Jillian Hart - Last Chance Bride

She withdrew a tiny piece of pink calico, cut into pieces to be sewn into a doll’s dress. A terrible longing stole over her. She planned to make a whole wardrobe of clothes fitted with tiny ruffles and lace and ribbons, scraps from her own sewing and from the shop she’d worked at in Virginia long ago. The owner had allowed her to take the smaller scraps since they were simply thrown away.

Now, years and a lifetime later, she’d found a good use for those scraps. It broke her heart that she couldn’t finish the dress for Emma’s sake.

Jacob wanted her to stay away from his girl. She understood why. It just hurt.

But the good fabric would go to waste, she reminded herself.

Libby fingered the darling dress pieces. She hated waste; she had so little all her life that wastefulness felt like a sin. Perhaps Jacob wouldn’t mind if she finished up the bits of fabric she’d already cut. She didn’t have the right to try to see him again, but she felt happier. As if doll’s dresses made from scraps could make up for the hurt she’d caused.

Jacob set down his pitchfork and wiped the sweat from his brow. The August sun beat with an inferno’s fury, heating the inside of his stable until it felt like an oven.

Weeks had passed since he’d last spoken with Elizabeth. He thought of her often, usually when he was alone with his work or in the silence of night when sleep eluded him.

He couldn’t get her out of his mind, damn it.

Long distance proposals didn’t work out all the time. Elizabeth had come here without a promise of marriage. Neither one of them had made promises in their numerous letters, as if equally afraid of the future. But as Jacob unbuttoned his shirt, then tossed it off, he didn’t feel comforted. No, he felt empty, troubled. He pitched the soiled straw from the box stall as hard as he could, trying to purge his feelings. Sweat ran off his brow like water. He ignored it.

Already he was thinking of her. He’d asked Maude Baker how Elizabeth was doing, and he learned she worked at a hotel near the blacksmith’s shop, cooking in the kitchen.

Before Jane left for her trip south, she’d let him know the gossip concerning Elizabeth Hodges. As the new woman, she was the talk of town. Single. Pretty. Young. Scores of bachelors lined up to ask her to supper, but she declined every offer.

Jacob suspected he was the only man in town who knew the most popular woman was pregnant.

He stopped pitching and closed his eyes. Guilt battered him. Couldn’t he go to her and ask her back? He wanted to. He truly wanted to look past her pregnancy—past the shadows of his own fears—and try again.

She was the right woman for them.

But he didn’t want a real marriage. He didn’t want more children. He never wanted to sit in the parlor waiting for another woman to give birth, knowing the risks. Life is too short. Love doesn’t last forever. Death intervenes and leaves you with nothing but suffocating grief.

Jacob learned these lessons the hard way. He was a fool to consider, even for a second, he could march up to Mrs. Baker’s boardinghouse and ask Elizabeth to be his wife.

“Deary, I’m sorry but I can’t accept your money.”

Libby took a step back in Maude’s crowded apartment. Knickknacks crammed the surface of the many tables, low shelves and whatnots in the corners, making maneuvering difficult. “I don’t understand. I owe you next week’s rent.”

“You don’t owe me a thing.” Maude smiled.

It only confused Libby more. “I owe you money if I want to live here come Monday.”

Mischief twinkled in Maude’s wise eyes. “Oh, you’ll be here on Monday, all right. Someone paid your rent for you.”

What? The moon could tumble from the sky and it wouldn’t shock her as much. “Who would do such a thing? Eight dollars is a lot of money.”

“Not to some people.” Maude turned with a rustle of homemade petticoats and marched into the small kitchen. “I was just gonna have me some refreshment. Come join me for lemonade and cookies.”

Refreshment? Her stomach felt too troubled. “It was Jacob, wasn’t it?”

“He told me not to tell you. He wanted to keep it a secret.”

“Well, you didn’t try very hard, Maude.”

“True.” The kitchen echoed with her jolly laughter. “You’re paid up for the entire month of August.”

“That can’t be. He wouldn’t do that. He doesn’t even like me.” But he kissed me. The remembered tingle of his lips caressing hers heated her face.

Maude set a plate of sugar cookies on the small round oak table. “A man doesn’t gotta like you in order to love you.”

Libby stepped over to the table, the kitchen as crammed with breakable knickknacks as the front room. “I want you to refund Jacob his money.”

“Can’t do it.” Maude grabbed a pitcher tinkling with ice. She poured two cups. “This came over from Trace’s diner. The best in town.”

Not even the sight of the luxurious lemonade soothed the ache in her chest. “Maude, it’s simple. You find Jacob at his livery and give him his money.”

“He won’t take it. Besides, after he gave me thirty-two dollars for this month, he and I made an arrangement. He’s giving me free care of the horse I’ve got over at his livery, and I give you free room and board. It’s a fair deal for me.”

“You can’t do that. I won’t be obligated to him.” She’d caused him enough trouble. Thinking of the baby growing in her belly, Libby blushed.

“Pish posh. You listen to me. This world is tough on a woman alone. If a well-off gentleman wants to help you out—with no expectations—then I would let him. A girl needs all the help she can get.”

Not this one. Libby sank into the offered chair. “You don’t understand, Maude. I owe Jacob more than I can pay him.”

He’d given her beautiful dreams—for as long as they lasted. She’d wasted all his time corresponding when he could have spent the time finding another woman who would be good enough for Emma. Not that Libby blamed him. Oh, no. She blamed herself for making promises she could not honor, for letting Jacob down.

Maude’s hand covered hers. “It’s a matter you must take up with him. He and I have an arrangement I like. And he’s good to my horse. Have a cookie, now. They’re fresh from the diner, too.”

Jacob secured the Baker’s palomino in his stall, trying not to remember.

“Jacob?” Her voice. Elizabeth’s.

He didn’t realize she wasn’t a dream until he turned. The wide front doors of the bam framed her slim shape, allowing glimpses of Main Street with its dusty boardwalk and painted shop fronts. The hot, early September wind breezed the green fabric of her plain calico dress.

She looked beautiful to him with wisps of honey blond hair whipping around her oval face.

She self-consciously dipped her chin. “I hope I’m not bothering you.”

“Not at all.” He stepped forward.

“I need to speak to you about my rent.” She tucked her lush bottom lip between her teeth, looking uncertain.

He grabbed hold of the worn-smooth handle of his favorite pitchfork. “Seems to me your rent is a matter you should talk about with Mrs. Baker.”

Her eyes searched his. “I know you are the one, and it has to stop. Not that I don’t appreciate it.”

He wished so much could be different between them. “I’m glad to help out, Elizabeth. You refused my money, if you remember.”

She remembered the heat of his mouth over hers, burning a blessed sensation straight through her belly. In the dim interior of the barn, she could see only Jacob’s shadow. She moved closer. Make him understand how important this is to her.

The comforting scent of wood smoke and new hay filled her nose. The same scent clung to Jacob’s clothes the few times she’d been close to him.