Читать книгу Last Chance Bride - Jillian Hart - Страница 10

Chapter Three

Nothing in Libby’s life had ever prepared her for this heart-aching hope smoldering inside her chest. Like embers, she could feel that hope burn.

“We’re having a treat for dessert.” Emma’s voice rang like a merry bell in the hot air. “I’m not supposed to tell what it is because it’s a secret.”

“A secret dessert?” Libby repeated, enchanted.

Emma nodded. Excitement pinkened her cheeks. “We worked on it this morning to pass the time. Your stage didn’t come in until noon, and I couldn’t wait.”

“Neither could I.”

Emma clasped her hands together. “Jane and me made pie...ah, the dessert and then it was time to go meet you.”

Libby’s throat felt too full to speak.

“It’s even a secret from Pa,” the little girl confessed.

“That’s enough now, Emma,” Jacob circled around the wagon, his voice gently amused. “Don’t wear out Miss Hodges’ ear before we even get her inside the house.”

“Ah, Pa. How can I wear out her ear? Ears don’t wear out.”

“Yes they do. You know Grandpa can’t hear well.”

Emma laughed wholeheartedly. “That’s because he’s old.”

“It’s because you talked too much.”

They could be a family. Libby’s chest hurt just thinking of it.

“May I help you down?” Jacob offered his hand.

She slipped her bare fingers into his broad palm. Male-hot skin scorched hers. Libby swallowed at the sensation. He overwhelmed her like a dream, a hero, a fairy-tale prince come true. Her stomach twisted with a knot of need. She hadn’t been sick all day. Maybe it was all right. Maybe she could have her own happy ending.

Libby hopped to the ground, skirts swishing. She kicked up a small puff of dust with the impact of her worn shoes against the solid earth.

“I like your doll.”

At the sight of Emma’s shy, wistful face, Libby had no doubts. She had chosen her gift to the girl well. “This isn’t my doll.”

“She isn’t?” Hope shivered in those words.

“No. I made her.”

“You made her?” Her mouth opened into a round O.

“Yes. I chose everything carefully. The big blue button eyes. The brown yarn braids. The calico dress.”

“It’s red too. We match.”

“Yes. It’s a coincidence, isn’t it?”

Emma nodded solemnly, the puff of wind teasing her skirt. “Did you make her for me?”

“Yes.”

Emma didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t even breathe.

“She doesn’t have a name yet. I thought you might have a few ideas.” Libby stepped closer and pressed the gift against the girl’s chest. Immediately those reed thin arms embraced the rag doll, hugging her hard.

“Oh, thank you!” Now that Emma had found her voice, it vibrated with the deepest joy. “Pa, look! I have a real doll! Not just a wooden carving, but a real doll!”

“I see that, Emma.” Jacob’s eyes twinkled.

Emma squeezed her doll tightly. “Oh, I do hope you can stay with us.”

Silence.

Libby stared hard at the ruffle hemming her skirts. She could feel Jacob’s gaze on her, feel his silence.

“Well, now, Emma, you know we’ll just have to wait and see how things work out.” His words came gently, like a loving touch.

Libby’s eyes smarted. Maybe she wasn’t pregnant.

“Pa, Miss Hodges has to stay. Everything is going to be perfect. I just know it.”

Libby glanced up. Jacob pinned her with his hard, assessing gaze. Her heart kicked in her chest. If only he could understand.

“Dinner’s ready!” a woman’s voice called from the door, fracturing the tension strung as tight as a clothesline.

“Thanks, Jane.” Jacob snagged hold of the harness, turning his back to Libby. “I’ve got to take care of these horses. Emma, take Miss Hodges into the cabin.”

“Can I show her my room?”

Libby closed her eyes. She could feel dreams slipping between her fingers, impossible to grasp.

“Just don’t keep Jane waiting.” Jacob led the horses off, the buckboard rattling over the rocks and ruts in the yard.

“Jane made chicken pie.” Emma slipped her small hand inside Libby’s. “I helped her. I got to make the dough and everything.”

Libby stared down at the hand within hers, so small and trusting. “I bet it will be the best chicken pie I’ve ever had.”

“Jane put carrots and peas in it.” Emma led the way across the dusty front yard toward the snug cabin.

Heavens. Libby paused in the threshold, glancing about the pleasant room with its puncheon floors and log walls and simple furnishings. Emma bounced through the front room as if there were nothing special about the solid walls so carefully made and sealed tight against the winds. But to her...this cabin came right out of her dreams.

Libby belonged here. She could feel it. A tremble of joy shivered through her.

“It isn’t much.” Jacob’s voice startled her, and she spun around.

He could read the surprise on her face. She hadn’t heard him approach.

“Oh.” She placed a slender hand to her chest. “This is the most beautiful home. Did you build it yourself?”

“Yes. Felled the trees. Chinked the walls. It’s snug and it’s sturdy.” Pride simmered in his chest. No matter what she was, Elizabeth Hodges was a woman of simple tastes. He liked that.

“It’s so roomy and bright.” Her eyes shone not with greed or want, but with something deeper. “Why, with curtains at the windows and a rug on the floor, this would look like a picture in a book.”

He smiled. “I’m glad you think so.”

She confused him. He didn’t know if he wanted to marry a woman with a questionable reputation. Yet he liked her. She was soft and pretty. He suspected life had not been easy for her, a woman alone in the world.

“Pa, come on.” Emma crowded next to Elizabeth, grabbing hold of the woman’s capable hands. “Jane’s puttin’ supper on the table. I want to show Miss Hodges where to sit.”

Alone on the front step, Jacob watched his little girl drag Elizabeth away. It was best not to think of the future.

But as he glanced about his simple, adequate home, he noticed the polished furniture and the glistening windowpanes. Jane and Emma must have scrubbed the room from floor to ceiling hoping to make a good impression.

Now she stood at the table, patiently listening while Emma set her doll down in the chair by the window, as if to make the rag doll a part of the family. Elizabeth leaned down and meant to brush a strand of hair from Emma’s eyes but snatched back her hand, uncertain.

Jacob’s stomach tightened. He could see the goodness in her. He didn’t want to like her.

“Come sit down while it’s still hot,” Jane said, barreling around the corner with the potatoes steaming in a glass bowl.

He clomped across the room and pulled back his chair. Elizabeth looked so uncertain. She certainly wasn’t a bad woman. He had to give her the benefit of the doubt. “Go ahead and sit down. I’m wagering Emma has a chair all picked out for you.”

“She’s sittin’ beside me.” The girl beamed.

“I could have guessed that.” Jacob sat down in his chair.

Emma grabbed Elizabeth’s hand and showed her to the chair between them. The woman looked overwhelmed. She lifted her chin and happiness filled her eyes.

“This is all so wonderful,” she said in a voice as gentle as morning. “I’m just so grateful to be here.”

“I’m glad, too,” Emma chimed.

Guilt kicked Jacob like an ill-tempered mule. He’d not been fair to Elizabeth Hodges from the start. Promising her marriage when he never intended to love her. He’d dreaded her arrival, and if it hadn’t been for Emma, Elizabeth wouldn’t be sitting at his table right now, pregnant or not.

“I picked the beans fresh today.” Emma clutched the cut-glass bowl in both small hands. “You like beans, don’t you Miss Hodges?”

“I love them.” Delight shimmered in her eyes like sunlight playing in the creek.

He’d harbored so many worries. Would she be a decent woman? Would she be a loyal wife? A loving mother? They evaporated now like fog before sun.

“Pa bought these hair ribbons just for tonight,” Emma chattered. “They’re velvet. For a special occasion, Jane said.”

“Very fancy. The color makes you look very pretty.”

Emma beamed. “Tell me about the Indians. They ride their ponies bareback.”

“Yes, they do.”

Jacob could hardly swallow, and he stared down at his empty plate. He hadn’t dished up. Now, he wasn’t hungry. He reached for the bowl of beans Elizabeth passed to him. His fingers brushed hers, and in that instant of contact he raised his gaze. Their eyes met and held.

He had to start risking again, for Emma’s sake. His gut clenched. If only it wasn’t so hard. If only...

“I want to ride a pony wild in the meadows,” Emma’s voice broke between them. “Would you let me, Pa?”

“Not a chance.”

“I knew you were gonna say that.”

Unable to move, Libby sat perfectly still, her heart beating wildly like the wings of a grounded bird. Happiness threatened to fill her up so full she couldn’t breathe. The normal sounds of the meal—Emma’s fork scraping against her tin plate, the clink of the pan as Jacob dished up generous pieces of succulent chicken pie, the tinkle of water in the glasses amazed her. She’d never known a home like this, safe and cozy, so happy.

Emma asked questions about riding in the stage. Between mouthfuls of the good food, Libby answered the best she could. No, they didn’t meet any road agents on the trail. No, they didn’t get robbed. Yes, the teams of horses were pretty.

“You can see why my father went deaf,” Jacob mumbled.

“Pa!” Emma protested, laughing at the same time.

Happiness skidded down Libby’s spine like cool water, refreshing and sustaining. “I think I’m losing hearing in this one ear.”

Emma giggled.

“I told you, you talk too much,” Jacob teased.

Oh, no. Libby placed a hand on her stomach. The laughter slid from her mouth and she stood, fighting the abrupt twist of nausea rising in her stomach.

It couldn’t be. She knocked over her chair and bolted for the door. Tears blurred her vision as she pounded down the front steps, holding her skirts out of the way as she raced blindly around the house. A second twist of nausea roiled in her belly, and she tasted the acidic burn of bile.

She would not leave a mess in the yard.

The outhouse was a tidy, sturdy building just behind the cabin. Libby raced past the elderly woman’s surprised face, and flung open the privy’s simple door. She fell to her knees on the clean floorboards and leaned over the carved hole.

The contents of her stomach hurled violently up her throat, and Libby didn’t hold back her hot tears or her choking sobs. After three violent retches, her stomach was empty.

Exhausted and hopeless, Libby leaned against the wall and buried her face in her hands. There was no blaming this on travel sickness. She was pregnant.

“Are you all right, dear?”

Libby raised her face from her hands and turned to gaze up at the spry, time-weathered woman. A gentle understanding shone in Jane’s eyes.

“I will be fine,” Libby insisted, firming her chin. She climbed to her feet and dusted off her skirt.

“I only hope it wasn’t my cookin’,” Jane said lightly, although no humor shone in her eyes. “My Albert always used to say my cookin’ could rot a man’s gut.”

“No, it wasn’t your cooking, trust me.” Libby summoned up a polite smile.

“I see.” Sober eyes looked up into her own. “Well, now, Jacob’s here. I suppose you’ll be wantin’ to talk to him. Emma, come with me into the house and show me that new doll of yours.”

As the woman and small girl ambled off, Libby could feel the weight of Jacob’s gaze. The pain of what she had just lost speared through her like an Indian’s arrowhead. This couldn’t be happening.

He said nothing, and the silence stood between them as the weight of the night began to drain the webby light from the sky.

“I thought you said you weren’t sure.”

Holding the pieces of her heart, she managed an answer. “I wasn’t.”

The wind tugged at her skirts. An owl hooted from the high boughs of a nearby pine.

Pregnant. Jacob fisted his hands, wanting to will the truth away. He studied her pale face. His gaze swept downward. Her stomach looked so flat. She looked so fragile.

He glanced up to read the pain in her eyes and saw the broken pieces of her heart. He twisted away, marching out toward the stable, then stopped. Frustrated. Angry. He didn’t know what to do. “You lied to me. You came here tonight knowing your condition.”

“No, I wouldn’t do that to you. To Emma.”

“You had to know. Were you going to use me? Did you accept my offer to cover your own mistakes? To come here and pretend the bastard was mine?”

“Not exactly. I wasn’t sure—”

Anger flashed through him. “I’m not about to let you use me. Or Emma. She’s the reason you are here in the first place.”

“I never meant—”

“She needs a mother, not a lying woman of questionable reputation.” Jacob closed his eyes. It wasn’t fair. He was angry with himself. Angry for agreeing to find a mother for Emma. Angry for thinking such a plan would ever work.

“I’m sorry.” The words squeaked, broken by emotion. He looked at Elizabeth. He remembered the look of affection on her pretty oval face when she’d shown him the rag doll, remembered the way she’d almost brushed the curls from Emma’s eyes, and her loving manner as she joked with the girl.

Damn it. The loss was Emma’s. Elizabeth would have been the right mother. If only she hadn’t... He didn’t know what she’d done. If she was an innocent forced or went willingly with a lover. He didn’t know anything about the woman except she was going to break his little girl’s heart.

Damn her for doing this to Emma.

Elizabeth surprised him by bursting into tears and without another word, she simply walked away.

He watched her go.

“Where’s Miss Hodges?” Emma tugged at his shirtsleeve. Dust cast a blue-gray light over the world and shadowed her button face. “Is she all right? Jane is afraid her cooking made her sick.”

“Miss Hodges left.” An odd roaring echoed in his head.

“If she’s feelin’ better tomorrow, maybe she can come have some of that pie we made.” Emma’s face wrinkled with worry. “You like Miss Hodges, don’t you, Pa?”

Hope and adoration lit his daughter’s face. How did he disappoint her? Damn it, how could Elizabeth Hodges disappoint her? Jacob felt ready to explode. He forced the breath from his lungs in a long hiss. “No, Emma, I don’t like Miss Hodges.”

“You don’t?”

Jacob forced the hot rage from his chest. “No. She’s not going to stay. We’ll have to go about finding you another mother.”

“But she made me a doll!” Pain rang high in the girl’s voice.

“I know she did. But it’s not your decision.” Night was falling, in his heart and in the forest. “Go inside and finish your meal. Jane will put you to bed.”

The girl knew better than to cry. It wouldn’t get her what she wanted. Emma hung her head, a single sob escaping as she dashed toward the cabin.

Disappointment battered him. He couldn’t change Elizabeth’s situation. He couldn’t allow her to be Emma’s mother.

Relief slid through his chest, and Jacob sat down on the front stone steps. Truth be told, he was glad. He didn’t want another woman in his house to remind him of Mary. He didn’t want the sweet scent of a woman, her touches of softness and care anywhere in his life.

The coming night fell silently, and Jacob didn’t move. He watched the skies darken, stealing the last bit of light from the day. Owls screeched, bugs chirruped and bats circled harmlessly overhead, but nothing could penetrate the sadness in his heart.

For a moment, he let himself remember the dark, souldevouring despair that consumed him after Mary died in childbirth. He could not risk going through that again.