Last Chance Bride. Jillian Hart

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