Jillian Hart - Last Chance Bride

“I want to pay my own way, Jacob. I need to do it.”

Jacob moved toward her with a slow, hesitant gait, gripping his pitchfork. “Maybe I need to help you.”

“But you should be trying to find Emma a mother, not worrying over me.” Although she wanted him to.

“Somebody has to care about you. Have you given a thought to what you will do when that baby comes?”

He eased into the spill of sunshine through the wide stable door. He wore trousers and no shirt. Sweat glistened across the mesmerizing expanse of his muscled chest, touched by the sun.

She had never seen such a chest. She had never seen such a man. He isn’t yours to touch, Libby. Her face hot, she dipped her chin. “I’m getting along considerably well at the boardinghouse, and I’ve found a job.”

“Not as a seamstress,” he corrected, as if he knew all about her position serving men their meals.

“It was the only job I could find. Mr. Oleson offered to hire me as a dancing girl in his saloon, but I had to decline. Apart from my...condition I don’t know how to dance.”

Jacob’s rich chuckle vibrated across her skin. “I know a few dances. My mother taught me.”

“My aunt thought dancing was sinful.” Libby fingered the soft bundle she held. “I suppose the sort of dancing in Mr. Oleson’s parlor might be considered that.”

“The new minister in town thinks so. He’s started to picket some of those establishments.”

“Sometimes the women joining him spill over onto Leah’s front steps and keep away the hotel’s business. It makes her furious.” Libby’s smile faded. “Will you stop giving Maude free board for her horse?”

“No.” His eyes turned somber, pinching thoughtfully in the corners. “You need my help, Elizabeth.”

What kind of woman did he think she was?

“No, I don’t need you,” she said, chin lifted. “I’ve never depended on a man’s generosity, and I’m not about to do it now. I have always managed just fine on my own, no matter what you think of me.”

Face flaming, Libby turned, the bundle in her hands forgotten as she walked as fast as she could toward the street.

“Don’t leave. Please.” His voice echoed in the loft overhead. “Do you have a moment?”

Libby considered his words, then stopped. She couldn’t look back at him. “I was on my way to the hotel.”

“Let me buy you a glass of lemonade over at the diner so we can talk.”

Talk. Libby’s stomach flipped over. Looking at him made her want him. He wasn’t hers to have. “I—I start work soon.”

Jacob nodded, as if that suited him fine, and held up one finger indicating she should wait.

Wait? She should hightail it out of here and put as much distance between them as humanly possible. He didn’t want her, would never love her. But she wanted him to.

Jacob appeared from the back of the stable, now wearing a plain blue muslin shirt, open at the collar. It had been tucked hastily into his trousers and looked sadly wrinkled.

“Has Jane left?”

“What gave you that idea?” He smiled ruefully. “I never learned how to iron. Without Jane, I use the laundry in town, but by the time I get the clothes home, they look like this.”

“What does Emma say about it?”

“She says I ought to get myself a wife. That there’s a nice lady living in town I could ask.” His joke failed. The light left his eyes. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s all right.” But it wasn’t. As they walked the half block together, she felt his gaze stray to her stomach.

He held open the door of the diner and smiled as if... Libby tried not to complete that thought. He was just being polite.

“We’ll have two glasses of lemonade,” Jacob informed the young woman who wandered into sight. “Let’s sit near the window,” he said to Libby.

Libby sat down while Jacob folded himself into a too small chair. The opened window gave her something to look at besides Jacob.

“I guess I really just wanted to know how you are doing. If you need anything.” Concern rumbled in his voice.

And brought tears to her eyes. She blinked hard. “How is Emma doing?”

“She misses Jane. I haven’t found anyone to replace her yet”

Would he find someone to replace me? Libby laid the cloth bundle she carried on the clean table. She waited as the young woman placed two ice-filled glasses between them. Fresh, sour-sweet lemonade scented the air.

“What do you have there?” he asked.

“Something for Emma. If you will let her have them.” Waiting for his rejection, she unwrapped the small bundle of clothes. Folds of happy calico and gingham peeked out from the soft flannel. Aprons. Bonnets. Dresses. Nightgowns. Shoes.

“Elizabeth, I don’t think—” He fisted his hands. “Emma will get her hopes up.”

“Then don’t tell her they are from me. Say you bought them. It’s important to me she has these for her doll.”

“Why?”

Libby rubbed the condensation from the glass. “I had planned to finish the clothes before I arrived, but time got the best of me. It isn’t Emma’s fault I didn’t sew them before I arrived.”

Jacob’s face twisted. “Emma will know they came from you.”

“I see.” All these pretty things. Libby folded the flannel back over the clothes. “The fabric was already cut and would only go to waste. I couldn’t bear that. I didn’t think it would make you angry.”

Jacob raised his gaze to hers. “I’m not angry.”

“Then you’ll give them to her?”

“Yes.” Jacob reached for the bundle. “Emma will be thrilled with these pretty things.”

Thank you. Libby’s throat tightened, and she did not say the words. It was enough to know she would make Emma happy.

“You have a talent.” His gray gaze caught hers. Held.

Libby longed for his touch. Unable to look away, her heart hammered. “I’m just an ordinary seamstress.”

“Seems with this skill you could find work in town.”

“I just started doing piecework for Mr. Ellington. Mostly altering and mending and hemming. It isn’t much, but enough to fill my Sundays.”

“That’s good.” Jacob wrapped his able fingers around the thick, cold glass and drank deeply.

She sipped the ice-cold lemonade, too. “My time is up. I don’t want to keep Leah waiting. The hotel has been so busy lately.”

“Is she treating you right? Kitchen work can’t be easy.”

She could hear his thoughts. For a pregnant woman like you. Libby looked down. “Leah is a generous boss. I’m lucky to be working for her.”

A flicker built in her heart—the beginnings of hope. Maybe he would look past her pregnancy. Maybe he wanted to marry her for her—the woman with whom he’d exchanged hopes, stories and words from his heart.

Libby stood, fishing for coins in her skirt pocket. “Goodbye, Jacob.”

And it was goodbye.

“It’s my treat.” His firm voice stilled her hand, and he laid an array of small coins on the table.

He cared about her. And it hurt more than his hatred.

“Take care of yourself, Elizabeth.” He stood, his unreadable gaze trapping hers, causing a tingling warmth through every nerve in her body.

He was never going to kiss her again. Libby turned away, not looking back, fighting the weakness for him in her heart.

She’d never ached for a man’s touch. She’d never felt this way about anyone.

Chapter Six

“Miss Hodges! Miss Hodges!” The child’s voice rang like a merry bell above the din of the dusty streets.

Libby turned, her errand forgotten at the sight of Emma Stone, dressed in a white calico dress, trimmed with lace and velvet, racing down the boardwalk, braids flying.

She glanced around for Jacob and relaxed when she saw he was nowhere near. She wanted to see him; she didn’t want to see him.