Montana Wife (Historical)

by Jillian Hart

  A small voice called out in the dark. “M-mister?”

  “You can call me Daniel. Want me to get your ma?”

  “I’m awful thirsty.”

  “I can get that for you. Stay under the covers where it’s warm.” There wasn’t enough light for him to see by, so he lit the small tin lamp on the bedside table before filling a little tin cup with a horse painted on the side of it.

  Hans’s hands shook with weakness, so Daniel knelt and held the bottom of the cup steady. The boy’s blond hair was sticking straight up. His eyes were troubled as he finished up and collapsed into his pillows.

  “That enough?” Daniel asked. When the kid nodded, he left the cup on the corner of the table, within easy reach. “In case you get thirsty again.”

  “Mister?”

  Hell, he could see the boy wasn’t going to call him anything familiar. “Yeah?”

  “You better leave now.”

  Feeling better, was he? Daniel figured that was a good sign. “No, Hans. I’m not going to leave. Not now. Not later.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “I know how it is. You’re hurtin’ over your pa, but I’m here for good. Like it or not. It’s nothing to be worrying about tonight. You go to sleep, all right?”

  “’Kay.” Hans’s frown was a deep one and his troubled sigh was full of burden. “Mister? You’re not gonna leave?”

  “No.”

  Hans studied him with sad eyes. Eyes so like his mother’s. “Okay.”

  Daniel turned down the wick and darkness reigned once more.

  Rayna knew the instant Daniel entered the room. It wasn’t the hush of the hinges or the pad of his socks as he crossed the floor. In the dark, with the wind beating at the eaves and with her entire will fighting it, the light within her grew.

  “How’s Hans?” Her question startled him.

  He froze and the hard line of his shoulders, just visible in the dark, tensed. “He needed water. I filled his cup. He’s fine.”

  He’s fine. But Daniel was not. Rayna held out the covers to welcome him in. There was only one bed iron—she’d given Hans all but the one at the foot of the bed. Only enough to take the chill out of the sheets.

  Daniel took his time, lost in the utter blackness on the far side of the room. His clothes rustled, his belt buckle thunked against the floor, and then he was climbing in beside her. A hulk of a man so close.

  And so distant.

  He did not turn to her. He did not draw her into his arms.

  It was just as well. She closed her eyes, but sleep didn’t come.

  She doubted if she would ever sleep truly well again. Not with her heart gone and her soul in pieces.

  Daniel lay awake, too. Silent, with his back to her. Until the clock downstairs struck four and he rose to take care of the livestock. It was another day of hard work for them both.

  Rayna waited until he was outside before she rose, washed quickly and dressed. The boys were fast asleep and so she hurried downstairs to start her chores.

  Daniel squeezed the last of the milk into a bowl for the barn cat, who curled around his ankles in thanks. Leaving the calico purring in contentment, he clipped the lid on the pail and wrapped up for the trip back to the house.

  Not that he was looking forward to it. The thought of sitting at the breakfast table with Rayna…his guts coiled up good and tight. No, he wasn’t over the pain. Although humiliation had set in. To think that he’d ever had a chance in the first place.

  Maybe it was the way of things. A man who’d grown up alone was meant to be that way. Truth was, he’d never come across a woman that made him think it would be worth the risk.

  Until Rayna.

  I can’t l-love you. He could still hear her words thick with apology and raw with truth. She didn’t have the heart for it. Sure, he understood that. Because he’d just used up the last of his.

  He was as alone as he’d ever been. He’d survived loneliness for all of his thirty-five years. He didn’t need Rayna. He didn’t need love.

  And if that wasn’t true yet, then by God he’d make it true. Anything was better than living with his heart torn out and bleeding. Nothing he’d ever known had hurt so fierce or cut him so deep.

  Two more weeks, he thought as he shoved the barn door open against the resistance of the drifting snow. Two more weeks and the first payment made—that was the hardest. If he kept his job in town through the rest of the winter and into spring, even if he had to harrow and seed the fields at night by lantern, then that’s what he’d do.

  With an angry shove, he propelled the barn door closed with a definitive bang. Puffing great clouds of warm air, he let the snow fall everywhere around him, tapping on his face and thudding on his shoulders, covering the tops of his boots as he went. He wasn’t ready to go in yet, but it was too cold to stay out. Somehow he would walk into that house as if he hadn’t suffered more than a mild disappointment.

  Instead of being knocked to his knees.

  The storm had only gained fury through the night and when he saw a tall, lanky figure moving through the blinding whiteness, he held up the pail. Kirk, no doubt, come for the milk. Daniel knew he’d spent too much time in the barn and Rayna was probably cooking breakfast, by now in need of the milk.

  “Kirk!” He shouted, cupping his mouth with his free hand. “Head on in. I’ve got all the chores—”

  A muffled explosion resounded through the dense snowfall and something struck him in the chest. The force was powerful enough to rock him back on his heels. The bucket slipped and tumbled to the ground, rolling with a faint metallic clatter out of sight. Daniel looked down. The front of his jacket was dark. A dark red stain flowed like a creeping ink spot. Blood. His own.

  He’d been shot? He oddly felt nothing. Nothing at all. And then he couldn’t breathe. Pain blinded him and he was falling. The icy snow pelted his face and he didn’t know which way was up. Kirk had shot him? No, that couldn’t be right—

  His knees hit the ground and the impact ricocheted through his torso. The shadow before him darkened until it was Clay Dayton emerging from the veil of snowfall. Daniel didn’t remember reaching for his revolver but the six-shooter was in his hand and the bang and flare of the bullet firing was all he saw as death pulled him down.

  The shock on Dayton’s gnarled face told Daniel his shot was true as the light drained from his eyes and he surrendered, knowing that even as he died, Rayna would be safe.

  Thunder. That was Rayna’s first thought as she rescued the fresh cornmeal muffins from the oven. It was certainly snowing hard enough and lightning and thunder were not unheard of in near blizzard conditions.

  But the second shot that followed in a few seconds’ time couldn’t be thunder. It was more like gunfire. Daniel! She turned down the damper, left the stove and ran, pulling on her coat as she bounded down the steps. The storm tore at her, pushing her back as she struggled forward.

  “Daniel!”

  No answer but the howling wind. She couldn’t see anything but snow—at her feet, falling into her face, tumbling straight down from the heavens. Something had happened to Daniel, she knew it, for she could feel the agony in her soul.

  And then color broke through the world of white. Crimson red streaked across the ground at her feet and she saw Daniel’s gloved hand still clutching his revolver.

  “Daniel!” She fell to her knees, wiping the snow from his face. He didn’t move. His eyes were closed. Was he breathing?

  His chest was sticky with blood. The accumulating snow was stained, too. His blood was everywhere. She pressed her hand down in the center of it and the warm gush through her fingers told her he was still alive. But for how long?

  “Rayna?” A voice came out of nowhere. A man— Doc Haskins—broke through the curtain of snow. “Oh, God. It’s Daniel. Move aside. Let me see.”

  The competent doctor knelt beside her, mindless of the conditions. His ministrations were cloaked by the gusts of snow. As if the winter was not bleak enou
gh, the downfall turned torrential, so that she could only see snatches of Daniel’s face.

  She wiped away the snow and lifted his head onto her lap. Her dear Daniel. He was dying, she could feel it. How could she endure losing him, too? Not Daniel, so good and honorable. He didn’t deserve this, he didn’t.

  Her own heart stopped beating as she pressed her cheek to Daniel’s and whispered in his ear so he would know. “Your life means something to me.”

  She didn’t know if he could hear her or if he was already lost to her as the blizzard shrouded them.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Rayna, you need to eat something.” Mariah emerged from the dark hallway with a tray. The faint tinkling of ironware and the fragrance of chicken broth gave away the contents of the ironware bowl.

  “You know I’m not hungry. I can’t eat.”

  Rayna twisted on the wooden chair she’d brought up from the kitchen. Her bones were stiff and her fanny ached from sitting for the better part of two days. She set down her sewing hoop, and the deepest part of her being cried out at the sight of Daniel so still beneath the pile of blankets.

  Deathly still.

  “I can’t eat until he’s well.” She said it stubbornly, as if she could will it to be true. With every ounce of her soul, she wished it, although the doctor told her to prepare for the worst.

  Her throat ached with grief.

  “You have to keep your strength up. It’s only sensible.” Mariah’s firm tone was gentled by affection as she placed the tray on the edge of the bed. “It’s hard, I know, my dear friend. But try.”

  Rayna merely nodded. How could she get even Mariah’s delicious chicken soup with her homemade noodles and thick chunks of meat past the grief wedged in her throat? She could hardly breathe as it was.

  Mariah studied the sewing clamped in the big wooden hoop. “This is beautiful, Rayna. You’re almost done.”

  “It gave me something to do while I’ve been watching over Daniel. And worrying.”

  Mariah nodded approvingly and it took no words for the understanding that passed between them. The love of a good man was worth anything and should never be taken for granted.

  Rayna waited until she was alone again to brush a kiss against Daniel’s cheek. His dark hair tickled the side of her face. Love, keen and bright, welled up from her soul. She’d been lucky to love Kol. To have had the chance to live and laugh and share her life with her first love. She wouldn’t trade those years for anything. Because loving him was worth the fall. The pain of grieving him was a small price to pay.

  Daniel moaned, low in his throat, and she stroked his forehead until he calmed. She’d been wrong. She hadn’t known until she’d held his head in her lap, watching the doctor frantically trying to stop the blood loss, that she did love Daniel. Her heart was whole after all.

  “Please live,” she whispered over him. She hoped he could hear her somewhere. That he could feel her in his soul, the way she could feel him.

  With hope, she picked up her sewing and nipped the threaded needle through the border seam. For the second time in her life she was piecing together a wedding quilt. She was no longer that young girl with stars in her eyes. She was a grown woman, strong and experienced, but now she knew the value of a good man’s love.

  She sewed long into the night, until she was too tired to see. When the quilt was done and the backing tied in neat knots, she realized this quilt, too, was stitched with hope for a happy future.

  A future that could only be possible if Daniel lived.

  Hell, he was hurting. Way too much to be dead. Daniel fought to open his eyes, and it was like swimming to the surface of a deep lake. Fighting, he opened his eyes. The bright light stung.

  The shadowed figure moving to the bedside was too big and brawny to be anything but a man. Kindly Doc Haskins’s stubbled face came into view—a little blurry, but Daniel wasn’t one to complain. He was glad to be alive. Except for the pain streaking and throbbing through his chest that nearly had him passing out again.

  Haskins looked plenty relieved. “You have one of the strongest wills I’ve ever seen. I didn’t think you’d make it. Dayton sure didn’t and his wound was as bad. Let me take a look at your incision.”

  “What? You cut me open?”

  “Had to. The bullet was lodged deep. But you’ll be just fine now. After a little bed rest. Build back up your strength. You’ll be as good as new.” The doc reached for his stethoscope.

  “Wait, Doc. I don’t have time for bed rest.” His vision was clearing now. He was in bed alone with blanket and quilts covering him. Snow fell at the window—it was day. He could see the storm was still raging. “I’ve been down for—what?—a few hours. It’s got to be—what?—just before noon.”

  “Going on three days after I took that bullet from your chest. You’re just lucky I was on my way to check on your little boy.”

  “No. That can’t be possible. I haven’t been asleep for three days. I have a job. I can’t lose that paycheck.” He looked around again. The doc was the only one in the room. Rayna? Where was Rayna?

  And then he knew. She’s not going to come see you, man. You let her down. He had to get up; he had to talk to Danzig. He had to see, maybe, if there was any way, he could work. They were so close, so damn close to making it. Maybe the doc would hold off on his bill. He had to get up, that’s what. Get up and—

  Damn it. He was still lying on his back. Wheezing as if he’d run five miles with his boots on from doing nothing more than trying to lift up off the pillow.

  “Lie still or you’ll tear out your stitches and be in a worse mess than you’re in now.” Haskins wasn’t a bad sort, as far as a sawbones went, but the doc didn’t understand.

  He had to get up, he had to— Pain dug like an ax blade through his ribs. His vision blurred and he shook from the exertion. Weakness flowed through him like water, and it didn’t do him any good.

  Especially when he heard her familiar gait at the doorway. He felt her like a warm summer breeze moving through him. Turned toward her as if she was the very air he breathed.

  Rayna. Her hair was down, caught in a ribbon at her nape. Shimmering locks and flyaway curls and, hell, the sight of her, settled him. Made him feel calm down deep. The pain seemed a small thing when she gazed upon him. Her sorrow, her exhaustion, her worry, that’s what hurt more.

  How could she stand to look at him? Shame filled him. It took terrible effort, but he managed to turn his head. There was no way he could endure seeing the disappointment on her face.

  Maybe even hatred.

  He’d known most of the sorrows that life had to offer. Hunger and neglect and despair and cruelty. But he’d never known the sorrow of failing the person he loved more than anything. It was a despair so black and choking, it felt as though he were drowning with no one to save him.

  “Daniel?”

  He couldn’t answer. He didn’t move.

  The pad of her shoes on the wood stilled. Her dress rustled to a stop, her petticoats whispering. “You sure had me worrying.”

  “I truly am sorry about that.”

  Rayna glanced at the doctor, who was closing the door to leave them alone, and then back at the man on the bed. Her invincible husband with the bandaged chest. The man she’d sat next to for almost every moment of the past three days. She’d bargained with God, she’d replayed every conversation that had ever happened between her and Daniel. She’d willed him to live.

  And yet here he was alive and he felt lost to her. Maybe she’d failed him too completely by not loving him enough. By not being enough.

  She loved him now. And it was too late. She could feel it. Why else would his sadness fill the room like smoke? Why else would he refuse to look at her?

  What should she do? Walk away without telling him the truth? The only truth she knew for certain? That through the waiting for him to live or die, she’d found something astonishing.

  Her love for him.

  “Just go,” he said
tonelessly. As if he didn’t care for her anymore. As if she’d lost him for good. “As soon as I’m able to get out of this bed, I’ll get out of here. You’ll never have to see me again.”

  Oh. He doesn’t love me anymore. Rayna wrapped her arms around her middle, feeling bereft. As if she’d had a second chance for happiness and she’d destroyed it.

  There was no reason he would forgive her. Why would he? She’d broken his heart. She’d told him she wasn’t able to risk so much. That she couldn’t love him. He’d been shot because of her.

  What did you say to the one man who was more than your heart, but your entire soul? She didn’t know. After so many hours of waiting and praying for this chance, she fell short of words.

  But not of love.

  His hand was hot and so male—bigger and rougher and the skin tougher. Calluses marked his knuckles and paraded across his palm. She ran her fingers down the center lines of his palm. Wishing she could make this right for him. Did she even have a chance?

  “Your quilt. You finished it.”

  “I had plenty of time while I was sitting in this room with you.”

  “You were here?”

  “Yep. I’d never worried over anyone the way I did you.”

  “You worried over me?” Daniel couldn’t believe that he’d heard her right. There’s no way she could still care about him. “I failed you. You’re the only person I’ve ever loved and I let you down. Why are you here? I lost your land. I lost my ranch. And your boys—”

  He fought to stay calm because the next thing she was going to say was that she was done with him. She wanted him out. She wanted him gone. And he’d honor that. He’d abide by her wishes.

  He couldn’t blame her. He’d failed her. It was as simple as that, and he was going to handle it with dignity. “I let you down, and I know you don’t want me. But I promise you this. Once I’m back on my feet, I’ll get back to work. Give you the money you need to help you keep your boys with you.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I’ll help you keep your sons. Maybe I could take a railroad job and send you what you need.”