Winning the Widow's Heart

by Sherri Shackelford

  Jolted by her odd reaction, he dropped his hold. “I’m not going to hurt you, Elizabeth.”

  She pinched shut her eyes against another pain, then fumbled for his hand, threading her fingers through his in a silent plea for comfort. His heart stuttered at the unexpected gesture.

  How long since her husband had died? How long had she been pregnant and alone, solely responsible for the grueling work required to run this homestead?

  After a long, tense moment, her delicate features relaxed. The grip on his hand loosened.

  “That one wasn’t so bad,” she said, though her wan smile indicated otherwise.

  “Let’s get you away from this breeze.” He nodded toward the back of the house. “Someone near broke your door in two.”

  “I hope that same someone repairs the damage before he leaves.”

  She lowered her head, then yanked her hand free, as if surprised to see their fingers intertwined.

  Keeping his gaze averted, he flexed his fist a few times to shake off the lingering warmth of her skin. He didn’t want to look at her, didn’t want to see the raw edge of fear in her eyes. Didn’t she realize he was one of the good guys?

  Following the strangely intimate moment, an awkward silence stretched between them. The widow was a curious mix of bold courage and heartbreaking vulnerability. She’d been in labor, isolated and alone, yet she’d met his forceful entrance with rare fortitude. Despite her blustery grit, he sensed her reserve of energy was running lower than a watering hole in July.

  She brushed the hair from her forehead with a weary sigh. “Maybe I will have a rest.”

  “That sounds like the best idea I’ve heard all day.”

  She leaned heavily on his arm as he eased her past the cast-iron stove, through the doorway to another room. An enormous four-poster bed dominated the space. A wedding-ring quilt in faded pinks and dull greens covered the mattress. An old porcelain doll with matted chestnut hair rested between two fluffy feather pillows.

  Jack scratched his forehead. “That’s quite an impressive piece of furniture.”

  Her cheeks flushed pink. “My husband and I bought the homestead from another family along with the furniture. They made it almost six years before they gave up.” Avoiding his curious gaze, Elizabeth shuffled to a sturdy oak dresser. A red kerosene lantern with a floral-etched, fluted cover lit the room. She tugged on the top drawer, sending the flame flickering, then glanced at him askance. “I’m sorry I lied to you earlier. I didn’t want you to know I was alone.”

  “I didn’t give you much choice.”

  She kept her eyes downcast, her discomfort palpable. While he appreciated the awkward impropriety of the situation, his nagging concern for her welfare took precedence over their mutual embarrassment.

  They had a more pressing problem to solve. “Is this your first baby?”

  She nodded.

  “How long have the pains been comin’?”

  “About four or five hours.”

  The knot of anxiety in his chest eased. The birthing processes often took hours, sometimes even days. “If there’s one thing I do know, it’s that first babies take their good sweet time in coming. I’ve got three older brothers, and they’ve blessed me with two nieces and six nephews. Not a one of them took less than twelve hours to be born.”

  She met his gaze, her pale blue eyes full of hope. “Then you can go to town. Cimarron Springs has a doctor. Two of them.”

  “Ma’am, there’s a snowstorm blowing in. I’ll be lucky to make it to the McCoys, let alone town.”

  Her shoulders slumped and his heart went out to her. Pain and fear had a way of sapping a body’s strength.

  “This isn’t exactly a church social, I know that.” He paused, searching for a way to alleviate her fears. “Tell you what. I’ll get my horse out of the weather and check on the animals. Won’t take me more than a minute. You can change and lay down for a rest. Keep track of the pains, though. They should keep coming closer together. When you’re settled, I’ll skedaddle over to the McCoy’s spread for help. With five children, they should be well versed in delivering babies.”

  She bobbed her head in a distracted nod, pressing her knuckles into the small of her back with a grimace.

  He scooted to her side. “Don’t hold your breath through the pains. Just let ’em come.”

  “Is that what you tell the cows?” she snapped.

  “I heard the midwife say that to my sister-in-law. I tell the cows to moo through the pain.”

  A reluctant smile appeared through her scowl.

  “That’s better.” He’d paced the floor with his brothers through enough births to know Elizabeth was going to need all the humor she could muster. “You’ve got about six to eight minutes before the next pain. I’ll be back lickety-split.”

  A feather-light touch on his sleeve stilled his retreat. “When you return from the McCoy’s, you can bunk down in the barn until the weather clears.” She swallowed, glancing away. “But that’s all. I expect you to clear out at first light.”

  Jack tipped his head in agreement. The widow was still a might skittish about his intentions. Considering their less-than-cordial introduction, he couldn’t blame her. “Don’t worry, Elizabeth. Everything is going to be all right.”

  “Easy for you to say, mister. You’re not the one having a baby.”

  Jack couldn’t help a dry chuckle. There was nothing like a crisis to reveal a man’s true character, and he was encouraged by her fortitude. “You’ll manage. You faced down an armed intruder, after all.”

  She cut him a sidelong glance full of wry skepticism before turning her back. Inexplicably annoyed with her cool response, he toyed with the wick on the lantern to cover his confusion. When had his social skills slipped? Usually a few charming words and a friendly smile were enough to put most people at ease.

  With a shrug he closed the door to allow her privacy, then crossed through the kitchen. He loped out the splintered rear exit, snatching his hat on the way.

  Driving snow pelted his face, stinging his bare cheeks. He tucked his scratchy wool collar beneath his chin as he fought through needle-sharp wind to his disgruntled horse. The gelding snorted a smoky breath, tossing its head. Icicles had already matted in the horse’s thick mane and tail.

  Jack tugged on the reins. “Sorry, Midnight. I’m just as frustrated by the delay as you are. I should have known that potbellied old sheriff in town couldn’t tell a homestead from a hideout.”

  The gelding nuzzled his shoulder.

  “If I’d known the weather was going to change faster than a sinner on Sunday, I never would’ve risked the journey. Almost makes a fellow believe in divine providence.” He tipped his head to the sky. “Mrs. Cole needs us to fetch help, even if she doesn’t want to admit it yet. I know as much about the surface of the moon as I do about childbirth, and that ain’t saying much.”

  The quicker he found help for the widow, the quicker he could continue on his journey. The more time passed, the colder the trail out of Cimarron Springs grew. Jack couldn’t afford any additional dead ends and delays. If an innocent man was hanged because of his mistake, he’d never forgive himself.

  His thoughts dark, he fought through growing snow drifts, sinking to his calves with each step. A flurry of movement caught the corner of his eye. Jack drew his pistol, searching the blowing snow. Wouldn’t that just be the bee’s knees if the outlaw was squatting right under his nose?

  When no one sprang from the shadows, he tucked his gun away. He’d most likely seen one of the farm animals searching for shelter. The sheriff’s mistake was troubling him, making him jumpy. He’d take a gander at the horses inside the barn before he returned to the main house. The outlaw he was searching for always rode a distinctive bay mustang. Men around these parts k
new horseflesh better than humans, which might explain the sheriff’s confusion.

  Another thought sent him stumbling. A curtain of snow slid off his hat.

  He’d forgotten the Colt sitting on the worktable.

  “Well, Midnight,” he muttered to the horse, “I hope Mrs. Cole has given up the idea of shooting me.”

  Jack swung up the bulky T-bar latching the barn door, then heaved the sliding panel to one side. The hayloft hook twirled in the wind above his head, banging forlornly against the loft door. Even before Midnight whinnied, shying to one side, Jack sensed a trap.

  * * *

  Elizabeth pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, holding back the painful burn of tears. She panted through another sharp pain, her heart still thumping uncomfortably against her ribs.

  She’d almost shot a Texas Ranger.

  When the oilcloth over the window had flipped up during a wind gust, she’d nearly fainted to see a stranger’s dark form lurking outside. She’d grabbed her gun and waited, expecting the worst.

  She wasn’t expecting a lawman.

  With his easy charm and fancy silver buttons, Jack Elder reminded her of her late husband. That charming behavior was bound to wear off, and she hoped he was long gone when it did. Aside from his useless good looks, she didn’t need him returning to town with tales destined to send the gossip’s tongues wagging.

  A familiar sorrow weighed her down. She’d had enough of interfering busybodies as a child, and enough of autocratic lawmen as an adult. If the Ranger wanted to make trouble, there was nothing she could do to stop him. She’d fought the sheriff to stay in her home after Will’s death, and she’d fight anyone else who threatened her tenuous security.

  Recalling the scene in the kitchen, her blood pounded, and her face grew hot with humiliation. Thank heaven he’d be gone by morning.

  Elizabeth cradled her belly, hesitant to offer up another prayer. She’d prayed for a husband, and God had sent her a smooth charmer named Will. She’d prayed for a child, and Will had deserted her rather than care for his growing family. She’d prayed for Will’s return, and God had sent her his body to bury.

  Hurting and desperate, she’d prayed for help, and God had sent her a lawman. She let out a reluctant sigh. While he wasn’t what she’d prayed for, at least he was willing to fetch help.

  Elizabeth choked back a desperate laugh. She’d been hoping for a break in the weather, or more time to prepare before the baby arrived—anything but a great bear of a man treating her like a half-wit. Delivering cows, indeed. Thank heaven he wouldn’t be delivering this baby. After hearing him talk, he’d most likely try to sweet-talk the infant through the process with a rakish grin, or expect her to moo through the contractions.

  Overwhelmed by the day’s events, she tucked her worn Bible beneath a stack of neatly folded cotton shirtwaists, fearful of praying for anything else lest she inadvertently unleash a plague with her clumsy words.

  The only person she could truly count on was herself.

  A violent cramp twisted around her middle. Shouting, she slid down the wall, crumpling to the floor. Her vision blurred. A great weight pressed on her stomach, like a full-grown bull sitting on her belly. The torturous spasm kept building stronger and stronger. The urgent need to push overwhelmed her.

  “Mr. Elder,” Elizabeth called, her faint voice no match for the brutal prairie winds.

  That flashy lawman was wrong—this baby was coming. Now.

  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.