Last Chance Bride by Jillian Hart

Author:Jillian Hart [Jillian Hart]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Book.Novel.eng, Status.Read, Genre.Western, Genre.Historical, Era.XIX, Area.USA.West.Montana, Locus.House, Plot.Unhappy.Past, 1st.Char.F.Heiress, 1st.Char.I.Widow(er), 1st.Char.F.Mail-Order Bride
ISBN: 9780373290048
Goodreads: 630177
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 1998-02-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

As the storm raged outside, Jacob watched Emma’s condition worsen. The fever weakened her as cough after cough raged through her lungs. He and Elizabeth took turns bathing her brow with cold water. Emma clutched her rag doll in one arm and slept fitfully.

He hauled wood from the lean-to to the hearth and filled the grate with dry split logs. The fire roared, keeping the cabin toasty warm. Elizabeth suggested bringing Emma’s bed out into the main room, closer to the fire.

He felt so helpless as he watched the girl’s fever progress, it felt good to do something with his hands. He carefully laid Emma on a blanket while Libby tended her, then he dismantled the wood-frame bed.

While he worked, he worried. He tried not to think of what could happen. It wasn’t easy. He listened to Elizabeth’s gentle humming—it gave him hope. She knew what to do with a very sick child. He had to trust, he had to believe in her.

Jacob did what he could. He set the bed up in the middle of the front room, safely from the fire but close enough to benefit from the constant, blazing heat. As he smoothed out the sheet, he watched Elizabeth. She sat on the floor, her legs drawn neatly beneath her wool skirt. Her light hair plaited into one thick braid, hung down her back to brush the floor.

She looked so delicate from behind. He could see the bumps of her spine and the vulnerable thinness of the back of her neck. He wanted to touch her there.

His heart kicked. He ought to be worrying over Emma, but he couldn’t forget the way Elizabeth felt tucked against his body, firm and supple, yet so soft. She tasted like heaven, like desire, like something he could never deserve again. His body hardened just thinking of her, and he looked away in shame.

“Is the bed ready?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ve got Emma asleep again. You can move her.”

He looked directly into Elizabeth’s soft eyes, they were almost a pale lilac. Such a gentleness lived in her. He could see it in the careful way she tended Emma, in the undemanding way she treated him.

His senses burned as he knelt beside her.

“Her fever is still rising.” Elizabeth brushed a hand across Emma’s small forehead.

“Do you know how to bring it down?”

“I can try.”

Elizabeth twisted to look up at him. His hands shook as he gathered Emma in his arms. Sniffling, the child clung to him, and he concentrated on that.

“It’s all right, little one.” He brushed her forehead with his cheek. Her fine, wispy hair clung to his unshaven whiskers.

“My throat hurts real bad,” Emma complained in the smallest voice.

“Would you like some more tea?” He gently balanced her against his chest.

Emma nodded.

She was so precious. He couldn’t bear to see her ill. As he slipped her between the clean sheets, his whole heart began to rend.

“I’ll make you something for your throat, precious,” he said with a solemn promise.

Emma’s deep blue eyes, Mary’s eyes, smiled up at him.

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