Winning the Widow's Heart

by Sherri Shackelford

  She reluctantly tugged the stack loose and leafed through the pages. The documents had an official, aged look with browned edges and scrollwork writing. She separated one of the pages out for a closer look. Emblazed across the top was the word Homestead.

  That was it? Paperwork showing the purchase of the land and outbuildings from the previous tenants?

  “You still here?” Jo called from over the side of the bed.

  “I was just going through some clothes.”

  Elizabeth tucked the documents into their snug pocket. All this time she’d been terrified of the trunk’s contents, when there’d been nothing but clothes and paperwork inside. Jack was right again. She sure spent an awful lot of time worrying for nothing.

  Jo shifted on the bed. “I sure hope my brothers don’t accidentally burn the place down. That Abraham is a real firebug.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Elizabeth murmured, her thoughts distracted.

  Will might have been a gambler, but he’d also worked. She had no reason to doubt the money used to purchase the outbuildings had come from anything but his railroad pay.

  “My pa sure was interested in how much time you and that Ranger spend together. Alone. He musta grilled me for twenty minutes.”

  “That’s nice.”

  If she sold the property and moved, the sheriff would find someone else to bother. She certainly wouldn’t be marrying the doctor with his private cistern, but she’d have a modicum of security, nonetheless.

  “Anyway, I told him not to worry. Told him the two of you mostly bickered and avoided each other.”

  Elizabeth dug deeper, pulling out a burlap sack with the initials W.F. stamped on the coarse, twill threads. She tugged the drawstring loose to reveal a wad of bills.

  Her heart plummeted. She sat back on her heels with a sigh. Just what she needed—more money. She stuffed the bills back into the bag and shoved them into the bottom of the trunk. How could she use money gotten from dishonesty? Was she guilty by association?

  “You’re awful quiet,” Jo called.

  Elizabeth stood, brushing her hands together. Perhaps she’d donate the extra cash to the local church. “I think it’s about time I started some traditions of my own. We have leftover turkey from yesterday. I’ll make sandwiches and we can all eat together.”

  Jo scooted her legs to the edge of the bed, and gingerly set her feet on the floor. She clung to one of the bedposts until she gained her balance. “I think I’m going home with Pa tonight.”

  “Are you sure you can make the trip?”

  Jo limped her way to the dresser. “You’ve been real nice and all, but I need to get home and help with chores.”

  The thought of caring for Rachel without Jo’s gruff guidance left Elizabeth frozen with doubt. “JoBeth, the world is not going to come to a standstill without you.”

  “You, either.”

  Elizabeth started at the note of censure in Jo’s voice.

  The younger girl caught Elizabeth’s gaze, her spruce-green eyes full of determination. “I can’t be worried about you and my own family all at the same time. You know how much I love working over here, but I can’t keep splitting my time.”

  Elizabeth folded her arms over her chest. “You don’t have to help out. I don’t want to be a burden to anyone.”

  She knew she was being childish, but finding the money had rattled her. What was the right thing to do?

  “It’s not that at all,” Jo denied. “But I’ve done a lot of thinking since I’ve been laid up. If I’m at home, I feel like I should be here helping you out, and if I’m here, I feel like I should be at home.”

  Regret pierced Elizabeth’s heart. She sympathized with Jo’s confusion, and it pained her to acknowledge the part she’d played in Jo’s turmoil. There was one way to ease everyone’s fears.

  “Don’t you worry about a thing.” Elizabeth smoothed the quilt and busied herself with fluffing the pillows. “You take care of your family. We’ll be just fine.”

  “No, you won’t.” Jo limped over to lean on the bed. “Don’t you see? We’re already behind on all the chores, even with Jack’s help.”

  Elizabeth visualized the papers in the trunk. The wad of bills in the burlap sack. “Well, there’s good news for all of us. I’ll be moving to town when the weather clears.”

  She’d be moving to town, but not to Cimarron Springs. The memories were too raw, and her late husband’s reputation too vivid. She’d been a burden on the McCoys for too long. It was time to start over.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “If the three of you want to start a fire,” Elizabeth patiently explained to the McCoy boys, “why don’t you join Mr. Elder down by the creek bed? He’s burning the wolves’ bodies.”

  “Nah.” David lifted one shoulder. “We already thought of that, but he said we had to stay ten paces away from the flames. What fun is that?”

  Elizabeth blew out a long breath. Only one evening had passed with her unexpected company, yet she could no longer tolerate the raucous McCoy boys. After months of living in isolation, their rowdy behavior and incessant arguing had driven nails of pain into her skull.

  She braced her hands on the scarred surface of the worktable. Removing the boys from the house was proving more difficult than she’d anticipated. “It’s probably better that you stay in the house with the baby. Burning those carcasses is bound to be grisly and disgusting. And the stench.” She wrinkled her nose. “I bet the stench is nauseating.”

  Though his arms remained in a stubborn knot over his chest, Abraham’s head swiveled in her direction.

  Elizabeth brushed aside the flapping ends of a freshly laundered flour sack. The boys had been “helping” her with the laundry since first light, stringing sheets and nappies from a knotted rope stretched across the parlor. The constant commotion rattled her nerves. She’d felt nothing but relief when they’d disappeared halfway through the chore. Her solitude had been short-lived. They’d sheepishly returned with a basket full of Jack’s shirts.

  One of their pranks had gone amuck, and they’d drenched the Ranger’s tidy laundry with coffee. After much begging and cajoling, Elizabeth had agreed to wash and iron the shirts as long as the boys promised to stay out of the bunkhouse—and muck out the barn stalls as punishment. All three had eagerly agreed to her terms. No one wanted to face the Ranger’s wrath.

  Unfortunately, they’d finished her punishment far too quickly. There wasn’t enough muck to keep them busy all afternoon.

  Elizabeth noted the spark of interest in Abraham’s eyes at the thought of a potentially disgusting experience. “Watching the flames devour those carcasses is bound to be quite foul,” she continued. “Best you boys avoid such a disturbing task.”

  David sat up straighter, his face bright with anticipation. “Do you think there’s gonna be blood?”

  “Buckets.”

  The ensuing stampede of young McCoys nearly bowled her over. She watched their mad dash across the clearing toward the creek bed with weary resignation before licking her finger to test the iron’s heat with a sharp sizzle. A better person might have felt remorse for hoisting the boys off on the unsuspecting Ranger, but in the quiet solitude of the still cabin, Elizabeth decided she was not a better person. Idle hands gave the McCoy boys far too much opportunity to think up new trouble. Keeping their fertile imaginations occupied kept them out of trouble.

  Rachel cooed and smiled, kicking her tiny sock-clad feet free of her blanket.

  “I’ll never understand boys,” Elizabeth spoke to the smiling baby. “Why would they choose to spend the day at such a repulsive task when there’s a darling little sweetie to be fussed over?”

  Rachel caught her hands together, exclaiming in delight at her trick. Each day brought new wonders. Elizabeth marked eac
h milestone with awe—Rachel’s annoyed grimace when the bathwater was too cold, her wide-eyed delight when Jack lifted her in the air above his head while Elizabeth fretted. She’d become so attuned to her daughter, she often woke in the wee hours of the night, straining to hear the soft flutter of Rachel’s breathing.

  Even mundane chores took on a new significance as Elizabeth toiled to create a perfect home. She hadn’t thought she was capable of experiencing such a deep, abiding love, such depth of pride and affection. Caring for the newborn had unleashed wells of soul-aching emotion. To her dismay, with the diamond-sharp feelings came an unexpected fear, the realization that love came with the uncertainty of loss.

  Elizabeth pressed her cheek against Rachel’s. “Do you know what I read in the Bible last night? ‘For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.’ I think that means the Lord has plans for us to prosper. What do you think?”

  Rachel gurgled in reply. Elizabeth shrugged and returned to her task. In truth, she didn’t mind ironing. The chore was pleasant and warm in the winter’s cold, and watching the wrinkles melt away from the crisp cotton gave her a rare sense of accomplishment. She hummed a merry tune, flashing cheerful smiles at Rachel in her basket. For reasons she couldn’t explain, her mood had lightened, her smile was more at the ready.

  Beneath her protective gaze, the baby’s face screwed up and grew a brilliant shade of red. Moments later a distinct odor drifted from the basket.

  Elizabeth set the iron aside with a resigned sigh, then reached for the smiling infant. “You seem awfully proud of yourself for such a dubious accomplishment.”

  With practiced care Elizabeth changed the nappy, and stepped out the rear door to rinse out the soiled cotton. She returned inside, startled to smell the faint scent of something burning.

  She bolted to the stove, relieved to find nothing out of place. She glanced around and gasped in horror at the source of the pungent odor. The iron had slipped from its trivet and onto Jack’s laundered shirt. Heart pounding, she darted across the room and grasped the rag-wrapped handle. To her horror, a black triangle darkened Jack’s shirt.

  Jo limped into the room, dressed in her usual drab, oversize boy’s clothes. “You burning something in here?”

  “Just the usual.” Elizabeth instinctively stuffed the ruined shirt into the extra laundry basket at her feet.

  “It’s good to see you up and about,” Elizabeth said to cover her furtive movements, her voice a touch shrill.

  “I’m not up to racing speed.”

  Though Jo still walked with a distinct limp and a permanent grimace, her wounds were healing well. Mr. McCoy had decided to delay his trip home until today in order to give his daughter plenty of time to rest before the grueling ride through heavy snow atop the McCoy’s sturdy draft horse.

  Jo leaned heavily on the table. “I feel like I’ve been run over by a stampede of buffalo. It’s good to be up, though. Thought I’d go check on the boys.”

  “I’ve sent them down to help Mr. Elder.”

  “Now that was downright cruel. What did that man ever do to you?”

  Elizabeth quirked an eyebrow.

  “I guess he had it coming.” Jo took a hesitant step forward, resting her weight gingerly on her injured foot. “As long as he has his gun, I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

  Elizabeth wiped the sweat-dampened hair from her forehead with the back of her hand. “They’re not bad children. Just full of energy.”

  “You’re too soft.” Jo leaned over and adjusted the eyelet-lace bonnet covering Rachel’s head. “Looks like her peach fuzz is falling out. I bet she’s going to be a blonde, just like you.” Jo touched her own dark braid with a forlorn sigh. “Jenny at school says the boys prefer curly blond hair.”

  Elizabeth slanted a curious glance at the younger girl. “Any boy worth his salt is more interested in a girl’s heart than the hair on her head.”

  “Don’t matter none to me, anyway. I’m never gettin’ married.”

  Elizabeth grinned. The heated denial was telling. “You might change your mind later.”

  “I doubt it.” Jo straightened. “Would you ever get married again?”

  Unbidden, an image of Jack flashed into Elizabeth’s mind. She blinked the affectionate memory away. “We weren’t talking about me. We were talking about you. Someday you just might meet someone who makes you change your mind.”

  “Well, I ain’t met him yet, that’s for sure.”

  Jo wrapped her serviceable coat around her slim shoulders. “Why did you marry Will?”

  Elizabeth rested the iron on the trivet, giving it a shake to ensure it was secure, then adjusted Jo’s collar. “Because he was the first man to notice me. I was in love with the idea of love. I just wanted to belong someplace, to someone.”

  “We love you. You always have a family with us. And you’re never alone in God’s love.”

  Elizabeth blinked. “I didn’t know that then. I do now.”

  She worried over the dropping temperature until the younger girl practically shouted in frustration.

  “I’m fine,” Jo declared. “Now stop fussing.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that I feel responsible. If you’d been home with your family instead of here with me, you wouldn’t have been hurt.”

  “If I’d have been home with the boys, they probably would have pushed me down the steps. By accident, of course.”

  “They’d never harm you on purpose!” Elizabeth suspected the McCoy household was a good deal more hazardous than her own. “Just promise me you’ll be careful. I’ve had enough of accidents and disasters to last a lifetime.”

  “Well, don’t have any more children,” Jo snorted ruefully. “And especially don’t have any boys.”

  The two of them laughed as Jo stuffed her battered slouch hat over her ears and limped out the rear door. Elizabeth leaned over the sink to track her painful progress to the barn. Smoke from Jack’s fire floated in the distance, curling above the treetops into the overcast sky. Recalling his quick kiss before they’d dashed across the clearing, she pressed her fingers to her lips.

  She’d lain awake wondering what he meant by the gesture. Hours later, she’d finally decided the kiss meant nothing. She should have been relieved, but instead, she’d spent a restless night tossing and turning. Her thoughts had lingered on each of their encounters, from the first moment he’d stormed into her life, until the moment he’d risked his life to save her mangy barn cat from the wolf’s sharp teeth.

  Perhaps living in town wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

  Without Jo or the boys, and with Rachel sleeping soundly, the house felt eerily silent. Elizabeth finished up the last of the ironing and put away all the laundry. Everything except Jack’s blackened shirt.

  The baby woke from her nap, fed contently in the cradle of Elizabeth’s arms, and promptly fell back asleep. After tidying the house, Elizabeth set about making another batch of kolaches. Jack had enjoyed the pastries earlier. She folded the blackened shirt and placed it atop the pile in the laundry basket at her feet.

  Her experience with Will had taught her that men could be awfully particular about their belongings. She’d just about convinced herself that everything was going to be fine, when Jack stepped through the front door.

  She whirled around, spilling a glass of milk.

  “I’m hiding from the McCoy boys.” He glanced furtively over one shoulder. “They had that little one tied to a chair this morning. Lord help me, but I don’t know how those three are still alive and kicking.”

  Elizabeth sopped up the advancing spill. She’d been thinking the same thing earlier. “I believe they were playing outlaws and Texas Rangers when they tied David to the chair. Perhaps you sh
ould take that as a compliment.”

  “They were playing ‘who can make the most noise.’”

  A sudden thought had her glancing out the back window into the clear afternoon sky. “You didn’t leave them tending the fire alone, did you?”

  His eyes widened. “Not hardly. I had them crack through the ice in the creek and carry buckets back to douse the flames. They won’t be able to start a fire in that spot unless we get ourselves a hundred years’ drought. And I should be dead and buried by then.”

  She laughed, but the sight of his folded shirts in the basket at her feet dimmed her joy. “I’ve made kolaches.”

  “I thought I smelled something tasty.”

  Her attention snagged on the laundry basket.

  He followed her furtive gaze. “Say, are those my shirts? You didn’t have to wash them.”

  “Actually, I did.” Her knuckles white, she laid two plates on the dining table. “The McCoy boys were in the bunkhouse pretending to be soldiers when one of them decided to dare the other two to drink coffee. Turned out the brew wasn’t as appetizing as they’d supposed. One of them spit a whole mouthful over your shirts.”

  Jack scowled. “Well, I hope they’re the ones who cleaned up the mess.”

  “Yes and no. I sent them to the barn to muck out all the stalls.”

  “I suppose that helps. But it still sticks in my craw that they made you wash up after them.”

  “I don’t mind. Except. Well.” She pulled her lower lip between her teeth. “Except there was an accident.”

  She lifted his ruined shirt with stiff, numb fingers.

  He frowned in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

  “Well…” She gathered her courage and handed him the shirt.

  Dawning awareness spread across his face as he unfurled the cotton to reveal the singed triangle. To her burgeoning relief, he appeared more confused than angry.

  Then his face hardened, and his lips twisted into a thin, white line. “You have a scar. A triangle on your forearm. I saw it that day in the barn. Show me your arm.”