Winning the Widow's Heart. Sherri Shackelford

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СКАЧАТЬ cupid-bow mouth opened and closed in a yawn, her tongue working. Elizabeth pressed her cheek against the baby’s forehead, willing herself to be strong. Tears escaped her tightly clenched eyes, dripping down her cheeks. Frightened by her lack of control, she bit her lip. Another telling sob slipped out.

       The doorknob rattled. “You don’t sound all right.”

       A long pause followed while Elizabeth struggled to find her voice.

       The door opened a crack. “I hope you’re decent, because I’m coming in.”

       Mr. Elder swung the door wider, his gaze searching the room, his lips set in hard line.

       “What’s wrong?” he demanded.

       “Nothing.”

       Elizabeth sniffled.

       His fierce expression turned hesitant. He crossed his arms over his chest, then dropped them nervously to his sides before finally planting his burly fists on his hips. “I’ll just be going then.”

       He reached for the exit, his feet still rooted to the floor.

       She sniffled again.

       One hand clinging to the doorknob, he sighed heavily. “If nothing’s wrong, why are you crying?”

       Tears dripped onto the baby’s forehead, startling the infant. Sleepy eyes blinked open, catching Elizabeth’s gaze. She stared into their depths, caught in the dark and mysterious vortex, fascinated. It was like looking at an old soul in a new body. “My baby doesn’t have a name.”

       “Is that all? I thought something bad had happened.”

       “Well,” she huffed. “I wouldn’t expect a man to understand. A good mother would never fall asleep without seeing to her child first. I left Jo all alone with you and…and…” A fresh wave of tears spilled down her cheeks. “This poor child has been on this earth all afternoon, without a name.”

       His gaze swung between her and the baby as if he was puzzling out a great problem. “It’s not like she understands the difference.”

       “Oh, you, you…” Elizabeth fumed. “I cannot say anything nice to you, so I am not going to say anything at all.”

       She clenched her teeth to prevent a torrent of angry words, so resentful, she wanted to lash out.

       “No need to upset yourself.” Mr. Elder hovered in the doorway like a wild-eyed buck poised for flight. “It shouldn’t be too difficult to name a baby. Did you and your husband have any names picked out?”

       Elizabeth choked back another sob. The only thing Will had ever called their child was a “nuisance.” He’d ridden away the day after he’d discovered she was pregnant.

       Her blood turned to ice. What if the child found out she was unloved by her father? Unwanted? Everyone deserved to be loved. All children deserved a name.

       She cradled her daughter protectively against her chest. No one knew the truth about Will, and she’d keep it that way. Certainly plenty of people suspected her late husband of cheating at cards, and not a few had grown suspicious of his shallow, jovial smile. But no one knew his true character. He’d saved that part of himself for the people he no longer needed to impress. Like his wife.

       Elizabeth had a safe, peaceful home now, and nothing else mattered. Not even an insensitive lawman. She canted a sideways glance at the baffled Ranger.

       Mr. Elder hesitantly straddled the threshold—one foot in the room, one foot in the kitchen—as if he couldn’t quite commit to his escape.

       He pinched the bridge of his nose. “There are some beautiful names in the Bible. Rebecca, Mary. And, uh, some more I can’t think of right now.”

       The infant stretched out a single, tiny hand. Her five perfect fingers opened to the world. Love shimmered in Elizabeth’s chest. Instantly calmed, she stared in wonder, awed by this exquisite, fragile human being God had entrusted to her. This miracle of life.

       “There’s Rachel,” Mr. Elder continued. “And—”

       “Wait,” Elizabeth cut into his mumbled list. “Rachel.” She liked the way it sounded, the way the syllables rolled off her tongue. “This is my daughter, Rachel.”

       The name fit.

       Peace settled over Elizabeth like a down comforter on a cold winter’s night. “Thank you.”

       “You’re welcome.” He leaned forward to peer at the baby, still keeping his body half in, half out of the room. “You can always settle on a middle name later.”

       Her heart sank.

       His stricken gaze darted to her face. “You don’t need to make a decision now.”

       “I guess not.”

       “Okay.” He nodded. “Glad that’s settled.”

       “Don’t let me keep you,” Elizabeth muttered.

       Mr. Elder groaned. Pulling his foot into the room, he leaned one elbow on the chest of drawers, then rested his chin on his fisted hand. “What was your mother’s name?”

       Elizabeth conjured up the one hazy memory she had clung to all these years. She pictured a blond-haired woman with kind, sad eyes. For ten years Elizabeth had clung to her anger and betrayal. Why had her mother relinquished her only child to an orphanage? Why hadn’t she fought harder for Elizabeth? Perhaps it was time for forgiveness. How proud her mother would have been of her first grandchild. Right then, Elizabeth felt as if she could forgive anything. Even Will.

       “Rose,” she said. “My mother’s name was Rose.”

       “Rachel Rose.” He smiled, his teeth even and white against rugged, wind-chapped skin. “That sounds like the perfect name for a little girl.” He turned on his heel to leave, then paused. “Are you hungry?”

       Her stomach rumbled. In all the confusion she hadn’t eaten all day. “Starving.”

       He chuckled, threading his fingers through his dark wavy hair, ruffling the neatly cut strands.

       A sense of foreboding wiped the half grin from her lips. She’d never again trust a man who spent more time at the barber than he did with his own family. She’d learned that lesson the hard way with Will.

       The Ranger smoothed his hair back into place. “I thought you’d be hungry. I’ll fix you a plate.”

       “I’ll help you.” Scooting her legs to the side of the bed, she winced as her tender muscles screamed in protest.

       “Don’t get up,” he admonished. “I’ll bring supper to you.”

       His casual declaration kept her frozen for a long moment. Her eyes narrowed on his face. Was he sincere? Save for a hint of beard shadowing his jaw, Mr. Elder appeared as fresh and crisp as a spring crocus. He wore his dark gray shirt tucked into his trousers, his leather vest neatly buttoned, the gun holster conspicuously absent. Before she could protest, he ducked СКАЧАТЬ