the man who could still turn her inside out with only a look.
More than anything she wanted Nick’s love. His real love. The kind her friends whispered about in those chaotic moments before the club meeting was called to order, with secret smiles of understanding about what went on between a wife and her man.
But the crowd of young women, all of marriageable ages and as pretty as could be, were waiting patiently for Nick to finish his obligatory dance with the town spinster. She couldn’t compete, she knew it. So she tucked away her hopes right along with her disappointment and walked away.
“Hey, wait. Mariah—” His voice rang low, easily drowned out by the music and stomping feet of the dancers, so it was easy to pretend she couldn’t hear him.
She walked past the pretty young women with hope sparkling in their eyes, pushed past the refreshment table where the widows stared at her in tight-lipped disapproval and out into the quiet of the schoolyard, dark and silent and empty.
Only then did she let the tears burn her eyes. Despair settled around her. She was alone. She had to face it. Just like her father had told her. No man was going to come courting her. Not now. Not ever.
She hated that the mean old cuss was still right, after all these years. Instead of heading back to the dance, to see which of the young women Nick had chosen to dance with, she headed toward the schoolhouse. Surely there was still some work there needing to be done.
Glad to be alone, Nick shook out the match, dropped it into the dirt at the side of the road and covered it with his boot.
The sweet, rich cigar smoke calmed him, and he dragged deep. He couldn’t get Mariah out of his mind. The independent-minded, aggravating spinster who looked as prickly as a roll of barbed wire had melted against him like warm butter, fitting against him the way a woman was meant to. All curves and softness and heat.
This is a marriage of convenience, you want. Remember that, man. How Mariah felt in his arms didn’t matter. That wasn’t the issue.
His children were.
He dragged deep, blew out a long ribbon of smoke. The air was thick with the fresh, earthy scent of new grass growing and heavy with the sound of night insects and the birds that hunted them. He was looking true north, toward his property a few miles out.
Home. He warmed from head to toe, his worries melting away, thinking of his little ones tucked in for the night. His father would have put Georgie down first, after an hour of protests, requests for a drink of water and a lullaby. He pictured her snuggled beneath the thick comforter, covers pulled to her chin, her hair curled all around her face like an angel. So sweet. His heart hurt just thinking of her.
And fear hit him in the chest like the business end of a sledgehammer. He could have lost her today. Could have been at her wake, instead of a dance tonight…. Damn it. He couldn’t stand it if something happened to her, or to his son…all it took was remembering the responsibility heavy on the boy’s narrow shoulders to make Nick get off his butt and face what he had to do.
A wife might mean a lifetime of misery for him, but it meant security and happiness for his children. Don’t let those women scare you, Gray. You’re the man. You’re the boss. Pick one and be done with it.
Aw, jeez. Not one of those young women—fresh-faced and immature—was what he was looking for. What he needed was a sensible, practical wife who understood that marriage was a legal agreement with separation of labours and knew that the job was tough. He needed a woman who would work hard and take good care of his kids. Someone who would leave his heart in his chest where it belonged and not shredded on the ground at her feet. Who on earth could fill those shoes?
A shadowed movement from the back door of the schoolhouse caught his attention. Mariah Scott, her basket slung industriously over one arm, was leaving. Backlit by the flaming torches set up to light the dance area, she was easy to pick out against the crowd, even in silhouette. Her purposeful stride was unlike any other woman’s—not swaying and seductive, not dainty and airy, but no-nonsense. With every snap of her skirt, with every step she took, Mariah Scott meant business.
She marched past a gaggle of younger women, who huddled together talking near the bonfire. The moment she turned her back to the women as she swiftly marched down the worn path to the road, one of the young women mimicked her. They all burst out laughing.
Nick’s chest tightened. Good thing he wasn’t interested in one of those women. They were cruel, no matter how soft and feminine they looked. It was too dark to see Mariah’s face, but he knew she’d been hurt. Her shoulders stiffened. He could see it. Just as he could feel the pride holding her up as she kept walking, without missing a beat. As if laughter was not lifting on the wind behind her, drowning out the first sweet strains of a new waltz.
She breezed past where he huddled on the shadowed bank, the row of parked buggies and wagons hiding him from her sight. He couldn’t help noticing that while her shoes were patched, they were polished and serviceable. Just like the woman. Practical Mariah. She was hardworking and wore black like a widow, already given up on life.
He wanted to keep hating her, but how could he? She’d been as tied to her father’s cruel demands as he’d been to the mistake he’d made with young Lida Brown. They’d both been trapped in unhappy lives. He knew the pain and the sting of the regrets that came with it.
He could make her life better. And his children’s. With one simple question.
He climbed to his feet, dragging deep on his cigar. Maybe the rich smoke would give him the courage he needed as he made his way down the rode. “Hey, Mariah.”
“Nick.” Startled, she dropped her basket in her wagon bed, stiffening like a porcupine ready to strike. “What are you doing out here? Or have you found your bride all ready?”
“I found her. Least ways, I hope so.”
“Oh, why that was certainly quick.” Her voice came as sharp as the crack of the tailgate as she slammed it shut. “Let me be the first to offer my congratulations.”
Her voice sounded strained. Hurt? That didn’t sound at all like Mariah. “Don’t go congratulating me yet. I haven’t gotten around to ask her.”
“Why not?”
“Because she’s one of those do-gooder, busybody types. Always doing for some event or another. Like this fund-raiser tonight.”
“Oh, then I must know her.” She turned her back on him and hiked her skirts up to march into the tall grassy field. “You must mean Betsy. She’s a good friend of mine. Truly, she’ll make a good mother to your children. She’s kind and I—”
Was her voice wobbling a little? Nick snatched the picket rope before she could grab it and yanked hard on the lead to bring the young ox to heel. “It’s not Betsy I intend to marry. It’s you.”
“Me?” She froze in midstride, her skirts tumbling from her hands, and the air from her lungs.
He kept walking, leaving her behind. As he hitched the animal to her wagon, he stole a couple glances at her standing there, frozen as a statue, washed in patches of silvered moonlight. She was a beautiful woman with a gently sloping nose, the high delicate cut of cheekbone, the soft full mouth, and he knew, blue eyes so bright they could make the sky look pale by comparison.
His heart thumped in his chest, simply
