Last Chance Bride. Jillian Hart

excited crowd, past those greeting newly arrived loved ones, and walked quietly to a lone bench fronting the station. Her hopes began to wane. The blistering heat of the late August sun bore down on her, even on the partly shaded bench, and she sat baking like an egg on a frying pan.

      “There she is, Pa!”

      Libby turned toward the child’s excited voice. The spindly girl skipping across the dusty road had to be Emma. Libby’s heart twisted hard at the sight of the beautiful child. The child who could become her daughter.

      Her hand to her heart, Libby stood through the long seconds it took for the girl to dash across the street.

      “It is her! I knew it!” Emma skipped to a hoppity-stop, her twin braids bobbing too, and tipped up her face. Bright blue eyes shone like the sky overhead and her sweet smile stretched twice as wide. “You have to be Miss Hodges!”

      “Yes, I am. I’m so pleased to meet you, Emma.” Libby managed a wobbly smile. She could only stare at the little girl dressed in a crisp red calico dress. Twin brown braids pointed stiffly over her shoulders, adorned with matching red ribbon.

      “We’ve been waiting for hours for the stage to come.”

      Libby laughed, delighted. Already she adored this small girl, not more than six years old, whom she read about so hungrily in Jacob Stone’s letters. She wanted a home and. a family, but had not imagined having such a wonderful stepdaughter.

      “I saw so many interesting things on the stagecoach here,” she said now. “I saved up all the memories to tell you about.”

      “Did you see any Indian ponies?” the girl asked.

      “Yes, and even the Indians sitting on them.” Matching Emma’s smile, Libby’s mouth stretched painfully. She’d been so worried traveling so far from civilization—and feared she was making the worst mistake of her life. Anything could happen. Jacob Stone could be a drunk or a brutal man. But seeing this child reassured her. Anyone could see how well cared for she was—and what a good father Jacob Stone must be.

      “Miss Hodges?”

      The sound of a man’s voice—of his voice—sliced through her joy, making her nervous all over again. Libby turned, feeling so small and inadequate as she looked up into the gray eyes of a tall man, into eyes as deep as a winter sky. A gentleness lived there, and she knew him at once.

      “You’re Jacob.”

      He bowed his chin, and his firm mouth lifted in the corner; an attempt at a smile. Her heart thudded against her breastbone. Her knees trembled. This handsome man, so powerfully built and confident, was more than her dreams. Her gaze roamed over his wide shoulders—over nice, dependable shoulders.

      He cleared his throat. “You arrived safely, I see. Heard there was Indian trouble.”

      “Nothing serious at all.” Libby shrugged. She’d been so ill during the journey, she’d hardly noticed the danger. “I was afraid you weren’t coming.”

      The smile slid from his firm mouth. “I’m a man of honor, Miss Hodges. I said I would be here, and I am.”

      He was kind and strong and honorable. Anyone could see it. Libby’s throat filled. She had not been wrong in traveling so far. He was so much more than she expected, than she deserved.

      “I like your hat,” the girl said.

      “Thank you.” Libby murmured the words, placing a hand to the brim of her straw poke bonnet. The nervousness in her stomach eased. It was going to be all right. “Maybe I can make you a hat just like this.”

      “Could you? Please?”

      Emma clasped both hands, and Libby melted. “I’d be happy to.”

      “Emma, go with Jane. Now. She’ll take care of you while I speak with Miss Hodges alone.”

      The stern words made Libby wince.

      “But—”

      “Do as I say, now.”

      The brightness slipped right out of Emma’s blue eyes and she trotted away, glancing back wistfully before joining up with an elderly woman who waited beneath a green-striped awning. The two walked away together, young and old, and Libby watched as some emotion tugged to life inside her. The child and woman entered one of the many storefronts and disappeared inside, out of the glaring heat of the brutal sun.

      “I don’t want you making promises to my daughter.”

      “I didn’t mean to. I just thought—”

      “Emma lost her mother. I don’t intend to allow her to be hurt like that again.”

      “Of course not.” Libby stood, pulse racing and speechless. A hot breeze tugged at her skirt. She’d angered him without meaning to. Did he have a quick temper? Without the gentleness shining in his eyes, he looked formidable, almost frightening. “I would never want to hurt Emma.”

      His gaze skirted over her. “You seem sincere. You seem everything I had hoped you would be.”

      “Everything?” He hardly knew her, but surely that was a good sign. She needed a home and a husband. Her hand strayed to her stomach.

      He shrugged one powerful shoulder. “I suppose I’m leaping ahead of myself. I should fetch your bags and get you settled. You look exhausted, and we have much to discuss.”

      Libby watched, breath held, as he turned, his navy blue shirt and his black trousers casting him as if in shadow. He walked out onto the boardwalk and snatched up two lone carpet bags. “I assume these are yours?”

      “Yes.” Libby quietly followed the strong-shouldered back of Jacob Stone down the dusty street to the neatly painted hotel.

      It was going to work out. It had to.

      She’d never told a lie in her life, and she wasn’t sure if she could do it now. Guilt weighed down her step as she slipped through the glass door Jacob held open for her. Her elbow brushed his arm, and she caught a pleasant scent of wood smoke.

      Jacob Stone was a good man, polite enough to hold the door and treat her like a lady. Anyone could see it. Her stomach tightened. He didn’t deserve being deceived.

      It took her a moment to adjust to the change of light inside the hotel. Her eyes saw only momentary dimness, but she still detected the sound of men’s voices and the solid scent of tobacco. Libby followed Jacob Stone into a front lobby where a large glass window gazed pleasantly out at the dirt street.

      Could she live with a lie? Could she look this good and honorable man in the eyes—and she knew this about him from his thoughtful letters and these first few minutes in his presence—and make him live a lie too?

      “I brought you here so we could talk quietly,” he began, his voice rumbling low. He settled his large frame into a flowery wing back chair, so big and powerful he looked out of place in the dainty furniture.

      She could see him better in this soft light. Heavens, he was a handsome man. Thick jet-black hair peeked out from beneath the narrow brim of his modest hat and cascaded over a tall, square forehead. Equally dark brows arched over his cool gray eyes. His straight nose slanted down a chiseled face that had been weathered by time and sun and cold. The face of the man she wanted to marry.

      It had to work. It just had to. Libby clung to that belief, choosing a chair opposite him. The loud men’s talk rising from the bar, the ring of the bell at the front desk, and the drum of her nervous heart faded as his gray gaze snared hers.

      Time stopped and Libby saw only her future. He simply had to like her.

      “I suppose we need to get right to the point,” he began, his voice quietly controlled. “We’ve corresponded. Now we have met. Are you comfortable with the idea of marrying me?”

      “Yes.” Libby bit her lip, catching it between her teeth. It took all her willpower to keep her voice low. She feared her