Free Montana Wife (Historical) by Jillian Hart Page B

of a harness above the rush of the wind was the only warning she had. She gathered up her skirts and sidestepped the water collecting in the ruts. Her toe caught in a wet tangle of toppled bunch grass and it was too late. She was falling toward the ditch. Her hands shot out, her reticule went flying, oh, Lord no, not in the—
    Her knee cracked against a rock, her gloves skidded through the tough thorny vines of dying blackberry bushes and the ditch rose up to meet her. Cold silt slicked her face as she hit the unforgiving ground.
    She popped her face out of the trench water, leveling herself up on her stinging hands. She was mud and wet and bleeding and her face—oh, mercy. It was runoff from the Dayton’s cow pasture.
    Wasn’t that the frosting on the cake of her day?
    The jangling crescendoed. The muffled thud of horse hooves in the mud stopped and she could feel the great animals towering over her. Every inch of her body protested as she rolled over and recognized Samson and Ash, her matched bays. Her buggy. And Clay Dayton staring down at her, his arms crossed on his knobby knee.
    He’d bought her team? He’d been the one to approach the bank? Rage fueled her, streaming into her blood as she climbed to her feet and out of the road. Mud and worse sluicing down her chin and staining her bodice, she hiked her chin higher when she realized Dayton was looking entertained from behind the transparent rain curtains. Her rain curtains.
    Not anymore, Rayna.
    It hit her then, seeing Dayton on her buggy seat, driving her team. All of it was now his. This was the way it was going to go, losing everything in small pieces, bit after bit after bit until nothing remained.
    No, that wasn’t quite true. She would be left with everything that was more important than any house or any buggy. She would have her sons. Her sons. She loved them with every fiber of her being, and she was deeply lucky to have the boys in her life.
    Gratitude washed through her and she found it easier to find the strength she needed to keep going. To wish Mr. Dayton a good day as he passed, the wheels splashing mud droplets on the hem of her coat and dress. She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket that was onlyslightly wet and washed the sludge off her face the best she could.
    Now to get home and get to her housework. She’d go through her closets and dressers. Divide up Kol’s things to donate to the church or for things she could cut down for Kirk.
    Then she would divvy up her pantry of preserved goods between her best friends and offer her cooking utensils and kettles to Katelyn, the new neighbor down the road she had befriended. As a newlywed, Katelyn would be in need of various household items.
    Yes, that would be a help, to start clearing out her house as soon as possible. She’d sell what she couldn’t pack—as far as she could tell there were encumbrances on her fine furniture. Then she would be ready to move when Kol’s brother replied to her letter with an invitation to come.
    Or, rather, she hoped Kol’s brother would be the family member to offer them shelter.
    There was no way around the bankruptcy. Not with the entire crop of wheat destroyed. How was she to tell the boys? Lord knows they had it hard enough. They would be leaving their friends and schoolmates behind to start over in a new town with children who were strangers to them and as guests in a different household—
    The splash and plod of what sounded like a double team of draft horses and the clatter of an empty wagon had her checking over her shoulder. She saw a man on the seat, his wide frame obscured by the bulk of a raincoat. His Stetson was pulled low against the rain and hid his face from her view, but she’d know those working man’s shoulders anywhere.
    Was it just her lucky day or did it have to be Daniel Lindsay coming her way? Her clothes, her face, her smell. Oh, she reeked of a cow barn. She wiped a hank of