Sherri Shackelford - Winning the Widow's Heart

Elizabeth didn’t approve of vanity, but even she had to admit her hair was pretty. She had the same blond hair as her mother, thick and long. Wispy tendrils usually framed her face, falling in soft curls around her cheeks. The past days’ toil had left her forlorn ringlets drooping and lifeless. She’d love nothing more than another thorough washing and a decadent soak in the galvanized tub, but that would have to wait.

She braided her long strands with practiced fingers, twisting the coil over the top of her head and securing the thick rope with pins. She rubbed her lips together to add a flush of color, unsure why she bothered. There was no one here to care about her appearance, least of all her sleepy daughter.

The extra effort buoyed her spirits, though, and she needed all her mustered strength to face the mess the Ranger had surely made while she’d been laid up.

She reached behind her for the basket, her gaze drawn to Will’s trunk. The domed black chest sat just where he’d left it six months ago. He’d always been possessive of the battered piece of luggage. He never opened the lid in her presence, and he kept the hinge securely locked when he was away.

In the early days of their marriage she’d been obsessed with the contents, curious as to why he kept secrets from her. When the undertaker had delivered Will’s personal belongings in a wooden crate, she’d expected to find a key.

Instead, the grim-faced undertaker had ignobly presented her with his grim bounty. An enormous sum of cash carelessly wadded together and secured with a band. The funds for Will’s escape from domestic responsibilities.

Later, at the funeral, the undertaker had looked her up and down, suspicion in his lifeless gray eyes. The amount of money had been too excessive for a humble railroad worker, especially given Will’s propensity for spending his paychecks before the ink had dried on the paper. Only a cheat could have acquired that much money, the undertaker’s eyes seemed to accuse.

She’d decided then and there that what she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her. From that moment on, she lost all desire to peer into the trunk. The more details she discovered about Will’s hazy past, the less certain she became of herself, of her judgment. By opening the trunk, she risked opening wounds that had only just begun to heal. Later, when she wasn’t feeling so fragile, she’d delve into the skeletons he’d left behind during his hasty exit.

While Rachel dozed, she lined the laundry basket with another patchwork quilt she’d sewed especially for the baby, then laid the swaddled infant snuggly inside.

“A basket and a drawer.” Elizabeth clicked her tongue. “We should have named you Laundry Day instead of Rachel Rose.”

The baby blinked, her somber gaze trusting and innocent. A disarming tide of emotion rolled over Elizabeth. The awesome responsibility of shepherding this new life into the harsh world stunned her once again. She didn’t know anything about babies. The years before her job at the bakery and then her marriage had been spent in an orphanage where the children were segregated by age.

While most of the older girls had chosen to work with the infants, Elizabeth had taken a job in the kitchens. Seeing those helpless babies, abandoned and alone, had been unbearable. She shuddered at the memory of sparse iron beds lined up against cold, bleak walls. The endless rules and constant chores. Thank heaven Rachel Rose would never have to suffer that life.

Elizabeth tipped her head to the timbered ceiling. “I think I know what you were trying to tell me. I was praying for myself when I should have been praying for others.”

God had never been a presence in her life. Maybe that’s why He hadn’t answered her prayers. Mrs. Peabody from the orphanage had marched them to church on Sundays, their smocks pressed and their hair brushed smooth, but the service had been in Latin. Though Elizabeth had been entranced by the sheer beauty of the church, she’d never understood the words.

She’d been anxious to attend a service in Cimarron. Unfortunately, despite his earlier pious claims, Will had harbored an aversion to churches. They’d even been married by a justice of the peace. A ceremony so rushed, she’d barely registered the event before Will had whisked her to the train depot and settled them on a Pullman car bound for Kansas.

Elizabeth shook off the unsettling memories. Living in the past was a dull and lonely business. One thing was for certain, she’d never trust another man until she had seen a true test of his character.

She lifted Rachel’s basket, then marched to the kitchen, her weary body braced for a full day of scrubbing. She raised her head, jerking to a halt. Every surface shined. Even the copper kettle gleamed in a shaft of light streaming through the clear glass windowpanes freed from the dimming oilcloth.

Her eyes wide, Elizabeth glanced around the room. Jo must have been up all night to have accomplished such a feat. The brightly polished tin pots and pans hanging against the wall had been neatly arranged by size.

Setting Rachel on the worktable before the stove, Elizabeth made a note to give the girl extra wages this week. Will’s money might as well benefit someone deserving of the blessing.

While she admired the spotless kitchen, Mr. Elder shouldered his way through the back door, his arms full of split wood, his hat set low on his head. A gust of frosty air swept a dusting of snow in his wake.

“I thought you’d be gone by now,” Elizabeth blurted, astonished to find her heart thumping against her ribs. Certainly she wasn’t afraid of him any longer. He’d shown himself to be honorable, if a tad overbearing. Heaven knew he’d had more than ample opportunity to take advantage of them.

His silver star caught the sun, reflecting light. The sight of the lawman’s badge caused the memory of the sheriff’s threats to explode in her head. There was more than one person in Cimarron Springs who’d like to recoup their losses with the sale of her belongings. Will had been a gambler, and everyone in town had lost money or property to him at one time or another. Yet despite the sheriff’s threat to confiscate her property, he’d been too lazy to prove his suspicions.

She didn’t need him spurred into action by another lawman.

Jack wiped his feet on the rag rug before stepping into the room. He jostled the wood in his hands for a better grip. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I had some chores left.” He jerked his head in the direction of the splintered hinges.

“That’s very kind of you, but there’s really no need… .”

Their eyes met and held for a long moment. She’d thought Will handsome, but her late husband paled in comparison to Mr. Elder. While Will had been fair with washed-out blue eyes, the Ranger’s features were bold, exaggerated, not at all perfect. His crooked nose indicated he’d broken it, more than once judging by the flattened bone. A faded scar ran the length of his strong jaw, visible through the stubble shadowing his chin. Deep lines creased his forehead between the dark slash of his eyebrows.

Taken separately, the imperfections should have lessened his attraction, but each one of those minor flaws worked together to lend him a rugged, earthy appearance. His scars revealed a man who had been tested and lived to tell the tale. The realization sent a tingle of apprehension down her spine. She sensed the Ranger’s restless need to leave, his barely leashed discontent, even while he lingered, making minor repairs he might have abandoned with impunity. The discrepancy confused her.

Unsure what else to say, she tore her gaze away. She opened the oven door, and stoked the scarlet embers before setting a pan on the stove and pouring in a measure of fresh milk to warm.