West of Heaven

Nodding, he went to the water pump, filled the bucket and brought it to her with a ladle. She rinsed her mouth and grimaced as she spat on the ground. “Is the wagon ready?” she asked.

“It’s ready, but you’re not.”

“I’m fine. The bacon didn’t agree with me, that’s all.”

Her eyes glazed at the thought of the grease and Ethan almost smiled. “I think it’s more than that.”

She shook her head. “It can’t be. I have to leave.”

He knew she felt both guilty for taking advantage of him and fearful of LeFarge. He wanted to tell her he understood, but he didn’t want her to know that he had read her letter. “Look, I know I’ve been a little—”

“It’s not that. I have to get settled, that’s all.”

Lifting her skirt, she stepped over a patch of mud and rounded the corner of the cabin. Ethan was two steps behind her when she suddenly swayed on her feet. Grabbing the wall for support, she leaned against the logs and slid to the ground. “I’ve never been this nauseous in my life,” she said.

The sight of her took him back to the day of the storm. His breath caught in his chest and he knew that he couldn’t let her leave. Dropping to a crouch, he touched her shoulder. “Looks like I’m stuck with you.”

“But I need to go home.”

He gave her the hardest look he knew how to give a woman. “What you need is rest.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me. It’s just that—”

“You’re going to have a baby.”

The joy in her eyes was mixed with sadness, making her seem older than her years. Understanding flashed across her face, as well, and Ethan felt cold and exposed.

“It seems you know about these things,” she said.

“I do.” His gaze held hers. Was that relief he saw in her eyes, or fear? She would be in danger if she left, but he’d made it clear that he didn’t want her to stay. Without giving his motives a thought, he made a decision. “You’re staying here while I go to town.”

“I was better yesterday,” she said. “Maybe we could go tomorrow.”

“Trust me. The sickness won’t go away for a while, and I’m low on everything from beans to bacon.”

Her face knotted and he wondered what he’d said wrong until he heard a sound that reminded him of a stream bubbling over smooth stones. When she tilted her face up to the sun, he realized she was laughing. How long had it been since he’d taken pleasure in a woman’s good humor? “What’s so funny?” he asked.

The widow tilted her face to his and poked him in the chest. “Don’t ever say bacon to me again. Just the thought turns my stomach.”

Ethan grinned. “So we’ll eat sausage instead.”

The widow got the giggles, and the next thing he knew, the spot she’d touched on his chest was burning, but he was laughing at the same time. The joke hadn’t been that funny, but she had tears streaming down her face, and so did he. Laura used to say that a belly laugh was good for the soul. Except he didn’t have a soul. He’d lost it in Raton. As quickly as it started, his laughter faded into a grunt. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

She looked confused, as if he’d blown out a lantern and left her in the dark. “Mr. Trent?”

Ethan stared straight ahead. “What is it?”

“Will you tell the sheriff I need to speak with him?”

She wanted to tell the sheriff about Dawson, but she didn’t want to share that problem with Ethan. Given his foul mood, he could understand her reluctance. “I’ll do that,” he replied.

“There’s one more thing.”

Ethan flinched. “What?”

“You are going to pay for that bacon remark.”

God help him, he smiled. “Am I now?”

“Definitely. When you least expect it. I’ll sew up your sleeves. Or—”

“Put salt in the sugar jar?”

She shook her head. “You don’t use sugar in anything.”

It was true. He hadn’t eaten so much as a cookie in two years, but this morning his mouth watered at the thought of something sweet—maple syrup on cornbread or a stick of peppermint candy.

With the widow leaning on his arm, he steered her to the cabin and left her by the door with her back pressed against the coarse wood. Then he climbed into the wagon, picked up the reins and doffed his hat.

“I’ll be back around dusk.” Thinking of Dawson’s letter, he added, “There’s a pistol in the cigar box on the mantel.”

Her eyes flickered with curiosity, then in the way of mothers-to-be, she touched her belly. “I’ll have supper waiting for you.”

He gave the reins a shake and took off down the trail. How would it feel to come home to a hot meal and a woman’s company? Probably good, and that was a problem for a man who couldn’t be happy.

Aside from his quick trip to report Dawson’s body, Ethan hadn’t been to town in weeks, but it hadn’t changed. A train in the station was working up a boiler full of steam, and the rattle of wagons filled his ears as he drove to the livery stable.

Glancing at the sky, he saw that it was close to noon. He’d had a hell of a time getting here. The wagon had gotten mired three times and he and his horses were covered with mud. If he had been alone, he would have ridden the roan and just filled up his saddlebags. Yet with a pregnant woman in his care, he needed more than a few bags of flour, coffee and beans.

But no bacon. He could still hear that laughter. It had charmed him, and his own chuckle had been a shock. So was the pressing need in his gut to get back before nightfall. Leaving her alone with a man like LeFarge on the prowl made his skin crawl.

Ethan stopped the gelding in front of the livery stable. He’d thought about keeping the widow’s mare until she was ready to ride, but he’d decided against it. The man who ran the livery had an ailing wife and six children to feed. The mare was income he wasn’t taking in. As he untied the horse, Ethan glanced around for the stable boy. The kid wasn’t around so he left the horse tied to a post. Not answering questions suited him just fine.

Next he visited the Midas Emporium. All two hundred pounds of Mrs. Wingate loomed behind the counter. “Mr. Trent! How are you today?”

Ethan ignored the question. He’d been studiously unfriendly to the town busybody, but in addition to everything else in her cluttered store, she sold books. She’d been the one to shove the dime novels into his hands, so Ethan put up with the chatter.

“Here’s my list,” he said.

He handed her the paper and browsed through the store as she put the order together. The shelves were full of trinkets meant to catch a woman’s eye and he stiffened at the sight of ribbons and fancy buttons. He thought of Laura’s box of doodads, but then a bolt of sky-blue gingham caught his eye.

The widow had one outfit to her name. He had no business noticing, but she’d look pretty in blue. Cautiously fingering the fabric, he wondered what Mrs. Wingate would do if he plopped it on the counter. She would probably bust a gusset with curiosity, but this wasn’t the time to make mischief, not with LeFarge looking for Dawson’s widow.

That meant he couldn’t fetch her trunk, either, so he settled for a plain wooden hairbrush, some white ribbon that could be used for anything, and a pair of trousers and a shirt that were too small for him. He didn’t want to think about her unmentionables, but that had to be an issue, so he picked up a bolt of white cotton. If Mrs. Wingate asked about it, he’d growl at her.

The clerk met him at the counter. “Can I get you anything else?”

Ethan glanced down at the small stockpile. It was enough to support a single man for a couple of months, but a pregnant woman had different needs. Gossip aside, he had another mouth to feed, or two if he counted the baby.