Montana Bride. Jillian Hart
man her betrothed?
He was short of stature and the bald skin of his head reflected the light from the train’s windows. His eyes, the color of coal, reflected no kindness. His rough hands curled naturally as if used to being balled into fists.
She shivered, fear clawing around her insides like talons. Please, not that man. Please don’t let it be him. Air caught in her lungs, making it impossible to breathe as he stalked nearer to her. To her relief, he marched past her, casting a sneer in her direction.
“Willa?” A baritone voice rumbled behind her, low and deep and as richly warm as buttered rum. The only soul who would know her name in this unfamiliar place had to be him. It had to be her husband-to-be.
She pivoted on her heels, unable to stop the hope taking root in her heart. A man with a voice like that might not be unkind. Another snowflake struck her cheek as she faced him. He was cloaked in shadows, a tall man with brawny shoulders. Her entire being jittered with a rapid-fire tremble. Her throat went dry. “Mr. Dermot?”
“Call me Austin.”
She still couldn’t see him. He stood between the bars of light from the train windows, lost in the twilight. She caught the impression of a burly man, which made sense since he owned a livery stable and did heavy work. This was the moment of truth. If she wanted to change her mind, it would have to be now.
“Let me take that for you.” Was it her imagination, or were notes of kindness layered in his voice?
She hoped so. Before she could collect her breath, he lumbered out of the shadows and into the wash of light. Golden lamplight bronzed him, illuminating the thick brown fall of his hair, bluebonnet-blue eyes, high cheekbones and chiseled rugged face.
He was handsome. That completely surprised her and her mind shut down. She had been prepared for anything—unfortunately none of it good. She had learned to expect the worst, which had generally been the way most things in her life had worked out. So, what was wrong with this handsome man that he had to settle for a mail-order bride?
His hand clasped around the grip, taking the satchel from her. He smelled pleasantly—of hay and wintry wind, soap and man—and his irises had light blue sparkles in them that lit when he looked at her. “The train doesn’t stay here for long. We had best make sure we get your trunks from the baggage car.”
“I don’t have any trunks.” She swallowed, wondering for the first time what he might see when he looked at her. She smoothed a patch in her wool overcoat. “Everything I own is in the satchel.”
“Is that right?” Realization etched compassion into the hard planes of his face. Maybe he felt sorry for her poverty, or maybe he was attempting to hide disappointment.
You are no prize, Willa. The words swirled up from the past. She shut out her late husband’s voice, but she could not deny the truth of his words. She might not be a prize but neither was she a disgrace. She lifted her chin and gathered her dignity. “I did not exaggerate. In my letter I said I had nothing to bring to the marriage.”
“You are enough.”
His kindness was unexpected. Her throat burned, and she looked away. The earlier hustle and bustle on the platform had died out, families reunited with loved ones had gone on their way and only one couple bid a tearful goodbye as the conductor tossed a trunk into the baggage car. An icy wind drove snow before it in falling waves.
“Looks like there’s a storm on the way, which means we had better head for the church.” He held out his other hand—it was big and well-shaped with long blunt fingers and a wide-callused palm.
If she took his hand, their deal would be set. There would be no turning back. She pressed her hand to her still flat stomach, torn. Her every instinct screamed at her to run. She had made this mistake before in marrying Jed. But if she did not marry Austin, where would she go? Who would hire a pregnant woman, and alone how would she provide for the baby once it was born?
Willa swallowed hard, knowing she had no real choice. She laid her hand in his, realizing he was much larger than she’d first thought. His fingers engulfed her hand as they closed around her, but it was gentleness she felt as he led her along the platform.
“Is the reverend waiting?” Cold panic slid through her veins.
“He is. I didn’t tell him your story.” He paused at the steps leading down to the street. A faint haze of lamplight drew him in silhouette. He towered above her, making her feel small and protected from the drive of the wind. He kept a good hold on her—in case she slipped on the ice—and continued speaking. “It wasn’t my place to say anything, although I think Reverend Lane has his suspicions. He’s agreed to marry us, unless you’ve taken one look at me and changed your mind.”
“Me? No.” She couldn’t afford to do that. Austin Dermot may be a complete stranger, but he was her salvation and much more than she expected, perhaps much more than she deserved. She’d never had anyone escort her down a set of steps before or protect her from a driving arctic wind. “Have you?”
“Changed my mind? Not a chance.” A smile shone in his voice as the darkness swallowed him. He was a faint impression in a background of snow and night as he helped her into a covered buggy. A horse blew out his breath, as if impatient standing in the cold.
“There now, we’re almost on our way,” Austin rumbled low to the horse as he untied him from the hitching post. “No need to get huffy.”
The horse snorted, and Austin’s roll of brief laughter was the warmest sound she’d ever heard. A man who laughed was not what she had prepared for.
“That’s Calvin. He’s never been one to withhold his opinion.” The buggy swayed slightly as the large man settled onto the cushioned seat beside her. Not a crudely made cart behind an ox, as she was used to. Not even a more serviceable wagon, but a fine buggy.
Oh, he is definitely going to be disappointed in me. In the light of the church, when he would be able to get a good look, he would change his mind then. As the buggy rolled smoothly to a start, she knew the tables had turned. She’d spent a good deal of her journey worrying about the man. Now she was the one in question.
“We’re a small town but a friendly one.” He held the reins lightly, talking with ease as if he picked up strange women at the depot and drove them to church all the time. “Let me correct that. We’re a very small town. Five whole blocks, as you can see.”
“Oh, my.” Five blocks? She couldn’t see much in the evening storm, only the hint of a roofline and a glimpse of a second-story lamp-lit window that blinked out of sight as they rolled on.
“You’re disappointed.” His voice knelled with understanding, as if he were not surprised.
“Not at all.” He truly didn’t understand, did he? She swiped snow from her eyelashes with cold fingertips. “I’m used to small towns. I like them. I’m only afraid this is a great deal more than I am used to.”
“More?” They drove out of the reach of the town’s main street, where tall trees threw them in deep shadow.
“The nearest town to my husband’s South Dakota farm was just a mercantile, a tavern and a stage stop.” She felt the wave of unhappiness begin to crest and she banished all memories from her mind. Jed had been a man with great faults. She had been young and naive, marrying at sixteen and expecting a fairy tale. Reality had driven that notion from her mind, and the blame had been hers alone. Marriage was hard work, it was often a disappointment and took patience to bear.
She blew out a small breath, determined to find the inner strength to endure marriage again. To do that, she would think of the positive. She would have a roof over her head, a home to keep and after the thaw she would plant a garden where flowers bloomed. “Is your house far from town?”
“On the outskirts. I have one hundred acres. Never wanted to be a rancher, but I like the solitude. I built the cabin myself.”
“Wonderful.”