Montana Wife. Jillian Hart

He strode away, taking her scythe with him. There was a clunk as he tossed it in the back of the wagon bed. “Kol helped me bust sod that first spring I came here. I was as green as a Kentucky boy could be. He gave me his help and his advice while we worked. Some of that made a difference, and I managed to hang on. I’ll harvest your wheat free of charge, Mrs. Ludgrin, for what he did for me.”

      “What else are you wanting?”

      “Only that I have the first option to lease the land, if that’s what you decide to do. Or buy it, if you’re of a mind to sell out.”

      “The first option? I don’t understand.” She felt the burdens upon her shoulders weigh more heavily.

      “You can trust me.” It was kindness, nothing more, as Daniel Lindsay gathered the long reins from the tangle on the sun-baked earth and held them out to her. “Go home. I’ll manage from here.”

      “Y-you don’t want money? Or the land? Mr. Dayton had asked for it outright.” Crop’s already rotting in the fields, he’d lied to her with the fervor of a traveling salesman. But this neighbor, Mr. Lindsay, had his own lookout. Why was he doing this?

      “One good turn deserves another,” Daniel said as he laid the reins in her bleeding hands.

       Chapter Two

       T he powerful knock rattled the front door in its frame, echoing through the house and into the scorching kitchen. Startled by the disruption, Rayna set three pans of bread on the stovetop to cool, if such a thing were possible in the stifling heat.

      No breeze stirred the lace curtains as she tossed the hot pad on the table and hurried through the rooms. Her youngest was upstairs taking a nap, for his sleep during the last few nights had been interrupted by nightmares and she did not want him startled awake.

      She yanked open the door just in time to see old man Dayton with his beefy fist in the air, ready to knock a second time. The man clothed in trousers and sweat-stained muslin spit a stream of tobacco juice across the porch into the dirt at the roots of her favorite rosebush.

      Not a benevolent man. He hadn’t come for a pleasant visit.

      She might as well stand her ground from the start. “Your son was here earlier. I’ve found someone else to harvest the fields for me.”

      “I saw that tenderfoot from Kentucky haul his old threshing machine down the road past my place.” Another stream shot across her porch. “He ain’t worth dirt when it comes to cutting wheat. He probably offered to do it cheap, and I’m sure money is a concern, so here’s what I’m gonna do for you.”

      “And what a courteous way to convince me to let you harvest my wheat. For what? Only three-quarters of the profit? Or are you willing to drop down to only half?”

      “Now, Rayna, you know the growing of a crop is the easy part. A little dirt, seed and enough sunlight make the wheat grow. But harvesting it, that’s backbreaking labor. I’ve got the newest harvester. It came by railroad last week, and it wasn’t cheap.”

      “After all that Kol has done for you over the years. He died in your fields. And you would charge me?”

      “Friendship is one thing, Rayna. Business is business. A woman can’t understand—”

      “I understand all too well. I’ve made a business decision and I won’t be changing it. Good afternoon, Mr. Dayton.” Careful of her bandaged hands, she shut the door with force.

      The flat of his hand on the wood and the jam of his boot in the threshold stopped her. “Be smart. You can’t be thinking you will actually keep your land?”

      “I would never sell my home.”

      “You’ll have to. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

      Her Kol had built this house with his bare hands, and she’d helped him by holding the floor joists in place, handing him nails and bandaging his scrapes and gashes as they went. She’d been young and in love and expecting her oldest son. How happy they’d been.

      Her children had been born in this house.

      “Please remove your foot. I’d like you to go.”

      “Fine. You’ll learn soon enough. It’s a hard, brutal world without a man to provide for you. Who do you think is going to furrow those acres of wheat come spring? This isn’t about the harvest, it’s about the land. I’ll give you a fair price.”

      “Before or after you practically steal the wheat from me and my sons?”

      “Rayna.” As if pained, Dayton shook his head as he backed away. “This is a pity, it sure is, how a pretty woman like you won’t face the truth.”

      “What truth?”

      “There’s no shame in it. It ought to be hard to lose your man. But you have to accept it. You can sell now while you can get out with some cash in hand, or you can struggle until you go broke, or you and I can arrange a deal.”

      “No deal.”

      “Listen to me. The bank’s gonna take this place out from under you. I’m the only one around here with enough cash in hand to stop them. The only one who cares.”

      The bank? A horrible flitter of fear bore into her midsection. Why would Dayton mention the bank? And why was he looking at her as if she were for sale right along with the land?

      There was no mortgage on this property and she knew it. Her dear Kol would have told her if he’d done something like borrow against their hard-earned homestead. They’d had the best harvests three summers in a row, and there was no reason for Kol to have gone into debt.

      Dayton was just trying to intimidate her into selling. Make her uncertain so she would practically give him some of the best wheat land in all of Bluebonnet County. That was all.

      Fresh anger roared through her. Where was his charity, his neighborliness?

      “Ma! I’m back from town.” Kirk’s awkward gait thudded on the porch as he lumbered to a stop behind Dayton. “Uh, excuse me for interrupting.”

      He was such a good boy, practically a young man, always remembering his manners. He looked so like Kol with his white-blond hair and jewel-blue eyes, and with the promise of strength in his rangy limbs. Pride surged through her, another raw emotion displacing the sudden anger at Dayton.

      First grief, anger and now pride. All in a few minutes’ time! What an untidy mess she had become. If Kol were here, he would gently wrap his powerful arms around her and draw her to his barrel chest and tickle her forehead with his beard until she laughed.

      “Now, Rayna,” she could hear him say as if he were in the room right along with her. “Life is a muddle, we all know that, so take a deep breath and stop all your fussing. There’ll always be plenty enough time for worrying later, but not nearly enough time for loving. So, give me a kiss, my love.”

      Kol, I need you.

      Her heart cried out for him, as if her feelings could have enough power to summon him up from the next room or wherever he had gone off to.

      That’s how it felt, as if her beloved husband were somewhere close, just out of sight. As if any moment he’d be walking through the kitchen door with dirt on his boots and sweat on his brow, calling out for her.

      “Rayna?” Dayton seemed alarmed. “Are you all right? I can fetch the doctor.”

      “I’m fine. Just—” Missing my husband. She lifted her chin, tamping down the grief far enough so she could finish her day’s work. She didn’t want her oldest son to be worried. “I’m just thinking. I’m not interested in your offer. Goodbye. Come in, son. Where’s the part?”

      Kirk looked uncertain as Dayton filled the space in front of the door, refusing to leave.

      Rayna motioned her son inside and closed the door, although the windows were