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

Chapter Three

Elizabeth awoke in darkness to the clang of pots and pans and the mouth-watering aroma of frying bacon. Stiff and sore, she gingerly rolled to her side to check on the baby. The surge of energy she’d experienced immediately following the birth had plummeted soon after. A rare fatigue had overcome her, sapping her of strength and leaving her weak and listless.

Barely able to keep her eyes open, she’d mustered just enough energy to change out of her ruined dress with Jo’s assistance. Her legs had proven too weak to hold her weight, so Mr. Elder had assisted her onto the bed. Silent and flushed red from his neck to his ears, he’d lifted her with treasured care.

He’d lingered to help Jo change the linens and tidy up the room, both of them waging a hushed, muttering war on the proper way to accomplish even the most minuscule task. Each time the Ranger had chanced a glance at Elizabeth, his cheeks had darkened to such a deep crimson, she’d feared he would burst into flames.

After ensuring the newborn was settled, a gown lovingly drawn over her body and crocheted yellow booties covering her feet, Elizabeth’s two helpers had left mother and daughter alone in the hushed glow and hiss of kerosene lamps.

The infant had nursed voraciously, then stretched and yawned before falling into the peaceful slumber afforded only the very young, and the very old. Cocooned in a blanket of serene contentment, Elizabeth had been reluctant to surrender her gift from God. She’d dozed off with the infant cradled in her arms, her daughter’s gentle breath whispering against her neck.

Swaddled tightly, the baby now rested beside the bed in a drawer Jo had extracted from the dresser and lined with blankets. Sighing, Elizabeth extended her hand over the edge of the mattress. She brushed the backs of her fingers over the supple, downy softness of the baby’s cheek, then buried them in the shock of dark hair covering her head.

“How did I create something so perfect? So beautiful?” she whispered. “Thank you, Lord, for this is Your work.”

Her heart swelled. Now more than ever, she needed to be strong. The awesome burden of responsibility weighed upon Elizabeth alone. Her daughter’s survival in this wild, untamed land was at the mercy of her mother’s courage. The prairie was brutal, especially for women and children.

Elizabeth glanced toward the darkened window, the glass panes frosted over like sugared candy. A tangle of memories pulled her into the past.

Her first month in Kansas, she’d stumbled between a cow and her calf. The animal had butted her to the ground, knocking the wind from her lungs. Will had been angry at her carelessness, chastising her for coming between a mother and her offspring. Elizabeth finally understood his warning.

The changes in her life over such a short time threatened to overwhelm her. In one short year, she’d been a wife, a widow and a mother. Last November she’d married Will after a three-week-long whirlwind courtship in New York and moved West. Three months later she was pregnant and three months after that Will was dead. The entire year had brought her full circle to this new life.

She might not know anything about raising children, but she loved her daughter already, had loved her since that first moment she’d felt the baby stirring in her womb. She’d die to save her child.

A child who currently had no name.

Elizabeth pressed her numb hands against cheeks burning with shame. How could she have been so thoughtless? She’d fallen asleep without naming her baby.

A vague memory took shape, Mr. Elder leaning over the infant, running his index finger reverently over the baby’s cheek. “We’ll name you tomorrow,” he’d said. “When your mother has rested.”

Gracious. Not only had she failed to name her child, she’d abandoned poor Jo to deal with the Ranger, alone.

So much for courage and fortitude.

She’d abandoned those dearest to her to fend for themselves—while she slept.

A lump of regret clogged her throat. “Oh, baby,” Elizabeth sighed. “What a mother you have.”

She caught the sounds of someone puttering in the kitchen, whistling a merry tune. Perhaps she was being too hard on herself. Nothing awful could have happened for Jo to be so cheerful. With the baby nestled snuggly in her makeshift bed, and Jo busy in the kitchen, no one had suffered unduly for Elizabeth’s absence. After all, she’d just delivered a baby. An exhausting task, to be sure.

As for their uninvited guest, considering the late hour, Mr. Elder was probably long gone. Once a man wanted to leave, no one could stop him. She wouldn’t be surprised if he was halfway to Texas already.

A twinge of loss stirred up her turbulent emotions. She recalled the way he’d held her hand, the encouraging words he’d murmured. How odd to think she’d never see him again.

She pressed a fist against her mouth to stifle uncontrollable sobs, alarmed by her inability to hold back the tears. She never cried, ever. Not when her father had died, not when she’d been escorted to the orphanage by two somber nuns while her mother looked on, not even when Will had left her for good. Yet over the past few days she’d been nothing but a watering pot.

Determined to quell the flood of emotion, she swiped at her cheeks. Weak women did not survive. Her baby was depending on her. She’d had enough trouble after Will’s death, she couldn’t let down her guard.

Heavy footsteps approached the door. A tentative knock sounded. “Are you all right?” a male voice called.

Her heart flipped. She absently smoothed her hair and tugged her heavy wrapper higher over her neck. Why was Mr. Elder still here? Had the weather changed for the worse? Had something happened to Jo?

She lifted the baby from her cozy nest, and cradled the bundle against her chest. “I’ll be right out,” she called, unable to disguise the quiver in her voice.

The infant’s cupid-bow mouth opened and closed in a yawn, her tongue working. Elizabeth pressed her cheek against the baby’s forehead, willing herself to be strong. Tears escaped her tightly clenched eyes, dripping down her cheeks. Frightened by her lack of control, she bit her lip. Another telling sob slipped out.

The doorknob rattled. “You don’t sound all right.”

A long pause followed while Elizabeth struggled to find her voice.

The door opened a crack. “I hope you’re decent, because I’m coming in.”

Mr. Elder swung the door wider, his gaze searching the room, his lips set in hard line.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded.

“Nothing.”

Elizabeth sniffled.

His fierce expression turned hesitant. He crossed his arms over his chest, then dropped them nervously to his sides before finally planting his burly fists on his hips. “I’ll just be going then.”

He reached for the exit, his feet still rooted to the floor.

She sniffled again.

One hand clinging to the doorknob, he sighed heavily. “If nothing’s wrong, why are you crying?”

Tears dripped onto the baby’s forehead, startling the infant. Sleepy eyes blinked open, catching Elizabeth’s gaze. She stared into their depths, caught in the dark and mysterious vortex, fascinated. It was like looking at an old soul in a new body. “My baby doesn’t have a name.”

“Is that all? I thought something bad had happened.”

“Well,” she huffed. “I wouldn’t expect a man to understand. A good mother would never fall asleep without seeing to her child first. I left Jo all alone with you and…and…” A fresh wave of tears spilled down her cheeks. “This poor child has been on this earth all afternoon, without a name.”

His gaze swung between her and the baby as if he was puzzling out a great problem. “It’s not like she understands the difference.”

“Oh, you, you…” Elizabeth fumed. “I cannot say anything nice to you, so I am not going to say anything at all.”

She clenched her teeth to prevent a torrent of angry words, so resentful, she wanted to lash out.

“No need to upset yourself.” Mr. Elder hovered in the doorway like a wild-eyed buck poised for flight. “It shouldn’t be too difficult to name a baby. Did you and your husband have any names picked out?”

Elizabeth choked back another sob. The only thing Will had ever called their child was a “nuisance.” He’d ridden away the day after he’d discovered she was pregnant.

Her blood turned to ice. What if the child found out she was unloved by her father? Unwanted? Everyone deserved to be loved. All children deserved a name.

She cradled her daughter protectively against her chest. No one knew the truth about Will, and she’d keep it that way. Certainly plenty of people suspected her late husband of cheating at cards, and not a few had grown suspicious of his shallow, jovial smile. But no one knew his true character. He’d saved that part of himself for the people he no longer needed to impress. Like his wife.

Elizabeth had a safe, peaceful home now, and nothing else mattered. Not even an insensitive lawman. She canted a sideways glance at the baffled Ranger.

Mr. Elder hesitantly straddled the threshold—one foot in the room, one foot in the kitchen—as if he couldn’t quite commit to his escape.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “There are some beautiful names in the Bible. Rebecca, Mary. And, uh, some more I can’t think of right now.”

The infant stretched out a single, tiny hand. Her five perfect fingers opened to the world. Love shimmered in Elizabeth’s chest. Instantly calmed, she stared in wonder, awed by this exquisite, fragile human being God had entrusted to her. This miracle of life.

“There’s Rachel,” Mr. Elder continued. “And—”

“Wait,” Elizabeth cut into his mumbled list. “Rachel.” She liked the way it sounded, the way the syllables rolled off her tongue. “This is my daughter, Rachel.”

The name fit.

Peace settled over Elizabeth like a down comforter on a cold winter’s night. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He leaned forward to peer at the baby, still keeping his body half in, half out of the room. “You can always settle on a middle name later.”

Her heart sank.

His stricken gaze darted to her face. “You don’t need to make a decision now.”

“I guess not.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “Glad that’s settled.”

“Don’t let me keep you,” Elizabeth muttered.

Mr. Elder groaned. Pulling his foot into the room, he leaned one elbow on the chest of drawers, then rested his chin on his fisted hand. “What was your mother’s name?”

Elizabeth conjured up the one hazy memory she had clung to all these years. She pictured a blond-haired woman with kind, sad eyes. For ten years Elizabeth had clung to her anger and betrayal. Why had her mother relinquished her only child to an orphanage? Why hadn’t she fought harder for Elizabeth? Perhaps it was time for forgiveness. How proud her mother would have been of her first grandchild. Right then, Elizabeth felt as if she could forgive anything. Even Will.

“Rose,” she said. “My mother’s name was Rose.”

“Rachel Rose.” He smiled, his teeth even and white against rugged, wind-chapped skin. “That sounds like the perfect name for a little girl.” He turned on his heel to leave, then paused. “Are you hungry?”

Her stomach rumbled. In all the confusion she hadn’t eaten all day. “Starving.”

He chuckled, threading his fingers through his dark wavy hair, ruffling the neatly cut strands.

A sense of foreboding wiped the half grin from her lips. She’d never again trust a man who spent more time at the barber than he did with his own family. She’d learned that lesson the hard way with Will.

The Ranger smoothed his hair back into place. “I thought you’d be hungry. I’ll fix you a plate.”

“I’ll help you.” Scooting her legs to the side of the bed, she winced as her tender muscles screamed in protest.

“Don’t get up,” he admonished. “I’ll bring supper to you.”

His casual declaration kept her frozen for a long moment. Her eyes narrowed on his face. Was he sincere? Save for a hint of beard shadowing his jaw, Mr. Elder appeared as fresh and crisp as a spring crocus. He wore his dark gray shirt tucked into his trousers, his leather vest neatly buttoned, the gun holster conspicuously absent. Before she could protest, he ducked back into the kitchen.

“Wait,” Elizabeth called. “Where’s Jo?”

“She’s in the barn, doing chores.” He stuck his head around the corner. “That’s one tough young’un.’”

“I didn’t think you two were getting along so well.”

“She’s awfully opinionated for a youngster. But I’ll let it pass since she took such good care of you. A lot of grown men don’t have that kind of grit.” He fisted his hand on the door frame, his head bent, his gaze fastened on the toe of his boot. “Are you sure you’re all right? It’s been a rough day.”

A hint of blush tinged his handsome face, the scratch on his cheek from his barn escape barely visible. Elizabeth suppressed a grin. She found his awkward attempt to inquire about her health painfully endearing.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I’d like to think it’s been a day full of blessings.”

He exhaled a pent-up breath. “Yes, it has.”

With a parting nod he disappeared again, taking with him the strange tension she felt in his presence. Bemused, she stared at the empty space he’d occupied. Though a large man, he carried himself with an easy grace. His gestures were spare and clipped, but he managed to speak volumes with his brief answers.

Her stomach rumbled into her musings.

She brushed her nose against Rachel’s. “This should be a novel experience. Most men aren’t interested in fetching and carrying for a lady unless they’re courting. And we certainly aren’t courting.”

Elizabeth wanted to be annoyed with her frailty—she’d just declared her independence, after all—but the hunger gnawing at her stomach silenced her protests.

After pressing her cheek against Rachel’s smooth forehead, she laid the baby on the bed. Twisting, Elizabeth fluffed the pillows behind her, sank her hands into the mattress and shimmied backward until she sat up straight.

She cradled her daughter in her palms. Rachel cooed, the sound no louder than the purr of a kitten. Tiny fingers worked in the air. Elizabeth kissed all ten tips, captivated by the miniature oval nails. She’d never seen anything so small, so absolutely flawless.

She inhaled Rachel’s sweet essence, her heart swelling until she was sure it would burst right out of her chest. She’d been adrift for months, unsure of the future, and afraid to face the past. With Rachel, everything felt right. The way God had intended.

Mr. Elder returned a moment later with a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and a platter overflowing with food in the other.

“I can’t eat all that!” Elizabeth laughed.

“You might be surprised.”

Despite her protest, her gaze searched the plate, her mouth watering. He’d heaped a great mound of eggs next to a hearty slab of bacon. An enormous hunk of generously buttered bread balanced on the edge.

Worry dampened her enthusiasm. If this was what he had prepared for Elizabeth, how much had he eaten already? “Have you and Jo had supper?”

Purchasing more supplies didn’t worry her. She had plenty of cash. Following Will’s death, the somber undertaker had marched up to the house in his navy blue suit, his bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows drawn into a fierce scowl. He’d slapped a fat wad of bills he’d discovered in Will’s saddle bags into her limp hands. As if begrudging her the virtue of his honorable gesture, the disagreeable man had whirled and stomped away.

Money definitely wasn’t the problem. It was the trip to town that had her stomach in knots. Traveling to Cimarron Springs meant facing the people who resented Will, even after his death. The people whose money and property he’d won in card games. The people who thought Will was a cheat. She’d felt the hot sting of their accusations as she’d run her errands on previous visits. The way the ladies had sniffed and swept their skirts aside when she passed, as if afraid of being tainted by association, was painfully burned into her memory.

Even the sheriff, a man who’d shared more than one raucous evening with Will, had accused her husband of being a cheat. He’d even threatened to seize her homestead if he discovered proof.

“I had a tin of beans earlier,” Mr. Elder said, startling her from her gloomy thoughts.

Elizabeth blinked. “Wherever did you find those?”

“I packed them from town. I didn’t want to deplete your food supply,” he spoke matter-of-factly. “The weather has let up, but you never can tell in this part of the country. You’ve got enough to worry about without a full-grown man eating your winter supply. Might be a long season.”

“Oh, yes, of course. I didn’t think… .”

Confounded by Mr. Elder’s kindness, Elizabeth placed Rachel in the makeshift crib while he patiently held her supper. She accepted the plate from his outstretched hand. Their fingers brushed together. The dark hairs on the backs of his knuckles felt rough and foreign against her calloused fingers.

He set the mug on the nightstand. “Anything else you need?”

Surprised to note her quickened pulse, Elizabeth shook her head.

He gestured in Rachel’s direction. “She appears to be healthy and all. No worse for wear.”

“She’s perfect.” That same warm light shimmered around Elizabeth’s heart. “Would you like to hold her?”

He shook his head, backing up so quickly his hip slammed against the dresser. “I’ll pass.”

With a curt nod at Rachel, he strode out of the room.

Elizabeth glanced around the room. Was something burning? Certainly a big, strong man like Mr. Elder wasn’t frightened of a baby. Something else must have spooked him.

She shrugged off the Ranger’s odd behavior and returned her attention to supper. The nutty aroma of fresh-brewed coffee wafted from the night table, mingling perfectly with the scent of freshly toasted bread. She speared a hearty chunk of bacon, her taste buds dancing in anticipation. Chewing slowly, she savored the spicy, salt-cured meat.

An unexpected stab of guilt dampened her enthusiasm. She felt as if she should apologize to Mr. Elder. But for what? For assuming he’d eat her food? It wasn’t as if she’d actually accused him of anything. Still, no matter the circumstances, her lack of tolerance was unacceptable. So far, he’d been nothing but kind.

Her thoughts drifted back to the only other man who’d ever showed her the least hint of kindness. Hadn’t Will started out in a similar fashion? She’d been sweeping snow from the walk outside the bakery where she worked in New York when he’d tipped his hat at her while strolling by. The gesture had stunned her. She couldn’t recall a time when anyone had actually noticed her, much less acknowledged her with a greeting.

When he came back the following day, he’d called her “ma’am” and smiled so wide she’d blushed. By day three, she found herself jumping each time the bell chimed over the door, hoping he’d return. All day she waited, only to be disappointed. When she’d turned the closed sign for the evening, she found him lounging against the lamppost, his thumbs hooked in his pockets. Three weeks later they were married and on a train bound for Kansas.

He’d cared for her in the beginning, showering her with gifts and attention as if she were a shiny new toy. But after the novelty had worn off, he’d changed. Elizabeth was certain that the Ranger was no different. He’d reveal his true colors soon enough, and this time she wouldn’t be taken by surprise.

Elizabeth attacked her food with a new vigor. Considering her appalling display of blubbering this afternoon, she must work harder than ever to prove her independence. In order to survive, she had to be strong. More than just blizzards and Indians threatened her home, and she had to be prepared.

* * *

Jack sucked in a lungful of frosty air, then kicked another enormous stump into place. Two days had passed during his self-imposed exile on the widow’s homestead. Two days of letting the outlaw’s trail grow colder. He stepped back, swinging the ancient ax he’d found rusting near the wood pile high over his head.

Exhaling a vaporous breath, he swung the tool in a neat arc, burying the blade three-inches deep into the dry wood. Repeating the motion, he circled the stump, kicking fallen pieces back into place until he had a satisfying jumble of split wood. His shoulder aching, he rolled another stump into position.

The physical labor, the satisfying crack of the blade, cleared his thoughts. The pile grew taller, but he didn’t slow his pace. Driven by a need to accomplish a useful task, he forged ahead. Someone had already cut the smaller branches. The pie-shaped pieces were neatly stacked in a long, sturdy wall covered in oilcloth and mounded over with snow. But the unwieldy stumps had been heaped together to rot, wasted.

Jack didn’t like waste.

The work put him in control, gave him a sense of pride and accomplishment. He swung the ax until his biceps burned and sweat trickled down his collar, until Elizabeth’s screams of pain during childbirth stopped ringing in his ears.

He knew she was fine, but he couldn’t shake his impotent rage at his own helplessness. He’d borne that same weight on his shoulders staring down at his sister-in-law’s prone body. Doreen had done nothing wrong. She’d been running her errands when she’d arrived at the bank on the wrong day, at the wrong time. She’d walked right into an armed robbery, and the outlaws had shot her. The senselessness of the act had shaken Jack’s faith, making him question God’s plan. Why Doreen?

The dark-haired beauty had married his older brother when Jack was barely sixteen. When he’d decided to join the Texas Rangers instead of working the ranch like his older brothers, she’d been the only member of the family to support his decision.

After the shooting, he’d let his emotions overtake his good sense. When an enraged posse had tracked down a man named Bud Shaw and declared him guilty, Jack had gone along for the ride. Even when every instinct in his body told him the man was innocent. During the following weeks, he’d split his time between the family ranch and a Paris, Texas, jail. Questioning the imprisoned man at length had only cemented his doubts. There were two Bud Shaws roaming the central plains, and the man rotting in jail, waiting for his own hanging, was innocent.

Jack had pulled every favor owed to him by the local judge to buy the wrongly convicted man half a year’s clemency. Three long months had passed since then. Every day without locating the real outlaw weighed heavy on his conscience.

His nieces and nephews deserved justice—but so did the innocent man sitting in jail. The one decent lead Jack had followed had led him to this isolated homestead in the middle of nowhere. Dawdling here wasn’t going to bring justice for anyone. Jack had lingered over the widow and her newborn long enough. He was party to a grave injustice, and he couldn’t rest until he set it straight.

He slid the last stump into place. Squinting at the horizon, he wiped the sweat from his brow with his leather-clad hand. The day looked to be overcast, but clear and calm all the same. If he left in the next hour, he’d be back in Cimarron Springs by lunch. His hands tingled with expectation. The familiar anticipation of embarking on another journey focused him, chasing away his lingering unrest. He had a goal, a purpose.

The widow and her child were none of his concern. Jo’s family, the McCoys, would see to her well-being. Besides, a pretty woman was never alone for long in this part of the country.

The ax missed its target.

Jack windmilled his free hand, managing to right himself just before he tumbled into the woodpile. Straightening, he darted his gaze to the house. No mocking faces appeared in the square windowpanes. Satisfied his gaff had gone unnoticed, he slung the blade over his shoulder.

“Guess that about does it,” he muttered to himself.

With his thoughts focused on the multitude of tasks to accomplish before his journey, he barely noticed the frigid, knee-deep snow on his trek to the barn. He’d saddle up Midnight, say his goodbyes and be gone. Simple as that.

A rare thread of regret tugged at his heart. He forcibly pushed aside the nagging concern. Mrs. Cole had survived this long on her own, there was no need to think she needed his assistance. He was a lawman, not a nursemaid. He had a job to do.

Jack slid open the barn door, relieved to find the cavernous space empty. He inhaled the pungent aroma of hay and feed. The scent reminded him of home, of his youth. He’d grown up mucking out barns, working from dawn till dusk on his family’s cattle ranch. The familiar sights and sounds released an unwelcome longing to work with hands, to build something lasting, to recapture the camaraderie he’d once shared with his brothers.

Chickens clucked and a cow lowed. Midnight, one of two horses in the four stalls, whinnied.

A sound outside the usual barnyard racket caught his attention. Jack paused, tilting his head to one side as he heard it again. He recognized that sound all right.

His jubilant mood fled. Someone was crying. Not the pained howling of a body in agony, but a quiet whimper of despair.

Jack groaned. There was only one person on the homestead who’d hide in a stall rather than cry out in the open. Determined to slink away before he got sucked into another emotional conversation, he backed to the door. He’d already dealt with one weeping female this week. His problem-solving skills were limited to things he could shoot or arrest.

He had one hand on the door when another faint sniffle doused his annoyance. Compassion for Jo dragged his feet to a halt. The code of honor ingrained in him as a child reared its ugly head. He pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose. He’d tackle this one last obstacle, and then he’d leave. After all, he’d comforted Elizabeth.

He was practically an expert on women now.