Last Chance Bride

by Jillian Hart

  “I think I hear Emma,” he lied. He needed room to think, to breathe. He wasn’t ready for this.

  “Really I—”

  The fire snapped, spewing out a chunk of burning ember onto the wood floor, rescuing him. Jacob jumped up, his body relaxing as the distance between them grew. He’d reacted to Elizabeth like a bear scenting a female and it shamed him, scared him. He knelt before the smoldering ember and flicked it back into the hearth.

  She walked past him. “Let me take a plate into Emma if she’s awake. She should be hungry by now.”

  Jacob’s conscience winced. He bowed his head. He’d lied to the woman. What was next? What would he do to avoid the one person he feared most?

  Elizabeth.

  She pushed the door open. A small lantern sat safely in the corner, far from the bed, the wick turned low. A faint glow caressed Emma, who immediately sat up in bed.

  “So you are awake.” Libby smiled.

  A tentative nod. “I tried to sleep, but I just can’t. It’s too early.”

  “I know, but we can’t have you sick.” Libby bent to turn the wick. Stronger light filled the room, illuminating Emma’s fluffy cloud of hair, dry after her hot bath. “I brought your dinner.”

  “I like Pa’s baked beans. Jane had to teach him how to make ‘em. He couldn’t cook, you know.”

  “He told me.” Libby sat down at the foot of the bed. “Can you eat this without spilling?”

  Another nod. “I’m glad you’re here, you know.”

  “I’m glad, too. That storm sounds terrible. I couldn’t make it back to town.” Outside the sturdy logs, thick and strong, howled a demon of a storm. The ice scoured the walls above the power of the wind.

  Emma balanced the plate on her knees. Libby reached a hand to steady it.

  “Do you think Pa is mad at me?” she asked with a rushed whisper.

  “He’s much too scared to be really angry.” Libby took the napkin and caught a drop of baked bean that landed on the wool blanket. “You scared all of us near to death. Most of the town was out looking for you.”

  “Oh.” Emma stopped chewing.

  She looked small and afraid. Libby brushed a hand along Emma’s chin. “I think your pa will forgive you.”

  She sighed. “I sure hope so. I don’t want Pa to send me back to Granny and leave again. Do you think he’ll send me away now?”

  “No, I don’t.” Libby knew what it was like to be afraid. “I think your pa loves you very much.”

  “I’m sorry.” Great tears brimmed her eyes, and her lower lip trembled.

  “I know.”

  “I was just so mad. I wanted you to stay.” Fat tears rolled down her cheeks. “I didn’t know about the storm.”

  “Neither did L I couldn’t take the stage today because of the blizzard.” Libby’s heart tightened. She saw herself, a little girl in a strange family, unsure if her aunt would keep her. She understood Emma’s fears.

  “Really? I was afraid you would be mad at me, too.”

  “I could never be angry with you.” Libby grabbed the plate when it tipped again. “Now eat up. You look a little feverish.”

  “I’m fine, now that you’re here.”

  Libby’s entire heart filled. She felt fine, too.

  Jacob stood and padded on stockinged feet to the fire. He saw her womanly things drying there, and he reached for a split log to toss onto the flames.

  “Sweet dreams.” Elizabeth’s words rang solid, like a promise to be kept. When she closed Emma’s door behind her, he looked away.

  “She’s promised to sleep now. She kept yawning, so I think she will.” Elizabeth, clutching the plate in both hands, crossed the room.

  He watched her go, looking so different without her calico dress. While her clothes dried, she wore his blue flannel shirt, hanging clear to her knees, over his long johns. She looked beautiful even in gray wool.

  He listened to her in the kitchen as she rinsed the plate, dried it, stacked it. Then to the soft pad of her bare feet as she walked back to him.

  “It’s getting late.”

  Her voice rippled up his spine. He couldn’t look away from her slender ankles, nicely shaped thighs, or the cling of fabric across her unbound breasts all perfectly hugged by clinging blue flannel. He could see the nub of her nipples nudging the soft flannel, and he felt a hardening, a thickening in his groin.

  Jacob turned to drop another log on the fire, ashamed of his thoughts. “There’s a room upstairs behind the chimney where you can stay, if you’d like.”

  “Yes. It sounds perfect.” Elizabeth stared down at her red, rough hands. A nasty gash on her left palm had scabbed, and now she studied it. “I don’t want to be a bother. I know you aren’t comfortable with me staying here.”

  “I’m not—”

  She interrupted. “You can’t stop avoiding me, Jacob. I understand. You didn’t invite me here.”

  “That doesn’t mean—” He did want her here. Frustrated, he walked away, disappearing into the kitchen and returning with a stack of clean sheets. “I haven’t thanked you.”

  “Thanked me? For what?” Her eyebrows rose.

  His heart beat so rapidly, he was barely able to look at her. “If it hadn’t been for you, Emma would have died today.”

  She shrugged one thin shoulder. “I didn’t do all that much.”

  “You did everything.” He ached to brush her face, to feel the heat of her satin skin against his hand, but he held back. “You saved Emma’s life.”

  “I didn’t do anything more than anyone else would do, than you did.”

  Couldn’t she see what she did to him? She thawed his heart like sun after a winter’s frost. “You wouldn’t give up when the other searchers did.”

  “What can I say? I’m stubborn. It’s my worst trait.”

  “Your best.”

  “Oh, Jacob.” Libby swallowed, unable to find words. “I did what I had to do—the same thing you did. I couldn’t leave a little girl to freeze alone in the cold.”

  “You couldn’t let Emma freeze,” he corrected her gently.

  Feelings she was too afraid to acknowledge ached in her throat. Remember what you are to him, she reminded herself. No matter how much it hurt. “You said there’s a room upstairs—and a bed.”

  “Yes.” He looked as uncertain as she felt. “If you don’t want to climb the ladder, I can give you my room.”

  “Oh, no.” She couldn’t sleep in his bed. “I don’t mind a ladder.”

  “It’s just as well. The upstairs is warmer. I’ll show you.”

  She had noticed the narrow ladder tucked between the back kitchen wall and the cookstove. Now, Jacob climbed that ladder, pulled open the half door on hinges and disappeared inside.

  Libby saw a glow of light and she carefully climbed after him. He’d lit a small lamp and now it tossed a warm puddle across the smooth varnished boards. She eased to her feet. “This attic is so snug and warm.”

  “The chimney heats it. It’s the warmest place in the house besides the kitchen.”

  At the sight of the small unmade bed tucked beneath the peak of the roof, Libby lowered her gaze. She thought of Jacob and that bed. Her entire body flushed.

  He spread out one muslin sheet on the straw tick. “Jane often stayed here when I worked late. I’m afraid it hasn’t been cleaned since she left.”

  “What’s a little dust?” Libby looked anywhere but at Jacob—at the fitted rafters, the solid logs, the stone chimney walling one end of the room.

  “Some women would complain about a little dust. They seem to think it’s an evil needing obliteration.”

  He caught her gaze. His grin stopped her heart. She smiled. “I’m not one of those women.”

  “I remember you spoke of it in your letters.” Jacob’s face softened, warmed with the memory. “You thought baking cookies with a little girl much more important.”

  “Yes.” It hurt to remember now.

  She looked up and caught him studying
her body. His flannel shirt she wore showed the sway of her full breasts and the soft rise of her abdomen.

  Libby bent to smooth the sheet.

  “I’ve got a few extra blankets,” he said quietly, proceeding stiffly across the room toward the ladder.

  He was here, yet felt so distant. She felt so distant. As soon as Jacob disappeared from sight, she slipped to the straw tick, so tired she could hardly sit up.

  She was here, trapped in this house with him. What did he think? Was he remembering her stupid, embarrassing story? Did he think her easy? Her heart broke.

  No, Jacob would never think that about any woman. He was honorable. He was different from other men.

  His steps on the ladder announced his approach, and Libby rose to take the thick wool blankets from his arms.

  “I meant to make the bed for you,” he protested.

  “Let me, Jacob. You haven’t rested tonight, either. I’ll be fine without your help.”

  “I see.” His eyes saddened. “Then it’s good night.”

  “Yes.” She ached to pull him back, but he climbed down the ladder, wordlessly, favoring one leg. Libby had no doubt what she was looking at: the most gentle man she’d ever had the privilege to meet.

  Jacob checked on Emma when he heard her cough. The small child huddled beneath her thick pile of blankets, still asleep, curled on her side facing away from him.

  Concerned, he stepped into the room and swept his hand over Emma’s small forehead. Too warm. It was nothing serious, right? She’d been caught in a storm without a winter coat or dress—nothing more, he hoped. It wasn’t surprising she might catch cold.

  “My throat hurts,” she whispered, sounding so small in the darkness.

  Jacob sat on her bed and tucked her head beneath his chin. She felt so fragile. “I’ll make you some tea and honey. That will cure what ails you.”

  “I’d like that.”

  He left her door ajar so the heat from the fire would warm her room. Emma was so young, and he was fortunate she’d been spared today. Fortunate he hadn’t been alone in his search, and that Elizabeth had found Emma’s cap. Together they’d shared the same determination to find a lost little girl in the snow.

  Jacob opened the back door to the lean-to. Furious, bitter cold wind snatched the breath from his lungs as he filled his bucket with fresh snow. He’d been outside less than a minute, but the wind had sucked the warmth right out of him.

  He bumped one shoulder against the ladder and thought of Elizabeth sleeping upstairs. His entire body heated at the image of her wheat blond hair fanning the snowy white pillowcase.

  The kettle whistled, interrupting his thoughts, and he brewed tea, then mixed it with milk and honey as Elizabeth had done. Out of love.

  Emma’s cough echoed through the cabin. Grabbing the cup, Jacob skirted the corner and pushed into her room. She sat up in bed, snug in her pink flowered nightgown, her hand to her mouth.

  “Pa? I hate coughin’.”

  “I know.” He sat down beside her, awkward, not knowing what to do with his own daughter. He handed her the cup. “This tea is pretty hot. Do you want to drink it out by the fire?”

  She nodded against his chest.

  “Then let’s get you roasting warm.”

  “I’m not a steak, Pa.”

  He laughed as she cuddled against him. He closed his eyes, breathing in the soap smell of her. His little girl. He felt struck by the power of simply holding her.

  “Where’s Miss Hodges?”

  Balancing both the cup and the girl, he rose slowly, careful of his wounded leg. “She’s upstairs sleeping,”

  “In Jane’s old room?”

  “Yes.” He halted before the old rocking chair and set her down, light as a bird.

  “She needs extra sleep because of the baby that’s growing in her stomach, right?” Emma asked, gazing up at him knowledgeably.

  “That’s right.” He didn’t want to think of the baby. Or Elizabeth’s fragility. But knowing she slept upstairs, in his house, satisfied him deeply. “Here, drink your tea.”

  “I’m very sorry I walked home in the snow,” she said now, clinging to his shirt, the fabric fisted in both little hands.

  “You scared the life right out of me. I thought I’d never see you again. Don’t you know how important you are to me? Emma, you are all I have in this world, and I love you more than anything.”

  “I love you, too, Pa,” she whispered, her eyes full of tears. When she wrapped her arms around his neck, he’d never felt anything sweeter.

  Through the web of sleep, Libby heard the stove lid rattle. She sat up, orienting herself in the pitch-black room. She could hear the faint snap of the hungry fire in the hearth down below.

  Why was Jacob up? It had to be past midnight. The storm still howled outside, scouring the house. She heard a faint cough and flew out of bed. Emma.

  The kitchen was dark. A clock bonged the time, declaring it three in the morning. The front room felt warm; a fire blazed in the hearth. Emma’s door stood open, and Libby hesitated in the threshold.

  Jacob sat on Emma’s bed, and a low lamp cast a sepia glow to the small room. His face shadowed, his head bowed, he held a cup to his daughter’s lips.

  Emma whimpered, and his low voice soothed her. He took the cup away, set it on the floor and wrung out a washcloth in a pan of water.

  Libby watched as Jacob bathed the girl’s face, and her breathing slowed.

  “She’s asleep,” he whispered when he stood.

  Libby backed out into the main room where the fire threw dancing light and shadow. “She’s got a fever?”

  “Yes.” Jacob’s mouth closed tightly, compressing his lips. “I’ve been up with her all night.”

  She touched his arm. “This is more than just a cold and a simple fever. Could it be the croup?”

  “I don’t know.” He stepped away from her touch. “Go back to bed, Elizabeth. You need your sleep.”

  “I’m pregnant, not sick, Jacob.” Libby looked down at her bare hands. “I feel rested. But you—you’ve been up all day and most of the night. Why don’t you catch some sleep while I tend her?”

  “No. I won’t leave Emma.”

  “It would be foolish for you to wear yourself out when I’m here to help.”

  “But you need your sleep and I don’t want any argument.” Without explanation, he turned his back to her, heading for the kitchen.

  “Jacob, I’m not a child and I don’t want to be treated like one.” She marched after him. “I care about Emma, too.”

  “I know.” Yet his jaw looked as tight set as his mind. He lifted the stove lid and lit a match. “Emma is my daughter.”

  “I know she isn’t mine.” Her heart broke a little. “But I can care about her, can’t I?”

  He bowed his chin. “That isn’t what I meant. I want you to take care of yourself. You can’t become ill the way Emma has.”

  “I won’t get sick.” She laid her hand on his arm. His sleeve, rolled to his elbow, revealed a stretch of muscled forearm dusted with dark hair. He felt wonderful beneath her palm.

  Fire crackled to life inside the belly of the stove. Jacob’s face changed in the shadowed room, relenting a little.

  “I think Emma’s very ill,” he whispered. The silence between them was broken by a little girl’s hacking cough. “I lost her mother and I can’t lose Emma, too. I can’t go through that again.”

  “I know. I couldn’t bear it, either.”

  Jacob’s throat worked, as if he couldn’t find the right words. His fingers reached out to wind around hers. He held on to her, needing her touch.

  “I don’t know what to do,” he whispered, ashamed of his own inadequacies. “With this storm, I can’t risk heading to town. And even if I made it, there’s no guarantee I can talk a doctor into coming back through that blizzard with me.”

  “It’s foolish to leave, Jacob.”

  “I know.” Elizabeth’s eyes warmed, and he wanted to feel her hea
t, feel whole again. “I feel helpless. Maybe a doctor—”

  “I know what to do. I helped my aunt take care of all her children, remember?”

  He hadn’t needed anyone in so long, it clawed at him now. Needing came with a price to his heart. How could he tell her? How could he thank her?

  “I guess this means you aren’t sending me to bed like a six-year-old.” A smile played along her soft mouth.

  He pulled her against him, finding her lips and kissing her hard, binding her to him. Trying to drive out the darkness inside.

  Chapter Twelve

  As the storm raged outside, Jacob watched Emma’s condition worsen. The fever weakened her as cough after cough raged through her lungs. He and Elizabeth took turns bathing her brow with cold water. Emma clutched her rag doll in one arm and slept fitfully.

  He hauled wood from the lean-to to the hearth and filled the grate with dry split logs. The fire roared, keeping the cabin toasty warm. Elizabeth suggested bringing Emma’s bed out into the main room, closer to the fire.

  He felt so helpless as he watched the girl’s fever progress, it felt good to do something with his hands. He carefully laid Emma on a blanket while Libby tended her, then he dismantled the wood-frame bed.

  While he worked, he worried. He tried not to think of what could happen. It wasn’t easy. He listened to Elizabeth’s gentle humming—it gave him hope. She knew what to do with a very sick child. He had to trust, he had to believe in her.

  Jacob did what he could. He set the bed up in the middle of the front room, safely from the fire but close enough to benefit from the constant, blazing heat. As he smoothed out the sheet, he watched Elizabeth. She sat on the floor, her legs drawn neatly beneath her wool skirt. Her light hair plaited into one thick braid, hung down her back to brush the floor.

  She looked so delicate from behind. He could see the bumps of her spine and the vulnerable thinness of the back of her neck. He wanted to touch her there.

  His heart kicked. He ought to be worrying over Emma, but he couldn’t forget the way Elizabeth felt tucked against his body, firm and supple, yet so soft. She tasted like heaven, like desire, like something he could never deserve again. His body hardened just thinking of her, and he looked away in shame.