Lars had been helping a neighbor put up a fence, and he’d taken Axel along to fetch and carry. They came in hungry just as everything was ready. Alvar showed up so late that the rest of the family had finished and gone outside to sit in the cool twilight. His supper had been kept warm on the stove. As Hanna set the plate in front of him, he gave her a questioning look.
“Is everything all right, Hanna?” he asked in a low voice. “You look troubled.”
“I’m just tired. Everything’s fine,” she lied and turned away. Alvar had always been able to read her. They were closer than most brothers and sisters. But tonight she couldn’t tell him the truth—that a few hours from now, after the family was asleep, she was going to take his horse and ride across the pastures to be in a man’s arms.
While Alvar ate his supper, Hanna poured hot water into the dishpan, added a sliver of soap, and began washing the dishes. Questions, doubts, and fears gnawed at her resolve. But one certainty emerged. Mason struck her as a proud man. If she didn’t go to him tonight, there would be no second chance. Those wonderful feelings she’d known with him—the pounding of her heart, the racing of her blood, and the dizzying surge of her womanly response—could be lost forever.
Getting out of the house would be the hardest part. She would have to go to bed as usual. At night, she wore a light muslin gown over her chemise and drawers. She wouldn’t be able to put on anything else without rousing suspicion. She would have to go as she was. At least Axel and her sisters were sound sleepers, and her father’s snoring would drown out any small disturbance. Britta, who slept next to her, was accustomed to Hanna’s getting up and wandering outside when she couldn’t sleep, so that shouldn’t be a problem.
The aging dun mare Alvar had borrowed to ride to work was gentle. Saddling her would take too much time, but a bridle should be enough for the short ride.
Everything appeared to be in place. Still, as Hanna put the dishes back on the shelf, her hands shook so badly that she dropped a stack of tin plates. They clattered to the floor.
“What is it?” Alvar got up and slipped his plate into the water to be washed. “Something’s wrong—I can tell.”
Hanna bent to pick up the fallen plates. He crouched beside her to help. “Look at me, Hanna. Whatever it is, you know you can tell me.”
She met his earnest eyes—the bluest eyes of anyone in her family. Lying to her brother was like cutting her skin with a razor, but she couldn’t give him a true answer. “Sorry, I’ve got a headache, that’s all. Maybe too much sun today.”
“Get some rest. Let me know if you need to talk.” He stood and went outside.
She took the fallen plates from him, rinsed and dried them, and put them on the shelf. She would have to be extra careful tonight. Alvar could sense that she was up to something. He might even stay awake and stop her from leaving. For that matter, anyone in the house could wake up and end her adventure before it began.
But she needn’t have worried about her family. When the time came, all went as planned. Everyone in the shack was fast asleep, her father’s snores reverberating in the confined space. When Hanna eased away from her, Britta whimpered and stirred but settled back into sleep.
Alvar was still sleeping in the wagon. Outside, Hanna stole close enough to check on him. His eyes were closed, his breathing deep and even.
“Alvar,” she whispered, testing him. “Alvar, wake up.”
For a moment, she held her breath. But he didn’t stir.
Heart drumming, she turned away and raced to the shed. The ground was rough beneath the soles of her bare feet. Finding her shoes and putting them on would have increased the risk.
Nellie, the mare, was dozing in her stall. She didn’t fight the bridle as Hanna slipped it over her head, maneuvered the bit into her mouth, and secured the buckles. Mounting without a saddle gave her a moment’s pause. But with the help of an empty bucket, which she turned upside down and used as a step, she managed to scramble onto the mare’s back.
Hanna took a moment to catch her breath. She was about to betray every value her parents had instilled in her. But she was answering the call of her heart. How could that be wrong?
For the first few minutes she rode at a quiet walk. Only after her home was well out of hearing did she nudge the mare to a trot. The moon was nearly full, silvering the pale grass and illuminating the wagon tracks that led to another wheat farming settlement a few miles away. The warm August wind streamed through her hair, which she’d left loose tonight instead of braiding it for sleep as she usually did.
As she’d told Mason, she knew where to meet him. It was where this wagon trail crossed another one. A long-dead tree, with gnarled limbs that stuck out like arms and crude wooden direction signs nailed to it, marked the spot. It was just a short ride from her home. Still, she couldn’t help wondering why Mason would choose such an isolated setting—maybe because it was private, with no homes, no farms, no barking dogs. For a secret rendezvous, it was probably a sensible choice.
She was thinking about Mason, his arms around her, his kisses setting her on fire, when a chilling thought struck her.
What if he didn’t come?
What if she found herself alone at the crossroads, waiting for a man who, for whatever reason, wouldn’t be coming to meet her? She remembered the cowboys who would have raped her if Blake Dollarhide hadn’t happened along. Were they really gone? Could there be others like them prowling in the dark? If anything were to go wrong this time, Blake wouldn’t be there to save her.
Strange that she should think of Blake at a time like this.
But her fears fled as she saw the familiar outline of Mason’s buggy silhouetted hood-up against the moonlit sky. As she rode closer, she could see Mason, standing next to it. She halted the mare a few feet from the buggy, dropped the reins, slipped to the ground, and ran to his open arms.
He caught her against him, pressing her so close that she could feel his shirt buttons through her nightgown and shift. “Thank God you’re here.” His breath stirred her hair. “I was afraid you might not come.”
“Nothing could have kept me away.” She gazed up at him, feeling beautiful and wild. It was hard to believe that this elegant man, who could probably have any woman he wanted, had chosen her, a poor farm girl with nothing to offer except her heart.
“Kiss me,” she whispered, stretching on tiptoe.
His mouth came down on hers, hungry and possessive, tongue thrusting and seeking. His hands roamed her body, stroking her breasts and hips through the thin fabric, then finding their way beneath her shift to touch her skin.
She gasped as his palm slid up her spine, rounding the curve of her waist. Moving upward, he traced the edge of her breast with a fingertip. The ache that rose from the depths of her body was even more powerful than she remembered. But there was fear, too. No man had ever touched her like this—in ways that only a husband should touch her. This couldn’t be right.
“Mason—” She resisted slightly, pushing herself away.
His hand remained where it was. “You’re so beautiful, Hanna.” His breathing had roughened. “You’re a goddess. I want to worship every part of you.”
His palm captured her breast, stroking the nipple until it shrank and hardened like a berry. Waves of sweet-hot sensation coursed through her body. An inner voice whispered a warning. But the words were drowned out by the pounding of her heart. She was burning like a prairie fire, out of control.