Sherri Shackelford - Winning the Widow's Heart

“Elizabeth. E-Elizabeth Cole.”

He offered her another friendly grin. His questions had the added benefit of keeping her distracted. “See, that wasn’t so hard, Elizabeth.” He also found people answered to their own name, even when they ignored everything else. “Where’s your husband?”

Her eyes welled with tears. Sniffling, she blinked them away. “He’s dead.”

Jack bowed his head, shielding himself from the agony in her steady gaze. She definitely wasn’t lying now. The way her emotions paraded across her expressive face, she’d make a terrible criminal.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he replied.

She was awfully young to be a widow. Jack sometimes felt the good Lord had let evil concentrate west of the Mississippi.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times to speak, finally deciding to give her a moment to collect herself before any more questions. Judging from her condition, the man couldn’t have been gone for too long. In this harsh land, it was best not to get attached to anything, or anyone.

When she finally glanced up, he asked, “Do you have any family or friends in the area?”

“The McCoys live just over the rise.”

Hope sparked in his chest. “Is there a Mrs. McCoy?”

“There’s a Mrs. McCoy, a Mr. McCoy—” she ticked off each name with a finger to the opposite hand “—and five little McCoys.”

Relief weakened his knees. Delivering babies was best left to women and doctors—and he didn’t qualify as either. “Thank heaven for the McCoys.”

He’d find a way to contact the family as soon as Elizabeth was settled. With his immediate worry eased, he stepped forward, motioning with one hand. “Let’s get you someplace where you can rest, Mrs. Cole.”

She eyed him with obvious distrust.

Flummoxed by her stubbornness, Jack paused. Now what? Give him a raging outlaw or a drunken killer any day. He wasn’t equipped for this kind of sensitive situation. Those teary blue eyes were sorely testing his vow to remain detached.

She lurched to one side, clutching the ladder-back chair for support. “Oh, dear,” she moaned.

Feeling helpless and out of his element, he cupped her elbow. Her wary gaze swept over his thick wool coat, lingering on his stamped, silver buttons. Her jaw clenched. He had the uneasy sensation she had just sized him up, and found him lacking.

Jolted by her odd reaction, he dropped his hold. “I’m not going to hurt you, Elizabeth.”

She pinched shut her eyes against another pain, then fumbled for his hand, threading her fingers through his in a silent plea for comfort. His heart stuttered at the unexpected gesture.

How long since her husband had died? How long had she been pregnant and alone, solely responsible for the grueling work required to run this homestead?

After a long, tense moment, her delicate features relaxed. The grip on his hand loosened.

“That one wasn’t so bad,” she said, though her wan smile indicated otherwise.

“Let’s get you away from this breeze.” He nodded toward the back of the house. “Someone near broke your door in two.”

“I hope that same someone repairs the damage before he leaves.”

She lowered her head, then yanked her hand free, as if surprised to see their fingers intertwined.

Keeping his gaze averted, he flexed his fist a few times to shake off the lingering warmth of her skin. He didn’t want to look at her, didn’t want to see the raw edge of fear in her eyes. Didn’t she realize he was one of the good guys?

Following the strangely intimate moment, an awkward silence stretched between them. The widow was a curious mix of bold courage and heartbreaking vulnerability. She’d been in labor, isolated and alone, yet she’d met his forceful entrance with rare fortitude. Despite her blustery grit, he sensed her reserve of energy was running lower than a watering hole in July.

She brushed the hair from her forehead with a weary sigh. “Maybe I will have a rest.”

“That sounds like the best idea I’ve heard all day.”

She leaned heavily on his arm as he eased her past the cast-iron stove, through the doorway to another room. An enormous four-poster bed dominated the space. A wedding-ring quilt in faded pinks and dull greens covered the mattress. An old porcelain doll with matted chestnut hair rested between two fluffy feather pillows.

Jack scratched his forehead. “That’s quite an impressive piece of furniture.”

Her cheeks flushed pink. “My husband and I bought the homestead from another family along with the furniture. They made it almost six years before they gave up.” Avoiding his curious gaze, Elizabeth shuffled to a sturdy oak dresser. A red kerosene lantern with a floral-etched, fluted cover lit the room. She tugged on the top drawer, sending the flame flickering, then glanced at him askance. “I’m sorry I lied to you earlier. I didn’t want you to know I was alone.”

“I didn’t give you much choice.”

She kept her eyes downcast, her discomfort palpable. While he appreciated the awkward impropriety of the situation, his nagging concern for her welfare took precedence over their mutual embarrassment.

They had a more pressing problem to solve. “Is this your first baby?”

She nodded.

“How long have the pains been comin’?”

“About four or five hours.”

The knot of anxiety in his chest eased. The birthing processes often took hours, sometimes even days. “If there’s one thing I do know, it’s that first babies take their good sweet time in coming. I’ve got three older brothers, and they’ve blessed me with two nieces and six nephews. Not a one of them took less than twelve hours to be born.”

She met his gaze, her pale blue eyes full of hope. “Then you can go to town. Cimarron Springs has a doctor. Two of them.”

“Ma’am, there’s a snowstorm blowing in. I’ll be lucky to make it to the McCoys, let alone town.”

Her shoulders slumped and his heart went out to her. Pain and fear had a way of sapping a body’s strength.

“This isn’t exactly a church social, I know that.” He paused, searching for a way to alleviate her fears. “Tell you what. I’ll get my horse out of the weather and check on the animals. Won’t take me more than a minute. You can change and lay down for a rest. Keep track of the pains, though. They should keep coming closer together. When you’re settled, I’ll skedaddle over to the McCoy’s spread for help. With five children, they should be well versed in delivering babies.”

She bobbed her head in a distracted nod, pressing her knuckles into the small of her back with a grimace.

He scooted to her side. “Don’t hold your breath through the pains. Just let ’em come.”

“Is that what you tell the cows?” she snapped.

“I heard the midwife say that to my sister-in-law. I tell the cows to moo through the pain.”

A reluctant smile appeared through her scowl.

“That’s better.” He’d paced the floor with his brothers through enough births to know Elizabeth was going to need all the humor she could muster. “You’ve got about six to eight minutes before the next pain. I’ll be back lickety-split.”

A feather-light touch on his sleeve stilled his retreat. “When you return from the McCoy’s, you can bunk down in the barn until the weather clears.” She swallowed, glancing away. “But that’s all. I expect you to clear out at first light.”

Jack tipped his head in agreement. The widow was still a might skittish about his intentions. Considering their less-than-cordial introduction, he couldn’t blame her. “Don’t worry, Elizabeth. Everything is going to be all right.”

“Easy for you to say, mister. You’re not the one having a baby.”