Winning the Widow's Heart. Sherri Shackelford

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СКАЧАТЬ me, you’ll see that my baby is raised by a real family. Don’t let my child grow up in an orphanage.”

       He blanched. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “You’re going to be fine, Mrs. Cole.”

       “Prom—”

       The Ranger held up his free hand to quiet her protests. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

       Jo scowled. “Never mind him. My ma can take the baby.”

       Elizabeth shook her head. Mrs. McCoy worked harder than ten men combined. She ran her household on a budget barely fit for a pauper. Heaven knew the overtaxed woman didn’t need an additional burden. Not to mention the time and cost of rearing another child.

       “JoBeth McCoy,” Elizabeth scolded, “your mother has enough to worry about with five children at home. She doesn’t need another mouth to feed.”

       Jo ducked her head, silently acknowledging the truth. Another violent cramp hardened Elizabeth’s belly. She panted, clutching the Ranger’s hand.

       When the contraction eased, Mr. Elder refused to meet her pleading gaze.

       She was pushing him, a stranger, to make a difficult promise. Even if he agreed, she would never know whether or not he had fulfilled his pledge. Despite the uncertainty, she needed him to say the words. She needed to clutch a glimmer of hope for her baby’s future.

       She wanted a better life for her child. “Promise me.”

       Jack turned. His hazel eyes shined in the dim light. “I promise.”

       His assurance released the floodgates of her emotions. She sobbed through another searing contraction, the most powerful yet. Black dots collected at the edges of her vision, growing larger. The room clouded. Voices came to her from a great distance, as if she were tumbling down a well. Down, down, down to a place where there was no pain, no loss, just darkness.

       “Please, God,” she whispered. “Save my baby.”

      * * *

       Cold panic tore at Jack’s insides. “Wake up, Elizabeth,” he ordered.

       He clasped her chin in his hand, humbled by the fragile bones. She was so delicate, so young to be facing this pain. Beneath his touch, her head rolled limply to one side. Her glazed eyes slowly cleared. His heart soared as dawning recognition focused her attention. She was still too pale, but a faint blush of color had infused the apples of her cheeks.

       She drew in a breath, her shoulders rising and falling with the effort. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her pale blue eyes had lost their luster.

       “I can’t do this,” she sobbed.

       “You’re doing real good. It’s almost over.”

       He said the words out loud, though he didn’t fully believe them in his heart. There were no certainties for anyone. With only the two of them to assist her, if something went wrong, they were lost.

       Alarmed to find his heart beating like a stampeding bull, he pressed the widow’s hand to his chest, sharing his strength. His emotional reaction startled him. He’d paced the floor with his brothers, but not a one of his sister-in-laws’ births had affected him this way.

       Jack squared his shoulders. He was immune to suffering. He’d seen plenty of people die, men and women both. He’d buried children, marking their graves with rough wooden crosses or crude piles of stones. Nothing moved him anymore.

       A shrill cry shocked him from his stupor. He swiped at his forehead with the back of his hand. He’d never felt so helpless. He was sweating as much as the widow now. All the comforting words he’d spoken to his brothers while their wives were in labor came back to haunt him. He blinked the perspiration from his eyes. What a bunch of inadequate nonsense.

       Humiliated to be at the mercy of a prickly girl who couldn’t be more than fourteen, he gave Jo a pleading look.

       She met his gaze, her face revealing nothing. “The baby’s head is crowning. I’ll need a pan of water and some fresh linens.”

       He hesitated to leave the women alone.

       “Sometime today, Ranger!”

       Jack stumbled to his feet, clumsy and out of his element. He rushed to gather the supplies, grateful for something to do besides worry.

       He fled to the kitchen and gingerly tossed the contents of a sturdy creamware bowl out the back door. His fellow Rangers often chided him on his cool, collected demeanor, saying icicles ran through his veins instead of blood. They’d eat their words to see him now. Returning to the sink, he pumped the lever arm to prime the well, his hands stiff and uncoordinated.

       After filling the bowl, he pawed through his saddle bags, searching for the whiskey. Fear strummed through his body with each of Elizabeth’s jagged cries. He yanked a handful of linens from the side cupboard, sending the rest of the neat stack tumbling to the floor. His arms full, he returned to the bedroom, then knelt beside the perspiring widow.

       Jo glanced up. “Scoot in behind her and help her brace when she pushes. This baby’s a might stubborn.”

       Beseeching him with her eyes, Elizabeth jerked her head in a nod. Her silent plea humbled him. She looked on him as if he might actually soothe her pain—as if he was something more than a giant lump of useless male. For a moment, he wanted to be everything she needed.

       Jack snorted softly to himself.

       Who was he fooling? He was about as much use in this situation as a handbrake on a canoe. He rubbed his damp palms against his pants’ legs, wishing he’d never followed those bank robbers out of Texas. Wishing he’d stayed in town. Wishing that potbellied sheriff had directed him anywhere but here. Even as the traitorous thoughts filled his brain, he helped Elizabeth sit up, his work-roughened hand dwarfing her slim shoulder. He slid one leg behind her back, bracing his boot against the dresser as he hunkered down.

       The pungent smell of alcohol stung his nostrils. Jo rubbed the whiskey on her hands, then wiped them clean with a dry cloth. The girl’s fingers trembled, but she managed a wobbly smile. “When the next pain comes, I want you to push as hard as you can.”

       For a moment Jack didn’t know who was more frightened—the widow, the kid or him. Like a battalion of warriors mustering for war, the three of them nodded in unison.

       Elizabeth clasped his hand in a now-familiar gesture. He cradled her against his chest, willing his strength to infuse her exhausted body. Her blond hair had tumbled loose from its bun, catching on his coat buttons. He carefully untangled the strands, then brushed the silky locks aside.

       “You know how to pray, Ranger?” Jo asked.

       This time he didn’t hesitate. “Dear Lord, if you’re looking down on us, now would be a good time for some help.”

       “Amen,” JoBeth murmured.

       Elizabeth’s body stiffened.

       “You’re almost there,” he soothed. “You can do this, Elizabeth. You’re almost done.”

       Curling forward, she squeezed СКАЧАТЬ