Last Chance Bride

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.”

“No, I wouldn’t do that to you. To Emma.”

“You had to know. Were you going to use me? Did you accept my offer to cover your own mistakes? To come here and pretend the bastard was mine?”

“Not exactly. I wasn’t sure—”

Anger flashed through him. “I’m not about to let you use me. Or Emma. She’s the reason you are here in the first place.”

“I never meant—”

“She needs a mother, not a lying woman of questionable reputation.” Jacob closed his eyes. It wasn’t fair. He was angry with himself. Angry for agreeing to find a mother for Emma. Angry for thinking such a plan would ever work.

“I’m sorry.” The words squeaked, broken by emotion. He looked at Elizabeth. He remembered the look of affection on her pretty oval face when she’d shown him the rag doll, remembered the way she’d almost brushed the curls from Emma’s eyes, and her loving manner as she joked with the girl.

Damn it. The loss was Emma’s. Elizabeth would have been the right mother. If only she hadn’t... He didn’t know what she’d done. If she was an innocent forced or went willingly with a lover. He didn’t know anything about the woman except she was going to break his little girl’s heart.

Damn her for doing this to Emma.

Elizabeth surprised him by bursting into tears and without another word, she simply walked away.

He watched her go.

“Where’s Miss Hodges?” Emma tugged at his shirtsleeve. Dust cast a blue-gray light over the world and shadowed her button face. “Is she all right? Jane is afraid her cooking made her sick.”

“Miss Hodges left.” An odd roaring echoed in his head.

“If she’s feelin’ better tomorrow, maybe she can come have some of that pie we made.” Emma’s face wrinkled with worry. “You like Miss Hodges, don’t you, Pa?”