Winning the Widow's Heart. Sherri ShackelfordЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Chapter Two

      The pain let up just as quickly as it had begun. Stunned by the intensity of the last contraction, Elizabeth panted. Each time she assumed the agony had peaked, another violent spasm proved her wrong.

       A hopeless sob caught in her throat. She wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, amazed at how quickly her body swung between chilling cold and suffocating heat.

       She needed help. She needed to stop blubbering and pull herself off the floor. Mostly though, she needed her mother to be alive, holding her hand and easing this devastating fear.

       Elizabeth struggled to form a plan, but her brain refused to function properly. Her thoughts flitted from subject to subject until the torturous pain demanded her undivided attention.

       Through the haze of her agitation, the rear door banged open. Surprised Mr. Elder had returned so soon, Elizabeth craned her neck to peer around the corner. She’d seen the panicky look in his eyes at her condition earlier. Once he realized the increasing gravity of the situation, he’d saddle his horse and ride away as if a pack of wolves was nipping at his heels.

       She shifted to press her palms against the floor. Her brief marriage had taught her one thing about men—they had a tendency to stay when they should go, and go when they should stay. Her arms collapsed like wet noodles beneath her weight.

       Rallying her strength, she stretched to brace her hand against the dresser. This inability to force her body to respond frightened her as much as the pending birth. She had to be stronger. After all, she didn’t need a man’s dubious help. She’d survived for months without any assistance. She’d survive another day. The eminent desertion of one Texas Ranger was the least of her worries. The weak attempt to comfort herself failed miserably.

       “Mrs. Cole,” a familiar voice shouted.

       Relief swept over Elizabeth like the first warm breeze of spring. “Jo,” she called back. Here was the help she had prayed for. “I’m in the bedroom.”

       The young McCoy daughter burst into the room with her usual boisterous energy. Her frantic gaze swept across the bed. Elizabeth waved a limp hand from her wilted position near the dresser to catch the girl’s attention. Jo’s eyes widened at the sight of her employer slumped at her feet.

       “What happened?” Jo demanded. “Did that man hurt you?” The girl knelt, whipping off her scruffy hat to reveal two long, serviceable braids. “Don’t you worry none. I locked him in the barn.”

       “Oh, dear.” Elizabeth struggled to sit up straighter. A band of steel wrapped around her abdomen like a vice. The pressure consumed her, blocking out all thoughts of the trapped Ranger. “It’s the baby,” she gasped.

       “Is that all?” Jo flashed a crooked grin. “Don’t you worry, Mrs. Cole. I told you at least a hundred times that I’ve helped my ma deliver plenty of babies. You don’t understand ’cuz you’re from back East, but most folks around these parts don’t cotton to no doctor.”

       Elizabeth bore down on the pain, clenching her jaw against the agony. Jo checked her progress, then squeezed her hand. “The baby’s dropped, Mrs. Cole, but I’m pretty sure you still have a ways to go.”

       “Are you certain?” Elizabeth choked out.

       “Pretty sure.”

       The contraction eased, releasing the aching tightness around Elizabeth’s belly. She drew in a shaky breath. “I guess we’ll have to muddle through this together for a bit.”

       “I knew there was something wrong earlier.” Jo shot her a black look. “Why didn’t you say you were hurting?”

       “I didn’t know—” Elizabeth stopped herself before she told a lie. Of course she’d realized something was wrong. Knowing Jo would sense her distress, Elizabeth had fought to hide her growing discomfort. The girl was more perceptive than most people twice her age. “I didn’t want to worry your mother. You said she wasn’t feeling well.”

       A shadow darkened Jo’s bright green eyes. At fourteen, Jo was the oldest of five children, and the only girl. Awash in a sea of males, she’d taken to dressing and acting like a boy herself. She’d been helping Elizabeth with the chores since Will’s death six months ago.

       Elizabeth trusted the girl’s ability to help until they unlocked Mr. Elder and sent him to fetch Jo’s mother. “That man you—”

       “I couldn’t go home, anyway,” Jo interrupted, her voice thick with emotion. “Pa shooed me away at the gate. There’s influenza in the house. The town’s had five deaths already. If Ma dies, I’m all Pa’s got to take care of the little ones.”

       A sound of distress caught in Elizabeth’s throat. Concern for the McCoys overshadowed her own worries. “Your family will be fine, Jo. I’m sure. Your mother is a strong woman.”

       Elizabeth wanted to offer more words of comfort, but another contraction robbed her of speech. An eternity later she gasped, “Oh, my, that hurts.”

       “I know.” Jo patted her hand. “It’s going to get worse before it gets better. Mrs. Parker hollered so loud, my ears rang for a week. ’Bout squeezed my hand off, too.”

       Horrifying images of Mrs. Parker’s suffering flooded Elizabeth’s thoughts. They were alone. With the storm raging, and the nearest farm quarantined, no help was coming. “Perhaps we could save these stories for another time?”

       “Oh, right.” Jo flicked her head in a quick nod. “What is it Ma’s always saying?” She snapped her fingers. “I remember now. She distracts ’em by talking, and telling ’em to concentrate on that beautiful baby they’re bringing into the world.”

       “That’s better.”

       “Hey, remember all those clothes we sewed this fall?”

       Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “You’re the worst seamstress in the county. I sewed all those clothes while you complained you were dying from boredom. You’d rather be out shooting game than threading a needle.”

       “See? You’re doing better already.” Jo sat back on her heels. “Now deliver this baby so we can decide what to do about that man I locked in the barn.”

       “I’m a Texas Ranger.”

       Jo gasped at the intrusion. Hands fisted, she twisted to block Elizabeth while keeping her defiant gaze fixed on the Ranger.

       Slanting a glance upward, Elizabeth found Mr. Elder filling the doorway and looking madder than a wet hen. His coat was torn at the shoulder, and an angry scratch slashed across his cheek.

      Gracious. This day just kept going from bad to worse.

       “He’s a lawman all right,” Elizabeth replied, restraining Jo with a limp hand to her forearm.

       The girl relaxed her stance. “How’d you get out of the barn?”

       “Just you never mind, missy.” He plucked a length of straw from his hair. “What’s going on in here?”

       “Are you touched in the head, Ranger?” Jo flung out a hand. “Can’t you see she’s having