Rocky Mountain Wife by Kate Darby Page A

make soup for supper. Her stomach was still in knots, worrying what Sanders had said to Joshua. She feared it hadn’t been good.
    Ma carefully slid the bread pans out of the oven and onto the counter to cool. “When are you two getting married?”
    “We haven’t talked about that yet.” Claire sliced the sandwiches in half—two for Joshua and one for her and Ma to share. “I imagine the sooner the better.”
    “Today? Tomorrow?” Ma closed the oven door, looking lost in her thoughts. “Maybe the day after? That would be better. It would give us time to figure out a dress and organize a little wedding party.”
    “I don’t want a party.” She heard the flat note in her voice and winced. She wasn’t ungrateful. She wrapped up Joshua’s sandwiches. “I don’t want to be reminded of my wedding with Clay.”
    “I understand.” Ma’s face, marked with character lines and a lifetime of smiles, padded across the kitchen to take Claire’s hands in both of hers. “Maybe good will come out of this. Great love can come out of anywhere. Maybe you’ll get lucky.”
    “There will be no great love.” Claire placed the sandwiches in Clay’s old lunch pail. “I’ve already had that in my life. Something that rare doesn’t come around twice. Everyone knows that.”
    “I’m just trying to be hopeful for you, dear.” Ma squeezed, her touch full of comfort before letting go and stepping back. “I’m worried, but he’s saving your home. He’s keeping a roof over my granddaughter’s head. I suppose that makes him my champion.”
    “Yes.” Claire filled a water jug and capped it. “I will always be beholden to him. Go ahead and eat, Ma. I’ll take this out to Joshua.”
    “Look how hard he’s working in the fields. That’s something. It’s promising.” Ma nodded her approval, turning to study the figure of a man in the distance, like a shadow against the rolling plains. “Oh, and I’ve taken in more mending. I should be able to help out a little bit more around here—”
    “No, Ma. I won’t take your money, and I won’t have you working so hard.” Claire was adamant about that. “Now pour yourself some milk and sit down. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
    “Fine, that will give me time to plan your wedding.” Ma pulled out a chair at the round oak table. “Don’t worry, I’ll do as you wish, and there will be no wedding party. But we can still make it nice. We’ll start new traditions. How’s that?”
    “We don’t need new traditions.” Claire smiled stubbornly, yanking open the lean-to door. She bounded through the doorway, into the shadowed lean-to and down the back steps.
    Warmer weather met her as she plowed through the fallen grasses and past her ruin of a garden. All those vegetables destroyed by the hail. But Joshua was right—it was still early enough in the season, and they could replant. It wasn’t ideal, but it could be done. She’d just have to focus on that.
    Every step she took brought her closer to him. His back was to her as he rode a sulky plow behind his team of draft horses, his back straight and his long legs braced, the reins looped loosely in his capable hands.
    Big, rough hands. She stared at them and shivered deep inside. What would it be like to feel them on her flesh? Would his touch be as rough as his calloused hands or gentle? Her heart leaped, skipping several beats, and she felt her body respond. Her breasts swelled as if aching for his fingers on them.
    Stop that, Claire.
She frowned at herself. Hadn’t she vowed not to think like that again? Or was it a lost cause?
    “Claire.” He startled, turning around, surprise cutting pleasant lines into the corners of his eyes. He stopped the horses with a low, rumbling “Whoa,” before tipping his hat to her respectfully. “I didn’t expect to see you out here.”
    “Just like I didn’t expect you to start working the fields.”
    “I hope you don’t mind. I helped myself to Clay’s plow.” He looped