ROMANCE: MAIL ORDER BRIDE: The Other Man’s Baby (A Clean Christian Historical Western) (New Adult Inspirational Pregnancy Romance)

by Joyce Wright

  Jack doused the lamp. Winters didn’t last. Maybe the spring would be better.

  She was a somber little thing, Jack noticed, but she’d smiled at the wedding, a smile that pulled at his heartstrings, when he spoke his vows in a strong, confident voice. The Rev. Montgomery had heeded Lizzie’s warning and the service was as meaningful as if it had taken place in a cathedral. Eldora tossed her bouquet to Clara, a fellow member of the sorority of pleasure ladies and they all shrieked with laughter at the idea of a wedding in the offing for one of the Drink Deep girls. Big Jim introduced himself to Etta, folding her tiny hands in his giant palms and promising her that if Jack gave her any trouble, she had only to tell him and Big Jim would set him straight.

  That little gal had looked Big Jim straight in the eye and said, “Mr. Carruthers is a man of honor and I will strive to be a wife worthy of him.” Even Lizzie brushed away a tear at that declaration. Jack felt a lump in his throat and as he lifted her into the wagon and wrapped a blanket around her to keep her warm on the cold January night, he wondered what had happened to a girl who plainly had no vice in her.

  The winds were swirling madly with the promise of more snow, and the horses kept a slow pace, the wind smarting their eyes. Jack and Etta, bent over in the wagon as the snow began to fall, didn’t bother to talk when there was no likelihood that either would be heard. Jack was relieved when they reached the cabin. Although it wasn’t yet evening, the skies were already dark.

  He carried her into the cabin, lifting her in his arms as if she were weightless and bringing her inside, then going back out to return with her trunk. She didn’t have much.

  Etta Carruthers looked round the cabin with those enormous dark eyes as if she were beholding a castle.

  “I’ll get a fire going. You’d best get out of those wet clothes and into dry; that snow has soaked us both.”

  He said nothing as he led her to the bedroom. There was only the one bed, of course. He’d made the room as comfortable as a man could hope to do; he’d bought bright red woolen blankets from the general store and he’d hired Eugenie, one of Lizzie’s girls, to make curtains out of cheerful yellow fabric. Rugs by the side of the bed would give some protection from the cold for bare feet in the morning. There were hooks on the wall for their clothing. He’d indulged in a full-length mirror that stood against the wall; he had thought it would be something that a lady would require. It was probably not what she was used to back in Oklahoma, but Jack had shored up the drafts and there was a fireplace in all three rooms. He’d even added a privy to the cabin, building it against the far wall so that no one needed to go outside for calls of nature.

  “I’ll make a pot of coffee and get you warmed up.”

  But Etta had taken off her winter cloak and hung it on a hook to dry. “I can make coffee,” she said. “You should change your clothes first. You’re far wetter than I am.”

  “Miss Etta, you need to get out of those things. You have to think of that baby.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. Hastily, Jack brought out his handkerchief and dried them. “Miss Etta, just get into something warm while I build up the fire and make us coffee.”

  When she came into the kitchen, she was wearing a simple dark brown skirt and a linen blouse. Her damp hair hung loose upon her shoulders. She approached the fire where Jack had the coffee brewing, and held her hands out to the warmth. “I can make us something to eat,” she offered, “if you’re hungry.”

  “Lizzie wouldn’t let us leave until we’d emptied two plates,” he said. “She sent us home with food for tomorrow. I’ll go change and the coffee should be ready by the time I’m back.”

  Chapter Four

  Back in the bedroom, he doffed his wet clothes and long underwear, putting on his second pair, along with dry trousers and a shirt, clean socks and his boots. He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror and he stopped to consider his image, wondering what Etta thought of him.

  He figured that he looked pretty much like any other cowboy. Long and lean, no prince, that was for sure, with muscles that came from hard work and broad shoulders that were used to burdens. He came from a long line of ginger-headed Carruthers and his hair looked like he’d started to rust from the top, he thought. He had blue eyes that stared back at the world without anything to regret; he’d done his deeds and made his mistakes but he figured that God would consider the circumstances. He needed a shave, although he was pleased to note that his auburn mustache, his one vanity, gave him a look of resolve. He was as he was; men didn’t move to Texas because they were sought as husbands by Eastern belles.

  When he returned to the kitchen, Etta was mixing up something in a bowl. “I thought you might like biscuits,” she said. “You have a well-supplied kitchen, Mr. Carruthers. There’s plenty of food here.”

  “We did a lot of butchering this fall and there’s plenty of salted and smoked meat to get us through the winter. There won’t be any trouble keeping the butter and eggs fresh, not with the temperatures this cold, as long as the chickens lay. The storehouse is mighty cold; you should have sent me out there to fetch what you needed.”

  “I was curious,” she admitted, showing the smile that flitted across her face so quickly that he thought he must be imagining it.

  He smiled back. He didn’t realize that his face, which was normally stern in appearance, eased when he smiled and softened the severity of his features. Etta noticed that he had high cheekbones and when he smiled, they soared with amusement high upon his face. His blue eyes, which had seemed to be unfathomable when she first met him, now showed a kindness that she had not expected. His mustache was magnificent, thick and full over his upper lip, and curving down like a stage curtain around his mouth. He was quite tall, so tall that she had to tilt her head to look up at him; when he’d lifted her and carried her into the cabin, she had realized his strength and she thought that it would be a comfort, if her circumstances had been otherwise, to be in love with such a man, to rest her head against his broad chest and know that here was someone who would never lay a hand to her or use his physical advantage against her.

  But thoughts of love were not for women such as she and it was of no consequence that what had happened had not been of her will. A sin was a sin and she owed this man who had married her, knowing what he knew, her utter loyalty and service. He would not regret his decision to marry her, even if she was a fallen woman.

  She baked the biscuits in the Dutch oven and poured him a second cup of coffee before he realized that his cup was empty. When he thanked her, she showed surprise.

  “Don’t you think Texas men have manners?” he teased.

  “No, I mean—I didn’t know.”

  “Sounds like you’re not used to being thanked,” he said.

  Those dark eyes filled with tears. “I am not used to kindness, Mr. Carruthers.”

  “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  “Someday. Not on my wedding day.”

  The wind continued to moan like outside the walls of the cabin like it was in mourning. He could see the snow piling up beyond the windows as drifts, misshapen and bulging, took form upon the landscape. He wondered how many more cattle would be gone by morning.

  “Fair enough,” he said.

  The biscuits were good; he had two of them, smeared with marmalade that he’d bought from the general store. Etta said that she would make her own preserves in the summer if that would be all right.

  “Fine by me, but you might be a tad busy come summer,” he pointed out. “When is this baby due?”

  Etta looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “Must we talk about it today?” she begged.

  “Not, not if it troubles you, but eventually we will have to.”

  “But not today.”

  “No.”

  Etta shivered. “That wind sounds like it’s coming out of a desolate place,” she said.

  “We’ve never had a winter like this in Texas, not to my recollection, and I’ve been here nigh on eight years
.”

  “It’s bad in Oklahoma, too. I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to leave for the weather.”

  He had a feeling that there was more to be said, but he let it rest. “Do you like to sing?” he asked.

  Her face lighted. “I dearly love singing. Why?”

  “I play guitar, and it seems that it might be a good way to drown out that wind if you’ll join me in a few tunes.”

  The smile lingered longer than a few seconds this time. “I would like that very much.”

  He banked the fire in the kitchen and built up the one in the parlor, sitting on the bench that he’d made and letting her have the rocking chair that he’d bought from settlers heading west. He strummed the beginning notes of Oh, Susanna on the guitar and Etta quickly joined in. He’d taught himself to play to pass the time on the trail and soothe the cattle, but he’d never played for someone with a voice as pure as Etta’s. It was as if her voice were an instrument of its own.

  It was fully dark and the snow had stopped by the time Jack recalled the time. He put his guitar down. “Another night,” he said. “It’s well past bedtime.”

  She was silent. “Miss Etta,” he said quietly. “Although we’re married, I’m not going to be a husband to you in that way until you’re comfortable in your own mind.” He didn’t add that the thought of trespassing upon her body when another man had already done so went against his grain.

  The cabin was dimly lit and he could not read her expression. There was only the one bedroom and the one bed; it would be shared but it would not be a marriage bed. It was the best that they could do.

  They undressed in darkness, neither inclined to linger because of the cold. Jack took extra blankets from the chest and layered them upon the bed. January was not starting out well, he reflected, aware of the woman beside him, not sleeping either, as silent as he was, and both of them as silent as the snow that had fallen outside. What would become of them, Jack wondered, during these long months of waiting for another man’s offspring to be born? How long could he rein himself in when his wife was sleeping beside him? He must have been loco to have listened to Lizzie and allow himself to feel sorry for a girl who, however unfortunate her situation, was not the wife he had expected.

  Jack rolled over on his side, facing away from Etta and the temptation that would only cause them both suffering because it could not be satisfied.

  Chapter Five

  As he had expected, the snow had taken the lives of more cattle. He met Big Jim at the corral early the following morning and gave him the news.

  “At this rate, there won’t be a herd left. It’s the same for every cattle rancher; this winter will make us all bankrupt. There’s not a damn thing we can do about it except hope that we outlast the winter. You know, Jack, I never thought I’d want to live anywhere but Texas but between the droughts, the stampedes and now this, I sure don’t know why.”

  “Texas tells a man whether he measures up,” Jack said. “I reckon that we all feel that if we can make our living out here with nothing but grit, we can hold our heads up high.”

  “Maybe. Maybe we’re fools.”

  Jack inclined his head in acknowledgment. “But we could be fools anywhere. This way, living in Texas, we’ve made the choice of where our foolishness will be.”

  Big Jim laughed. “Reckon that’s so, too. Can’t say it’s much comfort to me, but I can’t argue it. Say, how’s that wife of yours? Is she settling in all right?”

  “Fine. She said Oklahoma is having the same winter we are.”

  “You must have gone to a fortune teller, knowing to fix up the cabin before this winter. Most years wouldn’t have made a lot of difference, but this one does.”

  “Yep. That new roof makes it pretty snug inside. Not having to go outside for the privy is a lot less miserable now, too. It’s not fancy, but having it connected to the house is easier. I think, if it’s all right with you, that next fall I’ll build a passageway to the storehouse so that it’s easier to get to and has shelter.”

  “Do what you want. That little wife of yours is pretty as a picture but she looks as if a twister would blow her away.”

  “A twister would blow most of us away, Jim. I hope that after this winter, we don’t have a wild spring and summer. I’d like weather to settle down and get the madness over with.” Jack didn’t want to get entangled in a personal conversation about Etta and his ploy worked, bringing Big Jim back to the subject of the winter that was devastating the ranches and their cattle.

  Just a few days ago, his life had seemed like it was heading out on a road he knew. He’d get married and settle down to a family; he’d save up his money so that he could buy a herd and a ranch. Now, nothing was certain. His wife was bearing the child of another man, but she wouldn’t tell him what had happened and in the meantime, he and Etta were sleeping in a bed as if they were lodgers sharing a hotel room. The drought summer and the snow-killing winter made ranching look like a mighty risky venture for someone who wanted to make his own way in the world in the business.

  He didn’t feel much like talking that night at supper. Etta served the food that Lizzie had sent with them after the wedding and he ate without tasting what was on his plate. Several times, she attempted to start a conversation but his answers were short and after a time, she stopped trying. The house which had been so cozy last night when they were singing songs felt as if the outside cold had permeated the walls.

  “I’m tired,” he said, pushing away his plate. “Reckon I’ll turn in early.”

  “Good night,” she said softly as he left the table.

  It was no lie that he was tired; the hard winter cold seemed to settle into his bones, making him feel as if he’d worked a week in one day. Cattle ranching wasn’t meant to be an easy life but there had never been a year like this, when it seemed to drain the youth and spirit from a man. All those dead, frozen cattle . . .

  It was several hours later when he heard the door open and Etta entered the room. He feigned sleep, but as he heard the sound of her dress falling to the floor, followed by the soft whisper of the folds of her nightgown as she readied herself for bed, he felt his body tighten against the swell of desire that gripped him.

  The mattress shifted as she got under the covers. Her presence seemed to occupy more space than her diminutive body actually took up in the bed. If they were truly married, he’d have turned over and reached for her and she’d have been willing. Instead, the distance between them was as much a barrier as if there were a wall separating them.

  It was still dark when he arose the next morning. He wasn’t hungry and didn’t want company for breakfast so he left without eating, without even making coffee. Snow had fallen overnight, a thick layer of white that covered the ground and the walkways. Jack’s long legs had no trouble stepping through it and his boots kept his feet dry. Since Etta wasn’t going to be heading out anywhere, he’d leave the shoveling until he returned for lunch.

  More cattle trapped and frozen by the snow. Doyle Blake had packed up his saddle and left; speculation was that he left before he was the first one to be let go since he had been the last one hired. How many of the cowboys would be left by spring, Jack wondered. And what would happen to the ones who decided to leave? Cowboys without work sometimes turned to rustling; it was a bad end but a man didn’t always measure the consequences when his pockets were empty and all he had to his name were a horse, a saddle and a gun.

  He’d been young once, maybe just as reckless. Now he was settled, more or less, and he wasn’t leaving until Big Jim said he didn’t need him anymore. It would have been easier if his only woes were the weather and what it meant for his livelihood. But he had Etta. There’d be a child, not that there were signs of it yet, although he had no way of knowing; he’d never seen her except covered.

  Jack cracked the ice covering the creek so that the cattle who were standing at the edge could drink. He went down the length of the stream, slamming his pick into the shelf of ice until it br
oke apart. The cattle moved slowly to the water, numb with cold and almost to the point where they didn’t care if they were thirsty or not. When it got this cold, it was too much effort to try to be warm. Living took energy and when that energy was sapped, life didn’t seem worth the bother.

  He couldn’t sleep in the same bed with her any more. He’d sleep in the parlor. Desire had gripped him so forcefully last night that it had taken all his willpower not to turn around and touch her. That, he knew, he could not do. Whatever had happened in Oklahoma hadn’t left her, and it wasn’t just the baby that had been left inside her. She had memories, dark ones, he could tell. He didn’t know what they were and she didn’t seem willing to tell him. But he wasn’t going to add to them.

  Chapter Six

  Jack headed back to the cabin for lunch. He noticed that a pathway had been shoveled from the door and his first reaction was anger. She shouldn’t have done that; he’d have seen to it when he got back. He hadn’t done so because he hadn’t expected her to venture outside.

  He entered the cabin and was instantly enveloped in the aroma of something cooking. Etta was at the fireplace, stirring a pot with smooth, measured strokes. She smiled at him.

  He didn’t smile back. “You shouldn’t be shoveling,” he said.

  Her smile faded. “I fed the chickens and brought in the eggs.”

  “It would have waited for me.”

  “I was here and you were gone and it’s no more than I’m used to doing,” she said.

  “You could hurt yourself.”

  “You mean I could hurt the baby,” she retorted. “I told you that I won’t be a burden to you. I’m grateful to you for marrying me and I’m going to hold up my end of the bargain.”