Last Chance Bride. Jillian Hart

down the front steps, holding her skirts out of the way as she raced blindly around the house. A second twist of nausea roiled in her belly, and she tasted the acidic burn of bile.

      She would not leave a mess in the yard.

      The outhouse was a tidy, sturdy building just behind the cabin. Libby raced past the elderly woman’s surprised face, and flung open the privy’s simple door. She fell to her knees on the clean floorboards and leaned over the carved hole.

      The contents of her stomach hurled violently up her throat, and Libby didn’t hold back her hot tears or her choking sobs. After three violent retches, her stomach was empty.

      Exhausted and hopeless, Libby leaned against the wall and buried her face in her hands. There was no blaming this on travel sickness. She was pregnant.

      

      “Are you all right, dear?”

      Libby raised her face from her hands and turned to gaze up at the spry, time-weathered woman. A gentle understanding shone in Jane’s eyes.

      “I will be fine,” Libby insisted, firming her chin. She climbed to her feet and dusted off her skirt.

      “I only hope it wasn’t my cookin’,” Jane said lightly, although no humor shone in her eyes. “My Albert always used to say my cookin’ could rot a man’s gut.”

      “No, it wasn’t your cooking, trust me.” Libby summoned up a polite smile.

      “I see.” Sober eyes looked up into her own. “Well, now, Jacob’s here. I suppose you’ll be wantin’ to talk to him. Emma, come with me into the house and show me that new doll of yours.”

      As the woman and small girl ambled off, Libby could feel the weight of Jacob’s gaze. The pain of what she had just lost speared through her like an Indian’s arrowhead. This couldn’t be happening.

      He said nothing, and the silence stood between them as the weight of the night began to drain the webby light from the sky.

      “I thought you said you weren’t sure.”

      Holding the pieces of her heart, she managed an answer. “I wasn’t.”

      The wind tugged at her skirts. An owl hooted from the high boughs of a nearby pine.

      Pregnant. Jacob fisted his hands, wanting to will the truth away. He studied her pale face. His gaze swept downward. Her stomach looked so flat. She looked so fragile.

      He glanced up to read the pain in her eyes and saw the broken pieces of her heart. He twisted away, marching out toward the stable, then stopped. Frustrated. Angry. He didn’t know what to do. “You lied to me. You came here tonight knowing your condition.”

      “No, I wouldn’t do that to you. To Emma.”

      “You had to know. Were you going to use me? Did you accept my offer to cover your own mistakes? To come here and pretend the bastard was mine?”

      “Not exactly. I wasn’t sure—”

      Anger flashed through him. “I’m not about to let you use me. Or Emma. She’s the reason you are here in the first place.”

      “I never meant—”

      “She needs a mother, not a lying woman of questionable reputation.” Jacob closed his eyes. It wasn’t fair. He was angry with himself. Angry for agreeing to find a mother for Emma. Angry for thinking such a plan would ever work.

      “I’m sorry.” The words squeaked, broken by emotion. He looked at Elizabeth. He remembered the look of affection on her pretty oval face when she’d shown him the rag doll, remembered the way she’d almost brushed the curls from Emma’s eyes, and her loving manner as she joked with the girl.

      Damn it. The loss was Emma’s. Elizabeth would have been the right mother. If only she hadn’t... He didn’t know what she’d done. If she was an innocent forced or went willingly with a lover. He didn’t know anything about the woman except she was going to break his little girl’s heart.

      Damn her for doing this to Emma.

      Elizabeth surprised him by bursting into tears and without another word, she simply walked away.

      He watched her go.

      “Where’s Miss Hodges?” Emma tugged at his shirtsleeve. Dust cast a blue-gray light over the world and shadowed her button face. “Is she all right? Jane is afraid her cooking made her sick.”

      “Miss Hodges left.” An odd roaring echoed in his head.

      “If she’s feelin’ better tomorrow, maybe she can come have some of that pie we made.” Emma’s face wrinkled with worry. “You like Miss Hodges, don’t you, Pa?”

      Hope and adoration lit his daughter’s face. How did he disappoint her? Damn it, how could Elizabeth Hodges disappoint her? Jacob felt ready to explode. He forced the breath from his lungs in a long hiss. “No, Emma, I don’t like Miss Hodges.”

      “You don’t?”

      Jacob forced the hot rage from his chest. “No. She’s not going to stay. We’ll have to go about finding you another mother.”

      “But she made me a doll!” Pain rang high in the girl’s voice.

      “I know she did. But it’s not your decision.” Night was falling, in his heart and in the forest. “Go inside and finish your meal. Jane will put you to bed.”

      The girl knew better than to cry. It wouldn’t get her what she wanted. Emma hung her head, a single sob escaping as she dashed toward the cabin.

      Disappointment battered him. He couldn’t change Elizabeth’s situation. He couldn’t allow her to be Emma’s mother.

      Relief slid through his chest, and Jacob sat down on the front stone steps. Truth be told, he was glad. He didn’t want another woman in his house to remind him of Mary. He didn’t want the sweet scent of a woman, her touches of softness and care anywhere in his life.

      The coming night fell silently, and Jacob didn’t move. He watched the skies darken, stealing the last bit of light from the day. Owls screeched, bugs chirruped and bats circled harmlessly overhead, but nothing could penetrate the sadness in his heart.

      For a moment, he let himself remember the dark, souldevouring despair that consumed him after Mary died in childbirth. He could not risk going through that again.

      Chapter Four

      

      

      Her heart empty, Libby stepped to the window and gazed out on the main street below. Even this early in the morning, the thriving town, perched on the side of a rugged mountain, buzzed with activity. The sawmill upriver whined, wagons rattled, busy voices rose from the boardwalk below.

      She’d learned from the other passengers on the stagecoach yesterday that Cedar Rock was a boomtown. Men came from all parts of the country to work the gold mines or prospect on their own. Montana Territory was filled with stories of men striking it rich on gold and quartz and silver.

      There had to be something for her here, Libby reasoned. She did not have the money to return home, if she could call Omaha home. Perhaps she could make her own opportunities, just as she had always done before. She could cook and sew. Libby had never been afraid of hard work.

      It wasn’t the end of the world, although it felt like it. There was no going back. She had her chance—and lost it. Now she would do what she must.

      With trembling hands, Libby tugged her reticule from its place in the bureau drawer and sorted through its contents. Her fingers brushed upon the smooth, heavy parchment folded in neat, even creases. Her hands shook, rattling the paper, as she unfolded the outmost letter.

      “Dear Elizabeth,” she read. “I am pleased you have agreed to come visit and see if a marriage between us will work. Emma