"I suppose. But if she wakes up and she wants us, you'll holler?"
"As if the house were on fire," he promised. "The instant she needs you."
Mary narrowed her eyes. "Remember what I said."
"If she dies, I die." And that would be fine with him.
At last the two women left them alone. Nate walked over to the door and snapped the lock into place. What would happen in the next few hours was between himself and Jo. They would face this together, as they should have all along.
Silence settled over the house. He sat next to the bed and took Jo's limp hand in his. She rested and he let her. She was going to need her strength later. He hoped the child wasn't turned wrong or too large. He hoped the only thing preventing the baby from being born was Jo's will and her fear. He could deal with those, but the others just might kill her.
As he watched Jo sleep, a thousand memories of their time together sprang to life. He saw her smiling at Georgie, heard her laughing at a summer rain. He felt the drift of her hair along his cheek and the weight of her breasts against his chest.
Nate touched her face. Skin as soft as the petals of a flower, the dark smudge of her eyelashes against her too pale cheeks only reminded him that her eyes were sky blue. The shape of her face, the tilt of her smile, the increasing length of her stick-straight black hair...
How could he have thought her plain? She might be Just Jo, but she was the most beautiful woman in his world. Whenever he saw her, he recollected what hope was like. He saw a future, and the past was just the past.
Nate kissed her brow, and she murmured his name. The flutter in his chest was all too familiar, and suddenly Nate remembered what Rico had told him not so very long ago.
Only love can make what happened before disappear.
Nate thought back and then back some more. He couldn't remember a time he had not wanted Jo with him, a time he did not miss her when she was not. He could not recall clearly the life he'd led before she'd come into it. Perhaps because his life had been misty with booze, murky with heartache.
He heard Rico's voice again. But as love invades your heart and your life, the bad things fade. I remember them, but as if I'm looking at them through a midnight fog, as if they happened to another man. In truth, they did.
Because Nate had promised himself not to love again, he'd refused to see the signs of it with Jo. Was loving her a betrayal of Angela? It didn't feel like it. Instead, he felt as if he were doing the right thing for the first time he could recall.
Yes, he was terrified he would lose her—through death or his own stupidity—but that didn't make him love her any less.
Jo's eyes fluttered open. Her gaze touched on him, and she smiled, pure love washing over her face. How could he have missed it before? He waited for her to remember that she didn't need him, didn't want him, probably hated him. But she didn't.
Instead, she reached for his hand. And as easily as that, he was forgiven.
* * *
If Nate was here, Jo must be dreaming. But his hand in hers was warm, his strength a bulwark against her frightening weakness.
She opened her mouth to ask why she had wet towels all over her chest, and a startled cry erupted as pain contracted across her middle. Her belly rippled and tensed. Fear overcame everything else, and she held her breath as she fought against it.
"Let it happen, honey. Breathe." Nate moved to the end of the bed. "Look at me," he ordered, and she did. "Now breathe."
"Easy—for you—to say," she snarled.
"I'm sure it is."
But she discovered that staring into his eyes and breathing deeply did help. The pain receded, and so did the fear, though they both hovered nearby.
"Are we going to die?"
"Not if I have anything to say about it."
"I doubt that's up to you, either."
His gaze flicked to hers. "God again?"
"God always, Nate."
He sighed, but at least he didn't argue. She must be dying.
The pain returned, stronger this time. She grunted as something shifted and gave way with a soft pop. Water dampened the bed.
"There we go." He pulled the towels free and tossed them to the floor. "All right, now you can hold your breath. Take a deep one, close your lips and push. Hard."
Jo did just that—for an hour.
Nate straightened. The expression on his face made her terror return. "What is it?"
"The baby's angled wrong. It's not bad. But I'm going to have to turn it."
"Will we die?"
"Jo, you are not going to die. I promise."
"Liar."
He ignored that. "It's going to hurt. A lot."
She grimaced. "Why didn't you lie about that?"
"I'm not going to lie to you ever again."
"You've been lying a lot?"
"Only to myself."
She wanted to explore that statement further, but the child had other ideas.
As the pain crested, Nate did what he'd promised. He made it hurt—a lot. When the agony ended she discovered tears on his face.
"I'm sorry," she murmured.
"What did you do?"
"I made you cry. I shouldn't scream."
"Scream your head off." He wiped his face, unembarrassed by the tears. "If I were in your place I'd be begging to die by now."
"Don't think it hasn't crossed my mind."
He smiled, and they shared again the closeness that had always been theirs, before she ruined everything. Could they ever become friends again with all that happened in the past few months between them?
A sudden pounding on the door made her jerk. The movement caused her entire body to shriek in protest.
"Jo?" Mary called. "Nate? I heard her scream. Let me in."
"No. We're fine. You screamed like a wounded cougar when it was your time. Jo deserves the same."
"James, break down this door."
"Reese!" Nate shouted. "Take your wife home and let me deal with mine. We'll let you know if we need help."
"Will do."
"But, James—" Mary's voice was cut off as if Reese had clapped a hand over her mouth. Irate whispers were followed by footsteps, then the sound of the outer door closing.
Determination hardened Nate's face. "I will take care of you."
After what he'd been through with Angela, Jo couldn't believe he hadn't run for Dallas as soon as he heard there were problems. That he hadn't, that he'd shown up sober, that he had not left her even when he could have, meant more to Jo than she could ever say.
"I know you will." She tried to smile, but another pain turned her thoughts inward and away from an uncertain future.
* * *
Nate was worried. Jo had been at this too long. Her strength was fading. He'd turned the child. She no longer fought against the pain. This baby should be born. So why wasn't it?
He was terrified the child was too large. His fault again, his curse. Would she labor and labor until her strength was gone as her blood eked out with her life?
"Will it be soon?" she whispered. Even her voice was weaker.
"Soon," he promised. What was one more half-truth on top of all the others?
"It's hard, Nate. Harder than I ever imagined." She reached for his hand. "I said I didn't want you here because I didn't want you to have to go through the same thing twice. But I'm glad you came."
She forever thought of everyone but herself. He was constantly amazed by her.
"I love you, Jo." The words tumbled out unbidden. His eyes widened.
She snatched her hand away and frowned. "You promised not to lie to me anymore."
"I'm not lying."
"I really must be dying."
"You don't have to believe me now. I'll spend my life proving it to you."
"I'd rather you left me than lied to me."
"I can't do either anymore." He laid a trembling hand on her stomach. "Are you ready to have my baby, Just Jo?"
She stared at him. The fear he had f
or her life mixed with the fear that she would throw him out like old clothes and never let him back into her heart, her house, her bed, their life.
"Our baby," she corrected, and covered his hand with her own.
They had one minute of peace before her belly clenched, and her face crumpled. "Oh, Nate, make it stop," she begged.
He would do anything to take her pain upon himself. Unfortunately, that wasn't up to him, either. So little was.
Nate lifted the sheet and saw the crown of the baby's head. "This is it. A few more times. Look at me now, just me. Think of the life we can have together, once we get this done."
"We?" she snarled.
He ignored that. He'd seen women do a lot worse to their husbands during childbirth—one of the many reasons men usually hid in the living room.
"Come on, honey, I want to see what we made together."
He thought she might slug him then, but instead she tightened her lips and bore down. Amazed at the depth of her strength, he watched in awe as she gave their son into his care.
Nate stared into the face of his child and his whole world shifted. He held the future in his hands. How could something so beautiful have come from him?
It hadn't. The baby had come from something much greater.
Nate raised his gaze to Jo's. Love filled his heart, hope filled his soul, faith returned to that empty place inside of him.
"What is it?" Jo's voice shook from both exhaustion and fear. "What's wrong?"
"Dear God—" Nate's voice broke, and he struggled against a wash of tears. "He... he's perfect."
In a world where some folks blamed fate and others cursed God, an accident could become a miracle. Nate was beginning to wonder how many accidents there really were in life. This one had certainly saved him from himself.
Just as everyone had hoped.
Jo opened her arms. Nate placed their son on her belly. The kid looked just like him—or at least what he'd looked like a few months ago—blue eyes, bald as an eagle.
Jo touched the boy's feet, his hands, his nose. Then she began to cry, and Nate panicked. "Jo? What's the matter? Do you hurt? Where?"
She shook her head and laughed even as the tears ran down her face. "He is perfect. How did we do that?"
"I have no idea."
With one hand on their child, she reached for him. "Does that look like a punishment to you?"
"More like a reward, though I have no idea why I'd deserve one."
"He's a gift from God, and most of those we don't deserve."
"You're right." He kissed her. "I don't deserve you, either, but I'm never going to let you go."
Wonder filled her face, and her tears continued to flow. "I love you, Nate."
"Life with me won't be easy."
"I never asked for easy. I only asked for you."
"Thank God."
She peered into his eyes. "I think you mean that."
Nate searched his heart and found the truth. "I think I do. You promised me once you'd prove to me there was a God." He reached for the waving fist of his child. "You just did."
Epilogue
The baptism of a child was cause for celebration. The baptism of three at once was cause for a festival. So that was what Rock Creek had one Sunday morning in January.
Most of the town turned out, as it was the first such ceremony held in the church under the auspices of their new preacher. Nathan Lang would give his first sermon today, as well.
Some folks might whisper of how he used to be a drunk and a gunfighter, among other things. But the way he'd changed was an inspiration to everyone. And the way he looked at his wife and carried around his newborn son brought tears to many a woman's eyes and a smile to most every man's lips.
"I baptize thee Alexander Sinclair Sullivan."
Nate sprinkled water over Alex's head, and the boy swiped at a drip with an annoyed scowl.
Eden smiled at Nate as Sullivan put his arm around them both. The rest of their children sat in the front pew with Rico, Lily, and their family.
Nate moved on to the cherubic blond girl in Mary's arms. Reese held onto Georgie and whispered nonsense in her ear to keep her entertained while Nate did his job.
"I baptize thee Virginia Josephine Reese." More water and Ginny giggled.
Another few steps to the left and that smile came over his face, the one that melted Jo's heart. Nate was different but in many ways still the same.
No longer dissolute, he still possessed a dangerous air, even though his eyes were full of peace. Nate loved her, and a greater miracle than that could only be found in the child Jo held next to her heart.
"I baptize thee Angelo James Lang." Water tumbled down their angel's face, and he blinked and gurgled and smiled.
Fiona, who had agreed to be Angelo's godmother, even if he was a boy, laughed and held onto his hand.
Cash had returned before Christmas, stayed a few days and taken off again. Finding everyone he cared about married and producing offspring had proved more than the man could stomach. Not a word had been heard of him since, but with Cash that was probably for the best.
Nate hadn't promised he'd be able to stop drinking forever. He hadn't promised he wouldn't dream of Angela some nights and mourn the children he'd lost. But he had promised to love Jo and their children into eternity.
That was a promise Jo could live with.
The End
Page forward for an excerpt from
Cash
Book 6
The Rock Creek Six
Excerpt from
Cash
The Rock Creek Six
Book 6
by
Linda Devlin
Prologue
Webberville, Texas
March 1876
"Can I touch it?" Henrietta whispered.
"No."
"Please, Cash," she purred.
They lounged, naked and relaxed, across a canted and creaking bed in a small room above the Webberville saloon. Henrietta, a pretty enough calico gal for these parts, smiled widely. Of course the redhead was happy. She'd been well satisfied and well paid, and Cash wasn't finished with her. He just wished she wouldn't talk so damned much.
"No," he said again, setting his eyes on her in a way that made her bright smile fade.
Her own eyes landed on the fancy six-shooter that rested on the bedside table, close at hand, and she sighed deeply. Her ponderous breasts rose and fell. "But it's so pretty, and shiny, and... and I know what you can do with it."
Cash didn't understand the fascination. He killed with that six-shooter. He was fast, he was accurate, and he was deadly. Henrietta practically salivated over that damned gun. She wanted to caress it the same way she'd caressed him, with curious fingers.
The sick fascination annoyed him, but not enough to make him kick her out of his bed. He was on his way to Rock Creek, and once he arrived there women available for bedding would be few and far between. There were too damn many respectable, meddlesome women in that town.
"Cash, darlin'," Henrietta began, rolling seductively toward him. Her eyes were no longer on his six-shooter. "How long will you be here?"
"Just until tomorrow morning."
"Take me with you when you go."
It was a tempting prospect for the span of a half second. "No."
She pouted, jutting out her bottom lip. "That's all you can say tonight. No, no, no. I don't like it here. I know you have your own saloon in Rock Creek. I could work there, or..." Her eyes got big. Wide and hopeful. "Or I could just be with you. I don't ask for much. I'm real easy to get along with."
"Honey, you wouldn't be in Rock Creek a week before the good women of that fine town had you opening a bakery or married to the nearest single rancher," he teased.
"You don't think good women have tried to save me before?" she countered with a wicked smile. "I don't want to be saved. It would take an army of good women to drag me away from you."
"Unfortunately Rock Creek has that very army
."
The shuffle of a shoe in the hallway registered in his brain, in that small corner that was always on alert and kept him alive. He noted the shuffle as he continued his conversation with the woman who'd decided to make her argument with her body. She could argue all she wanted, she could argue all night, but when he headed out of here in the morning, she'd be staying behind.
"You'll be lonely there," she whispered.
"Yes, I will."
"Then why are you going?"
It's home. He wasn't foolish enough to admit that, not even to a prostitute he'd likely never see again.
The muted snick outside the door made Cash sit up straight and shove Henrietta aside as he reached for the six-shooter on the bedside table. He kicked her off the bed and onto the floor as the door burst open. In the same smooth motion he swung the pistol forward, taking aim and firing in an instinctive and deadly accurate fashion. The man in the doorway got off a single shot, but it went wide and the bullet smacked into the wall above Cash's head.
Blood bloomed on the dingy white shirt of the attacker in the doorway. The moron looked surprised. Stunned, even, as he glanced down at his fatal wound. His six-shooter dropped from numbed fingers as he fell forward, slamming down face first onto the plank floor.
Henrietta screamed loud and long. Cash cursed as he reached for his trousers, leaping from the bed to pull them on. He was almost decent by the time a bald head peeked around the doorjamb. Again, his arm reacted and the gun snapped up.
But it was the bartender. Pale and shaking, the old man looked from Cash to the body on the floor. "Who... who is that?"
"Hell if I know," Cash said as he lowered his weapon. "You tell me."
Henrietta took a deep breath and started to scream again.
"Shut up," Cash ordered in a lowered voice. She did.
"He's not from around here," the bartender said. "Showed up an hour or so back and started asking questions. I reckon someone told him you were up here."
"I reckon," Cash whispered, stepping around the bed to glance down at the body. The man had landed nose down on the floor, so it was impossible to get a decent look at his face from a standing position.
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