High Plains Wife. Jillian Hart

line of her mouth, down-turned in the corners. The town’s formidable spinster wove her way through the crowd of children playing, a tall and slim shadow touched by the last rays of the setting sun.

      Nick took a long pull from the tankard. The ale was bracing, just shy of bitter, but not strong enough to make him forget the troubled feeling churning in his guts.

      Mariah squeezed between the table rows in the crowded schoolhouse when she saw Rayna Ludgrin bringing a fresh pot of coffee. Finally! They were sending in the reinforcements. She was dead on her feet and could use a few minutes’ break.

      “Don’t get too hopeful,” Rayna told her, speaking loud to be heard over the merry din. “They need you to keep serving. Careful, the handle’s hot.”

      It sure was. Mariah’s fingers felt seared in spite of the thick pad as she took possession of the coffeepot. “We never expected such a good showing.”

      “There isn’t an empty seat,” Rayna agreed. “So, are you going to tell me?”

      “Tell you what?”

      “What Nick Gray had to say to you. I noticed he hasn’t taken his eyes off you all evening. Does that mean he asked you to the dance?”

      “Why would he? We’re not even friends.” Mariah tucked that piece of disappointment away and filled an empty cup of coffee for old Mr. Dayton.

      “Then what did he come for?” Rayna sounded bewildered.

      They were far from being alone and Mariah wasn’t about to let anyone overhear her conversation and make the mistaken assumption that she was mooning after Nick Gray. “I’ve taken on his laundry, that’s what. I didn’t want to do it, considering the man and how I feel about him, but business is business.”

      “Mariah, I didn’t know you still disliked him so strongly.” Rayna winced. “I never would have teased you about him. I’m sorry.”

      “No apology necessary.” Hiding her feelings, Mariah hesitated, not sure what to do, until someone called her from a nearby table, holding out his empty cup.

      She didn’t blame Rayna. She blamed herself. Across the crowded room, a group of men were leaving. Probably heading over to the stable yard, where the dance was to be held, to help themselves to their stashes of beer and tobacco. Nick was one of those men, but to her, he always stood out in a crowd.

      The last thing she ought to be doing was noticing that man. What she’d said to Rayna was true. They were not friends. She couldn’t stand Nicholas Gray. He was arrogant and domineering and stubborn… She didn’t want anything to do with him. Really.

      And that was the story she intended to stick with. From this moment on she’d have no other feelings for Nick than those she had for her other customers. She would wash and rinse, starch and iron his shirts and collect her fees. That was it. That was all.

      She’d never let one vulnerable feeling in. She refused to waste one more regret. Father was right, she did have a cold heart. She might as well use it to her advantage.

      There Nick was, looking at her again. Jerking his gaze away to listen to his brother. Nick wasn’t sweet on her. He was probably wondering how much she planned to charge him for his laundry.

      “Thanks for the refill, Miss Mariah.” Kol Ludgrin nodded coolly at the brim-full cup, and she stopped pouring.

      Goodness, she’d almost forgotten what she’d been doing. And look how her gaze crossed the room right to Nick. Didn’t she have any more willpower than that? No, because he did look handsome tonight. She couldn’t deny that Nick was easy on the eyes. A woman wouldn’t get tired of looking at his face across her kitchen table. Not in a lifetime.

      Not your kitchen table, she reminded herself. She wasn’t the only female looking in Nick’s direction.

      Folks were finishing their desserts and leaving the tables. Children clamored through the aisles, mothers scolding, with babes on their hips. Those women had their duties. And she had hers. She was vice president of the Ladies’ Aid.

      Her duties kept her occupied long after the second story of the schoolhouse emptied, and she’d spent two busy hours on the first floor, wiping down the last of the dishes. There was a dozen women who stayed to clean up, to take apart the board tables and wash the floor. Now, this was accomplishing something. Mariah treasured the rare sense of satisfaction as she packed the last dessert plate into the last basket.

      “I’ll help you to the wagon with these,” she offered when Rayna bustled up to take the heavy baskets. “Let me take the bigger one.”

      “What do you plan to do after loading up my wagon?”

      “Load my own and go home.” What else? She had no obligations at the dance. The president of the club was in charge of that end of the fund-raiser.

      “That’s simply not acceptable.” Rayna tsked, tossing the wadded towel into Mariah’s nearby basket. Trouble glinted in her narrowed gaze. “You’re coming with us. Betsy, are you ready?”

      “Sure am. I’ve got rope to hog-tie her with, if that’s what it takes for Mariah to have some fun.” Longtime friend Betsy Hunter snared Mariah by one hand while Rayna took the other. “We’re all going to the dance, whether you like it or not.”

      What was wrong with everyone? “I don’t dance, and you both know it.”

      “You don’t have to dance,” Rayna pointed out, tugging on Mariah’s arm as they approached the stairs. “We can listen to the music.”

      “That’s right,” Betsy concurred far too quickly. They’d planned this. “Old man Dayton brought his fiddle. It ought to be a real treat.”

      “This wouldn’t be about Nick, would it? Please tell me you two haven’t been scheming. I don’t like the man.”

      “This is about your duty as the vice president.” Betsy released her death grip and held open the wood door to the cool evening breeze. Faint strains of a fiddle rose and fell in merry delight.

      “No, I’m not going.” She had no desire to see Nick swirling other women around the dance floor.

      “I know how you feel about dances, but if you want a chance to be president in the next elections…”

      O-oh, Betsy knew exactly what bait to use. Mariah knew she ought to get angry about this blatant use of manipulation. The truth was she did like old man Dayton’s music and she did want to be president one day.

      The setting sun’s lights streaked bold purple and magenta against the sky and made the schoolhouse windows glow like a dream. Dozens of lamps and lanterns marched on stakes through the clipped-grass field, guiding their way, and the music sounded sweet and merry.

      Maybe attending the dance wouldn’t be too bad. She’d treat herself to a sarsaparilla, listen to a few toe-tapping songs and then help out, if the refreshment committee needed her. She’d be too busy to notice a certain man.

      The makeshift stage was lit like a Christmas tree. The call of the fiddle and the twang of a banjo made it hard to concentrate as she searched for a path through the crush of people to the refreshment tables.

      “Excuse me, Mariah,” a man spoke at her side.

      Surprised, her feet felt as if they’d frozen to the ground. Heart racing, she gazed up at the town gunsmith.

      He held out his hand, but not to her. “Sorry, but could you step aside? I was hoping Betsy might honor me with a dance.”

      Betsy blushed. “Why, no, Zeke, I couldn’t—”

      What was a little disappointment? Of course he hadn’t been about to ask her to dance. What was wrong with her tonight? Mariah stepped aside. “Go on, Betsy. Have fun.”

      “But—” She hesitated. Zeke took command and whisked her away.

      “He’s a good dancer,”