Winning the Widow's Heart. Sherri Shackelford
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social, I know that.” He paused, searching for a way to alleviate her fears. “Tell you what. I’ll get my horse out of the weather and check on the animals. Won’t take me more than a minute. You can change and lay down for a rest. Keep track of the pains, though. They should keep coming closer together. When you’re settled, I’ll skedaddle over to the McCoy’s spread for help. With five children, they should be well versed in delivering babies.”
She bobbed her head in a distracted nod, pressing her knuckles into the small of her back with a grimace.
He scooted to her side. “Don’t hold your breath through the pains. Just let ’em come.”
“Is that what you tell the cows?” she snapped.
“I heard the midwife say that to my sister-in-law. I tell the cows to moo through the pain.”
A reluctant smile appeared through her scowl.
“That’s better.” He’d paced the floor with his brothers through enough births to know Elizabeth was going to need all the humor she could muster. “You’ve got about six to eight minutes before the next pain. I’ll be back lickety-split.”
A feather-light touch on his sleeve stilled his retreat. “When you return from the McCoy’s, you can bunk down in the barn until the weather clears.” She swallowed, glancing away. “But that’s all. I expect you to clear out at first light.”
Jack tipped his head in agreement. The widow was still a might skittish about his intentions. Considering their less-than-cordial introduction, he couldn’t blame her. “Don’t worry, Elizabeth. Everything is going to be all right.”
“Easy for you to say, mister. You’re not the one having a baby.”
Jack couldn’t help a dry chuckle. There was nothing like a crisis to reveal a man’s true character, and he was encouraged by her fortitude. “You’ll manage. You faced down an armed intruder, after all.”
She cut him a sidelong glance full of wry skepticism before turning her back. Inexplicably annoyed with her cool response, he toyed with the wick on the lantern to cover his confusion. When had his social skills slipped? Usually a few charming words and a friendly smile were enough to put most people at ease.
With a shrug he closed the door to allow her privacy, then crossed through the kitchen. He loped out the splintered rear exit, snatching his hat on the way.
Driving snow pelted his face, stinging his bare cheeks. He tucked his scratchy wool collar beneath his chin as he fought through needle-sharp wind to his disgruntled horse. The gelding snorted a smoky breath, tossing its head. Icicles had already matted in the horse’s thick mane and tail.
Jack tugged on the reins. “Sorry, Midnight. I’m just as frustrated by the delay as you are. I should have known that potbellied old sheriff in town couldn’t tell a homestead from a hideout.”
The gelding nuzzled his shoulder.
“If I’d known the weather was going to change faster than a sinner on Sunday, I never would’ve risked the journey. Almost makes a fellow believe in divine providence.” He tipped his head to the sky. “Mrs. Cole needs us to fetch help, even if she doesn’t want to admit it yet. I know as much about the surface of the moon as I do about childbirth, and that ain’t saying much.”
The quicker he found help for the widow, the quicker he could continue on his journey. The more time passed, the colder the trail out of Cimarron Springs grew. Jack couldn’t afford any additional dead ends and delays. If an innocent man was hanged because of his mistake, he’d never forgive himself.
His thoughts dark, he fought through growing snow drifts, sinking to his calves with each step. A flurry of movement caught the corner of his eye. Jack drew his pistol, searching the blowing snow. Wouldn’t that just be the bee’s knees if the outlaw was squatting right under his nose?
When no one sprang from the shadows, he tucked his gun away. He’d most likely seen one of the farm animals searching for shelter. The sheriff’s mistake was troubling him, making him jumpy. He’d take a gander at the horses inside the barn before he returned to the main house. The outlaw he was searching for always rode a distinctive bay mustang. Men around these parts knew horseflesh better than humans, which might explain the sheriff’s confusion.
Another thought sent him stumbling. A curtain of snow slid off his hat.
He’d forgotten the Colt sitting on the worktable.
“Well, Midnight,” he muttered to the horse, “I hope Mrs. Cole has given up the idea of shooting me.”
Jack swung up the bulky T-bar latching the barn door, then heaved the sliding panel to one side. The hayloft hook twirled in the wind above his head, banging forlornly against the loft door. Even before Midnight whinnied, shying to one side, Jack sensed a trap.
* * *
Elizabeth pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, holding back the painful burn of tears. She panted through another sharp pain, her heart still thumping uncomfortably against her ribs.
She’d almost shot a Texas Ranger.
When the oilcloth over the window had flipped up during a wind gust, she’d nearly fainted to see a stranger’s dark form lurking outside. She’d grabbed her gun and waited, expecting the worst.
She wasn’t expecting a lawman.
With his easy charm and fancy silver buttons, Jack Elder reminded her of her late husband. That charming behavior was bound to wear off, and she hoped he was long gone when it did. Aside from his useless good looks, she didn’t need him returning to town with tales destined to send the gossip’s tongues wagging.
A familiar sorrow weighed her down. She’d had enough of interfering busybodies as a child, and enough of autocratic lawmen as an adult. If the Ranger wanted to make trouble, there was nothing she could do to stop him. She’d fought the sheriff to stay in her home after Will’s death, and she’d fight anyone else who threatened her tenuous security.
Recalling the scene in the kitchen, her blood pounded, and her face grew hot with humiliation. Thank heaven he’d be gone by morning.
Elizabeth cradled her belly, hesitant to offer up another prayer. She’d prayed for a husband, and God had sent her a smooth charmer named Will. She’d prayed for a child, and Will had deserted her rather than care for his growing family. She’d prayed for Will’s return, and God had sent her his body to bury.
Hurting and desperate, she’d prayed for help, and God had sent her a lawman. She let out a reluctant sigh. While he wasn’t what she’d prayed for, at least he was willing to fetch help.
Elizabeth choked back a desperate laugh. She’d been hoping for a break in the weather, or more time to prepare before the baby arrived—anything but a great bear of a man treating her like a half-wit. Delivering cows, indeed. Thank heaven he wouldn’t be delivering this baby. After hearing him talk, he’d most likely try to sweet-talk the infant through the process with a rakish grin, or expect her to moo through the contractions.
Overwhelmed by the day’s events, she tucked her worn Bible beneath a stack of neatly folded cotton shirtwaists, fearful of praying for anything else lest she inadvertently unleash a plague with her clumsy words.
The only person she could truly count on was herself.
A violent cramp twisted around her middle. Shouting, she slid down the wall, crumpling to the floor. Her vision blurred. A great weight pressed on her stomach, like a full-grown bull sitting on her belly. The torturous spasm kept building stronger and stronger. The urgent need to push overwhelmed her.
“Mr. Elder,” Elizabeth called, her faint voice no match for the brutal prairie winds.
That flashy lawman was wrong—this baby was coming. Now.
Chapter Two
The pain let up just