Winning the Widow's Heart

by Sherri Shackelford

  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 w
aited, 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.