Muttering something she only half heard, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the buggy. As he laid her on the wide seat and fumbled with his belt, a sudden awareness jolted her. This was what he’d meant to do all along.
“Mason—” She began to struggle. “I thought we were only going to kiss—not this—”
He leaned over her, his face darkened by shadow. “It’s all right, Hanna. When two people love each other, this is what they do. It’ll be wonderful, you’ll see.”
“But—”
His kiss muffled the rest of her words, his tongue thrusting deep, his breath hot against her flesh as he pushed between her legs, giving her no chance to resist. Hanna felt his thrust go hard and deep. When he broke through, it hurt so much that she cried out.
He chuckled. “There, sweetness, it’s all right. The worst is over. You’ve just become a woman. Now the fun can start.”
But the raw pain continued, hurting every time he pushed into her. And the pain was more than just physical. By the time he grunted, moaned, and pulled away, she was in tears. What had she done?
He leaned over and kissed her again, tenderly this time. “I’m sorry if it hurt, dearest. The next time will be better, I promise. I love you, Hanna. But right now it’s time to get you home before you’re missed.”
Mason had to help her onto the mare. She rode away without looking back, wet, sore, and blazing with shame. She should have known that Mason Dollarhide only wanted one thing. But silly, romantic fool that she was, she had let him reel her in like a hooked fish, with pretty words and kisses. She’d learned her lesson, but she’d paid a terrible price for it. She felt used. And the gift she’d saved to give her husband on their wedding night was gone forever.
Furious with herself, she dug her heels into the mare’s sides and rode home at a gallop. Only as she sighted the homestead, silent and undisturbed in the moonlight, did she slow to a walk.
At the edge of the yard, she dropped to the ground and led the mare into the shed. The two draft horses were dozing. They nickered softly as Hanna removed the bridle and loosed the mare into her stall.
Turning away, she released her breath in a broken exhalation. At least she’d made it home safely, without waking her family. All she had to do now was rinse her legs and face at the water barrel and steal into the house. If anyone woke up then, she could tell them she’d gone to the privy.
“Where have you been, Hanna?” Alvar stepped out of the shadows, startling her. His gaze took in her disheveled hair, her tear-streaked face, and the way her nightgown hung off one shoulder. “I don’t want to get you in trouble. I promise I won’t tell our parents. But whatever’s happened, don’t think you have to carry it alone.”
As she gazed up at him, reading the concern and brotherly love in his face, something broke loose inside her.
“Oh, Alvar, I’ve been such a fool!” She collapsed, weeping, against his chest.
* * *
By the first week of September, the mornings had taken on a chill. On the ranches, the fall roundup had begun. Cowhands who’d hung around town complaining about the lack of work were employed once more, rounding up cattle on the ranges, sorting them, and branding any that had been missed last spring or had shown up as strays. Cattle to be sold would be herded to the loading pens in Miles City, then prodded up chutes and into railroad cars bound for the Chicago stockyards.
There was other activity as well. The rush to get shanties and outbuildings fortified and construction done before cold weather set in had spawned an urgent demand for lumber. The crew at the sawmill was working from first light until dusk. In anticipation, Blake had ordered extra wagonloads of logs brought in and one more rail shipment of the bigger trees. Customers were hauling off the finished green boards almost as soon as they were cut. The premium cured lumber had long since sold out.
The business was doing so well that Blake planned to give his workers a handsome bonus at the end of the season, which would come when snow and cold slowed the demand for lumber and made any outdoor work an ordeal. If this fall’s weather was typical, he figured they had at least a month of good weather remaining. He planned to make the time profitable.
Needing a break, he wandered out of the long, open-sided shed that covered the saw workings and the finished lumber, and into the open yard where the uncut logs were stacked. The morning was clear and bright. Overhead, a flock of geese in a V formation winged south, their cries tinged with a strange sadness.
On the open pastureland that was part of the Dollarhide Ranch, the roundup was taking place, with Blake’s father in charge. Until this year, Blake had been there to help. But the sawmill had become a full-time job, and he couldn’t be in two places at once. Joe Dollarhide wasn’t as young as he’d once been, and his injured leg was still giving him pain, especially when he sat a horse. But he had a good crew of men who knew what to do. They would look out for him and make sure the work got done, Blake told himself.
A shout broke into his thoughts. “Boss! You’d better come quick!”
As Blake turned in the direction of the voice, he realized that he could no longer hear the saw. Racing back under the shed, he saw that something was wrong with the large log that was going through the blades. At some time in the past, an iron bar had been hammered partway into the tree—maybe to anchor a rope or tool. The saw blade had struck the bar at an angle, causing the log to splinter. The teeth of the lower blade were bent, but that was the least of Blake’s concerns. A man lay bleeding on the ground next to the splintered log. A shard of wood had been driven through his trousers and into his lower leg.
It was Alvar.
Alvar’s teeth were clenched against what must have been excruciating pain. Blood was oozing through his trousers where the wood had penetrated. He needed urgent help. But if the wood were simply pulled out, he could bleed to death. There was a new doctor in town, but he was apt to be out making calls. There was almost no chance of finding him and getting him here in time. Only one other person would know what to do—Blake’s mother, Sarah.
“Get him as comfortable as you can. Give him whiskey for the pain—Garrity should have some. I’m going for help.” Blake sprang onto his horse and set off at a gallop, out the front gate of the mill yard and up the road to the house.
Blake’s mother had never made it to medical school. But before Blake’s birth, she’d assisted her great-uncle, a doctor in Ogallala, Nebraska. The old man had taught her everything he knew. Although she didn’t have access to the more recent tools and medicines, she had the skills of a trained doctor coupled with a woman’s sensitivity. She still offered her services to her neighbors, especially as a midwife.
At the foot of the front steps, Blake vaulted off his horse and rushed inside the house. Kristin met him in the entry. “What is it?” she demanded.
“A man’s hurt at the mill. We need Mother to come.”
Kristin’s eyes widened in dismay. “She’s not here. She went to some kind of women’s meeting in town. She said she might stay for lunch.”
“What about you? I know you’ve been reading those old medical books of hers.”
“Yes, but I’ve never—”
“You have to come. You’re all we’ve got. Did she leave her medical bag?”