Winning the Widow's Heart

by Sherri Shackelford

  Better to end the story there. She had been too young to understand. Too young to realize that her whole life was about to change, forever.

  Jack accepted the slice of bread, studying the melted butter as it pooled into the fluffy air pockets. “Why don’t you move back to New York? Live with your parents? Raising Rachel Rose with your family would be better than living out here all alone.”

  She pondered her answer, wondering how much to reveal. “My parents are both dead. After my father died, my mother was sick, and then…and then she died, too. I spent several years in an orphanage.” She skirted around the truth. Not quite lying, but not telling the whole of it, either. “All of the girls had to have jobs and I, well, I chose to work in the kitchens. The task helped me feel closer to my family, to my roots. When I was too old for the orphanage, I even took a job at a bakery. That’s where I met Will.”

  She glanced up, startled by the stricken look on his face.

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t realize.”

  There was more to her story, but she couldn’t bear to reveal her pain. Not when he appeared so horrified to learn she’d spent half of her life in an orphanage. “Other people have suffered far worse than I.”

  He made a noncommittal sound in his throat. “Why don’t you at least move to town, open your own bakery? I’m sure there are plenty of people who’d devour your cooking.”

  “I couldn’t,” she protested with a nervous laugh.

  “Why not?”

  “Well, I, uh—” She paused. “I guess I never thought about it before. I don’t know if I could handle the work alone.”

  “Hire someone to help out. There’s always a body in need of work. ‘The hand of the diligent man maketh rich.’”

  A bakery. Elizabeth pictured a warm kitchen, a bell tinkling over the door to indicate a customer. A place of her own where people gathered. A place where people knew her. How well would the people in Cimarron Springs greet Will Cole’s widow? The warm image dissolved. If the scathing stares they shot at her on her rare trips to the mercantile were any indication, not very well. Even after Will’s death, his legacy haunted her. Memories were long, and she’d always be Will Cole’s widow. Elizabeth’s heart sank. The homestead that had saved her, trapped her at the same time.

  She briskly chafed her hands together, rubbing off the last bit of flour dust. “It’s time to prepare supper. Do you mind keeping Jo company while I work? She’s getting real antsy being cooped up in there.”

  “After another fortifying slice of bread.”

  Running a bakery sounded heavenly compared to running the homestead. She’d barely survived the autumn, working eighteen hours a day to prepare for winter. The long cold months had given her a brief reprieve, but spring loomed just around the corner. With the change in weather came planting the kitchen garden and all the other repairs neglected over the winter.

  Elizabeth pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes. The rare glimpse of hope at a new future had left her longing for things that could never be.

  How did one pray for an answer, when the question remained elusive? “Are there any Bible verses on hope?”

  He chewed thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I seem to recall something about ‘in His word do I hope.’”

  “‘In His word do I hope,’” she repeated. “Amen.”

  Hope was a dangerous thing. A luxury she couldn’t afford.

  * * *

  Jo winked at Jack. “You’re a real charmer, aren’t you?”

  He cradled his forehead, warding off the stinging pain that pierced his brain each time Jo spoke. Her constant jabs wore on him. “I thought you broke your ribs, not your lips. Why am I sitting here reading to you, when reading is probably the only thing you can do?”

  “Because Mrs. Cole told you to keep me company.” She smirked. “Now, let’s see, was that before or after you brought up her late husband and her life in the orphanage?”

  “If you minded your own business as well as you mind mine, you wouldn’t have two cracked ribs and a sprained ankle.”

  “You’re getting sloppy with your insults.”

  Jack blew out a frustrated breath. He was still kicking himself for his awkward handling of the situation earlier. Jo’s probing questions delved too deeply into his wounded dignity. “Pride and Prejudice is an odd name for a book.”

  “Mrs. Cole said her mother brought it over from England. It’s one of her favorites.”

  “I don’t see why. Nothing happens.” Unless you counted people doing an awful lot of talking about their feelings, and not doing a whole lot of action concerning those feelings.

  “It’s very romantic.”

  Jack turned over the book to check the back. “Am I missing something?”

  So far, the main character had insulted the heroine, and the heroine had insulted him right back. Where on earth was the romance in that?

  “It’s about a cranky fellow who can’t seem to get along with anyone.” A sly grin coasted across Jo’s face. “Should be right up your alley, Ranger.”

  The barb struck home with deadly accuracy. “You sure you wouldn’t rather take a nap?”

  “I’ve been sleeping all day.” She plucked restlessly at the quilted comforter, clutching her side as the movement jostled her sore ribs. “Why did you come back?”

  “It was on my way home.” He flipped open the book to a random page. “Now, where were we? I’m sure Mr. Darcy is about to do something romantic like tossing Miss Bennett into the river.”

  “Where do you live, Ranger? This place isn’t on the way to anywhere.”

  His temper flared. Trust Jo not to let a sleeping dog lie. It was none of her business why he’d decided to check on the widow. “Do you want to flap your lips, or do you want me to read?”

  “You’re crankier than usual.” She appeared almost gleeful in her assessment. “Guess you didn’t catch that outlaw.”

  “No.” He snapped shut the book. “I didn’t.”

  Rachel stirred restlessly at the commotion. Jack lifted her from the cozy nest of blankets, and tucked the infant into the crook of his arm. She cooed. His chest expanded with pride. No matter how upset the baby was, she always calmed in his arms.

  “That day in the barn,” Jo continued. “You told me you were chasing a bank robber, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “I been thinking about what you said, but I still can’t figure out why you ended up here. How did you stumble onto this homestead? This place ain’t on the way to nowhere.”

  Jack hesitated, but talking about his case was a whole lot better than reading Elizabeth’s “romantic” book. “The man I was chasing—”

  “Bud Shaw?”

  “Yeah, that’s him. He disappeared along the train route, but his horse didn’t. People remembered the mustang. That animal caused a lot of trouble along the way. When I arrived in Cimarron Springs, the sheriff said a fellow living out here had a feisty bay mustang. The whole thing seemed logical. Made sense that the fellow got off the train at Cimarron Springs and headed home.”

  “Didn’t the sheriff tell you that mustang belonged to Will Cole, not that fellow you were looking for, Bud Shaw?”

  “Could have been a lot of explanations for that. Maybe Bud Shaw had a partner we didn’t know about. Maybe he was using another name to throw us off the trail. Criminals aren’t exactly known for making things easy.”

  Jo snorted. “Still, if you thought a lightweight like Will Cole was a bank robber, I’d hate to see what kind of other fellows you’ve chased in your career.”

  Jack glanced furtively over his shoulder. “Keep your voice down. Mrs. Cole has dealt with enough painful reminders today.”

  “Don’t worry. She’s off to feed the animals whi
le you’re in a nice warm house loafing around and playing nursemaid, remember?”

  This time the barb bounced off his thick hide. Jo was hiding her pain with her sharp words. Jack smoothed the blanket over the infant, using the distraction to sneak a look at Jo’s exhausted face. Her two braids hung listlessly over her shoulders. Lines of fatigue showed at the corners her mouth. Her green eyes stood out against her ashen face. She was putting on a good show, but he could tell she was hurting. What was wrong with him, snapping at an injured girl?

  “I’m telling you, Ranger,” she continued. “Mr. Cole could hardly pluck a chicken let alone rob a bank. He reminded me of this snake-oil salesman that came to town last spring. He talked up a real storm, but once you got past all the hot air blowing through his lips, there was nothing to him.”

  “Really?” The question slipped out.

  “Yeah. Maybe that snake-oil man is your bank robber. Maybe his secret ingredient is stolen money. That’s about as good of a theory as Will Cole.”

  She chuckled at her own joke while Jack remained thoughtful. He’d heard enough gossip about the widow’s late husband to last him a lifetime. He was growing heartily sick of how the conversation kept circling back around to the man. Will Cole might as well be standing in the room, not six feet under. “It’s not appropriate to talk about Mr. Cole.”

  “I’d say it’s more appropriate than kicking down a dead man’s door, isn’t it?”

  The shooting pain in his temple intensified. “We’ve gone over this already. I was looking for Bud Shaw.” He braced his free hand on the seat of his chair, the book pressing painfully into his palm. “If you don’t want me to read to you, maybe I can pull out one of Mrs. Cole’s samplers and you can stitch us a pretty flower hanky.”

  “I’d rather poke my eye with a stick.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  Pleasant sounds from the kitchen indicated Elizabeth’s return. She stepped into the room, her eyes sparkling with health.

  Rushing to his side, she reached out to run her knuckle along Rachel’s cheek. “Good morning, beautiful.”

  His breath snagged in his throat. He caught a tantalizing hint of sweetened vanilla and lavender. Tendrils of golden hair framed Elizabeth’s face, curling along her cheek. Her hair wasn’t simply blond, as it appeared at first, but a curious mixture of aged gold, flaxen and an alluring hint of bronze.

  His blood pounded. He longed to reach out and loop one of those charming ringlets around his finger, just to see if it felt as soft as it looked.

  Elizabeth’s gaze swung between him and Jo as she flashed a hopeful grin. “Everything okay in here? Are you two getting along?”

  “Couldn’t be better.”

  “Like beans and ham.”

  “Excellent.” Elizabeth brought her hands together with a clap. “It’s so nice to see the two of you mending fences so well.”

  She smiled so wide he caught a rare glimpse of the place where her eyeteeth overlapped her front teeth ever so slightly. He found the modest imperfection delightful, especially since it was only visible when she smiled the widest.

  She turned her radiant gaze on him. “Can you hold Rachel for a few more minutes? I’d like to start supper.”

  Swallowing hard, he nodded.

  Heaven help him. She had him tongue-tied and tangled in knots. Returning to the homestead was a mistake, a mistake he’d soon remedy. The longer he remained, the more his emotions became entangled with the plight of this ragtag bunch. Tonight he’d complete the task he’d come here for in the first place. He’d show Elizabeth his newspaper clippings, and see if she recognized any of the wanted posters.

  “Mrs. Cole?”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  His mind went blank. What was he supposed to say? By the way, did your husband ever gamble with outlaws? Did he happen to mention their names?

  “Nothing. Never mind.”

  She shrugged and turned away.

  Jack grunted. His entire plan was ridiculous. This whole delay had been an excuse to see Elizabeth again. And what was wrong with that? There was no harm in ensuring her health. After aiming a gun at the poor woman, and practically accusing her of lying, it was the least he could do.

  Jo caught his attention, a mischievous glint in her green eyes. After Elizabeth rounded the corner, safely out of view, the little bugger had the audacity to stick out her tongue at him.

  Jack rolled his eyes and prayed for a break in the weather. The sooner he found the real Bud Shaw, the better. Staying here was stirring up more problems than he could solve. Even as he itched to resume his journey, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been drawn here for a purpose.

  Jack rubbed his chin while pots and pans clanged in the kitchen. The widow was too serious by far. She had a perpetual frown of worry between her eyes, and saved her smiles like precious coins. She needed to relax and let a little fun into her day. Maybe that’s why the Lord had brought him here, to bring some laughter into her life.

  But his time was running short. How did he distract from her rigid schedule, and self-imposed rules long enough to discover the joy still left in the world? He glanced out the window. A grin spread across his face. Staring at the snow gave him an idea.

  Chapter Eight

  “Gracious, what’s that man doing?” Elizabeth stretched over the bed and scratched a hole in the frost-covered window.

  “I don’t know,” Jo replied. “He pulled off the oilcloth earlier. He’s mighty busy doing something, but I can’t figure out what.”

  Elizabeth stood, knotted her muffler tighter around her throat, then tucked the fringed ends beneath the collar of her woolen coat. “Just like a man to fuss around when there’s work to be done.”

  She knelt and adjusted Rachel’s blanket. The infant’s toothless grin filled her heart with wonder. “Did you get more precious last night? Did you? You sweet little thing.”

  Jo made a gagging sound in her throat.

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “You’ll feel differently when you have your own babies.”

  “Never. I’m not having any brats. Not after what you went through.”

  “It’s all worth it.”

  “I don’t plan on finding out.”

  Elizabeth ducked her head to hide her knowing grin. “I’m off to gather eggs for supper. If Rachel gets fussy, I’ll be back shortly.”

  “We’ll be fine. Now stop running yourself ragged.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Elizabeth pressed the back of her hand to Jo’s forehead, relieved to find the skin cool and dry. The more days that passed without a fever, the more Elizabeth’s relief grew. Jo was making a blessedly quick recovery. “Mr. Elder was able to get a message to your family. You’ll be happy to know they’re all praying for your health.”

  Elizabeth managed to keep her irritation hidden. What were the McCoys to think of a Texas Ranger hanging about? Mr. Elder hadn’t shared how he’d explained his presence to the neighboring family. “Your brothers miss you. Once the weather warms a bit, I’m sure they’ll be tracking over here to see you.”

  Jo snorted. “Not like I’m going anyplace.”

  “You’ll be up and about in no time. Jack—Mr. Elder said your ankle isn’t broken. Just a sprain and some cracked ribs.”

  Jo rubbed her leg and groaned. “This is one winter I’ll never forget.”

  “You and I both.”

  Elizabeth chuckled dryly. With a last lingering glance at Jo and the baby, she stole from room.

  Safely out of view, she scowled. Mr. Elder had taken word to the McCoys without even a by-your-leave to Elizabeth. She’d discovered him missing when she’d wandered into the barn half asleep, groggily attending her chores, only to discover his jet-black horse missing. After taking s
everal deep, shuddering breaths, she’d set about her chores, determined to push him out of her thoughts.

  Jack had returned hours later, casually relating his trip to the McCoys. As if rambling in and out of their lives had no consequences. Elizabeth expressed her frustration under her breath. At least Will had taken the time to say goodbye when he’d left.

  She glanced out the window, annoyed to find the bunkhouse chimney billowing smoke. Jack had taken charge of a whole lot of things in the past forty-eight hours. After declaring the barn unfit for sleeping, he’d moved his belongings into the bunkhouse, setting up shop like he planned to stay all winter.

  Elizabeth tugged on her woolen mittens. She vowed to speak with him that evening. If he could travel to the McCoys, he could travel to town. There was no need for him to stay any longer. A strange man shacked up in the bunkhouse was bound to draw attention.

  Reaching for the doorknob, she considered the other reason he had to leave. She couldn’t afford to let anyone know how accustomed she’d grown to his comforting presence—a reassurance that was as dangerous as it was foolish. The more she grew to depend on him, the more difficult her life would be when he was gone.

  With a resolute huff, she pushed open the rear door, relieved to find the wind had calmed. The orange-ball sun had made a rare appearance through the clouds, turning the rolling prairie into a blinding, sparkling wonderland.

  She had just reached the bottom step, when something wet and cold pelted her from the side.

  “Just the person I wanted to see,” Jack called from her left.

  She turned. He stood there smiling, as though he was impervious to the frosty winter air.

  Elizabeth dusted the white from her shoulder. “Did you just throw a snowball at me?”

  “I need your help.”

  She searched his face for any sign of guilt. Not even a suspicious twinkle showed in his hazel eyes. She slanted a glance upward. Icicles hung like frosting from the eves above her head, turning the house into a gingerbread confection.