Montana Bride. Jillian Hart

They drove out of the reach of the town’s main street, where tall trees threw them in deep shadow.

      “The nearest town to my husband’s South Dakota farm was just a mercantile, a tavern and a stage stop.” She felt the wave of unhappiness begin to crest and she banished all memories from her mind. Jed had been a man with great faults. She had been young and naive, marrying at sixteen and expecting a fairy tale. Reality had driven that notion from her mind, and the blame had been hers alone. Marriage was hard work, it was often a disappointment and took patience to bear.

      She blew out a small breath, determined to find the inner strength to endure marriage again. To do that, she would think of the positive. She would have a roof over her head, a home to keep and after the thaw she would plant a garden where flowers bloomed. “Is your house far from town?”

      “On the outskirts. I have one hundred acres. Never wanted to be a rancher, but I like the solitude. I built the cabin myself.”

      “Wonderful.” She had spotted many such dwellings in her life in South Dakota and on her journey here. Small, often crudely made but snug against the elements. It sounded like heaven to a woman who had spent more than a few nights homeless. “The views must be lovely. I have never seen such beautiful country. I sat transfixed at the window most of the train ride.”

      “It is rather pretty.” He reined the horse to a stop. “We’re here.”

      The hint of a steeple rose up against the faint illumination of the veiled sky. Light burst into existence as a door flung open wide and a man in a dark coat and white collar gestured with one hand.

      “Hurry up out of the storm, Dermot!” the reverend called out.

      “Got to blanket my horse first. Can’t have him standing for long in these winds.” Austin hopped to the ground, his friendly voice rumbling as he exchanged a few words with the minister.

      Nerves fluttered inside her. At least she hoped it was anxiety and not the nausea that plagued her each morning and lasted throughout much of the day. She took small breaths, wishing she had something to nibble on, something to put into her stomach. She swept snow off the seat beside her and swung her feet around.

      “What do you think you are doing?” Harsh words admonished her. Austin broke out of the shadow beside her, but his rugged face wasn’t pursed with harsh displeasure. A merry light twinkled in his eyes. “You wait for me to help you down. If you are to be my wife, you will have to let me be courteous to you.”

      “Oh, I—” She fell silent, her tongue refusing to work, her mind going blank. The back of her eyes burned as she placed her hand on his palm. Her knees shook as she hopped onto the running board and landed on the ground with a jolt.

      He towered over her, brawny and substantial and powerful enough to break the bones in her hand if he squeezed, but it was only his gentleness she saw. Her throat closed up entirely and she could not thank him. She could not speak as he offered her his arm.

      “It’s slick, so be careful.” He shortened his long-legged stride to accommodate her as he led her down a snow-covered path and into the shelter of the church’s tiny vestibule. There was no darkness to hide in and no falling snow to veil him. In the fall of the bright lamplight, he was even more handsome. The pleasant lines of his face, the wide intelligent eyes and the hint of a smile upturning his mouth, naturally took her breath away.

      Why would Austin need to write away for a wife? The question ate at her again, undermining her confidence and feeding her fears. And worse, he could see her clearly. Was he regretting his decision? Was he trying to hide his disappointment as he led her into the sanctuary?

      “I’ll be right back,” he promised, the low, resonate tone full of an emotion she could not name. “I need to tend to the horse.”

      “Yes.” She watched him go, then wrapped her arms around her middle, feeling intensely alone as the door swung shut behind him. His opportunity to escape, she thought, shaking her head. Snow tumbled from her plain dark hair as she stared at the closed door.

      “Austin tells me you’re a widow.” The reverend’s sympathy appeared genuine. “But you aren’t wearing black. Your mourning period must be over?”

      “My husband died six weeks ago.” She flushed and stared hard at the plank floor, where a dust of snow lingered, the building too cold for it to melt. She could feel the stranger’s scrutiny. How did she admit she did not own a black dress and she couldn’t begin to afford the fabric to sew one? She was sad Jed’s life had ended but she did not miss him. She wished she did. “Brain fever took him.”

      “I’m sorry to hear that.” Compassion, where others might judge. The minister’s gaze lingered at her waist, wondering.

      She tightened her arms around her middle, unable to speak of something so private to a man she did not know. Ridiculous because she could not hide her condition forever. The door swung open, icy wind swirled past her and Austin returned. The snow on his shoulders accentuated his physical power, his breadth and height and strength, but it was the kind gleam of concern in his blue eyes as he focused on her that affected her.

      “You must be cold clean through.” He pulled off his gloves. “I should have noticed earlier you didn’t have any mittens.”

      They had worn out beyond repair, but she didn’t tell him that. In the bright light he must be able to see the patches on her clothes and shoes. He must be able to see what she was, and still the kindness in his gaze remained.

      His boots knelled on the planks as he paced closer. She shivered when he drew near. The tiny hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood straight up and tingled. Air caught in her chest as he gently slid his gloves on her hands. Way too large, they dwarfed her, but the sheepskin lining was toasty warm from his heat.

      “Are you ready to get married?” he asked.

      Too choked up to answer, she managed a single nod. On jelly knees and shaking like a leaf, she followed the minister to the front of the church with Austin at her side.

       Chapter Two

      “In sickness and health until death do you part?” Reverend Lane paused, allowing silence to fall in the small church. The gust of wind outside battered the eaves, sending a chilling breeze through the already unheated building.

      This wasn’t the way Austin had envisioned the ceremony, but the train had been late and he was a man of his word. He had promised Willa he would marry her the moment she stepped foot off the train, to provide for her and her unborn child and to keep her safe from harm of any kind. He wanted to show her the man he was. He unclamped his teeth, afraid they would chatter, but managed to speak in a strong clear voice that carried the power of his conviction. “I do.”

      Her hand, so small within his much larger one, trembled even harder. The poor woman, hardly more than a girl, with her blue doe eyes and soft-faced vulnerability. Several rich molasses locks had escaped her chignon to curl around her cheeks and chin. Her high cheekbones, small sloping nose and dainty chin must have been carved by angels they were so flawless.

      It was her unassuming beauty and soulful eyes he liked the most, but he had not expected a woman so comely or, he hated to admit, one so young. He was in his late twenties and she could not be eighteen. Age was not something he had asked about in their brief correspondence.

      “I pronounce you man and wife.” The reverend said the words with a hint of gravity and sympathy that rang like a bell tolling in the quiet sanctuary. “You may kiss the bride.”

      Tension shot through the small hand resting in his. He felt the cool wedding band on her finger when she jerked away. She gazed up at him, vulnerable and so small, half his size. Such a petite slip of a girl, and he must seem like a giant to her. He felt like one as he leaned in, feeling the air snap with tension. Uncertainty passed across her face. He recognized the plea in her big beautiful eyes, the look he’d come to know so well as a blacksmith. He worked with horses all day long, animals subject to a man’s