by Jillian Hart
But tears filled her eyes, stopping him.
He shouldn’t be thinking about her like that. He looked away, even as her voice tugged at him.
“I was born in a shanty like this. Not much bigger.”
Her voice whispered soft, low, remembering, drawing Jacob around in his chair. “My father worked for a plantation owner in Virginia before the war. He was gone often, working long and hard. When my mother died, I watched him wither inside a little more each day that passed. He couldn’t live without her.”
She lifted her right hand and traced a pattern on the smooth oak table. “That’s why I understand, Jacob. I’ve seen what losing a wife can do to a man.”
Like a blow to his breastbone, he gasped for breath. Sharp images pierced his heart, leaving him raw. He opened his mouth. No words came.
“I don’t blame you, Jacob. My father couldn’t take care of me. He couldn’t bear to. He said I had my mother’s eyes. That looking into my face was like being reminded of his loss anew.
“He asked my aunt to take care of me. It was hard for a little girl, losing her mother, then her father, her home, everything she knew. I went from a loving home to a house filled with anger and coldness. My aunt had several children, and I was only another mouth to feed.”
Jacob didn’t know what to say. He was no different. He’d been no better to his Emma.
“My uncle was a strict man. He made certain I earned my keep in their home, both on the farm and in the house. You see, my aunt thought my mother had ruined my father’s life. They feared I was just as selfish.”
Jacob realized the coldness, the harshness Elizabeth had endured. Her finger kept tracing patterns in the wood.
“Growing up, I was very restricted in what I could do. I was lucky enough to attend school for a while, but as my aunt had more children, I was needed to help make a living. When the war broke out, my uncle enlisted and they could not afford to keep me.”
Jacob closed his eyes. The war ruined many lives, took men who deserved to live when he had only wanted to die. “Where did you go?”
“I let a room in a boardinghouse and kept my job, sewing coats in a local factory. The long hours left me exhausted, but I didn’t have to walk back to the farm and put in a long evening of work. It was an improvement. Until the factory closed.”
Jacob watched fear flash over her face, reflecting the difficulty of a young woman alone in an uncertain world without family, without protection.
“I had to find work.” Her voice was so hollow, it haunted him. “I walked to the nearest city and secured work as a seamstress. Over the next two years I worked long hard hours to support myself, to keep a safe roof over my head and warm food in my stomach.”
She looked so vulnerable in her plain calico dress, sewn skillfully, but he could see the garment had been worn and washed and worn again across many years. There was much hardship Elizabeth wasn’t telling him.
“I answered an advertisement for work in Omaha. They needed skilled seamstresses, and they were paying so much money. I ended up traveling west, only to find too few jobs. I was lucky to secure a good-paying position in a tailor shop, basting and doing the finishing work. Arthur, the shop owner, he was a kind man and always smiling. I just thought...”
Elizabeth’s pain sliced through him. She sat so straight, he feared her spine might snap. Her jaw locked tight, her chin set straight. Pride. He could see how desperately she struggled to hold on to it. Jacob sensed pride meant a lot to her.
“I know I was wrong now.” Her finger stopped. “Oh. Jacob.” Tears filled her eyes, spilling down her face. Her thin shoulders bobbed. “I should have known a successful man would want nothing with a woman like me. He was so charming, so sincere. I was his only employee; we spent ten hours a day, six days a week together in his shop, sewing side by side as the winter winds blew through the board walls and the red-hot stove puffed out smoke.”
She took a deep breath. “We talked to fill the hours. I didn’t feel comfortable with him, the way I did with your letters. I felt woefully inadequate. I am so inexperienced around men, and I believed him when he said he cared more for me than anyone.”
A black rage roared through Jacob. He could see the situation. An innocent young girl, unaware of the way things were between men and women, and how the older, wiser man took advantage. Elizabeth was so damn innocent, it would have been no trick at all to deceive her.
“I never imagined he would feel that way. I didn’t love him—I wasn’t in love with him. But you were so far away and nothing but a fantasy, and he was a flesh-and-blood man who told me I was pretty, that he wanted to marry me.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks, glimmering like diamonds in the lantern’s glow. “I wanted to know what it was like to have a man love me, in the emotional sense. I didn’t know about the physical part. I didn’t know...”
Her lower lip trembled. “I didn’t know, and then I didn’t know how to stop him. He said if I loved him, I would let him, and I...I never said yes, but I didn’t say no. I didn’t say no, Jacob.”
She folded her hands, falling silent. He studied her slender fingers, work-reddened and rough. He remembered how she’d hesitated from touching Emma that day in the cabin. She’d grown up without affection, was so hungry for it she believed the first man who came along. Damn, but he was angry with her for being so innocent. And so very lonely.
“Then your letter came asking me to come visit you, to marry you. How could I say no to a dream, to a man I’d made fantasies about, to a man I wanted more than anything?”
“You slept with a man after I proposed to you?” He bit out the question.
“No, Jacob. But it didn’t matter. He’d grown tired of me anyway. His wife was coming out from back east. I didn’t know about the wife.”
“The wife?” A hard knot twisted in his chest. “You gave yourself to the first man who showed any interest in you—and he was married?”
“Jacob, I’m so sorry.” A sob tore through her. “I never thought...I didn’t know...I thought he...I-loved me.”
He didn’t want to understand. His heart felt raw, his entire body felt numb. Elizabeth covered her face with her hands and never made another sound.
He craved the feel of her against his chest, in his arms, tucked beneath his chin. Another part of him hurt at how easily tempted she’d been. How she betrayed him in her letters by never mentioning this part of her life, of her job, of the man who made promises he never intended to keep.
Not since Mary’s death had he been at such a loss. When he could have reached out, he stepped away.
Living again hurt like hell. He wanted to live again. Fear—of loss, of risk, of losing—held him back.
Jacob reached for the lantern. “Come. I’ll see you home.”
He held his heart tight as she followed him soundlessly, never saying another word.
The big moon spilled silver-white light on the quiet streets as Libby sat beside Jacob in his buckboard, heading home. She didn’t want to talk any more on what lay between them. Apparently neither did he.
He guided the horses with gentle sureness. “Pleasant night,” he said.
“It’s a beautiful night.” The stars, white as cotton and twinkling, never looked as big and close as in Montana. The spiraling pink of the Milky Way dusted the inky black sky and shimmered.
“Look. Northern lights.” Jacob eased the horses to a stop after turning off Main.
Libby lifted her face to the sky. Along the horizon’s north rim of trees and high mountain foothills snapped ribbons of luminous pink, streaking across the endless black sky.
It was wondrous. Libby held her breath. “I’ve never seen such a thing.”
“It’s caused by the earth’s magnetic poles,” Jacob said quietly. “I can see them from my cabin. Some nights I sit up late just to watch them.”
He knew so much. What would he want with an uneducated, unsophisticated woman like her? Maybe it was pity that drove him. She didn’t wa
nt his pity.
“I never had much time to watch stars,” Libby said. “I always had work to do.”
“The stars always give me hope.”
“Hope?”
He nodded. “There is so much strife on this earth, injustice and war. Everything in life changes, but these stars keep shining.”
It was strange, Libby thought, they shared much in common. Loss and hardship and the need to find hope. Jacob gripped the reins, and the bays responded instantly, drawing the buckboard down the dark street. An owl hooted, sweeping low on wide wings, hunting for mice.
The silence felt companionable. Don’t let it end, she wished even as the Faded Bloom eased into sight. He halted the horses. When she moved to hop down, he laid his hand over hers, stopping her.
His gaze caressed her face. “Let me help you.”
Her heart fluttered. She wanted his touch the way a prospector wanted gold. Some treasures were too precious to let go.
He circled around the buckboard and offered his hand. Moonlight dusted over him, illuminating the handsome angles of his face, his high forehead, strong nose, solid cheekbones. And the smile soft on his firm mouth.
Libby placed her hand in his, and he swept her to the ground. Her head spun. She felt intoxicated by his nearness.
“I guess I’ll see you in the morning,” he said, walking her to the door.
“Yes, tomorrow morning.” She’d forgotten her agreement to measure Emma. That’s how much Jacob unsettled her. “I’ll be ready.”
“Good.”
His voice rumbled low, shivering straight through her. She longed for more, for the feel of his strong arms, for the exciting brush of his mouth to hers.
But heavens, he thought her a loose woman. He was too fine a man, too noble and honorable to want a girl as foolish as she.
His fingers nudged her chin, lifting her face. His eyes looked so sad. His mouth so grim. He didn’t want her. Her whole heart threatened to crack.
Then he leaned forward, catching her lips with his. He tasted hot, faintly like coffee, the seductive sweep of his mouth coaxing sensations Libby had never felt Heat pooled in her belly, twisted through her spine. This was like nothing she’d known, not the coolness she’d felt with Arthur. This feeling, this power, could shatter her.
Heavens, she felt hot. Scorching heat rose up in a tide of need. Oh, how she wanted him. As if sensing her thoughts, Jacob enfolded her in his iron-strong arms, pressing her against the expanse of his chest He felt so good, her bones melted. His kiss intensified, deepened, and she gave herself up to him, helpless.
His kisses grew rough, but good. And so hot she couldn’t breathe.
Then, abruptly, he stepped away from her, shadowed, breathing deeply. Libby blinked. She could not think as a coolness slipped between them.
“Jacob?” Panic shivered through her. What had she done? “Y-you think I—I’m...that I always...” she couldn’t finish.
She thought of the small roundness of her belly. He must have felt it against him during their embrace. Was he thinking of it, too?
“I’m sorry, Elizabeth. I’m not ready for these feelings.” He stared at his hands. The breeze lifted his hair, mussing it. “I don’t know what I think.”
At least he was honest, Libby thought, the hope in her heart sinking.
She watched Jacob stride away. Don’t be a fool. When he felt ready to love again, it wouldn’t be to a woman like her. simple, plain and pregnant.
Chapter Eight
“Good morning, Elizabeth.” Jacob stood in the new morning sunshine on the Faded Bloom’s porch.
“Jacob.” He looked fine in a red flannel shirt and tan trousers. Too fine. Libby’s heartbeat doubled, and she lowered her eyes. Remember last night. “I see Emma’s waiting.”
“Miss Hodges! Miss Hodges!” Emma bounced on the wagon seat. “Pa let me ride into town to get you!”
Libby laughed. “You probably woke the entire block, but I’m so glad you came.”
“Me, too.”
She felt Jacob’s gaze on her, heavy and, she feared, condemning. What kind of woman did he think she was? “I brought my sewing box.” The wood grip felt familiar, comforting in her hand. “I’m ready to start work.”
Jacob tried to smile. “Then we’d best get going. I couldn’t leave Emma home alone. I didn’t think you’d mind if she joined us.”
“You know how I feel about Emma.”
He fingered the dark hat he clutched with both hands. “Yes, I know, Elizabeth. Believe me, I know.”
As his gaze pinned hers, the weight of last night, of her confession, of her bold behavior kissing him, heated her face.
But Jacob only held out his hand and offered to carry her sewing box. Something that looked like understanding glittered in his eyes, and Libby’s anxieties eased. He was such a fine gentleman. Such a gentle man.
When they pulled up to the snug log cabin tucked beneath the deep green boughs, Libby stilled her heart. This was Emma’s and Jacob’s home, nothing more.
“Here, let me help you.”
She glanced up, startled. She hadn’t heard him hop down from the halted buckboard, hadn’t seen him circle around. Now he stood beside her, holding out his hand, and the knowing weight of his gaze met hers.
Emma grabbed her hand, dragging her to the cabin, chattering all the way. She talked on about her new dress and how glad she was Libby would make it and asked if she’d had breakfast yet. Pa was going to make them all pancakes and eggs.
“Let’s go into my room,” the girl suggested, marching in the front door and through the cozy main room with its gray stone fireplace and hearth, with the smoothly varnished puncheon floors and the deep honey wood walls.
Libby dutifully followed the child to one of two doors on the far wall. Emma’s room was snug and cozy, just large enough for her small bed, neatly made, and a chest along one wall. A doll’s cradle fashioned from varnished wood sat on the small trunk holding Emma’s rag doll.
“See, she’s wearing the red dress you made and the little apron.” The girl carefully retrieved Beth from her cradle.
“She has velvet ribbons tied to the ends of her braids just like you.” Libby touched those soft lengths of plaited yarn.
“Pa bought them just for her from Mr. Ellington.” Emma gently laid the doll down in the snug cradle, nested with small rectangles of old flannel.
Jacob’s boots rang on the wood floor, and Libby looked up. His gaze caught hers through the open doorway. Her heart stopped beating.
“Would you like some breakfast?” he asked.
He warmed her like a fire on a cold day. “Yes, I would.”
He tipped off his hat and ambled out of sight. She could hear the bang of a stove’s lid and the ring of a skillet. She craved his presence, even if it was wrong wanting someone she couldn’t have.
“Pa makes great pancakes,” Emma confided, slipping her small hand in Libby’s.
She could feel the girl’s lonely need for a woman’s affection—she could see it in this cozy room, bare without a colorful quilt laid across the bed or without a warm braided rug on the floor.
“Do you want me to start measuring for your dress?”
“Yes!” Excited blue eyes twinkled.
Libby set her sewing box on the blanketed bed. “Then let’s get started. I want you to tell me what kind of dresses you like.”
Emma launched into a delightful description as Libby pulled out her tape and began measuring.
“Do you like my pa?” she asked abruptly.
Libby nodded. “Sure. I bet he’s a good pa to you.”
Emma frowned. “Well, so, do you like our cabin?”
“It’s snug and safe.” Libby marked the inches on a scrap of paper. “I know what you’re up to, Emma.”
“You do?” Her eyes widened so only honest need shone in them. “I like you very much, Miss Hodges.”
Libby’s hands faltered and the tape slipped from her fingers. It rolled to the floor, uncurlin
g beneath the small bed.
“Oh, Emma.” Libby couldn’t stop herself. She reached out and brushed at the soft brown wisps of hair hiding much of the girl’s forehead. She let a thin lock curl around her finger. “I’m sorry I came all this way just to get your hopes up. You don’t know how I wish I had a daughter just like you.”
“Would you want me for a daughter?” Still, that endless-sky hope.
“Oh, yes.” Libby’s throat hurt, and she pulled her hand away. She knew what the girl wanted. There was nothing she could do to change Jacob’s mind. She and Emma had the same dreams, the same needs.
He knocked on the opened door, stirring Libby from her thoughts. “Emma, come set the table.”
The little girl scampered off, quick about her tasks, but the sadness clung to the corners of her mouth and shone navy dark in her eyes.
He’s angry with me. Jacob would hardly look at her as he filled a platter with pancakes, keeping them warm in the oven, then adding more to the stack. Eggs sizzled with bacon in another skillet.
“I want to help,” she said over the clatter of Emma dropping the flatware on the table. “What should I do?”
Jacob lifted the fry pan from the stove. “There’s nothing to do. Breakfast is ready.”
Then he smiled, and the loneliness lifted from her chest.
“Come sit by me,” Emma begged.
She relented.
The sight of gentle-faced Elizabeth in his kitchen tore at his foolish heart. He couldn’t get it out of his mind, the feel of her rounding belly pressed against his groin last night, the sight of it beneath her skirts today. And it tore at him.
He knew the kind of woman she was: honest, kind, and hardworking. Despite her innocence and her damn stupidity. What did she expect walking around with her heart so open, her need so clear?
He saw the loneliness in her eyes, how happy she was to sit down at the table next to Emma, how she lapped up affection.
Jacob flipped an egg on Emma’s plate and two each on his and Elizabeth’s. He stood so close, she only had to breathe to touch him.
