High Country Bride. Jillian HartЧитать онлайн книгу.
insight for the hard morning ahead.
The cow mooed again, impatient this time. Joanna opened her eyes to see the animal Aiden had taken back from Pa’s farm gazing at her with pleading eyes. The cow must have scented the small portion of grain in the bottom of the feed bucket, and was straining against her picket rope to get at it.
“I’m sorry, Rosebud. Here you are.” She set the bucket down at the cow’s front hooves. Instantly, the animal dived into her breakfast, tail swishing with contentment.
At least she looked better fed here on the lush grasses of Aiden’s land. Pa had always been stingy with the livestock’s feed, although Joanna had always sneaked grain and treats to Rosebud. She set the three-legged stool on the cow’s left side and placed the milk pail between her feet. Holding it steady in case Rosebud lurched suddenly, Joanna stroked the cow’s flank, talking to her for a few moments before starting to milk.
She could no longer see the rising sun breaking over the mountains, but the light was changing, the darkness turning to long blue shadows. A golden hue crept across the land to crown Aiden’s two-story house. Painted yellow, it seemed to absorb the slanted gold rays and glow.
I buried a wife and son years ago, what was most precious to me. Again, his words came back to her like a haunting refrain. His wife had chosen that soft buttery color. Joanna didn’t need to know anything about Aiden or his past to know that. No Montana rancher would choose that feminine, comforting color for his house. Just like the carved wooden curlicues decorating the top pillars of the porch fronts. Or the carefully carved rail posts. Such workmanship must have been done out of love for his wife.
Joanna felt in awe of such devotion. What a deep bond Aiden must have known. Respect for him filled her like the rising sun, and suddenly, there he was, as if her thoughts had brought him to life, striding down the porch steps with a milk pail in hand. She didn’t know if it was just her lofty opinion of the man, but he looked wholly masculine. With light outlining the impressive width of his shoulders, he strode through the long shadows.
Not even those shadows were enough to hide the set of his frown and the tension straining his jaw as he marched toward her. “Who said you could milk my cow?”
“Sorry, I guess I’ve helped myself to your morning chores. I wanted to make your load easier, for doing the same for me last night.” She spoke over the hissing stream of milk into the pail. “It’s a fair turn. Surely you’re not angry with me for that?”
Was it her imagination, or was there a weakening of that grimace in the corners of his mouth? “You are a surprising woman, Mrs. Nelson.”
“You can call me Joanna.” She could not resist saying it, even though she knew he would refuse to. “I gathered the eggs in the henhouse, too.”
“There was no need to do my chores.”
“How else am I to pay you what I owe?”
Aiden came closer, casting her in his long shadow. “Who said you owe me anything?”
“Please don’t try that tact, Mr. McKaslin.”
“What tact?” He knelt beside her, bringing with him the fresh scent of soap. “And you can call me Aiden.”
“You’re a decent man, Aiden. I’ll not take advantage of that.”
His hand, so very large, reached out and covered her wrist, stopping her. His fingers, so very warm, squeezed gently. “I’ll finish up here. You had best go see to your little ones.”
“They’ll be fine enough until I finish.”
“Please.” It was the plea in his eyes that moved her, that revealed a man of great heart. “I’m not comfortable letting a woman do my work. I’ll bring you some of the milk after I strain it.”
How could she say no to the man who had given her one night of safe harbor? One night of peaceful sleep? He was like a reminder of hope on this perfect, golden morning, even with the shadows that seemed to cling to him.
“Go on.” It was softly said, and surprising, coming from such a hard-looking man. “You have done enough for now.”
She swallowed, lost in his midnight-blue eyes. They were shielded from her, and as guarded as the peaks of the Rocky Mountains towering over the long stretch of prairie. Curiosity filled her, but he wasn’t hers to wonder about, so she pulled away and rose from the stool. With the first step she took, she felt a pang of lonesomeness. Her hand, warm from his touch, was cold in the temperate morning.
He watched her with his penetrating gaze, unmoving. Behind him on the porch, another man came to a sudden halt, yanked down the wide brim of his hat to shield his eyes from the sun without bothering to disguise his disdainful frown in her direction.
Last night Aiden had mentioned a brother. A brother who made him look even kinder and ten times more mature and masculine by comparison. The intensity of this man’s scowl made Joanna shiver.
“Don’t mind Finn.” Aiden’s comment carried on the breeze. “He’s got a lot to learn about life and manners.”
Across the yard, Finn muttered a terse answer that was drowned out by the harsh clatter of his boots on the steps. Anger emanated from him like heat from a stove. Joanna took one look at him and stayed where she was.
“Don’t blame you for not wanting to cross his path.” Aiden had hunkered down on the stool beside the cow. “When Finn’s got his dander up, he’s meaner than a rattler trapped in a brush fire. I apologize for him.”
“There’s no need. I’m the trespasser here.”
“You’ve gone pale. He upset you.”
“No, he reminded me of someone. M-my husband.”
That explained it. Aiden didn’t need to know anything more to see how her life had been. Sourness filled his stomach. Life was hard enough without such people in it. “Finn would make a poor husband.”
She didn’t comment, but the way she tensed up, as if she were holding too much inside, let him know more than her answer ever could. “Come by in, say, thirty minutes and I’ll have breakfast on the table. Your young ones might as well eat while we figure out what you and I are going to do.”
“About what I owe you?”
“No.” Tied up inside, he said the word with all the patience he had. “You have to go somewhere, Joanna. You can’t keep living out of your wagon.”
He could see her face beneath the shadow of her bonnet. Really, she was very lovely; her forehead and nose, cheekbones and chin were so fine they could have been sculpted of porcelain. Her big blue eyes were as pretty as cornflowers and her mouth looked soft and cozy, as if she had spent a lot of her life smiling. Once upon a time.
Her brows knit and her chin shot up. “Plenty of folks live out of their wagons when times get hard.”
Pride. He knew something about that. “I wasn’t criticizing. Only saying that eventually winter is going to come. Maybe I can help you with that.”
Her throat worked at the word help. Pain shot across her face. Whether she suspected his motives or wanted nothing to do with his help, he couldn’t know. She gave a nod of acknowledgment—not of agreement—and went on her way through the growing, seed-topped grasses.
Painted with dawn’s soft golden light like that, framed as she was by the crisp lush green of the prairie, Aiden felt he was seeing her for the first time. She was a truly lovely woman. He might even say beautiful.
He wasn’t proud of himself for noticing.
Joanna kept swallowing against the painful burn in her throat as she whisked a dollop of milk into the egg batter. Eventually winter is going to come. Aiden McKaslin’s remembered words made that pain worse. Maybe I can help you with that. Charity. That’s what he saw when he looked at her. A woman to be pitied.
Shame filled her, because