Читать книгу Winning the Widow's Heart - Sherri Shackelford - Страница 11

Chapter Two

The pain let up just as quickly as it had begun. Stunned by the intensity of the last contraction, Elizabeth panted. Each time she assumed the agony had peaked, another violent spasm proved her wrong.

A hopeless sob caught in her throat. She wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, amazed at how quickly her body swung between chilling cold and suffocating heat.

She needed help. She needed to stop blubbering and pull herself off the floor. Mostly though, she needed her mother to be alive, holding her hand and easing this devastating fear.

Elizabeth struggled to form a plan, but her brain refused to function properly. Her thoughts flitted from subject to subject until the torturous pain demanded her undivided attention.

Through the haze of her agitation, the rear door banged open. Surprised Mr. Elder had returned so soon, Elizabeth craned her neck to peer around the corner. She’d seen the panicky look in his eyes at her condition earlier. Once he realized the increasing gravity of the situation, he’d saddle his horse and ride away as if a pack of wolves was nipping at his heels.

She shifted to press her palms against the floor. Her brief marriage had taught her one thing about men—they had a tendency to stay when they should go, and go when they should stay. Her arms collapsed like wet noodles beneath her weight.

Rallying her strength, she stretched to brace her hand against the dresser. This inability to force her body to respond frightened her as much as the pending birth. She had to be stronger. After all, she didn’t need a man’s dubious help. She’d survived for months without any assistance. She’d survive another day. The eminent desertion of one Texas Ranger was the least of her worries. The weak attempt to comfort herself failed miserably.

“Mrs. Cole,” a familiar voice shouted.

Relief swept over Elizabeth like the first warm breeze of spring. “Jo,” she called back. Here was the help she had prayed for. “I’m in the bedroom.”

The young McCoy daughter burst into the room with her usual boisterous energy. Her frantic gaze swept across the bed. Elizabeth waved a limp hand from her wilted position near the dresser to catch the girl’s attention. Jo’s eyes widened at the sight of her employer slumped at her feet.

“What happened?” Jo demanded. “Did that man hurt you?” The girl knelt, whipping off her scruffy hat to reveal two long, serviceable braids. “Don’t you worry none. I locked him in the barn.”

“Oh, dear.” Elizabeth struggled to sit up straighter. A band of steel wrapped around her abdomen like a vice. The pressure consumed her, blocking out all thoughts of the trapped Ranger. “It’s the baby,” she gasped.

“Is that all?” Jo flashed a crooked grin. “Don’t you worry, Mrs. Cole. I told you at least a hundred times that I’ve helped my ma deliver plenty of babies. You don’t understand ’cuz you’re from back East, but most folks around these parts don’t cotton to no doctor.”

Elizabeth bore down on the pain, clenching her jaw against the agony. Jo checked her progress, then squeezed her hand. “The baby’s dropped, Mrs. Cole, but I’m pretty sure you still have a ways to go.”

“Are you certain?” Elizabeth choked out.

“Pretty sure.”

The contraction eased, releasing the aching tightness around Elizabeth’s belly. She drew in a shaky breath. “I guess we’ll have to muddle through this together for a bit.”

“I knew there was something wrong earlier.” Jo shot her a black look. “Why didn’t you say you were hurting?”

“I didn’t know—” Elizabeth stopped herself before she told a lie. Of course she’d realized something was wrong. Knowing Jo would sense her distress, Elizabeth had fought to hide her growing discomfort. The girl was more perceptive than most people twice her age. “I didn’t want to worry your mother. You said she wasn’t feeling well.”

A shadow darkened Jo’s bright green eyes. At fourteen, Jo was the oldest of five children, and the only girl. Awash in a sea of males, she’d taken to dressing and acting like a boy herself. She’d been helping Elizabeth with the chores since Will’s death six months ago.

Elizabeth trusted the girl’s ability to help until they unlocked Mr. Elder and sent him to fetch Jo’s mother. “That man you—”

“I couldn’t go home, anyway,” Jo interrupted, her voice thick with emotion. “Pa shooed me away at the gate. There’s influenza in the house. The town’s had five deaths already. If Ma dies, I’m all Pa’s got to take care of the little ones.”

A sound of distress caught in Elizabeth’s throat. Concern for the McCoys overshadowed her own worries. “Your family will be fine, Jo. I’m sure. Your mother is a strong woman.”

Elizabeth wanted to offer more words of comfort, but another contraction robbed her of speech. An eternity later she gasped, “Oh, my, that hurts.”

“I know.” Jo patted her hand. “It’s going to get worse before it gets better. Mrs. Parker hollered so loud, my ears rang for a week. ’Bout squeezed my hand off, too.”

Horrifying images of Mrs. Parker’s suffering flooded Elizabeth’s thoughts. They were alone. With the storm raging, and the nearest farm quarantined, no help was coming. “Perhaps we could save these stories for another time?”

“Oh, right.” Jo flicked her head in a quick nod. “What is it Ma’s always saying?” She snapped her fingers. “I remember now. She distracts ’em by talking, and telling ’em to concentrate on that beautiful baby they’re bringing into the world.”

“That’s better.”

“Hey, remember all those clothes we sewed this fall?”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “You’re the worst seamstress in the county. I sewed all those clothes while you complained you were dying from boredom. You’d rather be out shooting game than threading a needle.”

“See? You’re doing better already.” Jo sat back on her heels. “Now deliver this baby so we can decide what to do about that man I locked in the barn.”

“I’m a Texas Ranger.”

Jo gasped at the intrusion. Hands fisted, she twisted to block Elizabeth while keeping her defiant gaze fixed on the Ranger.

Slanting a glance upward, Elizabeth found Mr. Elder filling the doorway and looking madder than a wet hen. His coat was torn at the shoulder, and an angry scratch slashed across his cheek.

Gracious. This day just kept going from bad to worse.

“He’s a lawman all right,” Elizabeth replied, restraining Jo with a limp hand to her forearm.

The girl relaxed her stance. “How’d you get out of the barn?”

“Just you never mind, missy.” He plucked a length of straw from his hair. “What’s going on in here?”

“Are you touched in the head, Ranger?” Jo flung out a hand. “Can’t you see she’s having a baby?”

“Imprisoning a lawman can get you the firing squad.”

“You don’t look imprisoned to me.”

Elizabeth shouted as suffocating pressure bore down on her pelvis. The two combatants fell silent, their identical shamefaced expressions almost comical. She panted through the contraction, ignoring the accusatory glares they shot at each other over her head. Silent now, Jack knelt at her side, a concerned frown puckering his brow.

When the pain eased, Elizabeth flashed the younger girl a reassuring smile. “I hope this doesn’t take much longer. I was hoping to start another batch of bread later.”

Given the girl’s pitying smile in return, her joke had fallen on deaf ears. Too exhausted to care, Elizabeth rested her head against the wall to stare at the ceiling.

She’d thought she was capable of delivering a child without collapsing like a fragile greenhorn, but the endless cycles of pain had sapped her strength. Recriminations for her own foolish behavior rattled her composure. Why hadn’t she thought to send Jo into town earlier? Instead, she’d dawdled over her chores, thinking she had weeks to prepare. Without Mrs. McCoy or the doctor, she and the younger girl were going to have to deliver this child alone.

Elizabeth turned to Jack. Regrets were a luxury she couldn’t afford. “You can go now. We’ll be fine.”

Jo’s head snapped up. “Not on your life. I need a pan of water and linens. As long as we’ve got ourselves a real, live Texas Ranger, we might as well put him to good use.”

Elizabeth held up her hand in protest. Lawmen asked too many questions.

Mr. Elder rose to his feet. “I’ve got whiskey in my saddle bags for the—”

“Wait.” Fear pierced Elizabeth’s heart. “You won’t bring whiskey into this house.”

“Ma says it keeps the baby from getting dysentery,” Jo added softly. “I need it to clean my hands.”

Elizabeth sensed pity in the girl’s eyes, but she brushed aside the feeling. How could Jo know about Will? Elizabeth had confided in no one.

“Can we get Mrs. Cole onto the bed?” the Ranger asked.

“No!” Elizabeth cried.

Every nerve in her body bore down on the pain. Desperate for the agony to end, she didn’t want to be jostled or moved. The contractions were coming closer together, giving her less and less time to recover before the next increasingly agonizing spasm.

Her energy waned with each pain. The months following Will’s death had been filled with turmoil, leaving her little chance to concentrate on the pending birth. Her shock and grief, her fear, had drowned out all thoughts of the future.

When the nagging backache from this morning had grown worse, she’d refused to heed the signs. As if, with the baby growing in her womb, her dreams were still possible. She’d pictured her future with a loving husband and half a dozen children running underfoot. The hopeful plans for her new life and a growing family had dwindled. She was a widow, alone and vulnerable.

“Mrs. Cole.” Jack touched her shoulder, his voice filled with compassion. “Your baby needs you to be strong.”

Elizabeth grimaced against another contraction. A salty tear caught on the corner of her mouth. The weakness shamed her, but she was exhausted from maintaining her rigid composure. It was time she faced the harsh reality of her circumstances. Women died in childbirth all the time.

She’d never ducked away from a difficult choice and she wasn’t about to start now. “Promise me something, Mr. Elder.”

Apprehension widened his eyes.

Elizabeth didn’t know anything about the Ranger, didn’t know if she could trust him, but she sensed a quiet determination behind his wary gaze. Unlike the local sheriff, he appeared to be bound by a code of ethics. While most men were only interested in their own pleasure, Mr. Elder’s job forced him to take the needs of others into consideration.

She clasped his hand, comforted by the hard calluses covering his palm. Will’s hands had been soft and smooth. The disparity gave her hope. Perhaps this man was different from her late husband. “Mr. Elder, if something happens to me, you’ll see that my baby is raised by a real family. Don’t let my child grow up in an orphanage.”

He blanched. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “You’re going to be fine, Mrs. Cole.”

“Prom—”

The Ranger held up his free hand to quiet her protests. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

Jo scowled. “Never mind him. My ma can take the baby.”

Elizabeth shook her head. Mrs. McCoy worked harder than ten men combined. She ran her household on a budget barely fit for a pauper. Heaven knew the overtaxed woman didn’t need an additional burden. Not to mention the time and cost of rearing another child.

“JoBeth McCoy,” Elizabeth scolded, “your mother has enough to worry about with five children at home. She doesn’t need another mouth to feed.”

Jo ducked her head, silently acknowledging the truth. Another violent cramp hardened Elizabeth’s belly. She panted, clutching the Ranger’s hand.

When the contraction eased, Mr. Elder refused to meet her pleading gaze.

She was pushing him, a stranger, to make a difficult promise. Even if he agreed, she would never know whether or not he had fulfilled his pledge. Despite the uncertainty, she needed him to say the words. She needed to clutch a glimmer of hope for her baby’s future.

She wanted a better life for her child. “Promise me.”

Jack turned. His hazel eyes shined in the dim light. “I promise.”

His assurance released the floodgates of her emotions. She sobbed through another searing contraction, the most powerful yet. Black dots collected at the edges of her vision, growing larger. The room clouded. Voices came to her from a great distance, as if she were tumbling down a well. Down, down, down to a place where there was no pain, no loss, just darkness.

“Please, God,” she whispered. “Save my baby.”

* * *

Cold panic tore at Jack’s insides. “Wake up, Elizabeth,” he ordered.

He clasped her chin in his hand, humbled by the fragile bones. She was so delicate, so young to be facing this pain. Beneath his touch, her head rolled limply to one side. Her glazed eyes slowly cleared. His heart soared as dawning recognition focused her attention. She was still too pale, but a faint blush of color had infused the apples of her cheeks.

She drew in a breath, her shoulders rising and falling with the effort. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her pale blue eyes had lost their luster.

“I can’t do this,” she sobbed.

“You’re doing real good. It’s almost over.”

He said the words out loud, though he didn’t fully believe them in his heart. There were no certainties for anyone. With only the two of them to assist her, if something went wrong, they were lost.

Alarmed to find his heart beating like a stampeding bull, he pressed the widow’s hand to his chest, sharing his strength. His emotional reaction startled him. He’d paced the floor with his brothers, but not a one of his sister-in-laws’ births had affected him this way.

Jack squared his shoulders. He was immune to suffering. He’d seen plenty of people die, men and women both. He’d buried children, marking their graves with rough wooden crosses or crude piles of stones. Nothing moved him anymore.

A shrill cry shocked him from his stupor. He swiped at his forehead with the back of his hand. He’d never felt so helpless. He was sweating as much as the widow now. All the comforting words he’d spoken to his brothers while their wives were in labor came back to haunt him. He blinked the perspiration from his eyes. What a bunch of inadequate nonsense.

Humiliated to be at the mercy of a prickly girl who couldn’t be more than fourteen, he gave Jo a pleading look.

She met his gaze, her face revealing nothing. “The baby’s head is crowning. I’ll need a pan of water and some fresh linens.”

He hesitated to leave the women alone.

“Sometime today, Ranger!”

Jack stumbled to his feet, clumsy and out of his element. He rushed to gather the supplies, grateful for something to do besides worry.

He fled to the kitchen and gingerly tossed the contents of a sturdy creamware bowl out the back door. His fellow Rangers often chided him on his cool, collected demeanor, saying icicles ran through his veins instead of blood. They’d eat their words to see him now. Returning to the sink, he pumped the lever arm to prime the well, his hands stiff and uncoordinated.

After filling the bowl, he pawed through his saddle bags, searching for the whiskey. Fear strummed through his body with each of Elizabeth’s jagged cries. He yanked a handful of linens from the side cupboard, sending the rest of the neat stack tumbling to the floor. His arms full, he returned to the bedroom, then knelt beside the perspiring widow.

Jo glanced up. “Scoot in behind her and help her brace when she pushes. This baby’s a might stubborn.”

Beseeching him with her eyes, Elizabeth jerked her head in a nod. Her silent plea humbled him. She looked on him as if he might actually soothe her pain—as if he was something more than a giant lump of useless male. For a moment, he wanted to be everything she needed.

Jack snorted softly to himself.

Who was he fooling? He was about as much use in this situation as a handbrake on a canoe. He rubbed his damp palms against his pants’ legs, wishing he’d never followed those bank robbers out of Texas. Wishing he’d stayed in town. Wishing that potbellied sheriff had directed him anywhere but here. Even as the traitorous thoughts filled his brain, he helped Elizabeth sit up, his work-roughened hand dwarfing her slim shoulder. He slid one leg behind her back, bracing his boot against the dresser as he hunkered down.

The pungent smell of alcohol stung his nostrils. Jo rubbed the whiskey on her hands, then wiped them clean with a dry cloth. The girl’s fingers trembled, but she managed a wobbly smile. “When the next pain comes, I want you to push as hard as you can.”

For a moment Jack didn’t know who was more frightened—the widow, the kid or him. Like a battalion of warriors mustering for war, the three of them nodded in unison.

Elizabeth clasped his hand in a now-familiar gesture. He cradled her against his chest, willing his strength to infuse her exhausted body. Her blond hair had tumbled loose from its bun, catching on his coat buttons. He carefully untangled the strands, then brushed the silky locks aside.

“You know how to pray, Ranger?” Jo asked.

This time he didn’t hesitate. “Dear Lord, if you’re looking down on us, now would be a good time for some help.”

“Amen,” JoBeth murmured.

Elizabeth’s body stiffened.

“You’re almost there,” he soothed. “You can do this, Elizabeth. You’re almost done.”

Curling forward, she squeezed his hand, her whole body straining with effort. Her agonizing shout of pain ripped through him like a bullet.

“Oh, my goodness,” Jo cried. “It’s a girl. It’s a girl, Mrs. Cole! You have a beautiful girl.”

Following her announcement, a heavy silence filled the room. Jack waited, hearing nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat thundering in his ears. Jo carefully wiped the child dry with a towel. Her worried gaze met his over Elizabeth’s head. At the stricken message in her eyes, his heart seized.

The bundle squirmed. A lusty squall exploded from the infant, startling them all into relieved laughter.

Jo carefully placed the baby on Elizabeth’s chest. The widow cradled her bellowing child, laughing and crying at the same time. “She’s so beautiful.” Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder, catching his gaze. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

His eyes stung. He cleared his throat, recalling all the times he’d teased his older brothers for their weeping and wailing every time a niece or nephew was born. He’d never understood the vulnerable emotions those wet, froglike creatures inspired. Seeing Elizabeth’s joy, her newborn, the miracle of life where there once was none, something in his chest shifted.

“Yes,” he said, his voice husky. “She’s beautiful.”

While the two women laughed, awkwardly hugging each other over the baby, the walls crowded in around him. The air in the room turned dank and suffocating. His nerves tingled, warning him of an attack. He needed to escape.

This time, though, he feared the danger rested within his own heart.