Winning the Widow's Heart

by Sherri Shackelford

  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.

  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, cha
stising 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.