High Plains Wife. Jillian Hart

a joy,” Betsy corrected. “A pleasure.”

      “Oh, yes, it’s that.” Rayna nodded, blushing. “Oh, the pleasure.”

      “You two, I’m shocked at you. To think I call such lusty, indecent women my friends.” Laughing, too, Mariah grabbed the bread plates from Rayna, stacked them on top of the china she already had and marched toward the dining room, pushing through the glass door.

      Really. They were talking about intimacy, and as embarrassed as Mariah was, she was more curious.

      “Me? Indecent?” Rayna blushed harder. “Why, I should hope so.”

      “That is what I miss most about being married.” Betsy sighed with longing, the fondness in her voice unmistakable. “Charlie was a thoughtful man. Oh, and so tender. As much as I miss him, I miss that tenderness with a man. That intimacy.”

      Mariah set the plates on the lace-covered table, alone, listening to her friends in the other room, voices low, talking of marriage with such fondness. Remembering how thrilling it had felt to be held in Nick’s arms, snug against his chest, made her wish for the first time that she knew what her friends were talking about. What true intimacy with a man felt like. Was it that wonderful? Was it special to be so loved?

      Yes, it was. Why wouldn’t it be? Longing filled her so sharp and sweet, tugged at the cold edge of her heart like spring’s first sunshine on frozen tundra. What she would give to know that wonder. To be treasured and held like that. To have Nick hold her in that special way.

      He doesn’t want you, Mariah. Nick would marry someone else, just as he had last time, and the man she’d loved forever would be out of her reach. The same man that her father had sent away when she was young and halfway pretty, when she’d had a chance of being loved.

      Now that chance was gone for good. Mariah could see her reflection in the mirror over the fireplace. She didn’t like what she saw. Hers was the stark, unhappy face of a woman who looked older than her years.

      That’s not me, she thought. It couldn’t possibly be.

      But it was. Time had changed her on the outside. There was no doubt about it. She couldn’t go backward. She really didn’t want to. It’s just that… She sighed. The longing within her was the sixteen-year-old schoolgirl she used to be, who had never stopped loving Nick Gray.

      I hope his new bride, whoever she may be, makes him happy. He deserves that. And his beautiful little girl, with those wonderful gold curls tangled and falling everywhere, she deserved a kind mother. Mariah ached, remembering the child. Remembering how hard Georgie’s small fingers had held tight with a mountain of determination. So fragile and dear and amazing.