Jillian Hart - Last Chance Bride

Libby belonged here. She could feel it. A tremble of joy shivered through her.

“It isn’t much.” Jacob’s voice startled her, and she spun around.

He could read the surprise on her face. She hadn’t heard him approach.

“Oh.” She placed a slender hand to her chest. “This is the most beautiful home. Did you build it yourself?”

“Yes. Felled the trees. Chinked the walls. It’s snug and it’s sturdy.” Pride simmered in his chest. No matter what she was, Elizabeth Hodges was a woman of simple tastes. He liked that.

“It’s so roomy and bright.” Her eyes shone not with greed or want, but with something deeper. “Why, with curtains at the windows and a rug on the floor, this would look like a picture in a book.”

He smiled. “I’m glad you think so.”

She confused him. He didn’t know if he wanted to marry a woman with a questionable reputation. Yet he liked her. She was soft and pretty. He suspected life had not been easy for her, a woman alone in the world.

“Pa, come on.” Emma crowded next to Elizabeth, grabbing hold of the woman’s capable hands. “Jane’s puttin’ supper on the table. I want to show Miss Hodges where to sit.”

Alone on the front step, Jacob watched his little girl drag Elizabeth away. It was best not to think of the future.

But as he glanced about his simple, adequate home, he noticed the polished furniture and the glistening windowpanes. Jane and Emma must have scrubbed the room from floor to ceiling hoping to make a good impression.

Now she stood at the table, patiently listening while Emma set her doll down in the chair by the window, as if to make the rag doll a part of the family. Elizabeth leaned down and meant to brush a strand of hair from Emma’s eyes but snatched back her hand, uncertain.

Jacob’s stomach tightened. He could see the goodness in her. He didn’t want to like her.

“Come sit down while it’s still hot,” Jane said, barreling around the corner with the potatoes steaming in a glass bowl.

He clomped across the room and pulled back his chair. Elizabeth looked so uncertain. She certainly wasn’t a bad woman. He had to give her the benefit of the doubt. “Go ahead and sit down. I’m wagering Emma has a chair all picked out for you.”

“She’s sittin’ beside me.” The girl beamed.

“I could have guessed that.” Jacob sat down in his chair.

Emma grabbed Elizabeth’s hand and showed her to the chair between them. The woman looked overwhelmed. She lifted her chin and happiness filled her eyes.

“This is all so wonderful,” she said in a voice as gentle as morning. “I’m just so grateful to be here.”

“I’m glad, too,” Emma chimed.

Guilt kicked Jacob like an ill-tempered mule. He’d not been fair to Elizabeth Hodges from the start. Promising her marriage when he never intended to love her. He’d dreaded her arrival, and if it hadn’t been for Emma, Elizabeth wouldn’t be sitting at his table right now, pregnant or not.

“I picked the beans fresh today.” Emma clutched the cut-glass bowl in both small hands. “You like beans, don’t you Miss Hodges?”

“I love them.” Delight shimmered in her eyes like sunlight playing in the creek.

He’d harbored so many worries. Would she be a decent woman? Would she be a loyal wife? A loving mother? They evaporated now like fog before sun.

“Pa bought these hair ribbons just for tonight,” Emma chattered. “They’re velvet. For a special occasion, Jane said.”

“Very fancy. The color makes you look very pretty.”

Emma beamed. “Tell me about the Indians. They ride their ponies bareback.”

“Yes, they do.”

Jacob could hardly swallow, and he stared down at his empty plate. He hadn’t dished up. Now, he wasn’t hungry. He reached for the bowl of beans Elizabeth passed to him. His fingers brushed hers, and in that instant of contact he raised his gaze. Their eyes met and held.

He had to start risking again, for Emma’s sake. His gut clenched. If only it wasn’t so hard. If only...

“I want to ride a pony wild in the meadows,” Emma’s voice broke between them. “Would you let me, Pa?”

“Not a chance.”

“I knew you were gonna say that.”

Unable to move, Libby sat perfectly still, her heart beating wildly like the wings of a grounded bird. Happiness threatened to fill her up so full she couldn’t breathe. The normal sounds of the meal—Emma’s fork scraping against her tin plate, the clink of the pan as Jacob dished up generous pieces of succulent chicken pie, the tinkle of water in the glasses amazed her. She’d never known a home like this, safe and cozy, so happy.

Emma asked questions about riding in the stage. Between mouthfuls of the good food, Libby answered the best she could. No, they didn’t meet any road agents on the trail. No, they didn’t get robbed. Yes, the teams of horses were pretty.

“You can see why my father went deaf,” Jacob mumbled.

“Pa!” Emma protested, laughing at the same time.

Happiness skidded down Libby’s spine like cool water, refreshing and sustaining. “I think I’m losing hearing in this one ear.”

Emma giggled.

“I told you, you talk too much,” Jacob teased.

Oh, no. Libby placed a hand on her stomach. The laughter slid from her mouth and she stood, fighting the abrupt twist of nausea rising in her stomach.

It couldn’t be. She knocked over her chair and bolted for the door. Tears blurred her vision as she pounded down the front steps, holding her skirts out of the way as she raced blindly around the house. A second twist of nausea roiled in her belly, and she tasted the acidic burn of bile.

She would not leave a mess in the yard.

The outhouse was a tidy, sturdy building just behind the cabin. Libby raced past the elderly woman’s surprised face, and flung open the privy’s simple door. She fell to her knees on the clean floorboards and leaned over the carved hole.

The contents of her stomach hurled violently up her throat, and Libby didn’t hold back her hot tears or her choking sobs. After three violent retches, her stomach was empty.

Exhausted and hopeless, Libby leaned against the wall and buried her face in her hands. There was no blaming this on travel sickness. She was pregnant.

“Are you all right, dear?”

Libby raised her face from her hands and turned to gaze up at the spry, time-weathered woman. A gentle understanding shone in Jane’s eyes.

“I will be fine,” Libby insisted, firming her chin. She climbed to her feet and dusted off her skirt.

“I only hope it wasn’t my cookin’,” Jane said lightly, although no humor shone in her eyes. “My Albert always used to say my cookin’ could rot a man’s gut.”

“No, it wasn’t your cooking, trust me.” Libby summoned up a polite smile.

“I see.” Sober eyes looked up into her own. “Well, now, Jacob’s here. I suppose you’ll be wantin’ to talk to him. Emma, come with me into the house and show me that new doll of yours.”

As the woman and small girl ambled off, Libby could feel the weight of Jacob’s gaze. The pain of what she had just lost speared through her like an Indian’s arrowhead. This couldn’t be happening.

He said nothing, and the silence stood between them as the weight of the night began to drain the webby light from the sky.

“I thought you said you weren’t sure.”

Holding the pieces of her heart, she managed an answer. “I wasn’t.”

The wind tugged at her skirts. An owl hooted from the high boughs of a nearby pine.

Pregnant. Jacob fisted his hands, wanting to will the truth away. He studied her pale face. His gaze swept downward. Her stomach looked so flat. She looked so fragile.

He glanced up to read the pain in her eyes and saw the broken pieces of her heart. He twisted away, marching out toward the stable, then stopped. Frustrated. Angry. He didn’t know what to do. “You lied to me. You came here tonight knowing your condition.”