Last Chance Bride

“Not a chance.”

“I knew you were gonna say that.”

Unable to move, Libby sat perfectly still, her heart beating wildly like the wings of a grounded bird. Happiness threatened to fill her up so full she couldn’t breathe. The normal sounds of the meal—Emma’s fork scraping against her tin plate, the clink of the pan as Jacob dished up generous pieces of succulent chicken pie, the tinkle of water in the glasses amazed her. She’d never known a home like this, safe and cozy, so happy.

Emma asked questions about riding in the stage. Between mouthfuls of the good food, Libby answered the best she could. No, they didn’t meet any road agents on the trail. No, they didn’t get robbed. Yes, the teams of horses were pretty.

“You can see why my father went deaf,” Jacob mumbled.

“Pa!” Emma protested, laughing at the same time.

Happiness skidded down Libby’s spine like cool water, refreshing and sustaining. “I think I’m losing hearing in this one ear.”

Emma giggled.

“I told you, you talk too much,” Jacob teased.

Oh, no. Libby placed a hand on her stomach. The laughter slid from her mouth and she stood, fighting the abrupt twist of nausea rising in her stomach.

It couldn’t be. She knocked over her chair and bolted for the door. Tears blurred her vision as she pounded down the front steps, holding her skirts out of the way as she raced blindly around the house. A second twist of nausea roiled in her belly, and she tasted the acidic burn of bile.

She would not leave a mess in the yard.

The outhouse was a tidy, sturdy building just behind the cabin. Libby raced past the elderly woman’s surprised face, and flung open the privy’s simple door. She fell to her knees on the clean floorboards and leaned over the carved hole.

The contents of her stomach hurled violently up her throat, and Libby didn’t hold back her hot tears or her choking sobs. After three violent retches, her stomach was empty.

Exhausted and hopeless, Libby leaned against the wall and buried her face in her hands. There was no blaming this on travel sickness. She was pregnant.

“Are you all right, dear?”

Libby raised her face from her hands and turned to gaze up at the spry, time-weathered woman. A gentle understanding shone in Jane’s eyes.

“I will be fine,” Libby insisted, firming her chin. She climbed to her feet and dusted off her skirt.

“I only hope it wasn’t my cookin’,” Jane said lightly, although no humor shone in her eyes. “My Albert always used to say my cookin’ could rot a man’s gut.”

“No, it wasn’t your cooking, trust me.” Libby summoned up a polite smile.

“I see.” Sober eyes looked up into her own. “Well, now, Jacob’s here. I suppose you’ll be wantin’ to talk to him. Emma, come with me into the house and show me that new doll of yours.”

As the woman and small girl ambled off, Libby could feel the weight of Jacob’s gaze. The pain of what she had just lost speared through her like an Indian’s arrowhead. This couldn’t be happening.

He said nothing, and the silence stood between them as the weight of the night began to drain the webby light from the sky.

“I thought you said you weren’t sure.”

Holding the pieces of her heart, she managed an answer. “I wasn’t.”

The wind tugged at her skirts. An owl hooted from the high boughs of a nearby pine.

Pregnant. Jacob fisted his hands, wanting to will the truth away. He studied her pale face. His gaze swept downward. Her stomach looked so flat. She looked so fragile.

He glanced up to read the pain in her eyes and saw the broken pieces of her heart. He twisted away, marching out toward the stable, then stopped. Frustrated. Angry. He didn’t know what to do. “You lied to me. You came here tonight knowing your condition.”

“No, I wouldn’t do that to you. To Emma.”

“You had to know. Were you going to use me? Did you accept my offer to cover your own mistakes? To come here and pretend the bastard was mine?”

“Not exactly. I wasn’t sure—”

Anger flashed through him. “I’m not about to let you use me. Or Emma. She’s the reason you are here in the first place.”

“I never meant—”

“She needs a mother, not a lying woman of questionable reputation.” Jacob closed his eyes. It wasn’t fair. He was angry with himself. Angry for agreeing to find a mother for Emma. Angry for thinking such a plan would ever work.

“I’m sorry.” The words squeaked, broken by emotion. He looked at Elizabeth. He remembered the look of affection on her pretty oval face when she’d shown him the rag doll, remembered the way she’d almost brushed the curls from Emma’s eyes, and her loving manner as she joked with the girl.

Damn it. The loss was Emma’s. Elizabeth would have been the right mother. If only she hadn’t... He didn’t know what she’d done. If she was an innocent forced or went willingly with a lover. He didn’t know anything about the woman except she was going to break his little girl’s heart.

Damn her for doing this to Emma.

Elizabeth surprised him by bursting into tears and without another word, she simply walked away.

He watched her go.

“Where’s Miss Hodges?” Emma tugged at his shirtsleeve. Dust cast a blue-gray light over the world and shadowed her button face. “Is she all right? Jane is afraid her cooking made her sick.”

“Miss Hodges left.” An odd roaring echoed in his head.

“If she’s feelin’ better tomorrow, maybe she can come have some of that pie we made.” Emma’s face wrinkled with worry. “You like Miss Hodges, don’t you, Pa?”

Hope and adoration lit his daughter’s face. How did he disappoint her? Damn it, how could Elizabeth Hodges disappoint her? Jacob felt ready to explode. He forced the breath from his lungs in a long hiss. “No, Emma, I don’t like Miss Hodges.”

“You don’t?”

Jacob forced the hot rage from his chest. “No. She’s not going to stay. We’ll have to go about finding you another mother.”

“But she made me a doll!” Pain rang high in the girl’s voice.

“I know she did. But it’s not your decision.” Night was falling, in his heart and in the forest. “Go inside and finish your meal. Jane will put you to bed.”

The girl knew better than to cry. It wouldn’t get her what she wanted. Emma hung her head, a single sob escaping as she dashed toward the cabin.

Disappointment battered him. He couldn’t change Elizabeth’s situation. He couldn’t allow her to be Emma’s mother.

Relief slid through his chest, and Jacob sat down on the front stone steps. Truth be told, he was glad. He didn’t want another woman in his house to remind him of Mary. He didn’t want the sweet scent of a woman, her touches of softness and care anywhere in his life.

The coming night fell silently, and Jacob didn’t move. He watched the skies darken, stealing the last bit of light from the day. Owls screeched, bugs chirruped and bats circled harmlessly overhead, but nothing could penetrate the sadness in his heart.

For a moment, he let himself remember the dark, souldevouring despair that consumed him after Mary died in childbirth. He could not risk going through that again.

Chapter Four

Her heart empty, Libby stepped to the window and gazed out on the main street below. Even this early in the morning, the thriving town, perched on the side of a rugged mountain, buzzed with activity. The sawmill upriver whined, wagons rattled, busy voices rose from the boardwalk below.

She’d learned from the other passengers on the stagecoach yesterday that Cedar Rock was a boomtown. Men came from all parts of the country to work the gold mines or prospect on their own. Montana Territory was filled with stories of men striking it rich on gold and quartz and silver.

There had to be something for her here, Libby reasoned. She did not have the money to return home, if she could call Omaha home. Perhaps she could make her own opportunities, just as she had always done before. She could cook and sew. Libby had never been afraid of hard work.

It wasn’t the end of the world, although it felt like it. There was no going back. She had her chance—and lost it. Now she would do what she must.

With trembling hands, Libby tugged her reticule from its place in the bureau drawer and sorted through its contents. Her fingers brushed upon the smooth, heavy parchment folded in neat, even creases. Her hands shook, rattling the paper, as she unfolded the outmost letter.

“Dear Elizabeth,” she read. “I am pleased you have agreed to come visit and see if a marriage between us will work. Emma pesters me daily as to when you shall arrive. I fear she does not understand the great distance involved....”

She tore her gaze from the page. Squeezing the tears from her eyes, she removed all of Jacob’s letters from her reticule and bundled them in her satchel. Happily-ever-afters don’t happen to you, Elizabeth Charlotte Hodges.

After carefully locking her door, she approached the kind man behind the front counter. He politely referred her to a woman’s boardinghouse off Clinton Avenue.

Armed with determination, Libby stepped out into the already hot morning sun. One thing was certain, she would not be beholden to any man, not even Jacob, for her survival. She could find her own lodging, and pay for it, too.

“Good morning, miss.” A man balanced a barrel of flour on his shoulder. “Nice day.”

She dropped her gaze. “Good morning, sir.”

Strangers unsettled her, and she kept walking. Jacob had never felt like a stranger, not from the first moment she opened his letter.

The town bustled with activity. Libby kept her gaze low, hearing the wagons rattling by, the clop of horses, the jingle of harnesses. Men’s voices rose discussing the weather and the business of the day. She dodged them the best she could.

The Faded Bloom was a bright blue, three-story structure gracing the wide alley behind a row of saloons and gaming houses. A painted sign swung from the eaves of the front porch. Rooms Let, it said. Women only.

Well, it looked homey. That was a start. Libby climbed the few steps to the porch and knocked on the door.

A window slammed opened, startling her.

“Can I help you?” A plump, wise-eyed woman pulled the pane higher and popped her head out. A wild tangle of rich black curls framed a friendly face.

“I’m looking for a room. Something not too expensive.”

The woman frowned sternly, eyeing her up. “I ain’t seen you before. Are you new in town?”

“Yes. I just arrived on the stage yesterday.” Libby stared down at her fingers. “I’m staying over at the Cedar Rock Hotel for now, but I need something more affordable.”

“Are you here for a few days or longer?”

It wouldn’t be easy living in the same town as Jacob, seeing him and being reminded of what she’d lost. “Longer. I plan to find work in town. What might a room cost?”

“Ten dollars a week. Breakfast is fifty cents and dinner is a dollar.”

Libby wilted at the price, but the boarding house appeared clean and respectable, the owner friendly. She glanced about, noting a nng of sturdy yellow flowers marching around the house. She couldn’t do much better, and she knew it. She’d seen most of the town on her walk here. “I’d like to see what rooms you have available, please.”

“Sure thing, deary. Wait by the door and I’ll let you in.”

Libby hadn’t considered how hard it would be to stay. Now she realized how awkward she might feel bumping into Jacob in the mercantile or seeing Emma buying hair ribbons. If she had the money, she would leave.

The door opened into a dim, narrow foyer. The woman appeared, her hair tied back neatly and her plain green calico dress serviceable and pretty. “Call me Maude. Everyone around these parts does. Come on inside out of that sun.”

Libby introduced herself as she stepped inside and glanced around. She noticed a door at her elbow and realized it led to Maude’s apartment. Across the hall she could see a pleasant parlor for receiving guests and ahead of her the narrow staircase leading into the dim second story.

“The girls who usually live here work over at the dance hall,” the woman explained, her keys jingling in her hand as she climbed the stairs with a heavy, confident gait. “They get in late, most of ‘em, and sleep late. I try to be quiet so as not to wake ’em. We got other gals too, one works in the diner across from the livery.”

Jacob. The thought of him hurt. Jacob owned the livery.

“What kind of work do you do?” Maude asked over her shoulder.

Libby followed the woman up to the hotter third floor. “I—I came here to meet s-someone, but I’m on my own now. I’m normally employed as a seamstress.”

“A seamstress?” Humming thoughtfully, Maude marched down the narrow door-lined hallway. “Old Harv over at the dry goods has been talkin’ about gettin’ a woman to alter some of the ready-made clothes. You just might want to talk with him. Tell him I sent you.”

“Thank you.” Libby brightened. Perhaps she might find a suitable position right away.

Maude stopped at the end of the hall. “Whew, this heat would melt the core of hell, that’s for sure. I’m afraid it don’t get much cooler, just hotter right through the summer until autumn comes.”

Libby’s problems were more serious than the heat. “As long as the room’s clean.”

“Oh, it’s clean. Don’t tolerate filth in my place.” Maude swung open the door and stepped into the corner room.

Libby peered inside, almost afraid to enter. She’d learned to expect the worst, but her outlook brightened as she studied the little room.

A bare straw-tick mattress sat on a small wooden frame. A simple, scarred bureau was tucked into the corner beside a battered, but newly painted wardrobe. Maude crossed the polished wood floor and tugged open first one window and then the other. Crisp white curtains fluttered back in the hot breeze.

“It’ll be uncomfortable hot for the rest of the summer.” Maude turned to glance at the unmade bed. “I’ve got linen downstairs I’ll let you use.”

“This will be perfect.” So much more than she deserved. Libby managed a wobbly smile.

“Good.” Maude offered her hand, and they shook. “Since you’re such a nice young gal, I’ll knock off two bucks due to the heat.”

Eight dollars a week. It was too good to be true.

Maude had invited Libby into the dining room and offered her a free cup of coffee. While she turned down the offer of breakfast, placing a hand over her queasy stomach, the cup of strong, bitter coffee knocked some of the lightness out of her head.

Things were going to be fine. As she ventured out into the hot morning, Libby felt hopeful with her new keys tucked safely in her pocket and two week’s lodging paid ahead. Only $21.21 remaining. While it wasn’t a fortune, it was much more than she’d had at some points in her life.

Maude’s friend, old Harv, turned out to be the proprietor of Ellington’s Dry Goods. Libby hesitated in the doorway. The fine establishment was empty of shoppers, but stuffed with a variety of goods. Ready-made garments sat in neatly folded stacks on tables. Trousers and canvas, shirts and skirts, and a few bolts of colorful fabric. She spotted a row of fancy ribbons.

Emma. Libby tripped, and caught herself. Sadness tore at her heart.

A tall, thin man wearing spectacles appeared from a doorway in the back. “Can I help you find something, miss?”

Libby gathered her courage. It wasn’t easy. “Are you Mr. Ellington?”

“That I am.”

“I heard from Maude Baker you might be interested in hiring a seamstress. I sew tight and even seams, and I do excellent buttonholes.”

Mr. Ellington folded his arms across his chest. He was well dressed in a gray silk vest and a tailored white shirt. He looked like a man able to afford help in his store.

“I can’t say if I plan to take on someone full-time.” Ellington shook his head. “As you can plainly see, I sell ready-made. Too many bachelors up here, or married men who left their womenfolk behind. It takes only a few minutes to find them what they need.”

No work. Libby hid her disappointment. “Well, perhaps you would keep me in mind if circumstances change,” she said cordially.

“I will at that.” But he didn’t sound promising.

“I’m rooming at Mrs. Baker’s. Good day.”

No work for a seamstress. Well, she’d see about that. Libby vowed to try the other shops as she stepped out on the boardwalk. The pummeling heat of the sun slammed into her as she walked out of the building’s shade. Already the burning disc of the sun climbed toward the zenith, marking the passage of the morning.

She had little time to look for work before she ran out of money. This was a busy town. Someone would hire her. Someone had to. Her remaining funds would not last her long.

The tentative knock on the hotel room’s door startled Libby from her packing. Her morning had been an exhausting string of rejections. Expecting it to be the Indian woman she’d seen cleaning rooms down the hall, Libby tugged open the door without thought.

“Surprise!”

Emma stood in the dimly lit hallway, a covered pie plate balanced carefully in both hands. Jane shadowed the girl, standing back against the far wall.

“You left before dessert,” Emma explained, “so Jane and I brought ya some.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, but—” Libby’s throat tightened. “Does your pa know you’re here?”

Excitement slipped from Emma’s round blue eyes. “Pa’s busy at the livery. We brought fried chicken and everything.”

How could she say no? Libby held open the door. “You are the best thing to happen to me all day. Come in. You too, Jane.”

Emma walked past, careful to keep the pie balanced. Jane, bone thin and slightly stooped at the shoulders, carried a basket on one arm. Wise eyes met hers.

“Oh!” Emma stood stock-still, gazing about the room in fascination. “Look at the pretty quilt!”

Libby remembered the sparse interior of the Stone’s snug log cabin.

“Some would think that there quilt has seen better days.” Jane chuckled, meeting Libby’s gaze. “Emma, don’t touch.”

“I want a quilt of my own,” the girl said wistfully.

Libby’s heart went out to her. Emma needed a mother’s touch. Is that why she’d come, to try to fix what Jacob couldn’t?

Jane’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Are you still feelin’ poorly?”

“I’m a bit better today.” She felt heat creep up her face. Jane knows, she thought. “I’m embarrassed about last night. I just left without even thanking you for the wonderful meal. You went to all that trouble.”

“Didn’t look to me as if you had the chance to enjoy it. If your belly’s feeling settled, maybe you’d like some of my tasty chicken.”

“I want to have a picnic. We can eat right here.” Emma knelt to set the pie plate on the varnished bare floorboards and looked up expectantly. Hope shone bold in her blue eyes.

Today Emma wore a sunshine yellow calico cut in a princess style with a small yoke and rounded collar. Her sleeves were rolled up to her forearms, giving her growing room, and her skirt sported a sassy ruffle edged with yellow satin ribbon.

“Maybe Miss Hodges doesn’t want to sit on the floor, Emma,” Jane said gently.

“I don’t mind.” Bittersweetness tugged at her heart. She might never get another chance to see Emma. “It’s too hot for a picnic outside.”

“And too dusty. I don’t like town.” The girl wrinkled her nose.

“I don’t like town, either. The forest is so beautiful.” Libby settled onto the floor and tried not to sound wistful for the log cabin home in the woods.

“Sometimes we get trouble with bears. They wanna eat our horses.”

Jane began unpacking the basket. “But your pa built the stable doors solid, so the bears can’t get in.”

Libby helped with setting out the food. Jane brought tin plates and flatware knives and forks, and crisp blue cotton napkins. Libby fetched fresh water from the hotel’s kitchen to go along with the corn bread, fried chicken and fresh, raw green beans.

They talked of Jane’s upcoming trip, of the town and the people in it. Libby managed to keep the conversation light until Emma burst out, “Don’t you like my Pa?”

Jacob. Libby felt her heart twist. “I think your pa is a fine man,” she hedged.

“But do you like him enough to marry him?”

Libby stared hard at her plate. She knew what the girl wanted to hear. “That question goes two ways, Emma. Your pa has to like me well enough, too.”

“He’s awful lonesome.” Emma’s blue eyes widened, an obvious show of her not-so-innocent intentions.

The little matchmaker. Libby hid her smile. “I’m awful lonesome, too. But I don’t think your pa will marry me.”

“That’s not fair. He likes you. I know he does.”

“Sometimes liking someone isn’t enough reason to marry them.” Libby studied the pain pinching Emma’s deep blue eyes. “I’m sure glad you came to visit me. I wondered what kind of surprise you and Jane made for dessert.”

“Huckleberry pie!” Emma announced. “Jane and I spent all morning picking berries. It took forever to get enough.”

“That’s because you kept eatin’ ’em.” Jane teased.

Libby’s stomach tolerated the meal. She ate slowly, because Emma would leave when the meal was over. Libby didn’t want her to go.

“I tried to invite Pa, but he was busy with a customer.” Emma finished her piece of chicken and caught Jane’s gaze. “I cleaned my plate. Can we have dessert now?”

“Yes, little one.”

While Jane cut thick wedges of juicy pie, Libby cleared the dishes and stacked them neatly in the basket.

“I think Pa would have come if I asked him. He hardly saw you at all yesterday,” Emma commented, her eyes sincere, her face pink with hope.

Libby’s heart sank. Now she knew Emma’s and Jane’s true purpose—to convince her to stay, then talk Jacob into wanting her. “I thought we already talked about this.”

“I want you to be my mother.”

“I’d like that, too, Emma. Very much. But wanting doesn’t make it so.” Libby felt the words cut like a razor blade against the back of her too dry throat.

“Pa has to like you. I know he will if I ask him to.”

So much pain rose in those heartfelt words. Libby winced. I don’t want to hurt you, Emma. “It’s not that simple. I’m sorry. I wish things could be different.”

The little girl bowed her head, hiding what shimmered in her eyes.

Tears. Libby ached with them. “I hope you’ll keep the doll I made for you and always remember me.”

“I’ll never forget you.” A depth of feeling resonated in her small voice, sad like the dying ring of a church bell.

“Have you decided on a name for her?”

“I’m going to call her Beth.”

Even Libby knew why Emma had chosen it. Jacob called her by her given name, Elizabeth.

Heavy boots thudded to a stop outside her open door. Libby twisted around to gaze up at the darkly dressed man framed in the threshold.

Jacob.

At the dark wrath in his eyes, Libby braced herself. He didn’t want her. And he didn’t want her near his daughter.

Libby stood. “We were just saying goodbye.”

The tight slash of Jacob’s mouth told her the depth of his disbelief. “It didn’t sound like it to me.”

“Pa, this is the pie I helped Jane make.” Emma hopped to her feet, excitement shining in her eyes. “Come have a piece with us. Please.”

“No, Emma. This isn’t going to work. I’m not changing my mind.”

“But—”

“Help Jane pick up the dishes.” His hands fisted tightly at his sides, an effort at control.

Libby’s heart skidded in her chest. He didn’t understand. She tore her gaze from the sight of him, so strong and heart-drawing, framed by the threshold, and began stacking the huckleberry-juice-stained plates into the bottom of the basket.

“Pa’s got a temper,” Emma whispered. “But don’t go away because of that. Nobody’s perfect.”

She certainly wasn’t Libby closed her eyes. Awareness tingled down her spine. She turned around to find him watching her.