by Jillian Hart
For the first time she could see clearly. Rafe Jones was a divine blessing that had come into her life like the first snow of the Christmas season.
She was not unwanted, after all.
“How would you like to accompany us to dinner over at the hotel?” Rafe said to Cora as he took Cora’s hand, so small in his own, to help her over a patch of ice. The connection hit him like a mallet; it was more emotion than he felt comfortable with. He steadied himself. He could face down some of the most treacherous outlaws without one lick of fear. Why couldn’t he do the same with Cora?
“I would like to accept.”
She had that “uh-oh” look on her pretty face. That told him he was out of luck. Disappointment washed through him. “A lovely lady like yourself probably has a better invitation, I reckon.”
Plenty of dapper, professional, acceptable types lived in this town. Maybe one of them had asked her when he hadn’t been looking.
“No, I meant that I had other plans for you.” She smiled at him.
Why her smile drove every thought from his head, he couldn’t say.
“What plans?” Holly, who had been skipping ahead of them, wanted to know. “Miss Cora, do I getta come, too?”
“Of course.” She turned pink with joy.
She sure was a lovely sight. He could look at her all the day long and never grow tired. Maybe it was being inside that church, sitting there like anyone else, that had made him realize he was hoping. For what? What were the chances a lady like Cora would accept a man like him?
None, that was what. So why was he hoping there might be? It was how she treated him, like a man of worth. How her friends and family had greeted him with genuine welcome after the service.
“I made stew and corn bread last night, hoping the two of you might want to dine with me.” Cora’s voice was like music, soft and light. It went up and down like a song. “Does that sound good to you?”
“Yep! I love corn bread. I ain’t had some in so long.” Holly clung to Cora’s hand. “Mr. Rafe, don’t you want corn bread, too?”
“You know I do.”
“Hurray!” Holly leaped in place. “Do you got your own house, Miss Cora?”
“I do.” It was hard, Cora thought, not to be even more charmed by the child. It took so little to please her, and the Sunday service had lifted her spirits. Cora gave thanks for that. With all the child had been through, she deserved to have her mother found and a good life ahead of her, God willing. “I have one of your dresses almost finished. You can take a look at it and give me your opinion.”
“Okay.” The girl clung to her more tightly. “Do you reckon my ma can sew?”
“Most women can.” She did not add that there was a very good chance she knew Holly’s mother if she was indeed a resident of the town. Most women came to her shop for a special occasion like a wedding or baptism if they could not afford to hire a seamstress.
“Enough about your ma.” Rafe sounded curt, but the corners of his mouth were turned up in a smile. “You’ll talk Cora’s ears off the way you’ve done mine.”
“I reckon so.” Holly sighed, but she did not look overly distraught. Mischief twinkled in her eyes. “Mr. Rafe says I talk enough for three girls. That he’s never met anyone as talkative as me.”
“I wouldn’t trust Mr. Rafe’s opinion overly much.” It was so easy to jest when she was happy. She cast a glance at the man beside her and his smile widened. “He might be the best gunman in the territory, but he doesn’t know a whole lot about girls.”
“He couldn’t even braid my hair.” Holly was quick to agree. “So maybe I don’t talk too much.”
“I should think not. I hope you don’t mind dessert, because I picked up a chocolate cake at the bakery.”
“Chocolate cake?” Holly’s eyes widened. “I ain’t never had that before.”
“It’s good, trust me.” They had turned down her street. In the soft, gray light the tall, leafless trees had a silvered glow. Frost clung to every surface like a glaze, making her modest home inviting.
“Are you sure you want me to come inside?” Rafe leaned close, keeping his voice low. “Your neighbors are staring.”
Indeed they were. She cast a look along the street and saw the Nelsons standing on their front porch with frowns on their faces. Across the lane, Mr. Holland had poked his head out of his door, eyes narrowed.
“My reputation has preceded me.” He stopped, grimacing.
“I hope it has.” She kept going. “Are you coming?”
“I’m considering. Will my being in your house make trouble for you?”
“It’s cold out here.” She held out her hand. “Come inside and warm up. It will only take me a minute to get the meal on the table.”
That was what she said, but he realized her answer was something else, something left unsaid. He was wanted. For the first time. For real. The cold in his heart melted further. She probably had no notion what her acceptance meant to him. Gratitude was one emotion, the only one he felt comfortable naming. He took her delicate hand in his, savoring the precious feeling of belonging it brought. Companionship was nice. Acceptance was better.
Holly was sure getting herself a good ma—that was the only way he could think of Cora. Hope nudged at him like a persistent winter wind, trying to blow him off course. What he wanted and what he was going to get were two different things. So different, in fact, it was best not to go wanting at all.
But that was hard to do as Cora unlocked the door to her snug house. He held the door for the girl and woman, bracing himself before following them across the threshold and into the warm and cozy home.
Two sofas flanked a stone hearth, where a potbellied stove sat dark and still. A large window with a built-in window seat offered a pleasant view of the large front yard. Framed daguerreotypes of her nephews at various ages marched along the main wall. On the far wall was a comfortable sewing corner with a sewing machine and a small table heaped with baskets of fabrics, probably works in progress.
Colorful hand-braided rugs made the dark floor cheery. Afghans were hung over the backs of the sofas and the big chair near the window. Snug enough to invite a man to sit down, put up his feet, soak in the aroma of supper cooking and relax for a spell.
“Is this my dress?” Holly had wandered over to peer into the different baskets.
“Two of them, yes. I’ve only just cut out the red fabric you liked, but the lavender wool, that one is basted. I’ll show you after dinner.” Cora took Holly’s coat and hung it on a peg next to the door.
Rafe shook his head, drawing his thoughts back to the reason he was here. He felt the weight of the delicate sewing case in his coat pocket. What mattered was Holly. She was the reason he was standing in Cora’s parlor. He oughtn’t to be dreaming for himself. This would be a fine place for the girl. She had a home. She had a mother. She was one child who would not be lost and forgotten by this world. Not now.
The females were leaving him for the kitchen. He could see through the wide doorway to the serviceable, spotless cooking range along the back wall. He imagined it, too, as a pleasant room with a sunny corner for a table and chairs. As he hunkered down in front of the potbellied stove and took the poker to the carefully banked coals, he noticed a closed door tucked off to one side. Probably went upstairs to the bedrooms. He liked to think of Holly having a nice room of her own, with pretty things and that china doll he was going to leave behind for her.
He added coal from the hop and closed the door. Heat built inside as he stood. Voices mumbled pleasantly from the next room. A clank from a cast-iron pot rang out and he couldn’t ignore the rich beefy aroma of bubbling stew. A clink and clatter of ironware and steel knives and spoons had him picturing the mother and daughter setting the table together.
Just get it over with, Jones. Tell her. He bent to adjust the damper; the fire was burning just fine. No good was going to come from putting it off a moment longer. They were alone here. No one would come along and interrupt
. He ought to just blurt it out and leave. That would be the easy thing for his aching heart.
The right thing was something else entirely. Cora breezed into view with pan in hand. Her dark brown skirts swirled around her ankles as she moved to the cooking range and slipped the corn bread to heat in the oven. She repositioned the pan on the racks, and he appreciated her unconscious grace as she straightened. Tiny wisps curled out of her elegant knot, framing her face like a cloud.
She was everything a man could ever want. Everything a man like him could never dare to dream of. His chest felt heavy and tight, and he seemed too big and rough as she smiled at him with unbridled kindness.
“Oh, you built the fire. Thank you for that. I have some tea steeping, if you would like to come to the table. I don’t want you out here alone, Rafe.”
It felt as if she was saying something else. It felt as if he was, too. “I’d sure appreciate a cup of tea. It’s bitter cold today.”
“Only outside.” She said nothing more and took his hand, as if she understood perfectly what he was too shy to say.
Chapter Seven
“It’s a good life you’ve made for yourself here, Cora.”
At Rafe’s compliment, tiny bubbles of joy popped within her. She couldn’t remember a more enjoyable afternoon, but she was rapidly learning that any time spent in Rafe’s company was better than with anyone else. “A decade ago, I wasn’t sure how things would work out when I climbed off the stagecoach. It left me in a cloud of dust, thinking I hope this isn’t a big mistake.”
“It couldn’t have been a wiser choice. It says something about you, how you built all this from a new start.”
“Now you’re making me seem like something I’m not. I’ve only done what anyone would do.” She plucked the cozy from the teapot and wrapped her fingers around the smooth, ceramic handle. Self-conscious, both with his compliments and his powerful attention, she blushed again as she refilled his cup. “Everyone wants a new start and a happy life.”
“Every now and then,” he said, “I see someone I track down truly remorseful over what they’ve done. They are the ones who are living an honest life, trying to make up for things. When I show up, it’s a reminder that life has its own justice in the end.”
“I believe that.”
He captivated her. They had spent the past few hours talking. Being with him was like waking up to an impossibly perfect dream.
She filled her cup and set the pot aside. She hardly was aware of stirring sugar into her tea or the blur of motion outside the window where Holly was swinging on the boys’ old wooden swing. “Have you ever longed for a new start?” she asked.
“All the time lately.” His gaze speared hers with enough force to make her pulse still.
“L-lately?” Did she dare hope that she was the reason? Her hand shook as she set down the spoon. The amber liquid in her cup swirled like a tornado. That was how she felt inside, all twisting and swirling. “Have you ever wanted to do anything else aside from bounty hunting?”
“I’d be a gunsmith.” His answer came without hesitation. “I’d get me a little shop and repair guns.”
“I can see you doing that.” It was easy to imagine him sitting at work at a table with a rifle in pieces before him. “You would be good at it. But maybe you like being a bounty hunter better?”
“There’s nothing to like. It’s just what I do.” His throat worked as if with emotion, and he glanced out the window at Holly. He cleared his throat. “Truth is, I’ve never had any cause to settle down anywhere or a reason to stay. Lately I keep wondering what it would be like to have a life like yours. With friends and church and family.”
Her heart stopped. “I have a nice life, but it has been…lonely.”
“Lonely. I know what that is.” He swallowed hard, as if trying even harder to keep his emotions down. “Everywhere you look, no one seems right for you. You’ve got no family. No roots. Nothing, so you’ve got to make it on your own.”
“Yes. That’s it exactly.”
“After the workday is done and the supper dishes are put away,” he said, “there’s a long stretch of lonely gnawing at you. You don’t notice it so much when you’re busy, but when you’re still, it hurts like a bullet wound.”
She never realized all they had in common. They were more alike than different. He understood her, at heart. Affection for him sang through her like a hymn, pure and powerful, resonating in her soul.
“Yes,” she said. “All the years that pass and the people you meet, something is always missing. You look around and others seem to have found it. While you’re happy for them, you measure time by days passing, instead of anniversaries and a child’s birth and every change as he or she grows. Your life stays as if in shadow even as you long for the light.”
“And then someone comes along and everything is different. Changed.” He stood, moving from his chair across the table to Holly’s empty chair, next to Cora. He was so close she could see the rough texture of his unshaven jaw, notice the darker flecks of obsidian in his storm-gray eyes and feel the radiant caring of his big heart.
Changed. That was what he had done. She was different and brimming with hope because of him. As he thoughtfully gathered her hands in his with infinite care, love claimed her heart. Not in a giddy rush or with a sudden proclamation as she always thought it would, but in a quiet, calm whisper like dawn’s first light in midwinter. Gentle and sure and bringing light to shadowed, forgotten places. Love so bright it ached deeper and deeper within her, bringing tears to her eyes.
Her vision may have been blurred, but she could feel his caring. Never had any man looked at her with such tender adoration, as if her feelings mattered most to him, as if she was most precious to him.
Love lingered silently between them, unbroken by the roar of the fire in the stove and the faint tick of the clock on the wall. Time passed—she did not know how much. With every breath she took, bliss filled her. This man’s love—his tenderness, his respect, his devotion—was all she wanted.
Gratitude came from the bottom of her soul. Rafe loved her. She could see it, she could feel it. He made all the emptiness within her vanish.
“There’s something I have to ask you, Cora.”
“Y-yes?”
“I don’t know how to do this.” He grew serious and as still as a statue. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“Y-you haven’t?” She watched him hopefully.
“Nope. I’m not good with words. Terrible when it comes to personal things. What I am good with is a gun, but that won’t help me here.”
“Then I will be very understanding and patient while you figure it out.”
“That may take a spell.” He hesitated, wrestling with the words he had been practicing late last night. Her smile could change a man like him. Her calm joy made him want to be with her forever. How was he going to stand bringing up her past? He couldn’t stomach it. He was going to hurt her. Some things in the past were best left there. He truly believed that.
Somehow he had to make this right for her. He took a gulp of air and thought of the peace he had sensed in the church today. He wished that peace for her now.
“I want to show you something.” Maybe he’d do best giving her the sewing box. He gently released her hands and circled around to his chair. His duster jacket was hung up neatly over the back of his chair. Pulse racing, he lifted the slim case from the pocket and held it out for her to see.
“That can’t be.” She went pale. “However did you find this?”
“Was it yours?” He returned to her side, hating the way the sound of his boot heels was like a death knell. He hated being the bearer of difficult news. But surely, this would be all right in the end. That thought sustained him as he set the case on the table.
“Yes. My grandmother gave it to me on my seventh birthday. She said I was old enough to learn to sew.” Tears stood in her eyes. Her slender fingers brushed the top of the case, lovingly touching the
letters of her name. “I was named after her. She was a wonderful woman and I still miss her.”
“You have had a lot of loss in your life.”
“You’ve had loss, too, but of a different sort.”
“It’s more like what I haven’t found.” Until now. Part of him was ready to admit that he was more than fond of her. He was more than sweet on her. He was walking on dangerous ground.
“I don’t understand. Did you find this here in town?”
“No.” Steeling himself, holding back every ounce of feeling, he concentrated on the child outside. “That case is why I came to town.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Holly had it. It was a keepsake kept by her pa to remind her of her mother. Apparently Holly’s mother left her as a baby. I don’t think the pa was the real father. It looks as if she was adopted.”
“I still don’t understand. You came to town to bring this to me?”
“No, Cora. I came to town to bring Holly to you. To her mother.”
No man had ever spoken to her with as much tender caring. He gathered her hands in his again. “I know only a terrible tragedy could have made you leave a newborn, but Holly has no one else. There are no living relatives. I found a few of the father’s parishioners, who said there was no other family. The territory wasn’t very settled ten years ago. There are no records, no letters, no papers, not even one for the adoption. I’m sorry to bring up this pain, but—”
“It was you.” She didn’t mean to interrupt him, but the words just popped out. “I felt watched the day I was robbed. You were the one watching me. That’s how you saw the robbery. It was you.”
“Guilty.” He winced but didn’t look sorry. “I had to see what sort of woman you were. If you were kind, or no better than the woman I found Holly with. That’s all. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
