Last Chance Bride

by Jillian Hart

  Soon the fire snapped merry warmth into the room, and Jacob handed her the first gift. A soft thick package that felt like fabric beneath her fingers.

  “This is all from Emma and me,” he said quietly. “You open yours first.”

  “Hurry, Libby,” Emma cheered.

  Her throat knotted. A real present given from the heart. She carefully unwrapped it so as not to tear the paper, to make it last as long as possible.

  Inside was a variety of soft flannel.

  “So you can make clothes for your baby,” Emma explained solemnly. “I got to pick them out.”

  “I see that.” Libby fingered the bright yellow and red and greens, many dotted with flowers. “This will make beautiful baby clothes.” As long as the baby wasn’t a boy.

  Emma rewarded Libby with her hugest smile. “There’s more.” She pointed to the stack of packages on the floor.

  “These can’t all be for me.”

  “They are.” As if more excited by those gifts than her own, Emma clapped cheerfully. “Shouldn’t she open all of them, Pa?”

  Jacob’s gray eyes shone like a winter sun through clouds. “Yes. Open all of them.”

  Anyone could see the gifts were bundles of fabric. And so much of it. Soft white cloth for diapers, flannel for gowns, muslin for sheets, yarn for knitting little socks and hats. Finally Libby opened the largest bundle of all, a length of delicate pink calico with small white flowers.

  “So you have another dress that fits,” Emma explained with grave eyes. “You’ve got a fat tummy.”

  “I guess I do.” Libby smiled through the horrible pain of happiness. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  She’d put off buying fabric for baby clothes. Her savings weren’t so large and she didn’t dare risk taking anything out of the funds reserved for her passage to her aunt’s house in Chicago. And she wasn’t making wages now. Libby refused to touch Jacob’s money, although he faithfully placed a twenty-dollar bill on her bureau every Friday. The stack was huge and still untouched.

  But this fabric, these gifts, she could accept.

  “Open your gift from me, Pa!” Emma squealed. “I picked it out myself.”

  “Oh you did?” Jacob grinned down at his sprite of a daughter. Libby’s heart warmed at the careful way he unwrapped the girl’s gift.

  “Elizabeth helped you with this,” he said quietly, studying the blue wool shirt.

  “We made it together. Look in the pocket.” Emma hopped forward to eagerly pull out the pipe and the sack of tobacco. “You broke your other one last summer.”

  His throat worked, but he didn’t speak.

  “Don’t you like it?” Emma sounded crestfallen.

  “Yes, precious. I love the shirt. I’ve never had a nicer one.”

  “But do you like the pipe, too?” She wasn’t going to be easily convinced.

  “Yes. I can’t believe what a good memory you have.” He reached out and hugged his daughter tightly against him.

  “Now you go open your gifts.” His voice sounded gruff, as if tears knotted his throat.

  “I have so many!” Clearly delighted, Emma picked through her packages, laying them all out in a row on the floors, trying to decide which to open first. “I’ll go from small to big,” she announced.

  “Leave the smallest package.” Jacob caught Libby’s gaze. A secret twinkled there. “It’s your best present and you should save it for last.”

  “My best present?” Emma thought about that, enchanted. She reached for the next smallest gift. A collection of brightly colored ribbons for her hair. Emma squealed happily, thanking Libby with great enthusiasm.

  Libby felt her whole heart slide open as she watched Emma discover Christmas candy and several shiny new pennies stuffed in her stocking, a slate to learn to write on, a colorful book of Mother Goose stories and a small felt cowboy hat with silver trim. Gifts Jacob had bought for his daughter.

  “That one is from me,” Libby said, almost afraid, as Emma turned to the largest gift of all.

  Hope burned in those eyes. “It’s too big to be a dress,” she guessed.

  “You’ll have to open it and see.” Libby leaned forward, watching the little girl’s face.

  Emma tore away the wrapping paper and squealed at the bright colors of the yellow-and-blue quill “It’s just like yours! Except it’s yellow! My very favorite color!”

  Emma ran into her arms, and Libby hugged the girl hard, this daughter of her heart, and she could not keep back the small brush of a kiss along the crown of that soft brown hair.

  “I love you, Libby.”

  Her throat squeezed, but she managed the words. “I love you too, Emma.”

  She caught Jacob’s gaze on her, and she didn’t need to wonder if he would approve. The shine in his eyes told her everything.

  “You have one more gift,” he told his daughter gently.

  “You said the best gift.” Emma stepped out of Libby’s arms.

  “That’s what I said.” He knew what Emma really wanted couldn’t be wrapped in paper.

  The little girl bounced over to tear the wrapping off the smallest gift. She stared at the hand-carved figure of a horse, her eyebrows pinching together.

  “Thank you, Pa,” she said, trying hard to hide her disappointment.

  “No, the wooden horse isn’t your gift. It’s supposed to tell you what Santa Claus brought for you and left in the stable.”

  “A pony?” Emma’s eyes filled with happy tears. “Did Santa bring me a pony?”

  “No.” Jacob stood. “Santa brought you a real horse.”

  “A horse!” The child stood staring at him, the surprise vivid in her eyes.

  Jacob held out his hand. “Come with me and let’s go take a look at your Christmas horse.”

  Emma’s small hand felt so binding in his. He could feel how much she needed him, how lonely she had been, how much love filled her small child’s heart.

  The three of them tromped out into the morning with their coats pulled hastily over their nightclothes. Emma hopped the entire way to the stable, her excitement as tangible as the bits of falling snow.

  The small black mare he’d traded for early this winter stood in the end stall. She was a sturdy mustang, gentle and even-tempered. Now she gazed at Emma with curious and welcoming eyes, as if she could sense the well of love deep in the girl’s heart.

  “Here’s a piece of carrot,” Jacob said, slipping a chunk into Emma’s hand.

  She let go of Elizabeth and walked slowly up to the horse.

  Other animals nickered and begged for a treat, but Emma walked right past them to the little mustang in the corner. She held out her hand quietly, offering the bit of carrot.

  The mare daintily accepted the offering and welcomed those small, eager fingers along the soft velvet of her nose.

  “She’s beautiful,” Emma breathed. “I’m going to name her Holly.”

  Jacob closed his eyes, the pain so great it could cripple him. Holly was his mother’s name. The granny Emma loved so much.

  Jacob had fought hard to ward off the memories. Images of Mother decorating the house for Christmas, the hot eggnog treats she mixed with rum or whiskey to warm the end of a cold day, the good china, a ham roasting in the oven, a tree to trim and decorate.

  Jacob opened his eyes to the gray stone wall of his fireplace. Flames crackled greedily, generating enough heat to melt him where he sat.

  Emma sat on the beautiful blue-and-white braided rug Elizabeth had made, changing her doll’s clothes. She wore her new dress in the sunshine, yellow flannel with red and blue daisies. Her new cowboy hat crowned her head and two new ribbons tied her braids, one bright red satin bow and one bright blue one.

  “Will you read from my new book now?” Emma asked him.

  He smiled down at those bright eyes darkened with purple smudges. They had spent the afternoon riding horses, he and his daughter. The new mare had proven to be a good mount for her. Now, with supper behind them, Jacob coul
d see the tiredness in Emma’s face.

  “If you get ready for bed, I’ll read you to sleep,” he said quietly.

  “I guess. Let me change Beth into her new nightgown, too.” Emma readied her doll with great care. More clothes had been part of Elizabeth’s Christmas gift to her. She ran through the cabin and climbed up into her attic room to find the new nightgown.

  Jacob set aside his book. “She’s so wound up I may be a long time reading her to sleep.”

  “She’s had an exciting Christmas. That little mare you brought means everything to her.” Elizabeth set down her knitting. “You’re a good father, Jacob.”

  He looked at his hands. She didn’t know the truth. “Don’t worry about turning down the lamps. I’ll tend to them when I come down.”

  She nodded, her eyes puzzled, hurt. He ambled away, the hard wall he’d put around his heart ready to crumble. The loneliness of years and the power of the day had teased alive his feelings, brought to light his fears.

  Loving came with such risk. There was so much to lose. But as he felt Elizabeth’s gaze on his back, gentle as a loving touch, he felt torn. Need coursed through him, swift like a river and just as hard to control.

  Libby could hear the low rumble of his rich voice through the ceiling above as he read Emma to sleep. The cabin shone with her careful cleaning, the fire snapped happily in the hearth.

  She listened to Jacob’s footsteps cross overhead, then descend down the ladder. She lifted her knitting up to the light to count her stitches.

  “Emma was so worn-out,” Jacob said as he strode into the room. “She was too tired to fall asleep.”

  The sadness in his voice pierced her. Libby knew, when he sounded like that, he would keep his distance. After today, she didn’t want a polite exchange. She didn’t want to see him hurting without knowing how to help him.

  “I suppose I’d better get to bed.” She set down her knitting.

  “Please. Don’t go.” His quiet voice rumbled low beneath the sounds of the fire snapping and the tick of the clock.

  His voice held her. She saw the need like a painful shadow dark in his gray eyes.

  “I could make coffee,” she offered, unsure what he wanted. Unsure how to give it to him.

  “I don’t want coffee.” He settled into his rocking chair. “My mother used to make Christmas into magic. Songs and scented candles and days spent making candies and cakes. The whole house smelled like joy.”

  Libby tried to imagine it. “You must have a very loving mother. You must be missing her today.”

  “Yes.” His answer was immediate and his eyes troubled. “She wrote me. She’s been writing me faithfully since I moved out here. I don’t answer her letters.”

  She studied the tense line of his jaw, the tight press of his lips, the firm white-knuckled fists of his big hands.

  “Do you want to talk?” she asked quietly.

  “No, I don’t. I don’t want to feel. I don’t want to remember.” He stared hard at his empty hands. “But I can’t stop.”

  Libby saw his sorrow and something that gripped him so tightly. “Perhaps you could have Emma write. She’s been wanting to learn to write letters.”

  Jacob shook his head, moving toward her, his heart shining full in his eyes. “See how you do that? Everything is so much easier with you here.”

  She didn’t do so much. She made curtains, cooked meals, scrubbed floors. “This has been a painful day for you.”

  “Yes.” Firelight threw orange-and-black shadows across his face. “This is my first real Christmas since Mary died.”

  “How you must have loved her.” Libby saw Jacob’s face fall, felt his heart crumble.

  “I loved her very much.” Tears rimmed his eyes and he cleared his throat, but couldn’t push them away. “I’m so tired of being alone.”

  “You’re not alone, Jacob.” It seemed so obvious to her. “You have Emma, who is enough to light up an entire life.”

  “Yes.” He unfisted one hand and laid his warm, broad palm along her jawbone, cupping her face. “I have you.”

  Libby held her breath. She knew what he wanted, could see what he needed. She loved him. And she could see how he cared for her in his heart. He cared for her.

  Jacob stood. Libby stood. He cradled her face in his hands, his fingers at the back of her collar. In one small movement his mouth found hers, kissing her with a hungry gentleness that tugged at her every aching need.

  His arms folded her against his chest. His tongue caressed her lips, then dipped past to explore deeper. She curled her hands in his shirt and held on. Desire for him rolled through her, leaving her unsteady, unable to think. She could only feel. She wanted him. All of him. As much as he would give her.

  Her breath caught as he began working the buttons at the nape of her neck. Each tug of his fingers worked a button free. Her collar fell loose, the fabric of her bodice relaxed, the girth of her waistband slipped. Pure, honest desire shivered through her. He slipped the dress from her shoulders.

  Libby heard his sharp intake of air at the sight of her in her chemise, her breasts against the white muslin, her belly firmly shaping the cloth. Jacob breathed out that air in a hiss of desire, and his eyes shone as he slipped one thin strap of her chemise down her shoulder, exposing the top of her breast. The hot, firm tip of his finger brushed down the other strap, and the chemise caught and held on the tips of her full breasts.

  He shook with need, with the effort of holding himself back. He knew what he wanted. Elizabeth. He wanted all of her, but he made himself go slow, wanted to make it last. He reached with one finger and freed the fabric, exposing her ample breasts.

  The glow of the firelight brushed her sweet skin into an alluring peach, and he bent down to cover the pebbled tips of her beautiful breasts with his mouth. Need kicked through him. He suckled lightly at first, tasting her, teasing her with his tongue. With a surprised moan of pleasure, Elizabeth wrapped both arms around his neck, holding him to her breast and rained kisses along the top of his forehead.

  With his hands, he freed the fabric around her stomach, and the dress and chemise whispered to the floor. He squeezed his eyes shut at the sight of that belly, full and ripe, nurturing a life so fragile inside.

  “I’m sorry I’m so...so fat,” Elizabeth whispered quietly, taking one step back.

  “No.” Jacob grabbed her arm, unwilling to let her slip away. “I think you’re beautiful. And brave.” She had no idea of what birthing that life may require.

  He knew. And it killed him. Fear for her battered him like a blizzard. Suddenly he didn’t have enough time with her, and he couldn’t waste another moment being afraid.

  He kissed her with the whole of his being. Tasting the lingering coffee on her tongue, exploring the hot velvet moistness of her mouth. Jacob hugged her to him, delighted in the feel of her breasts against his chest and the solid strength in her arms as she wrapped them around his neck.

  Elizabeth kissed him back, ardently pressing her body against his, twining her fingers through his hair. He moaned first at the tug her fingers made along his scalp, then again when her tongue dared to meet his, first tracing the shape of his lips, then slipping shyly into his mouth.

  Control snapped. He couldn’t raise his lips from hers, couldn’t lift his hand from her breast. He backed her to the open door of his dark room. He didn’t bother to light a lamp as he pulled back the rough wool blanket and sat her on the edge of his bed.

  Slow down. He had to force himself to breathe, to step away from her. He ought to ask if she was certain about loving him, but she grabbed hold of his shirt with both hands and tugged him by the collar to kneel between her knees, mating her mouth with his.

  Desire coiled in his groin and he rubbed his hands along the smooth line of her parted thighs. Her skin was so soft, so private there even through the soft muslin of her drawers. He found the string along the span of her rounded waist and untied the bow.

  She released her fistfuls of his shirt
and began unbuttoning him. Her hands fluttered over his chest, traced the line of his wide shoulders, tickled down the flat of his abdomen.

  He felt solid. Libby slipped her hands across his bare chest to feel the pelt of dark curling hair, covering his male nipples. She traced one with the tip of her finger and felt him shiver. He shivered again when she traced down his solid abdomen to the first button of his trousers.

  Once she had him naked, Libby leaned back in the bed, slipping off her drawers, glad for the dark room that cloaked her awkward pregnancy from his sight But not from his touch. His hand settled on her belly.

  Her breath caught in her throat, worry punched at her mind. But when Jacob stretched out beside her, whispering sweetly, she melted. She gave him all her trust.

  His mouth caught hers, and she wasn’t prepared for the tenderness of his kiss. He moved over her, touching her with gentleness as if she were more precious than blown glass. When his erection nudged her, pushing into that welcoming place in her body, Libby wrapped her arms around his back and held him with all the strength in her heart.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Morning dawned cold enough to freeze her breath to the blankets. Libby huddled beneath the covers, awakening to the realization she was not only in Jacob’s bed, but stark naked besides.

  Jacob rolled onto his side and stared at her.

  “Good morning.” She couldn’t hide her smile. No matter how cold the room, in her heart she felt warm and toasty.

  “Morning,” he said quietly.

  Libby’s happiness faded a notch. She put aside the images of last night, of how gently excited he’d been in her arms, how considerate he’d been making love to her. Dawn nudged at the darkness in the room. “It’s late. We slept in.”

  “Yes, I’d better get a fire started. It’s damn cold this morning.” Jacob hopped out of bed, his own nakedness causing him to shiver in the frigid air. “Stay beneath the covers until the cabin warms. I’ll bring your clothes.”