Last Chance Bride

by Jillian Hart

  “No, I guess not.” Jacob started when her warm hand brushed his chin, rough from a day’s growth. Guilt stabbed through his heart He wasn’t a good man, he didn’t deserve the affection soft in her eyes. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not—”

  “Oh yes, you are,” she interrupted. “You are the gentlest man I’ve ever met. You rescued Star. Emma adores you. I can see how much you love her. Not every father would stay and care for a child.”

  Shame struck him like a blow to his head. Jacob bent over, unable to look her in the eye. He couldn’t tell her the truth. He couldn’t watch the respect he didn’t deserve fade from her eyes.

  Instead, he stared hard at the bucket of melting snow. “I climbed the ladder tonight because I wanted to talk with you.”

  “Well, we’ve got the coffee.” Elizabeth carried hers from the stove. “We’ve got the time. I can sit down and we can talk.”

  Talk? After what he’d done tonight, he wanted to sink into a hole in the ground. But he faced her. “I think you work too hard.”

  “You’ve told me that before.” She studied her steaming cup of coffee. “Besides, I don’t mind hard work. It’s good for the soul.”

  But not good for you. Jacob bit back his worries. “I appreciate what you’ve done—it isn’t that The cabin looks wonderful. Emma is pleased to death with those frilly curtains you made.”

  A smile tugged at Elizabeth’s gentle mouth. “So you don’t like the rosebuds and lace?”

  “Well, not in my bedroom. But Emma’s happy, and that’s what matters.”

  “Yes, it is.” She met his gaze, but sadness filled her eyes.

  He looked away. “Are we agreed, then?”

  “About what?”

  Women, they were so stubborn. “About you not working hard. I know you haven’t touched the money I’ve been leaving for you. It’s still in a stack on the bureau.”

  Her spine stiffened. “I consider myself to be working for room and board.”

  “You’re worth more than that to us, Elizabeth.” Jacob stared down at his wrapped hand. Pain throbbed there, and something deeper in his heart. “You don’t need to try so hard.”

  “But I don’t want you to regret letting me stay. I couldn’t bear that.” She met his eyes with all of her honesty shining in them.

  “Regret having you here? Impossible.” Jacob’s chest ached. “Will you slow down a little, for me?”

  She nodded, her long, unbound hair shimmering, burnished by the light

  He felt his throat tighten. Despite the singe of pain throbbing like fire through his hand, Jacob still couldn’t forget the sight of her in the tub touched by the lamp’s mesmerizing glow or the feel of her beneath him so wonderfully new, moving in an age-old rhythm of love. How he wanted her.

  Jacob jumped up; he had to get away. Hauling the wet towel with him, he crossed the room and kept walking. The frantic beat of his heart pounded in his chest. He stopped by the fire and watched it burn. Hell, he felt the same, hot and hungry.

  He dropped another log into the grate, watching the flames snap greedily around the split wood.

  He needed her so badly he shook. How sweet it had been seeing her in her bath. How beautiful. It was low and coarse of him to think of sex, of making love to such a noble woman. Yet it was all he could think of.

  Friendship? Hell, he wanted more than that. He wanted the woman, and the friend.

  He padded into the cool darkness of his bedroom. The white curtains at the small window simply glowed with the reflected light from the fire. Ruffles and lace in a rough wilderness. She’d changed his life with so little.

  He grabbed up the package with his good hand and walked on his sore leg back to the table. Elizabeth lifted her chin, meeting his gaze.

  “How’s the pain in your hand?” she asked.

  “Fine.” He thunked the paper-wrapped bundle on the table. “Do you want more coffee?”

  Her grip tightened on the nearly empty tin cup. “Jacob, you don’t need to wait on me.”

  “Why not?” He grabbed the pot and returned to fill both their cups. “You do so much for Emma and me.”

  “And it’s been such a hardship.” She smiled.

  “We’ve tried to make it tough for you.”

  She cared for them because she wanted to. What reason could be greater? It filled her heart.

  A lopsided grin tugged at his mouth. “I wanted to do something for you.” He nodded toward the package. “Go ahead. Open it.”

  She didn’t move at first, The tremble began low in her stomach. “You didn’t need to do anything for me, Jacob.”

  “Don’t I?” His dark gaze held hers.

  “You seem mad at me.” Her feelings pinched at the possibility.

  “No. Just grateful you are here. You’ve done so much for us. For Emma.” Shadows edged his face where the lamp failed to throw light.

  For Emma. It was the child who brought them together and it was her need keeping them together now. And as much as she adored Emma, Libby wanted Jacob to want her—even just a little.

  “I don’t do so much, Jacob. Emma goes to town to Mrs. Holt’s school for most of the day. I hitch up the little sleigh and bring her back home in the afternoons.”

  Jacob sighed and reached down into the bucket for more snow. He piled it on his burn, and she held her hands in her lap to keep from helping him. He didn’t look as if he wanted her near him.

  He’d seen her naked upstairs. Was he remembering making love to her? Was he angered by how easy it had been to get her into bed? The memory still shamed her, and saved her, too. Love still beat for him in her heart.

  “Aren’t you going to open it?”

  His gray eyes pinched, and she had to look away. “You’ve already given me the mare.”

  “Somebody has to be good to you.”

  Her fingers felt stiff and wooden as she tugged off the white string and began unfolding the paper. The lamplight revealed fine, soft blue wool the color of fading cornHowers, and Libby’s hands froze. “There’s more than enough for a dress. Oh, and ribbons and braid for trim. I can’t accept this.”

  “But you have to.” He reached forward with this left hand and covered hers. “You deserve something new for yourself after all the new things you’ve made for me and Emma.”

  “It’s too much.”

  “It’s not enough.” When the lamplight caught his eyes she saw the truth in them. “I want you to have a new dress. Nobody deserves to have as little as you do.”

  But she had so much.

  “Besides, not every man in Cedar Rock has white lace curtains hanging in his bedroom.”

  “Emma insisted.” Libby shrugged. “I should have asked you, but it’s impossible to say no. At least, the curtains seemed like such a joy to her.”

  “I love them.” The emotion in Jacob’s eyes deepened, capturing her whole heart. “This cabin has been empty for so long. It feels like a home now.”

  She shrugged. “Curtains are simple to make. And the braided rugs take no time at all.”

  “It feels like a home because you are here.” He ached to draw her in his arms and feel the heat of her body. He wanted her comfort, he wanted her warmth, he wanted that soothing compassion in her eyes to nudge away the cold hard fear in his heart, to make him live again. She had that power. And it terrified him.

  “I’ve got a salve cooling in the lean-to. Let me rub that over your burn and wrap it for the night.” She moved away into the shadows of the kitchen.

  He listened to the efficient, light pad of her bare feet as she returned with an oily paste in the smallest fry pan. She knelt before him, the lamplight kissing the soft honey satin of her hair, and he ached to do the same.

  How he ached for it.

  “This should stop the pain so you can sleep the night.” She sat down and laid his injured hand on her skirted knee.

  He could feel the solid heat of her through the layers of cotton. Her fingers gently soothed cool salve across his heated
burn. It hurt, but he hardly noticed, too mesmerized by the gentle love lighting her face. A love for him.

  He needed it like spring needed sunshine. Leaning a few inches closer, they were face-to-face. Elizabeth looked up, and he covered her mouth with his.

  Sweet heat filtered through him as she parted her lips, accepting the sweep of his tongue. She tasted of rich coffee, and he kissed her harder, deeper, needing her comfort—no, it was more than comfort. It was naked need, raw affection and it burned inside him with shameful brightness.

  He reached out for her, and she fell against him, her hands sliding around his neck, catching his hair. He felt the little tugs of her fingers, and his heart gripped.

  Loving hurt so much.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Libby set aside the quilt block when the front door banged open. Emma, her button face chapped by the cold, burst into the room, covered with snow.

  Laughing, Libby carefully hid her work from sight and rose to help with her icy boots.

  “Pa let me go to town with him on the bays,” Emma nearly shouted with her glee. “I got to ride Repeat. All by myself and everything!”

  “I see.” Tugging the red knit cap from Emma’s head, Libby shook the snow from it. Bits sprinkled and melted on the floor.

  “It’s been ever so long since I got to ride,” Emma sighed.

  “Go warm yourself by the fire. Did your pa get the windowpanes?”

  “Yep.” She skipped across the room.

  Holding back her smile, Libby hung up the little coat on a wall peg and fetched the broom from the lean-to. She swept out the water and slush from the snow on Emma’s coat.

  “Pa bought us a surprise, too.” Emma pounced the minute Libby stepped back into the cabin. Her bright blue eyes shone with the secret

  “A surprise? That sounds mysterious. Do you know what it is?”

  “I have my suspicions,” Emma admitted.

  Libby laughed, snatched up her sewing and hid it in her basket. “Maybe you’d better come help me set the table. I have a surprise for both you and your pa.”

  “Cinnamon rolls!” Emma hopped up and down. “I can smell them.”

  “You’re right.” Libby tugged one of Emma’s stiff brown braids. “Let’s eat first and then you can help us switch the rooms.”

  It had been Jacob’s idea, since he had so easily fallen down the ladder. Libby could not argue. As the babe inside grew, her own balance became awkward and she feared falling from the narrow rungs.

  Jacob insisted, before an accident could happen, she and Emma would switch rooms. And because Emma wanted a pretty room and a place to hang her curtains, he had promised to install a window in the end wall of the small attic.

  She heard Jacob stomp into the lean-to as she handed down the soup bowls for Emma. He was quiet at dinner while Emma chattered on about town and the cinnamon rolls and the surprise her pa had bought for them, a new book to be read after supper before the bright fire.

  It was a fun day of rearranging the rooms. Jacob moved items upstairs and down. Emma delighted in deciding where to lay her very own braided rug and in hanging her ruffled curtains at the new window and choosing the prettiest blanket to cover her bed.

  Then they tromped back downstairs to make up Libby’s room in Emma’s old space. There were the dresses to hang, the small bureau drawers to rearrange. Then her mother’s quilt to lay on the bed.

  With a sigh, Emma traced the colorful blue-and-pink rings against the quilted white background. Her eyes shone with admiration, and it was all Libby could do to keep her secret.

  Before supper, Jacob pulled Emma aside and gave her the surprise. Libby watched from the conner as Emma squinted at the parchment envelope.

  “It’s from Granny,” he explained quietly.

  Libby saw the lines pull into his face and the shadows darken his eyes, and she felt her own heart squeeze.

  “I’ll be in my room,” she said quietly.

  He didn’t stop her.

  Libby sat down on her bed, the room warmed by the wall of stones that backed the fireplace. Outside her window the day’s light drained from the horizon, and snow turned blue-gray as it fell from a twilight sky.

  She could hear Jacob’s low voice as he helped Emma read her letter. Libby tried to close off her ears, but she couldn’t help hearing the loving words from a home so far away. It must hurt for him to remember Kentucky.

  Jacob often kept his distance from her, always with a polite regard, with silence. He never talked about his life or his past They had pleasant meals, cozy evenings, busy mornings getting everyone out the door.

  Was it enough? She’d never been so happy. And yet, as she sat on her bed, her heart ached with loneliness.

  The baby moved, and she placed her hands over her bulky belly. The life inside demanded more of her attention, and she could no longer pretend differently. This baby would be born, no matter if Jacob was ready. Would she have to leave?

  Maybe. Nothing had changed in his heart. Was his grief so deep? Sometimes she saw it lurking in his eyes, the need to protect himself, the fear of relying too heavily on another human being.

  Would he love her enough to overcome such fears, to put aside his past? As if that somehow lessened the love she felt for him, Libby hid her face in her hands. But she would not cry.

  By the end of the week, the house was bursting with secrets. Joy filled the air like the smells of Elizabeth’s delicious baking. While Jacob read, long after Emma had gone to bed, Elizabeth stayed with him, frantically finishing a small quilt for his daughter’s bed.

  Emma was wound as tight as a pocket watch. She skipped through the house instead of walked. She looked near to bursting with their special secret gifts for Elizabeth. She sat still only after supper when they settled down together at the table to work on her reading.

  The excitement brought back memories, and he couldn’t stay long in the house. He worked extra hours at the livery, smithing when necessary, helping the hired boy clean the stalls, working with his own horses.

  When Jacob came home, all he saw was Elizabeth. In her soft wool dresses, she filled the small cabin with the feel of home. She often hummed while she worked, had taught Emma any number of songs, and together they baked in the kitchen. Gingerbread scented the air and little decorated cookie men cluttered the table so they had to eat supper as a picnic on the floor.

  At night, when he read aloud Jane Eyre, the book he had special ordered for Emma half a year ago, Elizabeth sat in the other chair working at her sewing, and her presence was a gentle reminder he couldn’t escape.

  He thought of her throughout the day. Dreamed of her at night. Hungered for her touch. It was all he could do to concentrate on his own reading.

  “I’m going to bed now,” she said quietly, startling him from his daze.

  He blinked and saw the yellow-orange lick of the flames in the hearth, saw the swish of her blue skirt as she left him with his silence.

  Should he call her back? But he said nothing as her bedroom door closed. He shut his eyes, imagining Elizabeth’s graceful movements as she lit a lamp, sat down at the bureau and brushed her knee-length hair until it crackled

  Her bedroom door was only five paces away. It took everything he had to remain seated, his hands clenched and his jaw tight. He no longer wanted Elizabeth to stay for Emma.

  He wanted her for himself.

  Libby awoke to the pound of Emma’s bare feet on the ceiling above. Christmas morning. She tossed back the covers and climbed out of bed. A quick peek out the window showed a blanket of snow over the forest, making the morning as solemn as peace.

  Emma banged on Libby’s door. “Santa came! Santa came!” Not waiting for an answer, she banged on Jacob’s door.

  Laughing, Libby wrapped her old housecoat around her—it didn’t cover her rounded middte—and stepped out into the main room.

  Emma hopped with uncontrollable joy, her long brown-black tresses dancing as she did.

  “Look!” She
pointed to the stuffed stocking at the cold hearth and the large wrapped packages beneath. “This one has your name, Libby.”

  “My name?” She laid a hand to her throat. A present for her? She’d never expected—

  Then Emma grinned. “There’s lots of presents with your name. Come see.”

  Jacob’s door opened, and Libby, too stunned to react, allowed Emma to pull her through the room. She looked over her shoulder, and their gazes met.

  He stood in the open doorway, his ebony hair sleep-tousled and dark stubble hugging his jaw. He wore wrinkled trousers, hastily tugged on, and a flannel undershirt, the gray fabric clearly delineating his very masculine chest. Libby’s breath lodged somewhere in her throat.

  “Come on!” Emma tugged her over to the hearth. Packages wrapped in plain brown paper were heaped over the cold stone. When she’d retired late last night, there hadn’t been as many gifts. She glanced up at Jacob, who only smiled.

  “Merry Christmas.” His gaze held hers.

  “Merry Christmas.” The words felt like honey in her throat.

  “Pa! Hurry! Let’s open the presents now.” Emma bounded across the floor.

  Now? She’d love nothing more. “Perhaps I should get dressed first.”

  Jacob’s gaze dropped to her stomach, and her heart sank. Libby tried to tug the housecoat more completely over her stomach, only making her pregnancy more evident.

  “You look fine,” he said quietly.

  “Pa.” Emma sounded ready to explode.

  “All right. We’ll open our gifts now, right after I get the fire started.” Jacob’s smile lit his whole face. “I guess breakfast can wait. We probably won’t starve to death while we open a few gifts.”

  “Oh, Pa.”

  Libby glanced around the small, cool room. Thin morning light spilled through the windows, despite the falling snow. Christmas. The word had never meant so much.

  Jacob took her hand and escorted her to the rocking chair, and she felt like a princess. She smiled up at him, and there were no shadows in his eyes when he smiled back. While Emma danced around impatiently, Jacob sorted out the presents. A pile grew at her feet, another at the foot of his empty chair, and a much larger third stack of gifts waited for Emma on the braided rug.