by Jillian Hart
“I never wanted a wife.”
Letter to Reader
Title Page
About the Author
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Copyright
“I never wanted a wife.”
He stood before the opened window, sunlight glinting on his dark hair, brightening it, and casting his face in shadow. “I took one look at you and I bolted.”
“You ran?”
“I’d ventured halfway down the street this morning before I realized my foolishness. I invited you out here, and yet I am terrified of you. You’re young and pretty. From your letters, I expected someone different. Older.”
“I’m not all that pretty.” Libby spoke up, touched by his words. “I just want a home. A real one.”
Jacob Stone remained silent, staring out the window, still and motionless. “I can’t give you what you want.” He didn’t turn to look at her. “We’ve spent over six months corresponding. That amount of time should tell you right there how unsure I am of making a marriage again.”
Grief haunted his words, and the echoes of that grief hung in the air like the thick Montana dust. Libby wanted to reach out and comfort him, but how could she?
It was not her right.
Dear Reader,
March is the time of spring, of growth, and the budding of things to come. Like these four never-before-published authors that we selected for our annual March Madness Promotion. These fresh new voices in historical romance are bound to be tomorrow’s stars!
Among this year’s choices for the month is The Maiden and the Warrior by Jacqueline Navin, a heartrending medieval tale about a fierce warrior who is saved from the demons that haunt him when he marries the widow of the man who sold him into slavery. Goodness also prevails in Gabriel’s Heart by Madeline George. In this fltrty Western, an ex-sheriff uses a feisty socialite to exact revenge, but ends up falling in love with her first!
Last Chance Bride by Jillian Hart is a touching portrayal of a lonely spinster-turned-mail-order-bride who shows an embittered widower the true meaning of love on the rugged Montana frontier. And don’t miss A Duke Deceived by Cheryl Bolen, a Regency story about a handsome duke whose hasty marriage to a penniless noblewoman is tested by her secret deeds.
Whatever your tastes in reading, you’ll be sure to find a romantic journey back to the past between the covers of a Harlequin Historical.
Sincerely,
Tracy Farrell, Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to
Silhouette Reader Service
U S : 3010 Walden Ave, P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian PO. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
LAST CHANCE BRIDE
JILLIAN HART
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN
MADRID • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
JILLIAN HART currently lives near Phoenix, Arizona, but as a Washington State native feels very much out of her element. The desert is beautiful, but she misses the rain. She feels the value of a good rainy day is the opportunity to curl up in a comfortable chair with her twenty-pound cat on her lap and read the day away. Now she’s learned to read in the sunshine.
When she isn’t reading the day away, Jillian likes to spend time with her husband, whom she met on a blind date set up by a mutual friend nine years ago. It was love at first sight, and she’s been living happily ever after since.
To my husband,
who did the dishes so I could
write this book.
Thanks.
Chapter One
Montana Territory, 1866
Where was Jacob Stone?
Her heart tight, Libby searched the knot of the small crowd. Strangers surrounded her, but she saw no sign of Jacob and his child in the hustle of this busy post. Surely they had not given up on her. Surely they remembered she was arriving today.
Disappointed, Libby stepped away from the stagecoach, patting at her wilting hair. She must look a fright. The ride overland had been dusty and dirty, not at all kind. Her best dress was wrinkled and dust stained, her wheat blond hair sliding into her eyes. She felt like a rag used to scrub a particularly filthy floor, all wadded up in the bottom of a sodden bucket. Hardly an attractive appearance for a prospective bride.
Perhaps Mr. Stone had taken one look through the confusion of the crowd and run for the hills at the sight of her. She feared he could see beyond her new dress, soiled as it was, to the real woman inside, to the very reason why she had to answer a man’s advertisement for a wife instead of finding a husband on her own.
She felt a rush weaken her knees, and heat crept up her face. Surely he would not run off without a word. He couldn’t. She needed to meet him, to know if he would be a good man to marry. From his thoughtfully penned letters, he seemed so gentle. A man who would make a good husband and father, a man worth traveling so far to meet. That is, if he decided to show up.
Placing a hand to her stomach, Libby eased through the excited crowd, past those greeting newly arrived loved ones, and walked quietly to a lone bench fronting the station. Her hopes began to wane. The blistering heat of the late August sun bore down on her, even on the partly shaded bench, and she sat baking like an egg on a frying pan.
“There she is, Pa!”
Libby turned toward the child’s excited voice. The spindly girl skipping across the dusty road had to be Emma. Libby’s heart twisted hard at the sight of the beautiful child. The child who could become her daughter.
Her hand to her heart, Libby stood through the long seconds it took for the girl to dash across the street.
“It is her! I knew it!” Emma skipped to a hoppity-stop, her twin braids bobbing too, and tipped up her face. Bright blue eyes shone like the sky overhead and her sweet smile stretched twice as wide. “You have to be Miss Hodges!”
“Yes, I am. I’m so pleased to meet you, Emma.” Libby managed a wobbly smile. She could only stare at the little girl dressed in a crisp red calico dress. Twin brown braids pointed stiffly over her shoulders, adorned with matching red ribbon.
“We’ve been waiting for hours for the stage to come.”
Libby laughed, delighted. Already she adored this small girl, not more than six years old, whom she read about so hungrily in Jacob Stone’s letters. She wanted a home and. a family, but had not imagined having such a wonderful stepdaughter.
“I saw so many interesting things on the stagecoach here,” she said now. “I saved up all the memories to tell you about.”
“Did you see any Indian ponies?” the girl asked.
“Yes, and even the Indians sitting on them.” Matching Emma’s smile, Libby’s mouth stretched painfully. She’d been so worried traveling so far from civilization—and feared she was making the worst mistake of her life. Anything could happen. Jacob Stone could be a drunk or a brutal man. But seeing this child reassured her. Anyone could see how well cared for she was—and what a good father Jacob Stone must be.
�
�Miss Hodges?”
The sound of a man’s voice—of his voice—sliced through her joy, making her nervous all over again. Libby turned, feeling so small and inadequate as she looked up into the gray eyes of a tall man, into eyes as deep as a winter sky. A gentleness lived there, and she knew him at once.
“You’re Jacob.”
He bowed his chin, and his firm mouth lifted in the corner; an attempt at a smile. Her heart thudded against her breastbone. Her knees trembled. This handsome man, so powerfully built and confident, was more than her dreams. Her gaze roamed over his wide shoulders—over nice, dependable shoulders.
He cleared his throat. “You arrived safely, I see. Heard there was Indian trouble.”
“Nothing serious at all.” Libby shrugged. She’d been so ill during the journey, she’d hardly noticed the danger. “I was afraid you weren’t coming.”
The smile slid from his firm mouth. “I’m a man of honor, Miss Hodges. I said I would be here, and I am.”
He was kind and strong and honorable. Anyone could see it. Libby’s throat filled. She had not been wrong in traveling so far. He was so much more than she expected, than she deserved.
“I like your hat,” the girl said.
“Thank you.” Libby murmured the words, placing a hand to the brim of her straw poke bonnet. The nervousness in her stomach eased. It was going to be all right. “Maybe I can make you a hat just like this.”
“Could you? Please?”
Emma clasped both hands, and Libby melted. “I’d be happy to.”
“Emma, go with Jane. Now. She’ll take care of you while I speak with Miss Hodges alone.”
The stern words made Libby wince.
“But—”
“Do as I say, now.”
The brightness slipped right out of Emma’s blue eyes and she trotted away, glancing back wistfully before joining up with an elderly woman who waited beneath a green-striped awning. The two walked away together, young and old, and Libby watched as some emotion tugged to life inside her. The child and woman entered one of the many storefronts and disappeared inside, out of the glaring heat of the brutal sun.
“I don’t want you making promises to my daughter.”
“I didn’t mean to. I just thought—”
“Emma lost her mother. I don’t intend to allow her to be hurt like that again.”
“Of course not.” Libby stood, pulse racing and speechless. A hot breeze tugged at her skirt. She’d angered him without meaning to. Did he have a quick temper? Without the gentleness shining in his eyes, he looked formidable, almost frightening. “I would never want to hurt Emma.”
His gaze skirted over her. “You seem sincere. You seem everything I had hoped you would be.”
“Everything?” He hardly knew her, but surely that was a good sign. She needed a home and a husband. Her hand strayed to her stomach.
He shrugged one powerful shoulder. “I suppose I’m leaping ahead of myself. I should fetch your bags and get you settled. You look exhausted, and we have much to discuss.”
Libby watched, breath held, as he turned, his navy blue shirt and his black trousers casting him as if in shadow. He walked out onto the boardwalk and snatched up two lone carpet bags. “I assume these are yours?”
“Yes.” Libby quietly followed the strong-shouldered back of Jacob Stone down the dusty street to the neatly painted hotel.
It was going to work out. It had to.
She’d never told a lie in her life, and she wasn’t sure if she could do it now. Guilt weighed down her step as she slipped through the glass door Jacob held open for her. Her elbow brushed his arm, and she caught a pleasant scent of wood smoke.
Jacob Stone was a good man, polite enough to hold the door and treat her like a lady. Anyone could see it. Her stomach tightened. He didn’t deserve being deceived.
It took her a moment to adjust to the change of light inside the hotel. Her eyes saw only momentary dimness, but she still detected the sound of men’s voices and the solid scent of tobacco. Libby followed Jacob Stone into a front lobby where a large glass window gazed pleasantly out at the dirt street.
Could she live with a lie? Could she look this good and honorable man in the eyes—and she knew this about him from his thoughtful letters and these first few minutes in his presence—and make him live a lie too?
“I brought you here so we could talk quietly,” he began, his voice rumbling low. He settled his large frame into a flowery wing back chair, so big and powerful he looked out of place in the dainty furniture.
She could see him better in this soft light. Heavens, he was a handsome man. Thick jet-black hair peeked out from beneath the narrow brim of his modest hat and cascaded over a tall, square forehead. Equally dark brows arched over his cool gray eyes. His straight nose slanted down a chiseled face that had been weathered by time and sun and cold. The face of the man she wanted to marry.
It had to work. It just had to. Libby clung to that belief, choosing a chair opposite him. The loud men’s talk rising from the bar, the ring of the bell at the front desk, and the drum of her nervous heart faded as his gray gaze snared hers.
Time stopped and Libby saw only her future. He simply had to like her.
“I suppose we need to get right to the point,” he began, his voice quietly controlled. “We’ve corresponded. Now we have met. Are you comfortable with the idea of marrying me?”
“Yes.” Libby bit her lip, catching it between her teeth. It took all her willpower to keep her voice low. She feared her whole heart showed in her words. “I—I will do my best to make you and Emma happy. You have my word.”
“Good.” His smile, slow and endearing, revealing the tender man she’d known through his letters. “This is awkward, speaking with you in person. We are still strangers in many ways.”
Her heart twisted. “Yes. But you don’t feel like a stranger to me.”
“Or to me, either.” His smile deepened, carving handsome lines into his face and reaching his eyes. “I want to be honest. There were many things I couldn’t say to you in a letter. Although I tried.”
“What things?”
Jacob Stone watched her pale face grow paler beneath the straw brim of her plain bonnet. Her soft blue eyes widened with alarm.
Damn, he knew this wouldn’t be easy. Jacob tore his gaze from her pretty face and stared hard at his big hands. “I don’t know how to begin. I should just say it.”
“You’ve changed your mind?” A hint of panic vibrated in her soft voice.
He shook his head. He wanted to change his mind, Lord knew. He didn’t want to involve his heart with another woman. And he wouldn’t. “No, my mind is set. I want to marry again. Emma needs a mother to care for her, not a hired woman, but someone who will love her.”
“Yes, I know. I read your letters, Jacob—”
“You don’t know,” he corrected, holding himself rigid in the uncomfortable chair. Her eyes glimmered with hope; he could see her heart shining there. It wasn’t right and it wasn’t fair. “I asked you to marry me for my daughter’s sake.”
“Yes, I—”
“Not for mine.” His heart broke as understanding struck her like a slap to the face. Her jaw slackened, and she looked lost.
“You don’t want me.” Her blue gaze met his without accusation, but puzzlement. “You proposed to me.”
“I offered an arrangement.”
“You said your Emma needed a mother. I thought—” She stopped. “I don’t understand.”
Jacob closed his heart against memories sharp enough to tear him apart. “I want you to know this right from the start. I want there to be no misunderstandings between us, only honesty. You will be my wife in name only. Not in my heart and not in my bed.”
Elizabeth Hodges glanced up at him, white as snow. Guilt tore through him. How did he tell her what Mary’s death did to him? Every day had been a battle, from morning until late at night, living without her. He would never give his heart again. Not even to a pretty,
slender woman with eyes as blue as morning glories.
“But what about children?” A tiny wrinkle frowned across her forehead, half hidden by the scatters of wheat blond curls escaping from beneath her bonnet.
“I have one child too many.” Tiny, helpless dependent creatures who could steal a man’s heart. He couldn’t bear that. “I wanted you to know how it is with me right up front. I never meant to deceive you.”
“You could have told me.” She stared hard at the old reticule clutched in her lap. “I know you are widowed. I understand it might take time to finish grieving, even to build a relationship between us.”
“That isn’t what I want.”
Beneath the starkness in those gray eyes, Libby caught sight of a kindness, a decency that gave her pause.
Jacob Stone possessed the integrity she had so hoped he might have. She imagined he failed to speak of the death of his wife in his letters because of deep personal pain, but he did so now for the sake of honesty. She respected him for that, even if it left her alone and ashamed. Hadn’t she considered deceiving him?
Then he stood, the starkness gone from his eyes and a gentle softness shaping his mouth. He held out one big hand, strong and callused from honest work, and she gave him hers. Her belly twisted, low and pleasant.
“Let’s see about getting you a room.”
Jacob helped her to her feet, and Libby could not stop the awareness trickling through her. Her fingertips tingled long after he’d released her hand.
She needed to marry and she wanted him for her husband. But when she looked into his eyes, she saw a good and decent man still hurting from his wife’s death. How could she deceive him? How could she tell him the truth?