Romancing the Widow by Davalynn Spencer

Author:Davalynn Spencer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-08-31T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Hot tears clogged Martha’s throat. So much for the gallant Mr. Jacobs. He was convinced Tad Overton was a horse thief and no doubt planned to shoot him down in the street the first chance he got.

How dare she give a gunman a second glance—lawman or not. She should have known better.

She burst through the kitchen door, dropped the satchel on the table and hurried through to the dining room, away from curious eyes. With no place to hide in her humiliation, she stepped inside the adjacent study, closed the door and leaned against it.

A man’s study. The smell of leather and oiled wood filled the room, shooting fine pinpricks against her already aching sensibilities. She locked the door and turned the large desk chair to face the window overlooking distant bluffs and green pastures. Dropping onto the worn leather seat with a hiccup, she let the tears slip down her face unchecked.

Betrayal crawled in and curled up next to her heart.

She didn’t cry for Tad. Her childish infatuation with him had dissolved years ago when she fell in love with Joseph. She didn’t even cry for Joseph. He was with the God he loved, as her mother had said. The God she loved. But sometimes the Lord felt so distant, so in cahoots with every other man in her life, like her father who had turned Haskell Jacobs onto Tad’s trail.

A few tears, she admitted, were for the tall ranger. What a fool she’d been to think something might grow between them.

She sniffed and wrapped her arms around her middle. She cried for herself, fully aware of pity’s suffocating grip. Fishing in her skirt pocket for a hankie and finding none, she wiped her eyes with her sleeve, pulled up her petticoat hem and blew her nose. Her mother would have been appalled.

All she wanted was a loving marriage like her parents had. And children. Fresh tears burned and she coughed against the tightening in her chest.

At a knock on the door she flinched and her shoulder tightened with a sharp stab.

“Marti?”

Livvy. “Yes?” She cringed at the soggy edge to her voice.

“Are you all right?”

No, she was not all right. “Yes. I’m fine.” The break in the last word ruined her prospects for taking up lying as a profession.

The doorknob rattled, then lay still in its place. “May I come in?”

Martha pulled her petticoat up again and pressed it to her face. Livvy was asking to come into a room in her own house. Humiliation flared. “Just a moment.”

Taking a deep breath, she stood and smoothed her skirts. At the door, she turned the key and stepped back. Martha stiffened at Livvy’s worried expression. They were so close in age, yet so far apart in wisdom and experience.

“Of course you may come in. This is your home. I apologize for locking the door.”

Livvy stepped inside, shut the door and pulled Martha into her arms. The gesture drained every drop of resolve from Martha’s body.

Groping inwardly for composure, she pulled away and held her sleeve against her eyes.

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