High Plains Wife

So it couldn’t be her heart that was hurting as she turned the wagon toward the Dayton ranch, late for her next delivery.

Chapter Two

H olding his gelding steady, Nick watched Mariah disappear in a trail of dust. That woman could get his dander up like no other, that was for sure. Not even his late wife could get him het up so fast as the Spinster Scott could. Maybe he didn’t like independent-minded women, but what other woman would have battled coyotes to protect his little girl without wanting so much as a thank-you?

Hell, it would have been civil of her to accept his gratitude. She could have taken him up on his offer to train her young ox. But, no, not Mariah.

He swept off his hat in exasperation and raked his fingers through his hot, sweaty hair. The air felt good, almost as good as the relief of knowing his little girl was safe and sound and in his brother’s care.

The wind warmed him, but that wasn’t enough to stop his shivering. The image of hungry coyotes circling Georgie and Mariah chilled him to the meat of his bones.

“Darn lucky she came along when she did,” his brother Will commented as he handed Georgie over. “No other woman in the county could do what she did. Miss Mariah Scott is tougher than a bad-tempered grizzly. Even those danged coyotes know it.”

“So they say.” Grim, Nick cuddled his little girl to his chest. What would have happened to her alone in this field? He was damn glad he’d come along when he did. Glad his son had run to him, telling of Georgie’s escape.

Best thing to do would be to head home and give Georgie that serious talking-to she needed, but there was Mariah’s wagon, tiny in the distance. He could still barely make it out, a small brown dot rolling along the expansive prairie. As he watched, her vehicle dipped down a rise and out of sight.

Mariah Scott. He hadn’t cause to think of her in a long while. But he thought of her now.

“Pa, I want down. That lady said I could go with her and her ox.”

“I’m here now and so I’ll give you a ride on my horse.”

“But you don’t love me.” Georgie’s sob rattled through her. “My mama does.”

A well-honed blade could not cut his heart this deep. Nick grimaced. He held his daughter with more gentleness. Searched for words that would explain this fierce jumble of pain inside him. And failed.

He didn’t have the words. He didn’t need to ask Georgie where she’d been heading. This wasn’t the first time she’d done this, running off in search of her mother gone and buried.

Poor Georgie. Lida’s death had hurt her the most of all. He pressed a kiss against the crown of her sunbonnet, willing to do anything to take away her grief. “I love you, baby.”

She sighed deeply, feeling frail and ready to break. Such a little girl, and not even his comfort seemed to help her. Georgie’s arms wrapped tight around his neck. “Is heaven long gone and far away?”

“Very far away. Not even my horse can get us there. If I could, I’d take you to see your ma. It just can’t be done.”

Georgie’s arms tightened, her face pressed hard against his throat. “Not even an ox can get there?”

“Nope.”

Georgie wiped her tears on his collar and said nothing more.

He held her, all sweetness, until the big house came into view. The orchard’s gnarled black branches shielded the porch from sight, but he knew his son was waiting there, too small to be seen from a distance but keeping careful watch.

Sure enough, there was Joey, darting into the path between the trees. Worry was stark on his pale face and his blond locks were waving on the wind.

Nick’s chest punched. Joey had always been a serious boy, with a frown between his brows when he considered something mightily. But in the three weeks since Lida’s death, he’d changed.

Their lives had changed.

Joey planted his boots and shook a finger at his sister. “You can’t go runnin’ off like that. You’re in big trouble, Georgie.”

“I am not!” Her mouth compressed into a tough line. “You are.”

“The both of you, code of silence, right now.” Nick knew he sounded too stern and too tired.

He was just wrung out, that was all. He was at the end of his rope dangling by a fraying thread, and he had to hang on. His children and this ranch needed him. Look at Joey, all twisted up with worry, shivering in the cool wind. His trousers were wrinkled, his boots scuffed, his jacket crumpled and hanging crooked on his shoulders. “Joey, button up that coat and go to the house.”

“Yes, sir.” There was a tired look to the boy, as if Lida’s death had used him up, too.

Nick wanted to curse her for her choice to leave the children like this. Wanted to hate her. At least he’d been the one to find her, crumpled in the field near the small grave where they’d buried her baby last fall. A baby he knew wasn’t his.

Bitterness filled his craw and he tamped down a blinding rage he refused to give in to. The woman was dead. She’d suffered enough in this life, and he’d torn himself inside out trying to make her happy.

Georgie whimpered against him, bringing him back to the present, cuddling close. Her hold on his neck was choking tight.

It hurt, seeing her like this. Hurt worse to hand her over to his father, who ambled out on the porch, looking frayed and exhausted.

“Glad you found her, son.” Pop nodded once in approval, said nothing more as he settled Georgie in his arms.

She cried, begging for her mama.

Pain twisted in him like a knife. He felt torn and lost and defeated. So damn defeated. Georgie pushed at Pop, struggling to get down. Georgie didn’t understand death, and by God, neither did he. He’d never understand Lida’s actions, so how could he explain to a child?

Georgie was hurting, and he dismounted, leaving his horse standing in the cold. Took the porch steps in two long strides. Had Georgie clutched against him by the third, taking her from Pop’s arms and into his own.

“Pa,” Georgie wept against his flannel collar. “Mama left.”

“I know, princess.” He kissed her brow, and wisps of her silken hair caught on his whiskered chin. He’d forgotten to shave again.

Hell, he was forgetting everything. The world was crumbling into bits around his boots. None of it seemed to matter as he cradled his daughter to his chest, holding her as gingerly as when she’d been newborn.

There was nothing but the sound of her broken sobs and the echo of his heels on the parlor floor. The scrape of the rocker as he eased into the chair. The squeak of a spring. And the feel of heartbreak.

He held Georgie tight and rocked her until there was only silence.

Will emerged from the shadowed depths of the barn. “How’s Georgie?”

“Asleep.” Nick yanked on the stall door. It didn’t give, the damn thing. The hinge was sprung, leaving the wood door jammed into the frame. He kicked it hard, and wood scraped against wood, freeing the door, but not his frustration.

He could still feel Georgie curled against his chest, sobbing so hard her little body shook.

He hurt for her. Would take every grief, every anguish, every bit of pain from her if he could. The door crashed against the wall. The loud crack startled the mare in the stall. She whinnied and sidestepped, her head lifting high in alarm.

That’s it, Nick. Scare the horse while you’re at it. He pushed aside all thoughts of Georgie, but not his troubles. The feel of her sobs stayed with him as he reached for the mare’s bridle, speaking low.

He was in trouble. Up a creek without a paddle at the mouth of a waterfall. He was wise enough to know the plunge would be swift and lethal. He wasn’t on the boat alone. His children were with him.

Will plopped a saddle on the nearby four-by-four. “You look troubled, big brother.”

“Real sharp of you to notice.” Nick kept his voice gruff, because it kept the young man in line. “Got enough ammunition in that pack of yours?”

“I’m packed and waitin’ for you.” Cocky, Will tipped his hat. “You know what you need?”

“A clean blanket. Fetch me one, will you?” Nick slid the brush over the mare’s withers in a few quick swipes. Her tail swished side to side, calmer now, but he couldn’t say the same.

Something had to change. One thing was for sure, he couldn’t last another week like this. Neither could the children.

“Know what you need, big brother?”

“A foreman that does more work than talking?”

“Funny. What you need to solve all your problems is another wife.” Will tossed the blanket.

“A wife, huh?” Nick caught it and smoothed the length of wool into place. “Just goes to show what you know. A wife doesn’t solve troubles. She’s the source of ’em.”

“A little bitter, huh?” Will hoisted the saddle easily onto the mare’s back. “Matrimony isn’t supposed to be bliss, from what I hear. Torture or not, it is something you’re gonna have to do sooner or later, so why wait?”

Nick hated it when his brother was right. Jaw clenched tight, he unhooked the stirrup from the saddle horn, letting it swing into place. He’d be the first to admit life had been damn near impossible with Lida, but without her…

“Pa?” Joey ambled into sight with his Stetson crooked, jacket still open, shirt half untucked. He looked uncertain and small and…nine years old. Hell, he was a boy missing his mother.

Leaving Will to cinch the saddle, Nick came down on one knee. “What is it, cowboy?”

“Georgie’s sleepin’. I’m gonna make sure she doesn’t run off again.” So serious, as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Nick put his hand there, on the slim curve of his son’s shoulder. One day Joey would be a good man, strong and hardworking and upstanding. The man he would be was easy to see in the boy, his chin set fierce and determined.

Nick’s chest ached. He wanted life to be better for his son. “You’re a good brother, but your grandfather is responsible for watching Georgie. You want to come riding with us?”

“Grandpop falls asleep sometimes.” Joey bit his bottom lip with indecision. He glanced over his shoulder at the house. “I’d best stay and watch over them both, I reckon.”

There’d been a time when the boy never turned down the chance to ride his horse on the range. Another thing Lida had stolen from him.

What am I going to do about Joey? Nick had no answer as he watched the boy amble back to the house, his boots dragging in the dirt. Would a new wife make a difference? A woman to lift the burden from Joey’s shoulders?

A housekeeper couldn’t do it. It would merely be a job to her, and one day she’d leave for a better opportunity.

No, his children deserved more than that. Needed more than that. They deserved stability and commitment. A woman who would always be there for them.

Joey disappeared from sight. The door slammed behind him, the smack of wood on wood carrying on the wind, sounding lonely and final and accusing. The image of Mariah Scott, holding Georgie in her arms, flashed into Nick’s thoughts.

Nope. Forget it. If he had his way, there would never be another woman in his life. Ever.

Will handed over the reins. “Children need a mother to grow up happy.”

“You’re an expert?”

“Not from personal experience, but I am a keen observer.”

“Of pretty women, maybe.” Nick gathered the reins and shot his foot into the stirrup.

“A pretty woman is one of life’s necessities. Another is a wife who can cook. We can’t keep eating our brother’s cooking. Dakota is likely to kill us with that slop he calls food.”

“Mount up. We’ve got cattle to check on. Save your great wisdom for someone who needs it.”

“If anyone needs wisdom, it’s you, big brother.”

“I’m wise enough to know I shouldn’t listen to you.” Nick eased into the saddle. “Are you comin’?”

Leather creaked as Will mounted up. “Know what you ought to do? Go to the fund-raiser they’ve got tonight for the town school. There’ll be plenty of women there. Maybe one of them wouldn’t mind getting married to an ugly cuss like you.”

Nick decided to let that one pass without comment. He didn’t feel like trading jests.

“Don’t say no right off, not until you think it through.” Will bent in his saddle to unlatch the gate. “The dance tonight will give you the chance to see what your options are. You could even dance with the lady of your choice. If she lowers her standards.”

Nick nosed his mare through the gate and waited with the wind knifing through his jacket while Will hooked the latch.

Go to the dance? Look over the marriageable women like horses lined up at an auction? That didn’t sit right. He had no interest in taking any woman to wife.

Except his children were what mattered, what counted.

The high plains rolled from horizon to horizon and gave no answers.

A wife? He had to consider it. Maybe he would go to the dance tonight. Look at his options. See what could be. Marrying this time would be different. He was older. No one expected a man his age and with children needing a mother to marry for love.

A marriage of convenience. Isn’t that what he and Lida had anyway? They’d lived in the same house and each did their work. Then fell into separate beds at night.

Troubled, he rubbed his chest. The spot behind his breastbone kept growing tighter and tighter. He didn’t want a wife, but Lord knew he needed one.

His children needed a mother.

“Your angel food cakes smells like heaven,” Rayna Ludgrin praised as she set her big wicker basket on the kitchen table. “Why, it’s as perfect as could be. You’ll put us all to shame at the supper tonight.”

Mariah blushed. She didn’t like praise, but she could see her friend only meant to be kind. “My cooking can’t beat yours, and you know it. Let me grab my apron and I’ll be ready to go.”

“You aren’t wearing that, are you?”

Did she detect a note of criticism? Mariah lifted a laundered and folded apron from the shelf. “It’s my Sunday best. I figured it would be good enough.”

“Good enough, why, yes.” Rayna didn’t even have the grace to look guilty. “Surely black isn’t the best color for tonight. This is a supper and a dance, Mariah. Men will be there.”

“Good for them.” Mariah slipped the glass cover over her best pedestal cake plate and lifted it into Rayna’s basket. “I’ve volunteered to help in the kitchen tonight, so black is a sensible color. What are you up to, anyway?”

“Not one thing. You might want to wear your beige calico. Quite fetching on you.”

“I see where this is going.” Mariah’s face heated. “You’re wasting your breath. The bachelors in this town are too young for me.”

“Not Nick Gray. In our day, I thought you two were going to be quite the couple.”

“Nothing came of it then, and I’m not about to change my dress just to please the likes of Mr. Gray.”

“What a shame.” Rayna snapped the lid shut on her basket. “A lot of women in this town don’t think the way you do. They’ll be all gussied up in their finest, praying for the handsome widower to ask them to dance.”

“Then he’ll not miss me.” Mariah kept her chin high, refusing to let even the slightest regret into her voice. She didn’t need Nick Gray. Not to dance with. Not to marry.

Maybe if she told herself that enough times, she would believe it. Then—maybe—it wouldn’t hurt so much.

Rayna hummed as she stacked molasses cookies from the cooling racks onto a plate. Her gold wedding ring caught the late afternoon light. Rayna would never understand. She was happily married and a mother of three sons.

What did she know about rejection? About watching the man you secretly loved marry someone pretty and vivacious? About spending every night alone in the same house for years, wishing another man would come along. Wishing for just one man to love her, despite her faults.

Mariah grabbed the oven mitts and swung open the oven door. The aroma of chicken potpie made her mouth water. The crusts were golden, the gravy bubbling through the little flowers she’d cut into the dough. Dry heat blazed across her face as she knelt to rescue the pans.

“Nick will need a wife who can cook.”

“Plenty of women can cook. One thing Mr. Gray won’t be doing is asking me to cook for him.” It didn’t matter that he would find himself another young and pretty woman. Truly, it didn’t bother her one bit.

“Nick was sweet on you years ago.”

“He isn’t now.” Remembering Nick’s look of disdain today on the road, her face flushed again.

All right, so maybe that did hurt—but just the tiniest bit. What she needed to be was practical. Earlier today she had seen it as plain as daylight on his face—she’d grown too hard and too sharp. Over time, her cold heart had grown colder. She hated that, and hated that it showed so much.

Laden with the heavy basket, Rayna lingered at the back door. “A man never forgets his first love.”

“We were not in love.”

Rayna frowned. “Maybe not, but only because your father wouldn’t allow him to court you.”

“Nick didn’t try hard enough.” Bitterness still ached in her breast, and she turned away. The years of loneliness settled in a hard lump in her throat, making it hard to breathe and harder to talk, so she opened the pantry door and pretended to be very busy.

It was a good thing she loved her volunteer work. Her cherished spot on the Ladies’ Aid had given her great satisfaction. She didn’t need a husband to be happy. Why, look at her kitchen. Not a speck of mud or a man’s grimy boots in a messy pile on her hand-polished floor. See? Her life was in perfect order, just the way she wanted it.

And if her conscience bit at the lie she told herself, she ignored it.

“Oh, speak of the devil.” Rayna’s tone held delight. “Some man is driving up in his fine fringed-top surrey. A man by the name of Mr. Gray.”

“Stop teasing me and grab the basket I have by the door, would you? I’ve packed extra dish towels.” As the vice president of the Ladies’ Aid, Mariah took pride in her experience serving and washing. “Surely, there will be a lot of dishes to wash—”

A rattle of a harness in the yard echoed through her kitchen. That couldn’t be. Surely Nick Gray wasn’t in her driveway…

He was. Her breath caught as a matching team of sleek bays pranced into sight. They stopped, looking as graceful as a waltz, their long black manes flickering in the wind. The sunlight gleamed on their bronze coats and the new surrey behind them, where Nick Gray held thick leather straps between leather-gloved fingers. He was real and not a daydream, right? Mariah blinked, and sure enough he was still sitting there.

Why was he here? Suddenly her black dress was too plain, her hair too sensible, her shoes too scuffed. But he was as fine-looking as ever. His black Stetson framed his dark eyes and matched his finely tailored black suit. He looked so masculine and dashing, he made every part of her tingle. She hated her reaction to him.

“Good evening, Mrs. Ludgrin. Mariah.” He climbed handily from the high seat to the ground, every movement deliberate and predatory and somehow breathtaking. He moved with confidence, making it clear he’d come for a purpose.

To talk to her? She couldn’t imagine why. She noticed Nick’s brother Will in the second seat of the buggy, his arm slung over the back of the seat, dressed up as well. Were they going to the supper and dance tonight?

Rayna’s smile was all-knowing as she hurried down the porch, lugging both baskets. Leaving Mariah alone to face Nick.

That wasn’t fair.

Nick stepped aside on the walkway, all gentleman. “Can I get those for you, Rayna?”

“Don’t you mind about me. Looks as though you two need time to talk.” Rayna glanced over her shoulder at Mariah and winked. “Good luck.”

Good luck? Mariah watched her friend hurry off to her parked buggy. Alone with Nick? Twice in one day? The longing within her ached. It took all her willpower not to march back into her house and lock the door. Was it too late to pretend she wasn’t home?

He swept off his hat. “You’re dressed up real nice. Suppose you’re serving at the supper.”

“I am.”

“Seeing you today got me to thinking.” He stared down at his hat. Dark shocks of his hair tumbled over his brow, hiding his eyes. He looked troubled. Contemplative. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you on the road today.”

“I need to apologize, too. I was frightened from the coyotes.”

“Yeah, well…” He looked flustered, picking at the stitching on his hat brim. “I’m awful grateful to you for protecting Georgie. ‘Thank you’ seems awfully small sentiment for what you’ve done.”

“It’s more than enough.”

As their gazes locked, Mariah’s breath caught. The longing in her chest crescendoed until it was all she could feel. Why was he here? He’d already thanked her at the time. Why make a trip out of his way to do it again?

He raked one hand unsteadily through his thick locks, leaving them deliciously tousled. Confident Nick Gray looked remarkably uneasy.

And why was that? He’d apologized. Why wasn’t he leaving?

He rubbed his thumb across the Stetson’s brim, brushing at an invisible spot. “Like I said, I kept thinking about seeing you today.”

“You did?”

“Sure. Couldn’t help it. You were on my mind all afternoon.” He lifted one big shoulder in a shrug.

He thought of her all afternoon? Her? Mariah Scott? The notorious town spinster? Her heart started to race. He wasn’t about to ask her to the dance, was he?

He can’t be. Shock left her speechless. Maybe he was. Why else would he be standing here, hat in hand? As unbelievable as it was, Nicholas Gray had come to ask her to accompany him tonight to the supper and dance.

He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “I got to thinking, with me widowed and you alone.”

“Yes?”

“I know there’s Mrs. Gunderson, but she’s at the other end of town, and after what you did today, I’d like to give you the business.”

“W-what?” She couldn’t have heard him correctly. What did business have to do with the supper and dance?

“My laundry.” He held out one steely arm to point toward the buggy.

Then she saw the baskets of clothes on the floorboards behind the front seat. Nick hadn’t come to ask her to the dance. “You’ve come to hire me?”

“Sure, if you can handle it. I know you’ve got a booming business going.”

Of course. He wanted her to do his laundry. What did she think? That he would actually want her after all these years? Mariah leaned against the threshold, suddenly weak. She somehow managed to take one breath after another.

Nick went on, unaware of the blow he’d dealt. “You turned down my offer to train your ox, and so I thought you might appreciate more business.”

“You thought?” It was amazing the thoughts—or lack of them—that went on in men’s heads.

“I was just trying to be nice, Mariah. I should have known you wouldn’t want my business. No hard feelings. Hope you have a real good evening.”

“Wait, I—” A thousand different emotions warred for words, but she didn’t give in to the anger or the hurt.

What was the point? Times were hard, and she could lower her pride. Making a living was important, and she would always be a spinster. No doubt about that. It looked as though nothing could change it.

She straightened her spine, stood on her own two feet and approached the porch rail. “I charge more than Mrs. Gunderson, but I iron and she doesn’t. I’ll put you on Monday afternoon delivery. Will that be all right?”

“No complaints.” He appeared relieved. “That settles it, then. Good evening to you.” His smile was as slow and smooth as pure maple sugar.

Desire swept over her as she watched him go. The polish on his surrey reflecting a soft purple hue in the light of the setting sun.

She’d always held a softness for Nick. She couldn’t deny it. It would be hard watching him tonight as he danced with other women. Younger women. Prettier women. Harder still to do his laundry and deliver it punctually every week, while he courted and married a more suitable bride.