Ely shot Jack a look encompassing both incredulous shock and weary resignation. “Iffin’ it hurt too much, I guess they wouldn’t do it anymore, would they?”
Settling the stool back into place, Jack resumed his submissive posture with a roll of his eyes. The man had a point.
Ely set to pacing again, his fists braced beneath his biceps, highlighting beefy arms encased in a heavy wool coat. Jack blew out a long breath. If the farmer was going to pummel him, Jack sure wished he’d get on with it. The waiting was turning out to be more torturous than the punishment.
“My wife!” Ely shouted.
Jack winced.
Noting the reaction, Ely lowered his voice to a less booming decibel. “My wife sent me over here. She’s concerned with the, um, the arrangements, you see.”
Jack decided it was time to change the subject. “You’ve got a curious lilt to your voice, Mr. McCoy. Where are you from?”
The brawny man visibly relaxed at the innocuous question. “County Cork, originally. My da came over during the blight.” He scrubbed at his chin, staring into the distance, past the boisterous antics of his children.
Jack’s attention remained riveted on the tableau playing out before him. The oldest boy planted his knee into his younger brother’s back, then set to shoveling handfuls of snow down his collar.
“Get off me, Caleb!” the squirming boy shouted.
Aha, Jack finally had names for all three boys present. Thank heavens they’d left the toddler at home. Jack shuddered at the thought of an even younger boy in the mix.
“Make me, Abraham,” Caleb shouted.
The middle child, David, ignored his brother’s antics, climbed back up the railing, and plunged backward into the snow. Jack recoiled from the bone-shattering leap. The boy scrambled to his feet and scurried back up the railing, ice still crusted in his light brown hair and eyebrows.
Unable to watch the raucous horseplay any longer, Jack turned away. Even from the barn, a muffled thump sent his bones aching in sympathy. He faced the corral again. Didn’t those boys feel pain?
“Pa!” the middle child shouted from his supine position in the icy snow. “Can I ride the cow?”
“No, you may not, David. Now sit up. You’ve landed on your brother.”
Jack craned his neck. Sure enough, David rolled over to reveal a red-faced Abraham. Jack blanched at the boy’s woozy rise to his feet, but Abraham appeared otherwise unharmed from his ordeal and Ely certainly didn’t seem concerned.
Evidently their father hadn’t been as distracted as he appeared. Jack mentally noted that interesting character trait for future reference.
“Now where were we?” Ely continued.
Jack tore his gaze from the corral. “I believe we were discussing your wife.”
“Ah, yes. Don’t get me wrong. Mrs. McCoy is grateful for all you’ve done. But things have gone on a bit too long if you get my drift.”
Jack wasn’t sure he got anything. The conversation kept wavering between cordial discourse and thinly veiled threats.
“Yep. Strange business,” Ely repeated.
“Strange business,” Jack echoed, resigned. If you couldn’t beat ’em, you might as well join ’em. “Strange business.”
Ely planted his hands on his hips. “The missus thinks of Mrs. Cole like her own daughter. The poor thing came out here wet behind the ears, with no one to show her the way. That Will wasn’t good for anything but holding up a fence post.”
Jack raised an eyebrow.
“Not to speak unkindly of the dead,” Ely quickly added. “But I don’t cotton to a man who leaves his woman all alone that long. This here is dangerous country. Up until a few years ago, we had Indian uprisings. No siree.” He shook his head forlornly. “This land is no place for a woman alone.”
Finally, someone who understood what Jack was dealing with when it came to the widow. “Can’t you talk some sense into her?”
“Me?” Ely jabbed a thumb at his own chest. “I hear it enough from the missus. We’ve had this conversation every day in the months since Will’s death.” Ely’s voice took on a falsetto ring. “‘You go over there and get that poor girl, Ely. If something happens, it’s all your fault, Ely.’” The beefy man pinned Jack with a fierce scowl. “What am I supposed to do? Throw her over my shoulder and drag her back like a sack of feed? I don’t think so.”
“Can’t Mrs. McCoy—”
“She’s tried. Believe me.” Ely threw up his arms, as if petitioning the heavens. “Believe me, she’s tried.”
The three McCoy boys had ceased their roughhousing long enough to finish building a snowman. Caleb snatched Abraham’s hat for the top, and David snatched it back. Abraham danced between the two brothers as they tossed the stocking cap over his head. The younger boy finally socked the snowman in frustration, sending its crooked coal smile exploding to the ground.
“So are you going to marry her, or what?”
Jack blinked. He’d lost the thread of conversation during the snowman’s destruction. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me, Ranger. What’s it going to be?”
“Well—uh—that is—I—uh,” Jack stuttered.
“That’s what I thought.” Ely hung his head, swinging his bearded face from side to side. “Now you’ve gone and made things difficult for me.”
Here comes the pummeling.
Jack scrambled off the stool, knocking it to the hay-strewn floor. He knew how much Elizabeth treasured the McCoy friendship, so he couldn’t very well hurt the older man. Calming this not-so-gentle giant was going to task his powers of mediation. “We’re both reasonable men. I can assure you, everything has been perfectly proper. Just ask Jo.”
“She’s not exactly fit as a fiddle. How’s she supposed to know what the two of you are doing in the barn and the bunkhouse?”
Heat crept up Jack’s face. One kiss was hardly improper. It wasn’t even a kiss really, more of a peck. A comforting gesture from one friend to another. There was nothing improper in that, was there?
Ely squinted one eye at Jack. “Is there something you want to tell me, Ranger?”
“No, no,” Jack replied briskly. Once again, the situation had spiraled out of his control. “Listen, even if I wanted to marry Elizabeth, I’d be no better husband than Will. My job is mostly in Texas. I’m always gone. I can’t remember the last time I stayed in one place more than a few days.”
“I can,” Ely interjected. “Feels like you’ve been here half the winter.”
This time Jack knew a telling blush had reddened his cheeks. “As soon as I have a new lead, I’ll be gone.”
“And we all know that could take a while. You must be one incompetent lawman. After all, you practically shot a pregnant woman.”
“I did not almost shoot Mrs. Cole. There was an unfortunate misunder—”
“I guess there’s always the doc.” As if suddenly bored by the conversation, Ely rubbed his beard.
Jack glanced around, unsure what Doc Johnsen had to do with anything.
Ely slapped Jack on the back, nearly sending him to his knees. “You’ve just stumbled onto the perfect solution. If the two of us can talk Mrs. Cole into marrying the doc, it’ll save us both.”
Jack’s stomach dipped. “Save us?”
He pictured Elizabeth and the fair, curly-haired man standing side by side. They made a striking pair, both of them blessed with blond hair and those Norwegian blue eyes. Their children would probably look like the cherubs he’d once seen decorating a church ceiling in St. Louis.
A sudden need to punch something tightened Jack’s fists. Doctors made terrible husbands. Always leaving at odd hours to attend sickly patients, exposing themselves and their families to a plethora of deathly illnesses.
/> Ely grinned, revealing an enormous gap-toothed smile. “Well, sure. With Mrs. Cole married to the doc, the missus will stop telling me what I should and shouldn’t be doing, and I don’t have to bash your face in.”
“Doc Johnsen seems like a nice man,” Jack replied weakly. “But I think Elizabeth already turned him down.”
Ely quirked one bushy eyebrow. “I see how it is.”
“How what is?”
“Nothing, nothing at all, my good man. We’re a team now. I’m grateful not to have to kill you.”
“Me, too,” Jack replied, unsure what else to say.
He felt as if he’d agreed to something, made a covenant, but he wasn’t quite sure about what.
Off in the distance, the McCoy boys appeared to have formed a truce. Abraham rolled a new head onto the battered snowman. They laughed and playfully chucked handfuls of snow at each other. Once again Jack’s thoughts drifted back to his own brothers. There wasn’t much snow in Paris, Texas—but they’d managed plenty of mischief just the same. That curious longing for home surfaced again, rising like a tide of paralyzing emotion, threatening to drown him.
Suddenly Jack realized what he’d agreed to. He’d just agreed to find Elizabeth a husband.
* * *
Ely McCoy paced before Elizabeth, his hands crossed over his chest, his forehead scrunched into a frown. She had the uneasy feeling she was being chastised for something, but she wasn’t quite sure what.
“Mr. McCoy,” she began. “Why don’t you have a seat and tell me what’s wrong.”
The bearlike man slumped onto a ladder-back chair, splaying the support legs. He thoughtfully rubbed his beard, unaware of the strain he placed on his seat. She’d never seen him so talkative before, or so agitated.
“The missus and I are worried about you.”
“There’s really no—”
“I won’t be hearing none of that. People look out for one another around these parts, and Mrs. McCoy thinks of you as one of her own.”
“That’s very kind—”
“It would do us both good if you moved to town. Why there’s a mercantile, and a livery and a bank. Even a doctor.” Ely’s cheeks bloomed a brilliant shade of red.
Elizabeth tilted her head to one side. She had no idea why mention of the town doctor would cause him embarrassment.
Mr. McCoy cleared his throat. “A doctor is good to have around when you’ve got young’uns.”
“I’m sure you’re right—”
The large man leaped to his feet. The chair sprang back into shape. “The missus is up nights pacing the floor and muttering. She’s fretting about you and the baby out here all alone. And if she’s fretting, I don’t get any rest.”
Elizabeth clasped her hands together. She’d assumed since she was self-sufficient, never asking for help or needing assistance, then she wasn’t a bother to anyone. The muscles in her shoulders knotted with tension. It appeared she was wrong in her assumptions.
She’d never considered how her actions might affect her neighbors. “I didn’t mean to be a burden.”
Mr. McCoy waved his hands in denial. “You’re not a burden, lass. But if something were to happen to you, the missus and I would never forgive ourselves.”
His pleading words tugged at her conscience. She pursed her lips, avoiding his pleading gaze. No one needed to worry about her. She’d been doing just fine on her own. Even with the addition of Rachel’s birth and Jo’s unfortunate accident, they’d gotten along well.
Of course, their continued self-reliance had a lot to do with Jack’s help. He managed the work of three men.
“Look, Mrs. Cole, if something happens to you, your young’un is all by herself. What if it was you that took that tumble off the back steps? And no one was here to help you? That baby needs a mother. A father. It’s time to do the right thing.”
Elizabeth sniffled, blinking back tears. She thought she was doing the right thing. She was taking care of her child, maintaining the farm and the animals. Didn’t anyone appreciate the time and energy she’d invested in running her household? Didn’t they understand how much she needed a home? This home? Certainly Jack didn’t empathize. And now her staunchest supporter, her dearest friends, were asking—no telling—her to leave.
“Ah, no,” Mr. McCoy moaned. “Now don’t go and do that. You’re a fine mother and we all love you. It’s because we think so highly of you that Mrs. McCoy wants to see you settled. The doc has a two-story house with leaded windows and everything.”
“I’m sure he has a very nice house.”
Relief swept across the large man’s bearded face. “See, it’s all settled now. The Ranger and I both agree.”
Her spine stiffened. “Agree about what?”
“That you should move to town, find yourself a nice fellow with a private cistern.” Ely slumped back into the chair, clutching his drooping head with both hands.
“A what?” She wasn’t so much angry any more as confused.
“A private cistern for rainwater.” Mr. McCoy massaged his fists over his eyes in tight circles. “But that doesn’t matter. He’s a fine-looking fellow and I’m sure this land will benefit someone else. Why you’ve got a pump right in the kitchen. No fetching water from the well.”
Dawning understanding finally cleared her muddled thinking. Elizabeth had a good idea where this conversation was headed, and she didn’t want to pursue the subject any longer. “Thank you so much for your concern. I’m so grateful to you and Mrs. McCoy for all that you’ve done. I’ll do everything in my power to ease your worry.”
She stood, forcing Mr. McCoy to rise.
“Excellent,” he said. “Then it’s all settled.” Lifting his arm, Ely tugged back his sleeve to reveal a patch of red, flaky skin. “Say, when you see the doc, could you ask him what he thinks this might be?”
“Perhaps you’d best ask him yourself.” Brushing at her skirts, she glanced out the back window. “Your boys appear to be starting a small fire. You might want to check on that.”
“Yes, yes. Of course.” Mr. McCoy rolled his sleeve back into place. “It’ll be nice to finally get a full night’s sleep.”
With a great yawn, he shuffled out the rear door, avoiding her eyes. Elizabeth followed his exit, then pressed her back against the closed door. Mr. McCoy’s words rang in her ears.
So Jack Elder thought she should move to town and marry a man with his own cistern? The nerve of him.
Her blood simmered as she crossed to the bedroom to check on Rachel. The infant rested on the bed next to Jo. Will’s trunk sat in the corner. Elizabeth straightened her back and stared.
She wasn’t going to put off searching the contents of that trunk any longer. She’d break the lock if she had to.
She slanted a glance at Jo, relieved to note the girl couldn’t see over the edge of the mattress. Elizabeth didn’t know what she was going to find, but she didn’t want anyone else looking.
“Jo, how do you and your family spend Sunday?”
Elizabeth gently tested the truck lid. The latch sprung free. Bemused, she sat back on her heels.
The bed support squeaked as Jo shifted. “We don’t do anything much in the winter,” the girl replied. “In the summer we go into town for church. Ma spit-shines the boys and browbeats them into submission. Afterward, we usually exchange pleasantries with the other families. Sometimes there’s a potluck and Ma always brings her famous chocolate cake.”
Elizabeth flipped up the trunk’s sturdy black lid, disappointed to find a stack of neatly folded shirts. She’d expected to discover something much more flagrantly revealing. Perhaps that was why Will hadn’t bothered to lock the trunk. He’d taken all the secrets with him. “Do you ever work around the farm?” she asked.
�
�No, sirree. The tradition around here is pretty strong. It’s a day of rest.”
Elizabeth bent her head with a sigh. She’d always worked on Sunday. Always. Growing up, the girls in the orphanage had never been allowed to take a day of rest. The work had never ended. “What if you didn’t know about this tradition?”
“I suppose the Lord is more concerned with what you do once you’ve received His calling.”
Elizabeth hadn’t had a lot of choice in the matter growing up. In order to set a good example for Rachel, she’d conduct her life much differently. “You’re very wise, Jo.”
Gingerly lifting Will’s shirt from the trunk, the stench of his overpowering cologne wafted out. Nausea rose in her throat. She thrust the shirt aside. A tissue-wrapped package fell to the floor. She carefully opened the bundle, astonished to find a familiar, bright gold tassel.
The decoration appeared to be the same one used to tie back the scarlet-velvet curtains on the Pullman car she and Will had taken across the country. Elizabeth thought back to that fateful trip. She’d been fascinated by her first train ride. The rail car had been sumptuous and opulent, a far cry from the stark plaster walls of the orphanage.
She’d oohed and aahed over every minuscule detail until a sharp rebuke from Will had spoiled her fun. He’d spent the rest of the trip cajoling her into a better mood, but his weak attempts had been filled with derision. He’d jovially mocked her, rubbing his cheek against the red-velvet curtains and playfully twirling the gold-threaded tassels like ropes. Yet despite his obvious contempt, he’d kept one of the decorations. Had even stored the memento in his trunk for sentimental reasons. Or had he planned on mocking her further? Confused by Will’s purpose, she rewrapped the mysterious tassel.
“Jo, what sort of traditions does your family have for celebrating the Sabbath?”
“Ma usually makes a cold supper, and mostly we sit around and read the Bible. I know I shouldn’t say this, but sometimes it’s real boring. Still, it’s nice not to have to work so hard one day of the week.”
Elizabeth supposed young people looked at it differently, but a day filled with quiet contemplation sounded absolutely heavenly. She felt around the edges of the trunk, discovering a sheaf of papers stuffed into a side pocket.
Winning the Widow's Heart Page 17