The Borrowed Bride. Elizabeth Lane

nonsense! Look at you! You’re perfectly fine! You’re getting stronger every day!”

      Judd sighed. “Mother, sometimes I envy your ability to see only what you want to see. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get the men started on the new horse paddock.”

      Without waiting for her response, he strode out of the parlor, down the hall and onto the covered porch that ran the width of the house. On the long train ride home, he’d had plenty of time to sort out the realities of his life. He wouldn’t have minded having a family of his own. But his black spells and nightmares were worse than he’d wish on any woman. He wasn’t fit to be a real husband—or a real father. But now he had a chance to rescue an awkward situation. What kind of man would he be if he walked away?

      He would do his best to stand in for Quint, Judd vowed. He would treat Hannah as a sister, keeping her at a distance, avoiding any physical contact that might be misunderstood. When Quint returned, he would sign the divorce papers and hand her over to the father of her child, untouched.

      His behavior would be above reproach.

      Hannah washed the supper dishes, rinsing them in fresh water and handing them to her sister Annie to dry. An evening breeze fluttered the flour sack curtains at the window and freshened the torrid air that hung beneath the smoke-blackened rafters. Frogs and crickets chirped in the willow clumps that bordered the creek.

      Annie, who was sixteen and pretty, chattered about the dress she was making over and the new boy she’d met in town. Hannah tried to listen, but her thoughts wheeled and scattered like a flock of blackbirds, too agitated to settle in any one place.

      Three days ago her mother had broached the subject of her pregnancy. Their confrontation had begun in anger and ended in tears. Hannah knew how badly she’d let her family down. Unless Quint returned to marry her, there would be scandal, expense, and one more Gustavson mouth to feed. Worse, she’d be branded as a fallen woman. Her reputation would cast its shadow on her whole family, especially on her sisters.

      Sweet heaven, she’d been so much in love. On that last night, she couldn’t have denied Quint anything—not even her willing, young body. But how many lives would be touched by her foolish mistake?

      A snore rose from her father’s slack mouth, where he lay sprawled in his armchair. Affection tugged at Hannah’s heart. Soren Gustavson toiled from dawn to dark, tending the pigs he raised and coaxing potatoes, beets and carrots from the rocky Colorado soil. No doubt he’d been told about his daughter’s condition. But pregnancy was women’s business, and he was too worn-out to deal with it. He was a small man, his overtaxed body already showing signs of age. Hannah’s baby would add one more burden to his sagging shoulders.

      Overhead, the floor of the loft where the children slept creaked under her mother’s footfalls. Mary Gustavson always made time to tuck her younger children into bed and listen to their prayers. Tonight, however, the calm cadence was missing from her steps. She seemed rushed and uncertain.

      Over supper, she’d mentioned something about a visit from Judd Seavers. But a neighborly call was no reason to get her in a tizzy. Judd was probably coming to discuss the strip of grassland that bordered his ranch. The Seavers family had been trying to buy it from Soren for years. Soren had always refused. This time would be no different.

      Mary came downstairs smoothing her hair. She’d taken off her rumpled apron and replaced it with a clean one. “Wash your face, Hannah,” she fussed. “You’ve got a smudge on your cheek. Then come here and let me comb out your hair. You’re getting too old for those pigtails!”

      Annie giggled as Mary dragged Hannah toward the washstand. What was going on? Why should it matter how she looked to Judd? He’d certainly seen her in pigtails before—not that he’d ever given her a second glance.

      She squirmed on the wooden stool, her thoughts flying even faster than her mother’s hands. How would Mary know Judd was coming unless she’d spoken with him? And what could he want, if his visit wasn’t about buying land?

      Her heart dropped. What if something had happened to Quint? What if the family had gotten word, and Judd was coming to break the news?

      She was working up the courage to ask when three light raps on the door galvanized everyone’s attention. The brush stilled in Hannah’s hair. Soren started from his nap.

      It was Annie who flew across the floor to answer the knock. She flung the door open. Lamplight spilled onto the porch to reveal Judd standing on the threshold. He was dressed in a clean chambray shirt and a light woolen vest. His face was freshly shaved, his hair still wet from combing.

      He had the look and manner of a prisoner facing execution.

      “Good evening, Judd.” Annie spoke politely but with a hint of flirtation in her voice. “Have you come to see my parents? They’re both here, and they’re expecting you.”

      Judd shifted his feet. His riding boots gleamed with fresh polish. “Good evening, Mr. Gustavson, Mrs. Gustavson. Actually it’s not you I’ve come to see. I’d like your permission to speak with Hannah—alone.”

       Chapter Three

      “Go on, Hannah. You and Judd can talk on the porch.” Mary Gustavson prodded her daughter with the end of the hairbrush. Hannah came forward as if she were being dragged by invisible chains. Her blue eyes were wide and frightened. How much had her mother told her? Judd wondered. Did she know what he’d come for?

      Maybe he was making a ghastly mistake.

      Judd felt his mouth go dry as he watched her. He’d always thought of Quint’s girl as pretty, in a wholesome, apple-cheeked sort of way. But he’d never seen her like this, with lamplight falling on her glorious hair, framing her face in a halo of gold. Even in her faded gingham dress, Hannah was beautiful.

      Lord, what was he thinking? Even poor and pregnant, this girl could have suitors fighting to marry her. Why should she accept a man like him, even to give her child the Seavers name?

      “Good evening, Judd.” Her voice barely rose above a whisper.

      Judd swallowed the knot in his throat. “Let’s go outside, Hannah,” he murmured, offering his arm.

      She hesitated, then laid her hand on his sleeve. Her touch was as weightless as dandelion fluff, but he could feel the warmth of her flesh through the thin fabric. The contact sent an unexpected—and unwelcome—jab of heat to his loins. Judd swore silently. This was going to be awkward as hell.

      They crossed the moonlit porch. As they reached the steps, she cleared her throat and spoke.

      “What is it, Judd? Has something happened to Quint? Is that what you’ve come to tell me?”

      “No.” He shook his head, thinking how much his arrival must have worried her. “Nothing’s happened. Not that we know of, at least. We haven’t heard from Quint since he left.”

      “Neither have I.” She moved down the steps and into the yard. Her mother had suggested they talk on the porch, but Hannah appeared too restless to settle in one spot. Judd was restless, too.

      “Do you think he’s all right?” she asked.

      “We have to hope he is. Alaska’s a big, wild place. If Quint’s out in the goldfields, there’d be no way for him to mail a letter, or to get one.”

      “I’ve written to him every week.” Her voice quivered as if she were on the verge of tears.

      “So has our mother. And I’ve written a few times myself. He’ll have a heap of letters waiting for him when he gets back to Skagway.”

      They walked a few steps in silence, wandering out toward the corral where the two poor-looking cows drowsed under the eave of the milk shed. Hannah had taken her hand away from his sleeve. She walked with her arms clasped around her ribs, as if protecting herself.

      “You said you wanted to talk to me, Judd.”

      “Yes.”