Blake tapped the horse with his heels, sending her off on a slow trot. He had a feeling though, that the answer was there, he just didn’t want to accept it. No, he’d rather hold onto his anger, even if it left him a bitter old man.
Blake pushed open the small ranch house door, walked into the foyer, and stopped, looking around. The small home was silent and no one rushed to meet him. He set his small bedroll and pack down next to an end table and walked to the parlor. Usually, his mother spent much time sitting on the faded brown sofa with red flowers, sipping on tea. But the room was empty. Only a discarded book lay on the table, dropped after its owner had quickly forgotten before rushing off to do something urgent.
He walked to the kitchen and noticed a pot with rising steam on the stove. The fire had been dimmed, the poker lay on the floor, with blotches of soot next to it. A bowl of dough sat on the table, with a few biscuits laid out on a flour-coated pan. On the floor lay the rolling pan. Something was wrong.
Tension ran up his body. Had the outlaws found out where Linda was? Had they come for her, taking his mother with them? Dear God, no. He raced out the kitchen door, and pounded up the stairs, skidding to a halt.
His mother was leaning against the wall, wringing a red stained apron. He had a feeling it wasn’t strawberry juice.
“Ma.”
Her gaze snapped up.
“Oh, Blake.” She crumpled, her hands rushing to cover her face.
He wrapped his arms around her, holding her up. “What happened?”
“There was just so much blood.” Her fingers dug into his shoulders, squeezing as if trying to find some strength.
So much blood. Just then a faint wail pierced the room. The baby. Linda was still here. And apparently something had gone wrong with the birth.
He walked his mother to her room, and sat her on the bed, before heading back to Linda’s room. He gripped the handle, and closed his eyes. Despite the pain she had caused, he didn’t know if he could survive the death of another wife. He swallowed hard and pushed open the door.
As a baby wailed in a basket, flapping her arms, Cora worked, trying to pour something into Linda’s mouth. His wife coughed, spitting out the brown liquid before she fell back against the bed. The red blotches on her face let him know a fever raged in her body. Was it bed fever?
He glanced around, spotting the discarded red stained sheets on the floor. His mother’s words floated across his mind. There was too much blood lost.
“Mrs. Linda, please try. You need beef broth.”
“Let me die.” Her small voice cried. “It would be best.”
Something crashed against his chest stealing his breath. What grief he had left this woman in? No one, should have to suffer for the crimes of another, but so many women did. He walked to Cora and took the cup.
Linda’s gaze flicked to his. The light had been snuffed from her blue eyes, and all that remained was a waxy gaze where death lurked. He bent to his knees, and raised the mug to her lips. The infant’s wails intensified as a tear slipped from his wife’s face.
“You must for the babe,” he whispered.
He lay the cup to her lips, and trickled a small amount in. She closed her eyes, and he saw that her throat worked, letting him know she took the nourishment. He gave her a few more sips and then lowered the mug.
“Blake,” she whispered.
He lay a finger across her lips. “Later. Rest.”
“My daughter.” Her voice was so weak, so strained, and she seemed to fight for every word. He ran a finger down her cheek. “Will be taken care of. Now have a few more sips, then rest.”
He continued to feed her the broth until the mug was emptied. He set the mug on the nightstand, and took her frail hand. There was no strength in her grip. She drifted off to sleep as a paleness seeped into her skin.
Was she going to die? Tears pricked the edges of his eyes until one slipped down his cheek. He didn’t know if he could endure the loss of another wife. But if he did, it would be his fault. He had never given her a chance to apologize. Had placed her in the same category as her ruthless husband, even though he had seen a pure heart under her refined ways.
What pain must she have endured over the last month? He lowered his head, listening to her labor breathing. Lord, give me another chance. A chance to show her how a true Godly husband should act. One slow to anger, and quick to forgive. One who would love her as Christ loved the church. If God would just give him a chance he’d watched over her like the cottontail had done for his bride.
THIRTEEN
A fire seemed to rage over every part of her body, as if it engulfed her. But as the ticks of the wall clock marched on through the night, the fire dimmed until she could no longer feel it, just the damp shift laying across her skin. A wet, cool cloth was laid against her forehead, as a deep masculine voice whispered prayers over her. Prayers full of love and not condemnation. Prayers that gave her hope.
Her lids flutter open, and the dark weary eyes of her husband came into focus as he leaned over her. He was home. And for some reason, hadn’t thrown her out yet. Though every part of her body ached, she moved her hand to her stomach, feeling the bumpy skin. No more little one rested inside of her.
“How are you?” he asked.
She gazed at the room, looking for the cradle. But she didn’t see her. Didn’t see her child. Her pulse sped up. Had her child perished?
“My babe,” she cried though her voice barely rose above a whisper.
“Sh... Sh...” He lay a gentle hand against her cheek. “She is fine. We’ve been feeding her goat milk.”
Linda closed her eyes. Her child lived. Her precious one. But what was she going to do now? Soon, they would have no home. She vaguely remembered Blake saying her daughter would be taken care of. But he must have just meant while she was ill. Surely, when she was well enough, he would force her out of his home. But the gentle touch of his hand, ignited a hope in her, that she knew was false. He might be loving towards her now, since she had been near death, but surely, he wouldn’t relent.
“I’ll leave soon. Perhaps tomorrow,” she whispered closing her eyes.
Blake’s hand left her cheek, and he took her hand; his thumb caressed her palm, flaming the hope burning in her.
“I read the letter your husband wrote you.”
She opened her eyes, and noticed that wet streaks decorated his cheeks. Had the strong cowboy shed tears for her?
“I know you were unaware of his crimes, but the citizens of Whitecloud crucified you anyway.”
Yes, they had.
“And though I wish you had told me, I understand why you kept your past hidden from me.”
The hope intensified until it filled every part of her. What was he saying? He understood. Accepted. “Blake, I’m sorry. Please....”
“I forgive, and I hope that you forgive me. “
“Forgive?”
“For being too quick to anger and not listening.”
“Oh Blake.” Tears rushed from her eyes.
He lay his hands against her face, wiping her tears away with his thumbs, sending strange ripples of energy through her. “My darling, don’t cry,” he said. “You must continue to rest.”
“But I’m so happy.”
“And so am I.”
A slight knock sounded on the open door. His mother walked in, holding a small bundle wrapped in a thick brown wool blanket.
A smile spread across her husband’s face, as his mother walked towards them.
“I heard you had awaken, and thought you might like to see your child.”
Oh how she wanted to. Blake helped her rise up and lean against a pillow, his arm slipping around her shoulders, filling her with the strength and comfort she so desperately needed. As the scent of milk and powder surrounded her, Blake’s mother lay the baby in her lap, and a precious angel filled her vision.
The child had light blue eyes and little rosy cheeks. A blonde curl lay against her forehead, slightly peeking out
from the white knit cap she wore. The little girl yawned, her little pink lips puckering.
“What shall we name her Mrs. Pickett?” Blake asked.
“Hope,” Linda replied without hesitation.
“Hope.” He raised his brows.
She turned, gazing into his dark brown eyes, letting herself be lost in them. “Yes, because I’ve finally been given some hope to cling to.”
A slow smile stretched across her husband’s face, as he cupped her cheek, leaning towards her. “And so have I?” He pressed his lips against hers, letting the gentle caress pour pure love through her. Yes, they had hope. A hope for a bright future together.
EPILOGUE
Blake snuggled his daughter closer to his chest as a smile pushed back her chubby cheeks. The little girl’s blue eyes danced as she waved her fist in the air, catching his chin. What a sweet beauty his little Hope was. A beauty that reminded him every day about the power of forgiveness. The forgiveness he had given and received a little over a month ago.
Soft footsteps sounded and he turned to look as his sweet wife, before she sat on the cushion next to him, leaning her head against his shoulder. Grey blotches circled her eyes, and her loose ringlets showed just how tired she was. Little Hope had been up all night cooing, or demanding milk, and no one found rest. But he wouldn’t have it any other way. This precious child was worth it.
“I thought she was supposed to be napping,” Linda said, trailing a finger down his arm, warmth following in her touch’s wake.
“This child....”
A knock sounded at the door. Who could that be? He transferred little Hope to her mother and stood. Did one of the ranchhands need something? He had given more responsibility to Jacob since fatherhood had taken over his life, and the old man liked to joke there was a new boss running the show.
He opened the door. The Sheriff and a Deputy stood outside his door. Tension radiated through his body. He went to shut the door, but a hand gripped it. He turned to see his precious wife holding their daughter, her mouth hanging half opened, a whiteness covering her face.
“I promise I didn’t know,” she said, her voice choking up.
The Sheriff swept his Stetson off his head, and slightly bowed to her. “Ma’am. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to cause you distress. I’m actually here to thank you.”
“Thank me,” she said, gripping the child in her arms as if trying to shield her.
“Yes, your letter has brought to justice Cherokee Dave, the most notorious outlaw around this parts.”
“It did?” Blake said.
“Yes, sir, it did. We and a posse from Whitecloud staked out the mine and sure enough, they showed up. It was a battle but we took everyone of them in.”
“Oh Sheriff.” Linda stepped out the door, and the sun light reflected off her hair, making it look as bright as the smile on her face. She gripped the Sheriff’s arm with her free hand. “I’m so thankful.”
“No ma’am, we are the thankful ones. This town is safer because of you.”
Blake wrapped his arm around Linda’s waist as the men made their goodbyes and left. It took courage to share something so personal as her husband’s letter, but she had done it and perhaps it was time that he shared something just as personal with her.
“We should celebrate, Blake. Wouldn’t that be grand?” she said.
He bent, kissing her head. The sweet scent of powder, and rose water filled him. “We should, but come. I must show you something.”
She furrowed her brows as he led her into the home and up the stairs. They walked to the room that they now shared along with little Hope, whose cradle sat at the foot of the bed. He stepped over a discarded cloth that must have been dropped on the threadbare rug sometime during the night while one of them rushed to satisfy the child’s lustful cry.
He walked to the armoire that now contained a few new dresses he had bought for Linda, a jewelry box and a pair of slippers. In a few months the town’s Cottontail festival would take place and he couldn’t wait to dance a jig with no one but her.
But he must not get distracted. He had to prove just how wonderful of a woman she was. Blake lifted the lid, focusing on the small brown bottle that lay there.
“What is that?”
He glanced at Linda, seeing that her arms were now free. Did the baby finally fall asleep? He picked up the bottle and handed it to her. “I want you to have this.”
She took it, popped the small cork off, and raised it to her nose. Her eyes widened. “Is this opium?” she asked.
He should have known the doctor’s daughter would realize exactly what it was. “A doctor gave it to me when I got hurt. It helped to dull more than physical pain.”
“Many can’t give this up.”
“I know. I forgot to take the bottle with me, after our disagreement. And when I got back, I found I just didn’t need it anymore.”
She lowered the bottle. “You haven’t had a sip in over two months?”
“I haven’t had a sip since I told you that cottontail story.”
Linda nodded and walked to the fireplace pouring the last few drops into the ash. She then tossed the bottle in. She turned back to him, wringing her hands together.
“Thanks for letting me have that. My pa always said that stuff was the devil’s brew.”
He walked to her, taking her elbows and pulling her close. She glanced up at him, and he found himself being lost in a rich blue sea. A sea full of lightness letting him know of the love that she had for him. A love that he wished to relish for the rest of his life.
He took her chin, tipping her face towards him. “Don’t you understand?”
“What is there to understand? I’m glad you’re not taking that anymore?”
He bent closer to her, until their lips were mere inches apart. “Linda, you have helped me heal.”
Her mouth dropped open, and then rounded into a slight ‘oh.’
“You did, Linda, though I know a part of me will always mourn Sarah, you have made me stop feeling the agonizing everyday anguish. Now when I wake, I wake with joy, because you and little Hope are mine.”
Linda cupped his cheeks with her hands, as pinkness painted her cheeks. “And you my dear, have helped me learn to love again.”
She pressed her lips against his, just as the baby’s wail split the air. A reminder of their hope for the future. A hope they would cherish forever.
The End
7. A Captive Bride for the Desperate Cowboy
TABLE OF CONTENTS
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ONE
Emily Crawford gazed adoringly and Joshua Spencer as he stood in front of the altar. His hair was combed back sleek to his head, and he was wearing a fine, tailored suit—as well as a huge smile on his face. Indeed, he looked like quite the gentleman, and Emily knew he’d be a wonderful husband.
“Do you, Joshua Spencer, take this woman, Ann Keller, to be your wife?” the preacher asked.
“I sure do,” Joshua replied, blushing at his flushed bride.
Emily bowed her head, took a deep breath, and sighed. Yes, Joshua Spencer would be a wonderful husband… but not to Emily. Though, truth be told, he very well could have been.
Just two months before he took up with Ann, Joshua had attempted to court Emily. But, Emily’s strict, meddlesome aunt and uncle wouldn’t allow it. They forbade her from seeing him—and, as she appraised the content look on Ann’s face, Emily lamented the fact that, had it not been for her guardians’ overbearing “rules,” it probably would have been her standing next to Joshua at that altar.
Once the ceremony was complete and the newlyweds left the chapel, Emily stood up and instinctively started walking toward the front of the room, where a group of the town’s other young, single women had collected and were readying themselves to he
ad off to the wedding celebration in the town square.
No sooner had Emily started moving, however, when she felt a cold, bony hand reach out and stop her.
“And where do you think you’re going?” Emily’s Aunt Clara asked.
“To the wedding celebration, of course,” Emily answered.
Clara shook her head and chuckled. “Silly girl,” she said, rising to her feet. Her husband, Thomas, stood up to help her.
“Do you even know what goes on at a wedding celebration?” Aunt Clara added, arching an eyebrow at her niece.
Now Emily shook her head. Alas, she did not know what happened at a wedding celebration, since, despite previous invitations, she’d never been to one.
“Sin!” Aunt Clara said rather loudly, waving her hand in the air. “Sin goes on at those things. There’s music and dancing; overindulgence on food; and people partaking of spirits. Unmarried men and women talk to each other freely, and many eyes, minds, and hands wander where they shouldn’t. No niece—no ward—of mine will go to such an event—not so long as I’m here to ensure otherwise!”
“Please, Aunt Clara,” Emily replied plaintively. “I know better than to engage in unwholesome activities or yield to such vices. I’m 23 years old now and am of good Christian faith and practice. I won’t do anything to embarrass myself or you, I promise.”
“Sure enough, you won’t,” Aunt Clara responded, “because you’re not going.”
Emily opened her mouth to say more. But, the dismissive look on her aunt’s face stopped her. She realized that pleading with Aunt Clara would be futile, just like it had been in the past.
“Very well,” Emily said sadly. Her heart sank in her chest, and she felt defeated. She glanced at her friends, who were still collected and waiting for her, then frowned, shrugged her shoulders, and shook her head, to let them know that she would not be joining them.
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