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“Do elaborate,” she demanded. “I’m what?”
Suddenly hot, he slid the top button of his wool coat free. He’d just come from Cimarron Springs, and it was forty-five minutes to town for the doctor. Leaving the woman alone that long was out of the question. Grateful for the breeze from the busted door, Jack released the second button. Surely someone was watching out for the woman? Even in this desolate land a person was never truly alone. She must have friends or family in the area.
A teeth-chattering shiver rattled her body, buckling her defensive posture. She wrapped her arms protectively around her distended stomach. “This is my home, and I want you to leave.”
“You and me both.”
He’d rather face an angry rattler than a fragile woman any day. But the sight of her pale face tugged at his conscience. Of course he’d do the right thing. He always did the right thing, especially when it came to women and children.
That code of honor had been ingrained in him since his youth. “I can’t go until I know you’re settled.”
Conscious of the dropping temperature and her growing discomfort, he backed his way to the broken door, his attention riveted on the woman. Snow swirled around his ankles, dusting the cabin floor with white flakes.
Her gaze skittered to the gun in his holster. “You’re trespassing on my property.” She tightened her arms over her rounded belly, highlighting the swell. “Return my gun this instant.”
He nudged the sagging door closed with his heel. Wind whistled through the cracked hinges. “I can’t do that. You might need my help, and I can’t have you shooting me.”
He rested her Colt on the sturdy worktable before the stove, then covered the weapon with his hat. “I might be a Texas Ranger, but my family owns a cattle ranch. I haven’t delivered any babies, but I’ve brought a passel of calves into this world, and I’ve got a fair understanding of the process. Once your bag of waters breaks, there’s no going back.”
She started, as if noticing the wet floor for the first time. “Oh, my goodness. What a mess. I—I need a cloth.”
She waddled to the side cupboard, swinging the door wide to rummage through the shelves.
Jack blew out a hard breath, letting her prattle about her chore. He’d seen that same vacant stare plenty of times before. His first year as a Ranger, he’d come upon a homestead after a Comanche raid. The woman of the house was setting the table for supper, her clothing torn and bloodied, while her husband and three young children lay slaughtered on the dirt-packed floor.
His chest constricted at the memory. He’d never forget the mother’s dark footprints circling her dead children’s bodies. From that moment on, he’d hardened his feelings to the suffering he witnessed in order to preserve his own sanity.
The pregnant woman faced him, her chin set in a stubborn angle, a square of linen clutched to her chest. “The man you’re looking for isn’t here, so you can leave now, mister.”
“What’s your name?” he asked, his tone deliberately brusque. Most decent folks responded honestly to a direct question.
“Elizabeth. E-Elizabeth Cole.”
He offered her another friendly grin. His questions had the added benefit of keeping her distracted. “See, that wasn’t so hard, Elizabeth.” He also found people answered to their own name, even when they ignored everything else. “Where’s your husband?”
Her eyes welled with tears. Sniffling, she blinked them away. “He’s dead.”
Jack bowed his head, shielding himself from the agony in her steady gaze. She definitely wasn’t lying now. The way her emotions paraded across her expressive face, she’d make a terrible criminal.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he replied.
She was awfully young to be a widow. Jack sometimes felt the good Lord had let evil concentrate west of the Mississippi.
He opened and closed his mouth a few times to speak, finally deciding to give her a moment to collect herself before any more questions. Judging from her condition, the man couldn’t have been gone for too long. In this harsh land, it was best not to get attached to anything, or anyone.
When she finally glanced up, he asked, “Do you have any family or friends in the area?”
“The McCoys live just over the rise.”
Hope sparked in his chest. “Is there a Mrs. McCoy?”
“There’s a Mrs. McCoy, a Mr. McCoy—” she ticked off each name with a finger to the opposite hand “—and five little McCoys.”
Relief weakened his knees. Delivering babies was best left to women and doctors—and he didn’t qualify as either. “Thank heaven for the McCoys.”
He’d find a way to contact the family as soon as Elizabeth was settled. With his immediate worry eased, he stepped forward, motioning with one hand. “Let’s get you someplace where you can rest, Mrs. Cole.”
She eyed him with obvious distrust.
Flummoxed by her stubbornness, Jack paused. Now what? Give him a raging outlaw or a drunken killer any day. He wasn’t equipped for this kind of sensitive situation. Those teary blue eyes were sorely testing his vow to remain detached.
She lurched to one side, clutching the ladder-back chair for support. “Oh, dear,” she moaned.
Feeling helpless and out of his element, he cupped her elbow. Her wary gaze swept over his thick wool coat, lingering on his stamped, silver buttons. Her jaw clenched. He had the uneasy sensation she had just sized him up, and found him lacking.
Jolted by her odd reaction, he dropped his hold. “I’m not going to hurt you, Elizabeth.”
She pinched shut her eyes against another pain, then fumbled for his hand, threading her fingers through his in a silent plea for comfort. His heart stuttered at the unexpected gesture.
How long since her husband had died? How long had she been pregnant and alone, solely responsible for the grueling work required to run this homestead?
After a long, tense moment, her delicate features relaxed. The grip on his hand loosened.
“That one wasn’t so bad,” she said, though her wan smile indicated otherwise.
“Let’s get you away from this breeze.” He nodded toward the back of the house. “Someone near broke your door in two.”
“I hope that same someone repairs the damage before he leaves.”
She lowered her head, then yanked her hand free, as if surprised to see their fingers intertwined.
Keeping his gaze averted, he flexed his fist a few times to shake off the lingering warmth of her skin. He didn’t want to look at her, didn’t want to see the raw edge of fear in her eyes. Didn’t she realize he was one of the good guys?
Following the strangely intimate moment, an awkward silence stretched between them. The widow was a curious mix of bold courage and heartbreaking vulnerability. She’d been in labor, isolated and alone, yet she’d met his forceful entrance with rare fortitude. Despite her blustery grit, he sensed her reserve of energy was running lower than a watering hole in July.
She brushed the hair from her forehead with a weary sigh. “Maybe I will have a rest.”
“That sounds like the best idea I’ve heard all day.”
She leaned heavily on his arm as he eased her past the cast-iron stove, through the doorway to another room. An enormous four-poster bed dominated the space. A wedding-ring quilt in faded pinks and dull greens covered the mattress. An old porcelain doll with matted chestnut hair rested between two fluffy feather pillows.
Jack scratched his forehead. “That’s quite an impressive piece of furniture.”
Her cheeks flushed pink. “My husband and I bought the homestead from another family along with the furniture. They made it almost six years before they gave up.” Avoiding his curious gaze, Elizabeth shuffled to a sturdy oak dresser. A red kerosene lantern with a floral-etched, fluted cover lit the room. She tugged on the top drawer, sending the flame flickering, then glanced at him askance. “I’m sorry I lied to you earlier. I didn’t want you to know I was alone.”
“I didn’t give you much choice.”
She kept her eyes downcast, her discomfort palpable. While he appreciated the awkward impropriety of the situation, his nagging concern for her welfare took precedence over their mutual embarrassment.
They had a more pressing problem to solve. “Is this your first baby?”
She nodded.
“How long have the pains been comin’?”
“About four or five hours.”
The knot of anxiety in his chest eased. The birthing processes often took hours, sometimes even days. “If there’s one thing I do know, it’s that first babies take their good sweet time in coming. I’ve got three older brothers, and they’ve blessed me with two nieces and six nephews. Not a one of them took less than twelve hours to be born.”
She met his gaze, her pale blue eyes full of hope. “Then you can go to town. Cimarron Springs has a doctor. Two of them.”
“Ma’am, there’s a snowstorm blowing in. I’ll be lucky to make it to the McCoys, let alone town.”
Her shoulders slumped and his heart went out to her. Pain and fear had a way of sapping a body’s strength.
“This isn’t exactly a church 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 as quickly as it had begun. Stunned by the intensity of the last contraction, Elizabeth panted. Each time she assumed the agony had peaked, another violent spasm proved her wrong.
