Montana Wife. Jillian Hart

Betsy did for a living. From where she stood on the threshold of so much change, the future looked horribly uncertain.

      Somehow, the Good Lord willing, she’d make do. She needed a little tiny bit of providence to come her way. Just a little. And she wasn’t asking for herself, but for her boys.

      The muffled clop-clop of a team of horses coming up her drive had her opening the door before she realized it couldn’t have been Daniel. He’d ridden a dappled mustang rather than driven a vehicle to town. The jangle of the harness drew her gaze to the black buggy bouncing through the mud puddles in the road.

      The matching bays, so sleek and fine, pranced to a halt at the post, and there was Betsy, her ringlets springing around her face from beneath the brim of her wide-rimmed sunbonnet.

      Dressed for work, in a light calico and matching apron, she hopped to the ground, careful of the puddles that had yet to evaporate, and, arms outstretched, said nothing as she rushed up the steps.

      Rayna’s vision blurred and suddenly she was enveloped in her friend’s arms. Held tight in comfort and friendship. She and Betsy had been best friends since the first day of school when they were both six. They’d shared desks, books, laughter, hard times and grief.

      Rayna held on while she could, fighting tears that were nothing but a weakness. When she pulled away, she was glad the tears remained buried deep in her chest where they belonged.

      “It’s a workday. You shouldn’t have taken the time to stop by,” she scolded even as she took Betsy’s hand, drawing her into the shade of the parlor. “It is good to see you.”

      “I’ve thought of you nearly every minute and I had to stop by. Look at you, you haven’t been sleeping.”

      “No. I can’t get used to being in the bed alone.”

      “It’s been five years and still I wake up in the middle of the night reaching for Charlie. The bond between a man and wife goes deep. Oh, Rayna, you look as though you haven’t been eating. And the storm. I saw the fields when I drove up.”

      Bless Betsy for her liveliness. She could chase the shadows from the room with a single word. Rayna squeezed her friend’s hand tightly as they made their way to the kitchen. Daniel’s plate was still on the table, as was hers. She hadn’t gotten to the dishes yet, or the morning housework. The floor needed sweeping, the curtains were wet from the night’s rain. Bits of bark and cedar needles were scattered around the wood box.

      “Good, there’s still coffee and it’s good and strong. Just what both of us need.” Betsy helped herself to the cups from the shelf and poured two steaming mugs full. “Sit here. Sip this until you feel a bit better. No, don’t argue. I seem to remember a certain bossy someone doing the same after my Charlie passed on.”

      Yeah, she was grateful for her life and the people in it. For the steaming coffee that had grown bitter on the stove, bitter enough to make her mouth pucker and her eyes smart. For her to remember how this was the way Kol liked it best, when he’d sneak in after taking the boys to school and share one last cup with her.

      Her life was gone just like that. It was Tuesday, she realized dully. By rights, the boys ought to be in school, Kol at work in the field and, with the turn of the weather, she would be getting the last of the vegetables up. One more cold night and she would lose every last remaining tomato.

      “Mariah told me she’d be over. I’ll leave a basket on the counter. I’ll just run out and get it. Sit tight.” Betsy tapped from the room, taking the warmth and sunshine with her.

      In the shadows, Rayna drained the hot coffee in one long pull. Tongue scorched, throat burning, she set the cup aside and stood. She was ready. For whatever she had to do. Whatever she had to face.

      She wrung the dampness from the lace curtains and, after slipping them from the rod, laid them out on the chair backs to dry. That done, she swept tangled rose leaves and sodden petals from the sill and closed the window securely. Then she found the broom and had the floor swept clean by the time Betsy returned with a heavy bundle in each arm.

      “What are you doing with my bed sheets?”

      “I wrapped up the laundry I could find in them. Changed the bed, didn’t disturb the boys, of course. I’ll get these to you by the end of the week at the latest. And no, you have enough on your hands right now, so no arguing. I’ll be back on my route home this afternoon to check on you.”

      “You’ve done more than enough. You are my friend, Betsy, and that is gift enough.”

      “We are friends, no matter what.” Her eyes shone with emotion. “But we are women, and there is nothing we can’t do with a little help from one another.”

      Yes, she was still so blessed. Even with half her heart gone and her land, too, with the failure of the crop, she had so much to be grateful for. She swallowed past the grief, for it was, after all, only grief.

      She was not alone, not really, and even if she was welcomed at Kol’s brother’s farm in Ohio, she knew distance could not break their friendship.

      She had her sons and she had her friends, come what may.

      Daniel took one look at Dayton’s polished buggy with the fine-stepping Tennessee Walkers parked in the quiet alley behind the bank, safely away from the mud splatter from the main street. Appropriate, where the man parked. And predictable. Daniel would have bet every last acre of his homestead that Dayton had beaten him to the punch at the chance to buy the Ludgrin land.

      Mr. Wright had turned down his offer with true sincerity. There was too much debt, more than the land, the buildings and the livestock were worth, and with a failed crop. All of which totaled more than the value of the property. No, they could not accept a deal for such a grave loss to the bank. They would need collateral. Wright was more than eager to say they’d accept Daniel’s homestead to secure the amount on the Ludgrin land.

      Daniel could not afford to buy land that cost more than it was worth. It was that simple. But something stuck in his craw as he bought bushel bags for the few loads of wheat he’d managed to get in before the storm.

      Maybe what was important was what the banker had failed to say. Maybe they had another buyer who was willing to use his land as collateral to assume the debt. Daniel had no doubt as to whom. There was only one man prosperous enough in these parts. Dayton.

      Damn it. Daniel stared at the buggy and drowsing horses and saw red. Boiling hot rage blinded him and he wanted to turn heel and march into that bank and say the land wasn’t foreclosed yet. It was good, fertile land, the best wheat land in the county, and to own it was more than a humble man could hope to do in an honest lifetime. Why not see if he could make a better deal with the bank?

      No, that would be a poor decision. He couldn’t go off half cocked and make a bigger mess of things. He had his land free and clear, good, productive land, horses, his own secondhand thresher and, best of all, no debt.

      Debt was a foolish man’s solution, and could turn into quicksand fast enough. Dragging down a man until there was no hope left. He’d seen too many farmers lose everything because they’d rather borrow than do without.

      No, he wouldn’t lose his independence. He refused to risk everything he’d sweated blood for. Lucky for him, he had time. The bank had yet to foreclose. That would take time, and he’d have the chance to think this all through. Take a look at his options.

      “Hey, Lindsay.” That caustic sneer could belong to only Dayton.

      Stomach tight, muscles bunched, Daniel spotted the man he’d come to dislike, breaking through the tangle of a half dozen women gazing at the front window of some dress shop. Typical, how Dayton expected folks to make way for him without so much as a courteous, “Excuse me.” Dayton was the kind of man who got Daniel’s hackles up.

      The kind of man he’d come to despise in his life and with good reason. He’d worked for too many men just like him growing up.

      Be civil. As hard as that was going to