Last Chance Bride. Jillian Hart

wise eyes. “Oh, you’ll be here on Monday, all right. Someone paid your rent for you.”

      What? The moon could tumble from the sky and it wouldn’t shock her as much. “Who would do such a thing? Eight dollars is a lot of money.”

      “Not to some people.” Maude turned with a rustle of homemade petticoats and marched into the small kitchen. “I was just gonna have me some refreshment. Come join me for lemonade and cookies.”

      Refreshment? Her stomach felt too troubled. “It was Jacob, wasn’t it?”

      “He told me not to tell you. He wanted to keep it a secret.”

      “Well, you didn’t try very hard, Maude.”

      “True.” The kitchen echoed with her jolly laughter. “You’re paid up for the entire month of August.”

      “That can’t be. He wouldn’t do that. He doesn’t even like me.” But he kissed me. The remembered tingle of his lips caressing hers heated her face.

      Maude set a plate of sugar cookies on the small round oak table. “A man doesn’t gotta like you in order to love you.”

      Libby stepped over to the table, the kitchen as crammed with breakable knickknacks as the front room. “I want you to refund Jacob his money.”

      “Can’t do it.” Maude grabbed a pitcher tinkling with ice. She poured two cups. “This came over from Trace’s diner. The best in town.”

      Not even the sight of the luxurious lemonade soothed the ache in her chest. “Maude, it’s simple. You find Jacob at his livery and give him his money.”

      “He won’t take it. Besides, after he gave me thirty-two dollars for this month, he and I made an arrangement. He’s giving me free care of the horse I’ve got over at his livery, and I give you free room and board. It’s a fair deal for me.”

      “You can’t do that. I won’t be obligated to him.” She’d caused him enough trouble. Thinking of the baby growing in her belly, Libby blushed.

      “Pish posh. You listen to me. This world is tough on a woman alone. If a well-off gentleman wants to help you out—with no expectations—then I would let him. A girl needs all the help she can get.”

      Not this one. Libby sank into the offered chair. “You don’t understand, Maude. I owe Jacob more than I can pay him.”

      He’d given her beautiful dreams—for as long as they lasted. She’d wasted all his time corresponding when he could have spent the time finding another woman who would be good enough for Emma. Not that Libby blamed him. Oh, no. She blamed herself for making promises she could not honor, for letting Jacob down.

      Maude’s hand covered hers. “It’s a matter you must take up with him. He and I have an arrangement I like. And he’s good to my horse. Have a cookie, now. They’re fresh from the diner, too.”

      

      Jacob secured the Baker’s palomino in his stall, trying not to remember.

      “Jacob?” Her voice. Elizabeth’s.

      He didn’t realize she wasn’t a dream until he turned. The wide front doors of the bam framed her slim shape, allowing glimpses of Main Street with its dusty boardwalk and painted shop fronts. The hot, early September wind breezed the green fabric of her plain calico dress.

      She looked beautiful to him with wisps of honey blond hair whipping around her oval face.

      She self-consciously dipped her chin. “I hope I’m not bothering you.”

      “Not at all.” He stepped forward.

      “I need to speak to you about my rent.” She tucked her lush bottom lip between her teeth, looking uncertain.

      He grabbed hold of the worn-smooth handle of his favorite pitchfork. “Seems to me your rent is a matter you should talk about with Mrs. Baker.”

      Her eyes searched his. “I know you are the one, and it has to stop. Not that I don’t appreciate it.”

      He wished so much could be different between them. “I’m glad to help out, Elizabeth. You refused my money, if you remember.”

      She remembered the heat of his mouth over hers, burning a blessed sensation straight through her belly. In the dim interior of the barn, she could see only Jacob’s shadow. She moved closer. Make him understand how important this is to her.

      The comforting scent of wood smoke and new hay filled her nose. The same scent clung to Jacob’s clothes the few times she’d been close to him.

      “I want to pay my own way, Jacob. I need to do it.”

      Jacob moved toward her with a slow, hesitant gait, gripping his pitchfork. “Maybe I need to help you.”

      “But you should be trying to find Emma a mother, not worrying over me.” Although she wanted him to.

      “Somebody has to care about you. Have you given a thought to what you will do when that baby comes?”

      He eased into the spill of sunshine through the wide stable door. He wore trousers and no shirt. Sweat glistened across the mesmerizing expanse of his muscled chest, touched by the sun.

      She had never seen such a chest. She had never seen such a man. He isn’t yours to touch, Libby. Her face hot, she dipped her chin. “I’m getting along considerably well at the boardinghouse, and I’ve found a job.”

      “Not as a seamstress,” he corrected, as if he knew all about her position serving men their meals.

      “It was the only job I could find. Mr. Oleson offered to hire me as a dancing girl in his saloon, but I had to decline. Apart from my...condition I don’t know how to dance.”

      Jacob’s rich chuckle vibrated across her skin. “I know a few dances. My mother taught me.”

      “My aunt thought dancing was sinful.” Libby fingered the soft bundle she held. “I suppose the sort of dancing in Mr. Oleson’s parlor might be considered that.”

      “The new minister in town thinks so. He’s started to picket some of those establishments.”

      “Sometimes the women joining him spill over onto Leah’s front steps and keep away the hotel’s business. It makes her furious.” Libby’s smile faded. “Will you stop giving Maude free board for her horse?”

      “No.” His eyes turned somber, pinching thoughtfully in the corners. “You need my help, Elizabeth.”

      What kind of woman did he think she was?

      “No, I don’t need you,” she said, chin lifted. “I’ve never depended on a man’s generosity, and I’m not about to do it now. I have always managed just fine on my own, no matter what you think of me.”

      Face flaming, Libby turned, the bundle in her hands forgotten as she walked as fast as she could toward the street.

      “Don’t leave. Please.” His voice echoed in the loft overhead. “Do you have a moment?”

      Libby considered his words, then stopped. She couldn’t look back at him. “I was on my way to the hotel.”

      “Let me buy you a glass of lemonade over at the diner so we can talk.”

      Talk. Libby’s stomach flipped over. Looking at him made her want him. He wasn’t hers to have. “I—I start work soon.”

      Jacob nodded, as if that suited him fine, and held up one finger indicating she should wait.

      Wait? She should hightail it out of here and put as much distance between them as humanly possible. He didn’t want her, would never love her. But she wanted him to.

      Jacob appeared from the back of the stable, now wearing a plain blue muslin shirt, open at the collar. It had been tucked hastily into his trousers and looked sadly wrinkled.