Sherri Shackelford - Winning the Widow's Heart

“You’re almost there,” he soothed. “You can do this, Elizabeth. You’re almost done.”

Curling forward, she squeezed his hand, her whole body straining with effort. Her agonizing shout of pain ripped through him like a bullet.

“Oh, my goodness,” Jo cried. “It’s a girl. It’s a girl, Mrs. Cole! You have a beautiful girl.”

Following her announcement, a heavy silence filled the room. Jack waited, hearing nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat thundering in his ears. Jo carefully wiped the child dry with a towel. Her worried gaze met his over Elizabeth’s head. At the stricken message in her eyes, his heart seized.

The bundle squirmed. A lusty squall exploded from the infant, startling them all into relieved laughter.

Jo carefully placed the baby on Elizabeth’s chest. The widow cradled her bellowing child, laughing and crying at the same time. “She’s so beautiful.” Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder, catching his gaze. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

His eyes stung. He cleared his throat, recalling all the times he’d teased his older brothers for their weeping and wailing every time a niece or nephew was born. He’d never understood the vulnerable emotions those wet, froglike creatures inspired. Seeing Elizabeth’s joy, her newborn, the miracle of life where there once was none, something in his chest shifted.

“Yes,” he said, his voice husky. “She’s beautiful.”

While the two women laughed, awkwardly hugging each other over the baby, the walls crowded in around him. The air in the room turned dank and suffocating. His nerves tingled, warning him of an attack. He needed to escape.

This time, though, he feared the danger rested within his own heart.

Chapter Three

Elizabeth awoke in darkness to the clang of pots and pans and the mouth-watering aroma of frying bacon. Stiff and sore, she gingerly rolled to her side to check on the baby. The surge of energy she’d experienced immediately following the birth had plummeted soon after. A rare fatigue had overcome her, sapping her of strength and leaving her weak and listless.

Barely able to keep her eyes open, she’d mustered just enough energy to change out of her ruined dress with Jo’s assistance. Her legs had proven too weak to hold her weight, so Mr. Elder had assisted her onto the bed. Silent and flushed red from his neck to his ears, he’d lifted her with treasured care.

He’d lingered to help Jo change the linens and tidy up the room, both of them waging a hushed, muttering war on the proper way to accomplish even the most minuscule task. Each time the Ranger had chanced a glance at Elizabeth, his cheeks had darkened to such a deep crimson, she’d feared he would burst into flames.

After ensuring the newborn was settled, a gown lovingly drawn over her body and crocheted yellow booties covering her feet, Elizabeth’s two helpers had left mother and daughter alone in the hushed glow and hiss of kerosene lamps.

The infant had nursed voraciously, then stretched and yawned before falling into the peaceful slumber afforded only the very young, and the very old. Cocooned in a blanket of serene contentment, Elizabeth had been reluctant to surrender her gift from God. She’d dozed off with the infant cradled in her arms, her daughter’s gentle breath whispering against her neck.

Swaddled tightly, the baby now rested beside the bed in a drawer Jo had extracted from the dresser and lined with blankets. Sighing, Elizabeth extended her hand over the edge of the mattress. She brushed the backs of her fingers over the supple, downy softness of the baby’s cheek, then buried them in the shock of dark hair covering her head.

“How did I create something so perfect? So beautiful?” she whispered. “Thank you, Lord, for this is Your work.”

Her heart swelled. Now more than ever, she needed to be strong. The awesome burden of responsibility weighed upon Elizabeth alone. Her daughter’s survival in this wild, untamed land was at the mercy of her mother’s courage. The prairie was brutal, especially for women and children.

Elizabeth glanced toward the darkened window, the glass panes frosted over like sugared candy. A tangle of memories pulled her into the past.

Her first month in Kansas, she’d stumbled between a cow and her calf. The animal had butted her to the ground, knocking the wind from her lungs. Will had been angry at her carelessness, chastising her for coming between a mother and her offspring. Elizabeth finally understood his warning.

The changes in her life over such a short time threatened to overwhelm her. In one short year, she’d been a wife, a widow and a mother. Last November she’d married Will after a three-week-long whirlwind courtship in New York and moved West. Three months later she was pregnant and three months after that Will was dead. The entire year had brought her full circle to this new life.

She might not know anything about raising children, but she loved her daughter already, had loved her since that first moment she’d felt the baby stirring in her womb. She’d die to save her child.

A child who currently had no name.

Elizabeth pressed her numb hands against cheeks burning with shame. How could she have been so thoughtless? She’d fallen asleep without naming her baby.

A vague memory took shape, Mr. Elder leaning over the infant, running his index finger reverently over the baby’s cheek. “We’ll name you tomorrow,” he’d said. “When your mother has rested.”

Gracious. Not only had she failed to name her child, she’d abandoned poor Jo to deal with the Ranger, alone.

So much for courage and fortitude.

She’d abandoned those dearest to her to fend for themselves—while she slept.

A lump of regret clogged her throat. “Oh, baby,” Elizabeth sighed. “What a mother you have.”

She caught the sounds of someone puttering in the kitchen, whistling a merry tune. Perhaps she was being too hard on herself. Nothing awful could have happened for Jo to be so cheerful. With the baby nestled snuggly in her makeshift bed, and Jo busy in the kitchen, no one had suffered unduly for Elizabeth’s absence. After all, she’d just delivered a baby. An exhausting task, to be sure.

As for their uninvited guest, considering the late hour, Mr. Elder was probably long gone. Once a man wanted to leave, no one could stop him. She wouldn’t be surprised if he was halfway to Texas already.

A twinge of loss stirred up her turbulent emotions. She recalled the way he’d held her hand, the encouraging words he’d murmured. How odd to think she’d never see him again.

She pressed a fist against her mouth to stifle uncontrollable sobs, alarmed by her inability to hold back the tears. She never cried, ever. Not when her father had died, not when she’d been escorted to the orphanage by two somber nuns while her mother looked on, not even when Will had left her for good. Yet over the past few days she’d been nothing but a watering pot.

Determined to quell the flood of emotion, she swiped at her cheeks. Weak women did not survive. Her baby was depending on her. She’d had enough trouble after Will’s death, she couldn’t let down her guard.

Heavy footsteps approached the door. A tentative knock sounded. “Are you all right?” a male voice called.

Her heart flipped. She absently smoothed her hair and tugged her heavy wrapper higher over her neck. Why was Mr. Elder still here? Had the weather changed for the worse? Had something happened to Jo?

She lifted the baby from her cozy nest, and cradled the bundle against her chest. “I’ll be right out,” she called, unable to disguise the quiver in her voice.

The infant’s cupid-bow mouth opened and closed in a yawn, her tongue working. Elizabeth pressed her cheek against the baby’s forehead, willing herself to be strong. Tears escaped her tightly clenched eyes, dripping down her cheeks. Frightened by her lack of control, she bit her lip. Another telling sob slipped out.