The Borrowed Bride

Let her be, Hannah thought. But Judd, it seemed, was determined to have things his way. Seizing her elbow in an iron grip, he steered her toward his mother’s chair. “Aren’t you going to welcome Hannah into the family, Mother?” he demanded.

Edna’s gaze remained fixed on her hands.

“Mother?”

She sighed. “I’m getting one of my headaches, Judd. Please take me to my room.”

Judd’s eyes flickered toward Hannah. “It’s all right,” she murmured. “Go on.”

She stood watching as he opened the front door and eased the chair over the threshold. This, Hannah sensed, was just a small taste of things to come. How could she face living in this house with a woman who hated her so?

Come back, Quint, she pleaded silently. Come back and take me away from here.

Judd wheeled his mother to her room at the rear of the house’s main floor. The door opened to whitewashed walls hung with black velvet draperies that blocked the light from the tall windows. After the brightness of afternoon sunlight, Judd could barely see the narrow bed with its black canopy and coverlet and the photograph of his father that sat on the nightstand in a blackedged frame. The room was like a crypt for the living.

It was the gloom of existence in this house, as much as Daniel’s urging, that had driven him to enlist in Roosevelt’s Rough Riders. He’d returned carrying burdens of his own. Now, after three months, it was as if he belonged here, one more shadow in a house full of shadows.

His mother’s bones were weightless, like a bird’s. Judd lifted her in his arms and lowered her to the bed. She lay propped on the pillows, waiting for him to cover her legs with the merino shawl she kept folded on a nearby chair.

In her younger days, Edna Seavers had been a beauty, with chestnut hair and laughing dark eyes. But grief over her husband’s death had transformed her into a husk of her former self. Judd couldn’t imagine what it must have been like, loving someone that much. Seeing what it had done to his mother had taught Judd an early lesson. Love walked hand in hand with devastating loss.

“You’ve always prided yourself on your fine manners, Mother,” he chided her. “You had no call to be rude to Hannah and her family.”

Edna made a little sniffing sound. Her jaw remained stubbornly set.

“Hannah’s your daughter-in-law. She’s a fine girl from an honest, hardworking family. Since she’ll be living under this roof, the sooner you accept her, the easier it’ll be for all of us, including you.”

Edna glared up at him. “A fine girl, is she? Then why is she strutting around with one man’s ring on her finger and another man’s child in her belly?”

“Mother, that’s enough—”

“I won’t abide her, Judd. She took Quint away from me. Now she’s taken you, as well!”

“I need to get back to our guests. I’ll have Gretel bring you some tea.” Judd turned and walked out of the room. He loved his mother and did his best to be a respectful son. But sometimes the only way to deal with her was to leave.

Quint was their father’s son—handsome, charming, impulsive and generous. Maybe that was why Edna loved him so much. But Judd had come to realize that it was mostly Edna’s nature he’d inherited—brooding, melancholy and as stubborn as tempered steel. When the two of them clashed they could remain at odds for weeks, even months.

Now he’d unleashed the devil, marrying Hannah and bringing her home. But it was done and Judd wasn’t backing down. For the sake of Quint’s child, this was one battle he was determined to win.

He could only hope Hannah was up to the challenge.

Forcing his face into a cheerful expression, he stepped out onto the porch. The festivities had moved to the grassy lawn, where the younger Gustavsons were enjoying a spirited game of tag. Hannah stood with her parents and the old man who’d performed the ceremony. The ivory satin gown was too large for her, but it draped her slim curves with a softness that Judd found oddly becoming. With her flowing corn silk hair crowned by its wreath of flowers, she looked like a creature from another age, a pagan nymph poised at the edge of a meadow.

“Come and play with us, Hannah!” A little boy tugged at her skirt. “It’s more fun with you! You can be ‘it.’”

She glanced down at her wedding dress. “I’m sorry, Ben, but I really don’t think…”

“Please!” His eyes would have melted granite. “Just for a minute!”

She hesitated, then laughed as she set her glass on the porch step. “Why not? Here I come!”

Kicking off her slippers, she lifted her skirts clear of the ground and charged into the mob of children. They scattered, shrieking and giggling as she darted after them.

Watching the play of sunbeams on her hair, Judd felt an ache rise in his throat. Hannah was so vibrant, so full of life and light. How would she survive in this house?

Watching her with Quint, in her pigtails and faded cottons, he’d wondered idly what his brother saw in the girl. Now he knew. Hannah had a glow about her, a simple, happy warmth that kindled deep inside and emerged on the surface as beauty, like sunlight through a stained-glass window. Judd couldn’t get enough of looking at her.

She was his bride, and the mother of Quint’s child.

Lord Almighty, what had he done?

Hannah stood under the porch’s broad eave, watching the twilight shadows steal across the lawn. The refreshment table had been cleared away. Her mother’s wedding gown had been wrapped in an old muslin sheet and boxed away to await the next Gustavson bride. Her family had kissed her and gone home. The ordeal of her wedding day was coming to its blessed end.

She’d taken her time unpacking the meager possessions that her family had brought over from their house. They’d crammed her clothes, her meager toiletries, and a few precious books—everything she owned—into a single gunny sack. It had struck Hannah as ludicrous, putting her pitiful things into the cavernous dresser drawers and huge cedar-lined wardrobe. The scent of the wood, however, had enthralled her. She had thrust her head deep into the wardrobe and inhaled, filling her senses with the spicy cedar fragrance.

Judd had insisted that she take the large upstairs bedroom where his parents had once slept. She would need the space when Quint came home, as well as for the baby.

Giving Hannah no chance to argue, he had moved his things back to his old room next door. Quint’s room, farther down the hall, remained much as he’d left it. Edna and Gretel’s rooms were directly below, on the first floor.

Closing her eyes, Hannah pushed back her hair and let the breeze cool her sweat-dampened face. Back home, her mother would be putting the little ones to bed. Her father would be dozing in his chair while Annie and Emma cleaned up in the kitchen. Her brother Ephraim, who dreamed of becoming a preacher, would be reading the Bible by the light of a guttering candle.

Hannah’s new home seemed as grand as a palace. But she missed the cheery warmth of the little farmhouse. She missed having her family around her.

From the bunkhouse beyond the barn, the breeze carried the twang of a guitar and the faint aroma of tobacco smoke. Four hired hands stayed at the ranch full-time, with extra men hired on for roundup and branding. Hannah had yet to meet any of them. Even if she did, she knew better than to become too friendly. Her mother had warned her about cowboys and the harm they could do to a woman’s reputation. Gretel was so aloof that she barely spoke, and as for Judd…

Her hand toyed with the thin gold band he’d placed on her finger that afternoon. A quiver passed through her body at the memory of him standing beside her in his trim black suit, his jaw freshly shaved, his unruly brown hair wet-combed into place. She remembered the questioning look in his gray eyes as he bent to kiss her, the sudden lurch of her heart as his cool, firm lips closed on hers.

Judd was her husband in name only, Hannah reminded herself. He didn’t love her—maybe didn’t even like her. But his loyalty to Quint was beyond question. He could be counted on to keep his distance, avoiding anything that might be seen as too much familiarity.

Hannah had acquired a new home and a new family today. But no one here was her friend. She had never felt more alone in her life.

The crickets had awakened in the long grass. In the east, the rim of the waning moon gleamed above the wooded hills. For years Hannah had fantasized about her wedding night, lying in Quint’s arms, touching and being touched in ways that made her ache to think of them.

But this wouldn’t be the wedding night she’d imagined. She would spend it alone in a bed that seemed as wide and cold as the distance that separated her from the man she loved.

“Are you hungry?” Judd’s soft-spoken question startled her. He’d come out onto the porch and was standing a few steps behind her. “There’s cold chicken and rice pudding in the kitchen. I can ask Gretel to get you a tray.”

Hannah shook her head. She’d declined supper an hour earlier, pleading a queasy stomach. In truth, she hadn’t been up to sitting down with her new family. “Don’t bother her,” she said. “Can I fix myself a sandwich later, or will Gretel chase me out of the kitchen with a meat cleaver?”

He moved forward to stand beside her at the porch railing. “You can do anything you want to, Hannah. This is your home now.”

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but this place doesn’t feel much like home. At home I had things to do. I was allowed to be useful. Here—it’s like living in a fine hotel.”

He sighed. “Does the room suit you well enough?”

“It seems as big as a barn—although I’ve never seen a barn with a canopied bed in it. Do you realize I’ve never spent a night alone in my entire life?”

He cast her a sharp glance. “You’ll get used to it. And if you need anything, I’ll be right next door. All you have to do is call out.”

“I see.” Her callused hands gripped the railing. Color scalded her cheeks. What if he’d taken her remark as an invitation? It had certainly sounded like one.

She glanced up at him, feeling vulnerable. Judd was her legal husband. If he decided to exercise his marital rights, who would stand in his way?

The rising moon cast his hawkish features into planes of light and shadow. Quint was the handsomer of the two brothers, but Judd possessed an aura of raw power, a quiet authority that, Hannah realized, had always been there. He was wearing the white shirt he’d been married in, but now the sleeves were rolled up, exposing sinewy forearms. His throat, bared by the open collar, was dark bronze against the white linen. The pale, wounded soldier who’d stepped off the train three months ago was gone. The man who stood beside her now was suntanned and healthy, with a strength that Hannah found disturbingly sensual.

Hannah studied his big, scarred hands where they rested beside hers on the porch rail. She could feel his eyes on her, sense the unspoken questions they would hold. A freshet of liquid heat trickled downward to form a shimmering pool in her loins.

What would happen if she were to reach out and touch him?

“Are you afraid of me, Hannah?”

His words startled her. Her eyes flashed upward to meet his.

“You’ve no need to be,” he said. “You’re my brother’s woman. You’re carrying his child—my own flesh and blood. I’d give my life to protect you.”

“I know,” Hannah whispered.

“Then know that you can trust me. When you agreed to this marriage, I promised I wouldn’t lay a hand on you. You’ll find me a man of my word.”

Hannah groped for a fitting reply, but her tongue felt frozen to the roof of her mouth. The only sound that emerged came from the pit of her stomach—a low, rumbling growl.

Judd stifled a chuckle. “I thought you said you weren’t hungry.”

Hannah flushed in the darkness. “Maybe just a little.”

“Tell you what,” Judd said. “Gretel makes the best rice pudding in six counties. I’ve got a hankering for a bowl of it myself. Have a seat on the steps while I go and get us some.” When Hannah hesitated, he added, “That’s an order, Mrs. Seavers.”

Hearing her married name spoken was enough to buckle Hannah’s knees. She collapsed on the top step and sat trembling as Judd crossed the porch and went into the house. Heaven save her, she’d really done it! She was Mrs. Judd Seavers before all creation—and soon the town would be buzzing with the scandal. She could just imagine the whispers. With Quint gone barely three months, that scheming little Hannah Gustavson had up and married his brother!

She couldn’t expect to be treated kindly for it, especially once the baby started showing. But she would learn to hold her head high, Hannah vowed. She was a Seavers, legally and lawfully wed. More important, her baby was a Seavers. No one could dispute that now or ever.

What an unholy mess she’d created.

Scarcely five minutes had passed before Judd returned with two heaping bowls of rice pudding. “I hope you like it cold, he said. “Gretel had already put the pan in the springhouse.”

“Cold is fine.” She accepted one of the bowls. Her fingers brushed his as she took it. She ignored the tingle of awareness as he took a seat beside her, close enough to talk but not close enough to touch her. The pudding smelled of fresh cream and rich spices whose names Hannah could only guess. When she tried a tentative spoonful, her mouth closed on a raisin.

“Do you like it?” Judd asked.

“It’s…heavenly. We had rice at home and a little sugar. But spices and raisins were luxuries my parents couldn’t afford.”

“Luxuries? A handful of raisins and a sprinkle of cinnamon?”

“I can tell you’ve never been poor.” Hannah tasted another spoonful of pudding. It was all she could do to keep from bolting it down. Since Judd had given her the perfect opening, she summoned her courage and brought up the matter that had been pressing her mind since his proposal.

“You said I could have money for gifts. I hope you were serious, because I want to help my family—school clothes for the boys, some pretty dresses for Mama and the girls, maybe some books—Annie loves to read. And my father could use a new plow…” Hannah’s voice trailed off. The list of her family’s needs, she realized, was endless. She didn’t want Judd to think she was greedy.

“I’ll arrange for an allowance, whatever seems reasonable. You can use it any way you like. No questions asked.”

“Just like that?” She stared at him, amazed that such a thing could be so easy.

“Just like that. Next time we’re in town we’ll stop by the bank. I’ll have Mr. Calhoun set up a fund for you with monthly transfers from the ranch account. You can draw on it anytime. And when your brothers are old enough, they can come talk to me about jobs on the ranch.”

Hannah swallowed the tightness in her throat. “I don’t know what to say. I never expected that kind of generosity.”

“I’m only doing what Quint would want for the mother of his child.”

“And what about your mother? Will she approve of what you’re doing?”

“It’s my decision to make. Mother’s washed her hands of the whole ranch business.”

“I see.” Hannah lowered her gaze and made a show of enjoying the sweet rice pudding. According to the Bible, her mother and the fiery sermons she’d heard in church, she deserved to burn in hell for what she’d let Quint do. Instead, it was if the gates of paradise had opened, spilling out all the fine things she’d never had. Reason told her there would have to be a time of reckoning.

The risen moon hung like a pearl against the velvet sky. From inside the house came the sound of a door closing and Gretel’s heavy footsteps fading down the hall. A floorboard creaked. Then there was only the drone of crickets and the rustle of the wind in through long blades of grass.

Judd hadn’t spoken. The silence between them was growing awkward. Hannah set her bowl on the step and cleared her throat.

“How’s your mother’s headache?” she asked, making a try at conversation.

She sensed a slight hesitation. “My mother’s headache will be better when she wants it to be. For now, she’s asleep. I’m guessing she’ll be fine in the morning.”

“Until she sets eyes on me, she will.” Hannah shook her head. “Why does she hate me so much, Judd?”

“It’s change she hates, not you. Give her time. She’ll come around.”

“She can take all the time she wants. Meanwhile, I plan to stay out of her way. Not that I’m ungrateful, mind you. This is her home, after all, and she has a right to peace and quiet. It’s just…” Hannah’s voice trailed off. She stared down at her hands.

“Just what?”

“It doesn’t really matter how your mother feels about me. But I want her to love the baby. I want my child—Quint’s child—to be happy here.”

Judd had been gazing across the yard. Now he turned toward her, his face in shadow. “My mother isn’t a bad woman, Hannah. She’s old and sad and set in her ways. Give her a chance.”

“Will she give me a chance?”

“Eventually, I hope. But you may need to make the first move.”

Hannah felt her heart shrink inside her chest. “I don’t know if I’m ready to do that.”

“Suit yourself.” Judd rose wearily. “It’s getting late. I’ll be leaving with the men at first light to drive the herd up to summer pasture. You won’t be seeing me for the next couple of weeks. But Sam Burton, the assistant foreman will be staying here to keep an eye on things. He’ll know where to find me if I’m needed.”

Hannah bit back a murmur of dismay. If not quite a friend, Judd was the closest thing she had to an ally. Now he’d be leaving her alone with those two forbidding old women.

“We’ll go to the bank when I get back. Meanwhile, I’ll get some cash out of the safe and leave it under the blotter on my desk. Take it. Use it for anything you need.”

Hannah gulped back a rush of emotion. “I don’t know what to say. No one’s ever been so generous with me.”

“I’m just doing what any brother would do for his sister. I hope you’ll look on me that way. As a brother.”

He reached down to help her to her feet. His big hand was leathery with calluses, his skin cool against her fingertips. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I’ll do my best not to disappoint your family.”

“Just be happy here. For now, that’s enough.”

He loomed above her in the darkness, his eyes hooded. Her hand lingered in his like a small animal seeking safety.

Suddenly she realized she was trembling.

Judd released her and stepped back. “You look all in,” he said. “It’s been a long day for both of us. Come on, I’ll walk you to your room.”

Hannah preceded him through the open doorway to the front hall. A glowing lantern hung from a hook on the door frame. Taking it in his hand, Judd led the way up the dark stairs to the second floor. The bedroom doors were closed. His was on the left, hers on the right.

“You’ll need this.” He opened Hannah’s door and handed her the lantern. “Remember, if anything frightens you just call out. I’ll hear you.”

“I’ll be fine. Thank you for everything, Judd.”

He stood looking down at her, the lamplight flickering on his face. He was her husband. This was their wedding night. Hannah grappled with a sense of unreality. Maybe tomorrow she’d wake up and discover that the whole day had been a strange dream.

Maybe tomorrow a letter from Quint would arrive, and everything would be put right.

“Sleep well, Hannah.” He turned away, went into his own room and closed the door. Hannah did the same. Light from the lantern cast distorted shadows on the papered walls. She could hear Judd moving about, walking across the floor, taking off his boots, opening and closing a drawer. He could hear her equally well, Hannah reminded herself as she peeled off her clothes and dropped her flannel nightgown over her head. He might even be able to hear her using her chamber pot. She would need to be mindful of every sound she made.

Snuffing the lantern flame, she crawled under the covers. After so many years of sleeping with her sisters, Hannah felt lost in the vastness of the double bed. She stretched her limbs, touching all four corners at the same time. The sensation of emptiness was frightening.

She was exhausted after the emotional day. Even so, sleep was a long time coming. The bed was too soft, the room too silent. Hannah missed the sound of breathing and the familiar, warm aroma of her slumbering sisters.

Only when she lay straight along the edge of the mattress, taking up the least possible amount of space, did she finally drift off. Her sleep was restless. The darkness behind her closed eyelids swirled with disjointed dreams and images—the train carrying Quint out of her reach; Edna Seavers’s head imposed on Gretel’s sturdy body; Judd’s somber gray eyes and big, scarred hands; winged babies floating over a full moon…

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