Jillian Hart - High Plains Wife

“I did.” His thumb brushed her chin, forcing her gaze to him. The sadness in her eyes shamed him. He’d disliked her, he’d forgotten her, he’d tried to avoid her in town for years and married her for convenience’s sake, but the truth was, his heart felt as new as dawn’s first light whenever he looked at her.

“You didn’t sweep me off my feet, Nick. You offered me an arrangement.”

“Sure, I was trying to get my laundry done free, so I proposed.”

“And I was trying to get a man to feed and shelter me.”

“And don’t forget clothe you. I did include new dresses in the marriage deal.”

Tenderly. That’s how he spoke to her. Gently, that’s how he held her hand. She couldn’t begin to say how much that meant to her….

Bluebonnet Bride

“Ms. Hart expertly weaves a fine tale of the heart’s ability to find love after tragedy. Pure reading pleasure!”

—Romantic Times

Montana Man

“…a great read!”

—Rendezvous

Cooper’s Wife

“…a wonderfully written romance full of love and laughter.”

—Rendezvous

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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

Epilogue

Montana Territory, 1881

T he high Montana prairie spread out like forever in all directions, broken only by small knolls and glens and the miles of fences. The land was bright green and new, for spring had come to the plains, and the sun was brilliant and warm. Mariah Scott swiped the afternoon’s grit from her face with her sleeve and gave her slow-moving ox a snap of the reins.

“Git up,” she ordered, but the animal didn’t move one bit faster. Maybe there was no getting around the fact that she’d been swindled at the auction last week when she’d purchased the ox. Clearly a mistake she was sorely regretting.

And to add insult to injury, the beast had to slow down on the road right in the middle of Nick Gray’s fields. Of all the places on the earth to linger, this wasn’t the one she would choose.

She’d been in love with him once, a foolish young girl embroidering pillowcases for her hope chest. Some things were not to be, and it had been a hard lesson. It had been long ago now, but thinking of Nick Gray could still make her heart ache for what could never be.

“Nick is sure to be looking for a wife now that he’s widowed,” Rayna Ludgrin had predicted at Sunday dinner. “What with two little ones without a mother to care for them.”

It’s not likely to be me. Mariah smoothed her gloved hand over her second best dress—thin from years of wearing—and knew how much she’d changed. She was no longer young and faintly pretty, and now, whenever a man looked at her, he saw a practical hardworking woman.

No doubt that’s what Nick Gray saw, too.

Enough dallying, Mariah. She had no time to waste on thoughts of that man. She had clean laundry to deliver and wouldn’t get paid until she did. Mariah touched the thick leather reins on the ox’s rump and bit back a curse when the animal locked his legs and the wagon groaned to a stop in the middle of the rutted road.

“Git up,” she repeated.

The stubborn beast planted his hooves more firmly.

Exasperated, Mariah smacked him again, this time firmly enough to make a sound, but it wasn’t hard enough to do any good. “If I could afford to sell you, then I would. You are a bad boy.”

The gentle giant lifted his head, apparently unconcerned, and took advantage of the scant wind cooling his warm coat.

“I bought you because you were cheap, and that was my biggest mistake.” Frustrated, she climbed down from the high seat. Her shoes hit the ground and dust clouded the air. Coughing, she tugged an apple out of her pocket. “Here’s your bribe. Now will you pull my wagon?”

The big ox glanced at her through narrowed eyes, as if he were considering her offer.

“Even though I can’t afford it, I could sell you to the stockyards,” she bluffed.

As if he understood perfectly, he took the apple.

That was one problem solved. While the bovine crunched on the treat, Mariah patted him on the neck. He was a pretty creature, gleaming reddish-brown in the sun.

Turning to the wagon, she heard the smallest sound, sweet in tone like a lark but as heartbreaking as the wind. So quiet, had she imagined it? No, there it was again. A tiny sniffling sound like a child crying.

A child? Was one lost out here on the endless plains? She might be a spinster and never a mother, but she knew the dangers to a child alone on the prairie.

This time the sound was a muffled sob. Definitely someone small and in need of help. It had to be coming from the empty field next to the road. Unbroken new grass waved tall and proud and so thick, Mariah couldn’t see anything but an ocean of green. There was no sign that a child—or anything else—was nearby.

The ox bellowed and swiveled his ears, lifting his huge head to gaze far out into the fields.

Maybe that was why the ox had stopped, Mariah realized. He could have known there was trouble. She patted him again, deciding maybe he wasn’t beyond redeeming, and hiked her skirts up to her ankles. Dust whirled around her as she climbed carefully through the tricky barbs of the wire fence.

The crying sounded nearer. Tiny gulps of sobs that lured Mariah through the thick grasses until she spotted a flash of pink between the green stalks. The last thing she wanted to do was to frighten the child. “Hello? Are you lost?”

The stems parted and the flash of pink became a girl dressed in calico. Her pixie’s face was streaked with tears. “You ain’t my mama.”

Poor child, lost and alone. Mariah’s heart melted, just like that. She dug in her pocket for a bright shiny apple. “Are you hungry?”

The girl’s blond curls brushed her shoulders as she shook her head.

“You don’t like apples?”

“I got cookies.” The child lifted her heavy satchel, tears trailing through the dust on her cheeks. “But I’m savin’ ’em.”

“Looks like you’re packed for a trip.”

“I’m goin’ to heaven. That’s where Pa said my mama went. I’m gonna go get her.”

Mariah’s heart cinched tight. Sympathy welled up in her so fast, she couldn’t speak at first. She didn’t know what to say to a child who’d lost a mother to suicide. While she tried to figure that out, she knelt until she was eye level with the little girl, who looked so miserable and alone. So helplessly small and precious. “Your pa has to be awful worried about you. He wouldn’t want you to go look for your mama.”

“He don’t want me.” The child leaned close to whisper, hiccuping on a sob. “He don’t love me no more.”