by Joyce Armor
Nellie beamed.
“What?” Libby said, and Garrett was obviously interested too.
“Evander is making her act as his scullery maid. She didn’t cooperate at first, but he restricted her diet to porridge until she agreed. He said she is ‘a fair maid’ and less crass and obnoxious than when she arrived.”
“I wish I could be there to see that,” Libby laughed.
“Oh, heavens. He also said that, after a decent amount of training, she might make a good countess.”
“Lord,” Libby cringed. “God save the queen.”
“Well, she’s Scotland’s worry now. You are mine.” Garrett took her empty glass and set it on the picnic table, then led her into the shade, where he eased her into a rocking chair he had set up for her.”
She rubbed her back and tried not to show on her face that her labor was in progress. She knew she had time and did not want to throw the celebration into a panic. And God knew Garrett would go a little crazy. She smiled up at him. They had come so far. He was better than any dime novel hero, hands down, a true flesh-and-blood hero of the West.
“I wonder what Doc Watkins recommends to help me sleep at this stage of the game,” Libby said as innocently as she could. “Would you send him over here when you get a chance?”
“Sure. Are you hungry? Can I get you anything? Do you want to put your feet up?”
“No, I’m fine.” As long as the contractions didn’t get any stronger while he was standing there.
* * *
Just before midnight, Doc Watkins delivered Benjamin Jackson Winslow after his father nearly wore out the library floor pacing as Jackson, Carmen and Hector tried to support and comfort him. Lionhearted Libby came through with flying colors.
Benjy was later joined by two sisters and then another brother. One night, walking down the stairs from the loft, where she had just tucked in her daughters, Libby suddenly remembered again that long walk down the stairs in St. Louis to face Elias Parminter in his study. How far she had come. And how blessed she was.
“Garrett?”
He looked up from the book he was reading, his eyebrows raised.
“I think I’m going to see if the Cindy Lou dress still fits,” she smiled seductively.
He closed the book, got up and walked toward her with a grin.
Just before he turned 50, Jackson married for the third time, a widow he met in Bozeman. Mary Butterman became the love of his life. When he retired from ranching at age 66, Garrett and Libby inherited the ranch. They lived and loved there for 52 years. Over those years, Lionhearted Libby, when necessary, occasionally made an appearance. Garrett would recognize the transformation in his wife by the fierce look in her eyes. It only made him love her more.
* * *
About the Author
Award-winning scribe Joyce Armor is a former television writer (“The Love Boat,” “WKRP in Cincinnati,” “Remington Steele”) and the author of numerous books, ranging from romance novels to parenting and humor books and a combination thereof. Her credits also include hundreds of newspaper and magazine columns and articles, children’s poetry and several produced plays. The mother of two grown sons, she lives in Mentor, Ohio, with her current soulmate, Darby, an Aussie/spaniel mix, and spends much of her non-reading, non-writing time walking/running/getting dragged by the dog.
Email: [email protected]
