Montana Wife. Jillian Hart

by far. “I suppose I could fry up a few eggs for you.”

      “That’d be fine, Mrs. Ludgrin. I’ll be up to the house shortly.”

      “Give me the milk then, and I’ll add some fresh biscuits to our deal. I’m sure we’ll have much to discuss.” She reached over the wooden gate with her bandaged hands. Dried blood had seeped through the white cloth.

      Daniel’s stomach clenched. She was too fragile for the hard work this land required.

      But Rayna Ludgrin did not complain, she simply took the full bucket he handed over, steaming in the cool air and frothy with foam. The sweet scent of milk was nothing compared to the fragrance of her—a woman’s soft, warm smell and lilacs. She smelled like spring. Why that made his eyes burn, he couldn’t rightly say.

      He seemed to tower over her, the small thing she was, as she handled the heavy pail as if it were light as air. For one span of a breath, only the distance of the wooden gate separated them. He was close enough to see the deep hue of the dark circles bruising her delicate skin, making her blue eyes seem huge in her pale face.

      Sympathy hit like an anvil on his chest and he turned away, not sure of the tangle that seemed to coil up behind his breastbone. A tangle of emotions that he wasn’t familiar with at all. But they were powerful and he didn’t know what to do.

      He grabbed the pitchfork and went to work, keeping busy until the dainty pad of her step had disappeared into silence and he was alone with the livestock.

      The cow gripped his trouser leg with her teeth and gently tugged. Her grain trough was empty. She waited, her long tail swishing while he took a deep breath to fill his lungs. But the coil in his chest remained.

      He snatched a battered dipper and dropped another pile of grain into the wooden tray for the cow who released her hold on his trousers, mooed in gentle appreciation and lipped up the sweet-tasting treat.

      The cow in the next stall gave a long, sharp protest. He knew what to do about that—he grained her, milked her, which kept him busy enough that he didn’t have to pick apart what was troubling him. He had plenty enough of that as it was. His crop was a total loss that would set him back a year in more than just profit. Wind damage to the fences and outbuildings would cost him in lumber and sweat. He had enough of his own concerns.

      He didn’t need to add Rayna Ludgrin’s problems to his already heavy load.

      He wanted her land. It was as simple as that. He was willing to pay her a fair price. Good wheat land was hard to come by on these stubborn plains. It was as if the prairie fought to take back the land it had lost, and it was a constant battle for the average rancher. Montana was a hard enemy, but he was equally tenacious. The wind blew colder through the open barn doors, cutting through his long-sleeved work shirt as if in challenge.

      It would be a hard go of it.

      Daniel eyed the tight-hewn timbers overhead and the loft brimming with soft hay. The feed room was nearly empty, save for a hundredweight bag of grain that wouldn’t see the Ludgrin livestock far into the month. There was enough hay for feeding and straw for bedding to see the animals through the autumn, judging by the size of the stacks he could see out back.

      But the winter? No. More feed would have to be bought.

      The workhorses were in good shape, young and strong and healthy. The cattle—he’d have to take a ride out in the fields to get a good look; see if they’d bring a good enough price this late in the year.

      He leaned the pitchfork in the corner, out of the way, and took a moment to look around. He’d learned long ago to see beyond the surface of things, so it was no trouble to purge the soggy-brown mess of the ruined crops from the acres of fields.

      Yep, that was a mess now, but all a man had to do was to turn the sod before winter set in and these would be good fertile fields to sow come spring. Fields he wanted. A good water supply, even a running creek most of the year. He’d been up half the night working out the numbers on his old school slate and he knew he could just manage it.

      It all depended on what those papers on Rayna’s table said. Bank notes. He couldn’t read, but he knew a mortgage note when he saw it. And judging by the number of pages, more than just the property was encumbered.

      But, if Rayna was willing and her asking price was reasonable, this could be his. Sure, it would take hard labor to turn the soil, to plant and harvest one hundred and sixty acres in addition to his own bottom land that kept him busy as it was. He’d be working from dawn until midnight for a good part of the next year. That was a formidable prospect, but the gains would be worth it.

      Hell, he’d come this far already. He might as well see if he couldn’t improve his circumstances.

      Daniel straightened his shoulders as the tepid rays of dawn washed over him, bright but without warmth. His shadow stretched out before him, long and wide, on the ground littered with wheat chaff blown from the fields by last night’s heartless wind. Ground that would be his?

      I sure hope so.

      Determination turned his spine to steel. A little hard work was all it would take. He wasn’t afraid of hard work. It was the only kind he knew. What he didn’t like was that his future hinged on a woman’s decision.

      She’d already agreed he’d have first option for the land. But did the bank’s mortgage cancel that? Or would she be able to keep her word if a better offer came from one of the other neighbors?

      There she was—a blur of dark blue calico and matching sunbonnet—visible through the slats of the chicken pen. She emerged from the coop with a basket on her arm. She was obviously egg gathering. Hens clucked and pecked at the scatter of feed on the dirt and squawked angrily when the snap of her dress startled them.

      The wan light teased her blond hair, which she hadn’t pinned up yet and fell in a long golden spill from her nape, where a ribbon bound it into a thick ponytail. With it down, she looked young and dainty, her shadow a thin wisp behind her as she swished up the path to the garden gate. She seemed far too young to be a widow and a mother of two boys, one of them fourteen years old.

      That tangle of emotions was back, wedged like an ax blade right through his breastbone and bore deep until he couldn’t breathe at all. Feeling as though he were suffocating, he watched Rayna Ludgrin with her curving figure and flowing hair and her feminine graceful manner. He was a man. He couldn’t help wanting.

      But it was more than that. It was admiration he felt at the grit of her spirit. Not many women would have worked like she did without complaint. Even though she trudged heavy with exhaustion and grief, she was graceful and quality. As if she were far too fine for the burden of this land.

      We can help one another, he thought, a lone man standing in the threshold of the barn, caught in shadow, the cool, new light falling all around him. Summer was gone, and with it the vibrant warmth. The season had turned, and Daniel felt as if something unnamable were slipping away and just out of his reach, something he didn’t even know he’d been missing until now. When it was already gone.

      Or maybe it was just that he realized Rayna had disappeared into her house. Seemingly taking the summer with her.

      He left the pail of milk on the back porch, in front of the open door. Through the pink mesh of the screen, he could see her at the stove. Her back was to him as she worked, her long hair shifting and moving like liquid gold. Overcome, he turned away, wondering if her hair was as soft as it looked. It wasn’t his right to wonder such a thing.

      If things went his way, she’d be gone and this land would be his. And he would be alone, as he was meant to be. As he’d always been.

      His boots crushed fallen rose leaves and satin pink petals as he retraced his path across the back lawn. Toward the livestock gathering at the empty wooden feed trough. For a long second, it felt as if time had stopped marching forward and the earth had stopped turning between one step and the next. His breath stalled in his lungs. A strange flickering trail skidded along his spine.

      What was happening