hadn’t come to ask her to the dance. “You’ve come to hire me?”

“Sure, if you can handle it. I know you’ve got a booming business going.”

Of course. He wanted her to do his laundry. What did she think? That he would actually want her after all these years? Mariah leaned against the threshold, suddenly weak. She somehow managed to take one breath after another.

Nick went on, unaware of the blow he’d dealt. “You turned down my offer to train your ox, and so I thought you might appreciate more business.”

“You thought?” It was amazing the thoughts—or lack of them—that went on in men’s heads.