She’d have to close her window. It wouldn’t do for him to hear any cries that managed to escape her lips. She’d always planned to have this baby alone. Ever since Mack made it clear he wanted her child. He could easily pay off the midwife, the doctor, anyone in the area who might help her. Not only would they tell him about the birth, but for a big enough bribe, they might be induced to take her baby from her while she was lying abed after the birth. She’d be too exhausted and weak to stop them.
No, it was better to do as Jochebed and the other Hebrew women did when Pharaoh commanded the midwives to kill their sons in the days of Moses. Learn all they could, then have the babies on their own before the midwives arrived. She had no sister or mother to aid her, but she’d not risk losing her child because of such a small matter. She’d made do pretty much on her own for the last two years, handling things she’d never thought herself capable of. This was simply one more challenge. God helped Jochebed. He’d help her, as well. He had to.
Neill glanced across the supper table at Clara, trying to find a way to share his plan with her. An unusual tension vibrated in the air around them, though. They’d never had trouble talking over supper before. In fact, it was one of the things he’d enjoyed most about his time with her. But something was off. She seemed withdrawn, distracted. She had yet to meet his eye, despite numerous attempts on his part to garner her attention. Was she distancing herself because she expected him to leave now that the roof was complete? Hadn’t he vowed to help her? Did she have so little trust in him?
Neill gave an imperceptible shake of his head at the thoughts running through his head. Why should she trust him? Her husband married her to defy his father, and her father-in-law wanted to take away her child. The woman had no reason to trust men. Especially a man she’d known less than a week. She had no way of knowing that he intended to follow through on his rash promise to help her. For all she knew, he was just a big talker, full of wild schemes and good intentions with nothing to back them up.
Well, he could at least put her mind to rest on that score.
Tossing down his napkin, Neill cleared his throat. “Clara, I have a plan. I want you to come with me—”
“You need to leave, Neill,” she interrupted, her focus still locked on her plate. “Tonight. Before full dark sets in.”
“What?” He couldn’t believe he’d heard her right.
She finally raised her chin and looked at him, her face a stoic mask. “Leave. No good will come of you staying.”
Neill leaned back in his chair, his focus intent on her face. Something was definitely off. Had their closeness this morning scared her? Dissolved the trust that had been growing between them? But even that made little sense. She’d gone out of her way to do his washing, to bring him refreshment during the day, to bake a fresh batch of his favorite biscuits, even when there were some left over from yesterday’s meal. It made no sense that she would go out of her way to be so kind if she truly wanted him gone. She could have just ordered him off her property this afternoon, when he told her he’d finished with the roof.
“Why tonight?” he queried, watching her closely. “Why not at first light?”
Her mouth tightened for a brief second while at the same time, a slight crease marred her brow. At first he attributed it to frustration, but then she swiveled her head aside as if she feared he might have noticed the telling twitch. When she turned back, her face was as smooth and stoic as ever.
“Your job is finished,” she said with matter-of-fact precision. “I appreciate all you’ve done, but it is time for you to go.”
Neill crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not leaving. Not unless you come with me.” If she thought she could out-stubborn him, she had a lot to learn about Archer men.
“You’re not my protector, Neill. You’re just a hired hand who’s passing through. I’m not your problem.”
“No, you’re not.” Neill’s jaw twitched as he sat forward and did his best to glare some sense into her. “You’re my friend. And if you’ll let me, I’d like to be even more than that.” He softened his voice and reached for her hand. “I want to be a husband to you, Clara. A father to your babe.”
“No!” She snatched her hand away from him and jumped up from the table. She spun toward the stove, turning her back to him, but not before he caught the glimmer of tears in her eyes. In an instant, though, her steel returned, as if she had mentally poured molten metal down her spine and cooled it with icy reserve. Her shoulders straightened and her voice emerged without a single warble.
“Marriage doesn’t solve problems. It creates more. I’ll not make the same mistake twice.”
“No, you’ll just make a different one.” Neill pushed up from the table so fast his chair tipped over and crashed to the floor. Clara flinched but made no move to turn around. “Do you honestly think you and your child have a better chance of escaping Mack on your own?” he demanded as came up behind her. “Or do you think so little of my character that you lump me into the same category as Matthew?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll not marry you. So go. You’ve done your good deed. You’ve made your offer. Now you can leave with a clean conscience.”
“I already told you,” he gritted out, “I’m not leaving.” He cupped her shoulder and spun her around to face him, intending to get to the bottom of things once and for all, but the tears streaming down her face stopped him cold.
She stretched her neck away from him, trying with all her might to hide her misery, but it was too late. He’d seen the truth.
His hands immediately gentled on her shoulders. “I’m not leaving, Clara.” His voice hardened with resolve even as he snuggled her close to his chest and rubbed soothing circles over her back. “No matter what you say or do to push me away, I’m not leaving. So you might as well get used to the idea and quit fighting me.”
“But I’ll bring you nothing but trouble.” She struggled against his hold until she was able to tip her head back and meet his gaze. “It’s no good.”
Neill smiled at her, then tenderly forced her head back down to his chest and covered it with his chin. “Oh, I don’t know,” he murmured, his tone husky. “I think it could be very good.”
Again she pulled her head free and looked into his face. The stoic mask completely decimated now, her vulnerability became palpable. “I can’t agree to marry you, Neill. Not yet. I’ve only known you four days. It’s too soon.”
He started to argue, but she shook her head at him. “Please. I know you are a good man. That’s not what I fear. I just don’t want to be forced into marriage again because of hardship. If I marry, I want it to be because we both truly want it, not out of a sense of fear on my part or duty on yours. Just give me some time. Please?”
Neill peered into her face and swallowed his arguments. “All right. I’ll not pressure you about marriage. But I am going to take you home with me. Home to my brother’s ranch, where the Archers stand together. Where we can protect you and your child. We can leave at first light, and catch the train in Amarillo. My sister-in-law can help you with the birthing. Everything will be perfect. You’ll see.”
Clara ducked her head against him, but she didn’t relax. No, her entire body tensed, and she curled forward over her belly.
“Neill?” Her voice emerged through gritted teeth.
“Yeah?” He started rubbing her back again, his concern growing over her obvious discomfort. She was practically curling in on herself, the muscles across her midsection pulled tighter than the strings on his fiddle.
“I don’t think your sister-in-law is going to help with this birthing.”
Neill frowned. “Why not?”
Before she could reply, the answer hit him like a log beam against his thick skull.
“Land’s sake, Clara. You should have told me you were in labor!”
Chapter 8
“How long have you been having pains?” Neill scooped Clara into his arms and made for the other room. The crazy woman s
hould be in bed, not feeding him supper.
Clara pushed at his chest. “Leave me be, Neill. I have work to do.”
He ignored her protest and kicked open the bedroom door with his foot. “The only work you need to be worrying about is bringing that baby into the world. I’ll take care of everything else. It won’t be the first time I’ve cleaned a kitchen.”
He moved to lay her on the bed, only then realizing that she’d already stripped most of the bedding away. Evidence of an oilcloth covering the mattress peeked out from beneath the top sheet. A pile of towels and a basin of water sat ready at the side of the bed, and a blanket made of pieced flannel lay rolled up within arm’s reach.
Somehow seeing the preparations she’d made caused the reality of the situation to swell within him until he thought he might drown. He laid her gently upon the bed, then with trembling hands, tugged off her moccasins and covered her with a sheet. “I’ll . . . uh . . . go fetch the doctor.”
Desperate to race for his horse and bring back someone more competent than he for dealing with the situation, Neill spun toward the door only to halt at Clara’s cry.
“No! Please, Neill. You can’t. No doctor. No midwife. Mack will have already paid them off. I can’t risk it.” Her urgent voice flayed him. He stopped and turned back to face her.
“I have to get someone, Clara. You can’t have this baby alone.”
Her chin jutted out and her eyes glittered with familiar determination. “Yes I can. I will. It’s the only way to ensure my child’s safety.”
Another pain hit her then, apparently stronger than before. She winced and hissed out a breath as she rolled to her side and drew her knees up. “You need to leave, Neill,” she managed once the pain had passed.
Neill set his mouth in a mutinous line. “If you think I’m leaving now, you’re out of your mind.”
Then the crazy woman did something he’d never expected. She laughed. The sound cut straight through his defenses and melted against his heart. Everything about him softened in that moment, and he found himself smiling back at her.
“I’m not asking you to leave the house, Neill. Just the room. I need to change into a sleeping gown.”
“Oh.” He let out a sheepish chuckle and rubbed the back of his neck before straightening to level a serious look at her. “All right. But I’m going to be on the other side of that door, however long it takes. I’ll come running whenever you need me, Clara.” He took a step closer to the bed, longing to touch her, to comfort her, to do something to ease her pain. “You don’t have to do this alone. I’m here.”
She held his gaze a long moment. “Would you play for me?”
His brows knit in confusion.
“Your fiddle. The music relaxes me. I think it will help when the pains worsen.”
Neill seized upon the idea, thankful to have something tangible to do. “Honey, I’ll play all night if you want me to.”
“Thank you.” Her smile lit up the room and spurred him to action. Barely slowing enough to click the bedroom door closed behind him, Neill rushed out to the barn to collect his violin.
The man was a marvel. Clara paused to breathe between the pains that seemed to be intensifying at a rapid rate now. For two hours, Neill had played almost without stop. The soothing tones had floated to her from the next room, easing her tension and lulling her into a light doze as she rested between contractions. With all her brave plans to have this baby on her own, she couldn’t thank God enough for sending her a man stubborn enough to stay. The labor would have been unbearable without the music to remind her that she wasn’t alone.
A new pain hit, radiating through her back and abdomen with stunning force. She tried to breathe through it like she had with the others, but this one was different. More forceful. More prolonged. And with it came a staggering need to push.
A groan tore from her throat as she fought her body’s instincts. She couldn’t do this. Heaven help her! She couldn’t.
Panic swelled in her breast. What if something went wrong? She’d be helpless to do anything about it. What if she labored too long and didn’t have the strength to tend her child after the birth? What if the babe had trouble drawing his first breath? Scenarios swirled unrelenting in her mind, one more horrible than the next, until she could no longer restrain her cry.
“Neill!”
The lilting music cut off with a screech, replaced by pounding footsteps. A heartbeat later, Neill threw open the door and rushed to her side. He threw himself down on his knees so his face was even with hers and immediately started smoothing back her hair from her sweat-dampened forehead.
“I’m here, Clara,” he crooned. “I’m here.”
She scanned his face wildly and latched onto his wrist, her fingers nearly going numb with the force of her grip. “I can’t do it, Neill. I can’t.”
“Of course you can, honey. You’re strong. The most capable woman I know.” He smiled at her, his words confident. “And I’m here to help you.”
A tear fell down her cheek. “I’m scared.”
He pressed a kiss to her brow. “We’ll get through it together. Everything will be fine.”
Another pain hit, and she writhed away from him. Away from the softness of his lips, the comfort of his words. But he followed her. His sturdy arms lifted her back and arranged what few pillows she had behind her.
“The babe’s coming,” she gritted out, needing him to understand the urgency. “You have to make sure nothing goes wrong.”
She forced her head around and locked her eyes onto Neill’s, ignoring the pain building across her middle. She needed his promise. His assurance.
He nodded at the same moment a vise gripped her abdomen and demanded she push. She wouldn’t ignore the demand this time. Neill was there. He’d make sure her child was safe.
With renewed determination, she curled forward and bore down.
After the first ten minutes of standing helplessly by while Clara labored, Neill shoved aside every high-minded ideal he knew about protecting a woman’s modesty and did whatever he could to protect and comfort the woman herself. He climbed onto the bed behind her and supported her back. He dampened one of the cloths she’d laid out for the baby’s bath and used it to cool her face and neck. He massaged her lower back with the heel of his hand and held her when the pains struck.
How did she endure it? It had been at least an hour since she’d told him the babe was about to arrive. Her groans and deep-throated cries haunted him. How much longer? Surely the child should have been born by now. Neill scrubbed his palms against his pants legs. Was something wrong? He’d vowed to protect mother and child, but how could he fight an enemy he couldn’t see?
God, help her, his spirit pled. I don’t know what to do or how to help. Bring Clara and her child safely through this. Please.
He wet the cloth again and rubbed it across Clara’s face, desperate to do something, anything to ease things for her.
Her muscles tensed. Another pain was upon her. He tossed the cloth aside and dug his heels into the mattress. She’d taken to clasping his arms for support and leverage as she pushed, so he extended them on either side of her and braced for her pressure. Her hands found his as if drawn by a magnet. His palms engulfed hers. He leaned his mouth to her ear and whispered encouragement.
She pulled against his hold. A cry vibrated in her chest. Then all at once, she released his arms and reached forward, her body still straining.
“He’s coming, Neill!” she panted, excitement warring with fatigue in her voice. “I can feel it.”
The next several minutes passed in a blur. Before Neill quite knew what had happened, he was helping Clara lift her son to lie across her chest. The baby’s tiny mewling cries created the most beautiful music Neill had ever heard. Tears moistened his eyes, and awe set his fingers to trembling as he cut the cord before covering the babe with a dry towel and starting rubbing him clean.
Clara rested against the pillows, the wonder on her face a sight t
o behold as she smiled down on her son. The babe’s dark hair spiked up in black tufts and his face scrunched into a wrinkled mess as he howled his displeasure over his ordeal. Covered in muck, his head slightly misshapen, the kid wasn’t exactly what Neill would call pretty. Still . . .
“He’s perfect,” Clara whispered. “Absolutely perfect.” She caressed the child’s reddened cheek with the curve of her finger, and Neill found himself agreeing with her assessment.
“What will you call him?” he asked in a low voice, strangely unable to tear his hand away from the babe’s back. It was as if sharing the child’s journey into the world had forged an indestructible bond between them. Neill swore he could feel his heart swelling in his chest, making room for a new occupant.
“Harrison.” She stroked the black hair atop the boy’s head. “It was my mother’s maiden name. I’ve always liked it.”
Neill smiled, for some reason exceptionally glad she wasn’t naming the boy after her late husband. “Harrison’s a good name. Strong. Just like our little fella here.”
The word our fell from his lips without conscious thought. When Neill realized what he’d said, he immediately sought out Clara’s gaze to judge her reaction, but she hadn’t seemed to notice. She was too busy cooing over her son—a boy who was rooting like a hungry piglet, his pink mouth open as his head strained backward against his mama’s chest.
Comprehension brought heat to Neill’s face. “I’ll . . . uh . . . give the two of you some privacy and go . . . uh . . . warm some water for the little guy’s bath.” He backed quickly toward the door. “Just call out when you’re ready.”
He’d nearly made his escape when Clara’s soft voice brought him to a halt.
“Neill?”
He turned. “Yeah?”
She focused wholly on him for the first time in several hours, and the depth of emotion shining in her dark eyes nearly stole his breath. “Thank you.”
A Match Made in Texas Page 5