“I don’t see what—”
“Please,” she implored. “I need to know everything. I need to get a picture in my mind of what happened.”
Reluctantly complying, he concentrated on the sketch. With his head bent, he drew a remarkably detailed outline of each chair, desk and window. A lock of hair fell over his eyes, and he swatted it away. Her fingers itched to smooth the chocolate waves back into place.
His hair had grown. With his face cleanly shaven, he appeared even more dangerous than the first time she’d seen him. The impulsive side of her, the part that had led her to Kansas in the first place, was drawn to that danger. How tempting to rest her burdens on his strong shoulders, to share her fears and insecurities, to let the low rumble of his baritone voice soothe her.
Elizabeth started, ashamed of her wayward thoughts.
While she struggled to force her attention back to the robberies, Jack indicated the locations of the three outlaws and the four civilians.
“What’s that?” She indicated a box drawn near the edge of the picture.
“That’s the safe.”
Their fingers brushed together. The touch struck a vibrant chord within her. Their gazes locked. His hazel eyes sparked with an inscrutable emotion.
Her heart jolted and her pulse pounded. A plaintive cry from the bedroom sent Elizabeth stumbling to her feet. “While you’re finishing that, I’ll fetch the baby and check on Jo.”
He jerked his head in an absentminded nod, his attention once again focused on the sketch. Elizabeth paused, wondering if she’d imaged the flare of emotion in his eyes. Another lusty cry from the baby yanked her from her contemplations.
She fed and changed Rachel while Jo twirled one mahogany braid and frowned over a dog-eared copy of Pride and Prejudice.
Elizabeth’s chest constricted at the forlorn sight. “Would you like me to sit with you? Keep you company? You must be getting lonely.”
The girl glanced up and smiled, dropping her braid to shoo away the interruption. “This is a good part,” she whispered. “I’m almost finished.”
Elizabeth quirked an eyebrow. So much for entertaining the invalid.
Her guilt assuaged, she flashed a knowing smirk at the top of Jo’s head. The very proper English romance certainly had her tomboy helper engrossed.
Rachel fussed in her drawer, kicking away her blankets to reveal her darling, stocking-clad feet. Elizabeth picked her up and cradled the baby to her chest. There was something grounding about holding Rachel to her heart, feeling her daughter’s warm breath rustling against her neck. For a moment everything was possible, the future wild and free.
Elizabeth closed her eyes, letting herself imagine her life if Will had loved her even half as much as Jack loved his family. Tears pricked behind her eyes. She surreptitiously wiped them away, relieved to find Jo too engrossed in her book to notice. They’d love each other, she and Rachel, and that would be enough.
With the baby propped against one shoulder, Elizabeth returned to the dining table, then struggled to clear the plates with her free hand.
“I’ll hold Rachel,” Jack offered. “I’ve finished with the drawing.”
Elizabeth rested the infant in his outstretched arms. His enormous hands dwarfed the growing baby. He tucked Rachel into the crook of his elbow where she stared at his face in curious wonder. Lost in a private world, the two made faces at each other.
The stern Texas Ranger melted away, leaving in its place an affectionate, openhearted man with an affinity for fatherhood. The sight warmed Elizabeth’s heart.
Jack touched the infant’s nose, assuming a mock expression of stern disapproval. “I hope you haven’t been giving your mother any trouble.”
The infant’s mouth worked, as if she were struggling to form a reply. A tender affection stirred in Elizabeth’s chest, a glowing circle of light seemed to grow and expand around her heart. She had dreamed of this moment, in the deep recesses of her heart where the harsh light of truth failed to penetrate. She had imagined this event in her waking dreams. A home, a family, the soft haze of firelight chasing away the evening gloom. The fresh smell of baked apples wafting around her. Of course, she’d pictured the man to be her husband, not a Texas Ranger who’d burst into her life with his gun drawn.
“You’re smiling,” Jack said. “What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. Now where were we?”
His smile faltered. “The newspaper clippings are all here.” He indicated a neat stack of folded papers. “I’ve circled the relevant articles.”
“Excellent.” She assumed a brisk efficiency. “First though, tell me about the man you captured. Tell me about the Bud Shaw you jailed.”
Jack absently rocked the infant, his eyes thoughtful. “He’s quiet, I guess. Just an ordinary fellow. He had some problems as a kid, rustling cattle with his father and the like, but nothing violent. He’s just ordinary.”
Elizabeth sighed at his frank reply. Jack didn’t consider her questions silly or unimportant, he simply answered them with his usual straightforward, direct responses. As if they were equals. The cozy room took on a misty shimmer from the kerosene lanterns, softening the homestead’s rough edges. For the second time in so many weeks, she wanted to stretch out time and capture this moment in her memory.
She sat up in her chair, pulling away from his magnetic draw. “Why do you keep saying he’s ordinary?”
“Because the real Bud Shaw is larger than life. People describe him as handsome, gregarious, a gambler and a fellow all the ladies clustered around.” Jack adjusted Rachel to the other arm. The baby kicked and cooed in delight. He dropped a kiss to her forehead. Elizabeth’s heart stuttered at the unconscious gesture.
Unaware of the havoc he wreaked on her senses, Jack continued, “The fellow serving time in a Paris, Texas, jail doesn’t strike me as that sort of man.”
Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest. She couldn’t help but think of another man who fit the description of gregarious lady charmer. As far as she could tell, leopards did not change their spots. At least not for long.
“Did Bud Shaw do the shooting?”
He shrugged. “We believe so.”
Elizabeth blew out a relieved breath. The description had been so similar to Will. Yet Will’s gun had never been fired. He’d carried the flashy piece like a badge of honor, but even Jack had noted the gun’s pristine condition. “How much time have you spent with the Bud Shaw in jail? Could he be acting?”
“I spent two weeks in Paris helping my brother with the arrangements after Doreen’s death. I didn’t see any behavior to indicate the man was anything but a quiet, conscientious worker who’d run into some trouble in his youth.”
Jack smoothed his thumb over Rachel’s eyebrow. The infant captured his index finger, tugging it toward her mouth. He grinned, a dimple appearing on his left cheek. The baby explored his hand, even taking a tentative bite at his thumb. Jack held Rachel as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if he were meant to serve the role.
Rubbing her hands over her eyes, Elizabeth dragged her attention back to the clippings. “What led you to this man in the first place?”
“Slim Joe was gut shot during the last escape. Before he died, he gave me the names of Pencil Pete and Bud Shaw. Slim even told me where Bud lived. His name and address matched a signature at the hotel the night before. We went to his spread and found part of the money hidden behind his woodshed.”
“Sounds like Bud is guilty.”
“To you and everyone else. Even the other witnesses aren’t certain. He looks close enough to the description to be the man. But something isn’t right. He doesn’t act like a criminal. He doesn’t even seem the type.”
Elizabeth suppressed a grin. The frustration in his vo
ice was incongruent with the silly faces he kept flashing at the infant to make her gurgle in delight. “Does anybody else share your conviction?”
Jack barked out a laugh, startling Rachel. The baby’s face pinched as if she might cry. He crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue. A smile stretched across her round face. “Not hardly. Bud Shaw would be dead and buried already if it weren’t for me. I talked the sheriff into giving me six months to find the real outlaw. I’m running out of time, though. More important, Bud is running out of time.”
“You’ve gone to an awful lot of trouble based on your instinct.”
“That’s all I’ve got.”
In that second, she understood his purpose. The pursuit of justice consumed him. She was right to focus his attention on the case once again. The sooner he found a lead, the sooner he’d be on his way. Discovering the truth drove him forward. The same way having a permanent home drove her to stay on the homestead, despite the obvious danger.
A chill breeze swept through the room, ruffling her papers. Elizabeth mustn’t let regrets fill her heart. The past could not be changed. Jack had not appeared in the bakery all those months ago, sweeping her off her feet. Will had. Any longings that might sneak into her heart, any wistful dreams of a handsome Texas Ranger whisking her away, were foolish and dangerous. Everything she had rested on this desolate slice of prairie. This endeavor wasn’t about watching Jack putter around the room, Rachel in his arms.
Her goal was to remind him of his duty, and motivate him to leave. “Why don’t I read through these newspapers? See if there’s anything interesting?”
Jack settled himself in the chair nearest the roaring fire he’d started in the grate. “It’s your time. Do you have something I can read?”
Elizabeth stood and crossed to the bedroom. Jo had dozed off with the book slack in her hands. Elizabeth opened the top dresser drawer and dug beneath her clothes. She returned to the hearth room and handed Jack a book.
He propped the Bible open on one knee, his ankles crossed on a three-legged stool. Rachel sprawled over his chest. Elizabeth’s gaze swung between Jack and the rear door. There really was no reason for him to be here. Why didn’t she just demand that he return to the bunkhouse and save herself this torture? Save herself from the dream come to life? After all, the truce had been for dinner only.
Yet Rachel appeared so content in his arms. The baby struggled to lift her head, reaching out to grasp his silver star. The pin tugged at his shirt. Jack’s mouth kicked up at one corner.
Elizabeth’s soul crashed and soared at the same time, torn between the truth and what might have been. Despite the pain, she couldn’t tear her gaze away.
Jack returned his attention to the Bible, studying the pages, his brow furrowed in concentration. Why disturb them to selfishly save her shattered heart?
Elizabeth spent the next forty minutes poring over the newspaper articles and making notes. She sketched out dates and times in one column, the bank locations in another. Below Jack’s picture of the last bank robbery, she traced the route the outlaws had taken through the western territory. She lined up the wanted posters, but they offered little help. The outlaws had worn bandannas over their faces to protect their identities. Even the witnesses had given conflicting accounts of their heights and weights.
The crimes appeared to be random, like spokes on a wheel. There was no obvious trail, no distinct line from point A to point B. The times didn’t match up, either. The outlaws struck at random intervals, giving no clue as to why they chose the particular banks to rob.
Stumped, she wrote down the events happening in the towns. There were church socials, local festivals and the occasional marriages and arrests. Her eyes drooping, she rested her head on the table. Something about the towns piqued her curiosity.
* * *
Jack woke with a start. Disoriented, he searched the still cabin. Rachel dozed in his arms, her tiny fists bunched beneath her chubby chin. Banked embers glowed red in the hearth. Alarmed by the unnatural quiet, he searched the room, then heaved a sigh of relief to find Elizabeth sleeping at the table with her head cradled in her arms. Escaped tendrils of blond hair curtained her face.
He rolled the baby into the crook of his elbow. Standing, he raised himself up on his toes to stretch his stiff leg muscles, then bustled around the cabin. He placed a dozing Rachel in her bed before clearing away the rest of the dishes. As quietly as he could manage, he gathered his newspapers and stacked them neatly atop Elizabeth’s notes. Curious, he slipped her papers free. Her handwriting was neat and precise, her organization of the facts logical.
Jack rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh. The futile endeavor hadn’t been a complete waste. He’d gotten his first decent meal in weeks, and his brief nap had left him more rested than he’d felt in a month of Sundays. The company of the pretty widow hadn’t hurt, either.
He’d forgotten the soothing comfort of women. The tiny details that made a house a home. Elizabeth had set the table for company, just like he remembered from his youth. She’d even pressed the butter into decorated pats. A stamped cow adorned the yellow disks. A tablecloth embroidered with delicate pink roses draped the table. The frivolous touches stirred up memories he thought he’d buried long ago.
Rare longings for a home of his own surprised him with their intensity. He’d didn’t want a family, a permanent place to live. He was content with his work, satisfied with his contribution to society. But the widow had him picturing a life where he returned home every night to enjoy a hearty meal before a roaring fire. A home where he watched his own children grow.
He stretched to release the painful knot throbbing in his neck. He’d chosen his given profession for a reason. He didn’t want to be tied to the family ranch like his brothers, buried beneath the uncertainty of droughts and blight. Held prisoner by weather and fate. He controlled his own destiny. And, right now, he controlled the destiny of an innocent man. If he forgot that, he surrendered his honor.
Elizabeth and her daughter had unleashed his protective instincts, that’s all. These unsettling emotions were a reaction to his failure to locate the real Bud Shaw. The delay presented an opportunity to feel useful, needed. Nothing more. He’d quiet these disturbing yearnings for home and hearth once he found proof that Elizabeth’s husband had been involved with the outlaws. There was something here. He just knew it.
If he found his gaze lingering over Elizabeth’s soft lips, his heart catching at her infectious laugh, his reactions were the natural result of a man isolated from the comfort of a woman’s company for too long. He’d steeled himself from the crushing loneliness of life on the trail before, and he’d harden his feelings once again.
When he could avoid the task no longer, he touched Elizabeth’s shoulder. She blinked at him, her eyes sleepy and unfocused.
His hands trembling, he brushed the hair from her forehead. “It’s late. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Her eyes flew open. She stumbled to her feet. He reached out a hand to steady her. Swaying, she leaned into him. Her gaze searched the room while she pressed a hand to her forehead. “Where is Rachel?”
“She’s snug as a bug in a rug.”
Elizabeth blinked sleepily, brushing the wrinkles from her skirt. His mouth suddenly felt as dry as the west Texas desert. With her eyes blurry from sleep, her shirtwaist rumpled and her hair tumbling loose, she was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. Loose waves of hair framed her face in a halo of light. A becoming hint of pink tinged her cheeks. A thousand different words came to mind, but not a one of them lent her justice.
“Gracious, I must have fallen asleep.” She ran a hand over her eyes. “Rachel is probably due to be fed and changed soon.”
A lump of regret lodged in his throat. Not trusting himself to speak, he nodded. He vowed never again to torment his older brothers about their fi
erce devotion to their children. For years the thought of being tied down to kin had struck him as stifling and restrictive. He finally understood.
Standing here, staring into Elizabeth’s questioning blue eyes, the thought of living in one place for the rest of his life didn’t seem so threatening anymore.
She blinked at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to say something.
“I’ll, uh. I’ll just be going. Thank you for dinner.”
“You’re welcome.”
She smiled then, wide enough to reveal those overlapping teeth. His heart hammered against his ribs. Sleep had washed away her usual reticence, leaving her open and vulnerable. A very male part of him wanted to sweep her into his arms, to wipe away the lines of worry that furrowed her brow each day, to care for her. He yearned to be the man she leaned on.
Jack fisted his hands. He wasn’t a rancher or a farmer. He was a man whose whole life revolved around travel. Even if he trusted the widow’s motives completely, he was still a Texas Ranger. Wandering and family life didn’t mix well. Jack had no rights here.
He had to remind himself of his purpose. His instincts had never failed him before, and every nerve in his body screamed that the answers to his questions were hidden on this isolated homestead. If her husband had been involved, if he had financed their marriage with stolen money, then the truth threatened to shatter her world.
He didn’t want to choose between Elizabeth and Bud Shaw, but the answer was obvious. This wasn’t about love and land and a tiny baby girl. A man’s life dangled in the balance.
He caught sight of a knitted blanket draped over the back of the kitchen chair, Rachel’s basket sitting on the seat. There was one thing he needed to do before he left for good. Before the decisions he had to make destroyed any chance of peace for either of them.
Chapter Eleven
Winning the Widow's Heart Page 15