Montana Bride. Jillian Hart

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.

      She changed in a hurry into her nightgown. With fumbling fingers, she washed at the basin stand, cleaned her teeth and brushed out her long dark hair in front of the looking glass. The face reflected back at her was ashen, thin and afraid. By the time a quick rap sounded on the door, she was steps away from the bed.

      “Come in,” she called, pleased at his politeness, and pulled the covers over her. The bed was the most comfortable thing she’d ever felt, both soft and firm at the same time, with flannel sheets. The door whispered open and Austin stalked in, perhaps shy also because he did not look at her as she rearranged her pillow.

      He was a more decent man than she’d dared to hope, than she could even now believe. He turned his back to her to pour fresh water into the washbasin. “You’re comfortable?”

      “Oh, yes.” She rolled on her side, facing away from him. The splash of water, the rustle of clothing, the pad of stocking feet on the floor marked the minutes ticking away until his side of the bed dipped beneath his weight. She closed her eyes, cold with fear over what was to come.

       Chapter Four

      The bed ropes creaked beneath his weight. She felt the mattress dip. Fear skittered through her and she held her breath. She tried to close out the memories of the nights when Jed had roughly pulled her into his arms. She drew in a shaky breath listening to the sheets rustle and feeling the mattress shift as Austin stretched out on the bed beside her.

      Just don’t forget to breathe, she told herself. Relax, it hurts less that way. This was the price to pay for being a man’s wife. She thought of the cold nights huddled in the barn so hungry she could not sleep. She thought of the babe growing within her. You can do this, she thought. It will be over before you know it.

      “I’ve got an early morning.” His buttery baritone rang softly as the bed ropes squeaked again. The lamp went out and darkness descended. “The livery opens at six.”

      “I’ll be sure and have breakfast ready for you.” Yes, concentrate on what needed to be done tomorrow. That would give her mind something to focus on. Preparing breakfast, taking stock of the pantry and planning her meals for the day. Don’t notice he’s moving closer.

      “How has your morning sickness been?” His big hand lightened on her shoulder and she jumped.

      “F-fine.” Think about the curtains. With pretty little ruffles around the edge. She braced her body, every muscle drawing tight. Yes, those curtains would look so nice in the front room. Cheerful.

      “Willa?” His voice rumbled through her thoughts, like a lasso drawing her back. His iron-strong form lay a few inches from hers, so close she could feel his body heat on hers. Terror struck, making it hard to breathe.

      She blotted out what she knew was to come. The roughness, the pain, the humiliation, his weight holding her down until he collapsed on top of her. Her first wedding night rolled back to her like a nightmare. The innocent girl expecting love and romance died that night, too wounded to even cry out. At least this time she