ROMANCE: MAIL ORDER BRIDE: The Other Man’s Baby (A Clean Christian Historical Western) (New Adult Inspirational Pregnancy Romance) Read Online Free Page A
a year like this, when it seemed to drain the youth and spirit from a man. All those dead, frozen cattle . . .
It was several hours later when he heard the door open and Etta entered the room. He feigned sleep, but as he heard the sound of her dress falling to the floor, followed by the soft whisper of the folds of her nightgown as she readied herself for bed, he felt his body tighten against the swell of desire that gripped him.
The mattress shifted as she got under the covers. Her presence seemed to occupy more space than her diminutive body actually took up in the bed. If they were truly married, he’d have turned over and reached for her and she’d have been willing. Instead, the distance between them was as much a barrier as if there were a wall separating them.
It was still dark when he arose the next morning. He wasn’t hungry and didn’t want company for breakfast so he left without eating, without even making coffee. Snow had fallen overnight, a thick layer of white that covered the ground and the walkways. Jack’s long legs had no trouble stepping through it and his boots kept his feet dry. Since Etta wasn’t going to be heading out anywhere, he’d leave the shoveling until he returned for lunch.
More cattle trapped and frozen by the snow. Doyle Blake had packed up his saddle and left; speculation was that he left before he was the first one to be let go since he had been the last one hired. How many of the cowboys would be left by spring, Jack wondered. And what would happen to the ones who decided to leave? Cowboys without work sometimes turned to rustling; it was a bad end but a man didn’t always measure the consequences when his pockets were empty and all he had to his name were a horse, a saddle and a gun.
He’d been young once, maybe just as reckless. Now he was settled, more or less, and he wasn’t leaving until Big Jim said he didn’t need him anymore. It would have been easier if his only woes were the weather and what it meant for his livelihood. But he had Etta. There’d be a child, not that there were signs of it yet, although he had no way of knowing; he’d never seen her except covered.
Jack cracked the ice covering the creek so that the cattle who were standing at the edge could drink. He went down the length of the stream, slamming his pick into the shelf of ice until it broke apart. The cattle moved slowly to the water, numb with cold and almost to the point where they didn’t care if they were thirsty or not. When it got this cold, it was too much effort to try to be warm. Living took energy and when that energy was sapped, life didn’t seem worth the bother.
He couldn’t sleep in the same bed with her any more. He’d sleep in the parlor. Desire had gripped him so forcefully last night that it had taken all his willpower not to turn around and touch her. That, he knew, he could not do. Whatever had happened in Oklahoma hadn’t left her, and it wasn’t just the baby that had been left inside her. She had memories, dark ones, he could tell. He didn’t know what they were and she didn’t seem willing to tell him. But he wasn’t going to add to them.
Chapter Six
Jack headed back to the cabin for lunch. He noticed that a pathway had been shoveled from the door and his first reaction was anger. She shouldn’t have done that; he’d have seen to it when he got back. He hadn’t done so because he hadn’t expected her to venture outside.
He entered the cabin and was instantly enveloped in the aroma of something cooking. Etta was at the fireplace, stirring a pot with smooth, measured strokes. She smiled at him.
He didn’t smile back. “You shouldn’t be shoveling,” he said.
Her smile faded. “I fed the chickens and brought in the eggs.”
“It would have waited for me.”
“I was here and you were gone and it’s no more than I’m used to doing,” she said.
“You could hurt yourself.”
“You mean I could hurt the baby,” she retorted. “I told
It was several hours later when he heard the door open and Etta entered the room. He feigned sleep, but as he heard the sound of her dress falling to the floor, followed by the soft whisper of the folds of her nightgown as she readied herself for bed, he felt his body tighten against the swell of desire that gripped him.
The mattress shifted as she got under the covers. Her presence seemed to occupy more space than her diminutive body actually took up in the bed. If they were truly married, he’d have turned over and reached for her and she’d have been willing. Instead, the distance between them was as much a barrier as if there were a wall separating them.
It was still dark when he arose the next morning. He wasn’t hungry and didn’t want company for breakfast so he left without eating, without even making coffee. Snow had fallen overnight, a thick layer of white that covered the ground and the walkways. Jack’s long legs had no trouble stepping through it and his boots kept his feet dry. Since Etta wasn’t going to be heading out anywhere, he’d leave the shoveling until he returned for lunch.
More cattle trapped and frozen by the snow. Doyle Blake had packed up his saddle and left; speculation was that he left before he was the first one to be let go since he had been the last one hired. How many of the cowboys would be left by spring, Jack wondered. And what would happen to the ones who decided to leave? Cowboys without work sometimes turned to rustling; it was a bad end but a man didn’t always measure the consequences when his pockets were empty and all he had to his name were a horse, a saddle and a gun.
He’d been young once, maybe just as reckless. Now he was settled, more or less, and he wasn’t leaving until Big Jim said he didn’t need him anymore. It would have been easier if his only woes were the weather and what it meant for his livelihood. But he had Etta. There’d be a child, not that there were signs of it yet, although he had no way of knowing; he’d never seen her except covered.
Jack cracked the ice covering the creek so that the cattle who were standing at the edge could drink. He went down the length of the stream, slamming his pick into the shelf of ice until it broke apart. The cattle moved slowly to the water, numb with cold and almost to the point where they didn’t care if they were thirsty or not. When it got this cold, it was too much effort to try to be warm. Living took energy and when that energy was sapped, life didn’t seem worth the bother.
He couldn’t sleep in the same bed with her any more. He’d sleep in the parlor. Desire had gripped him so forcefully last night that it had taken all his willpower not to turn around and touch her. That, he knew, he could not do. Whatever had happened in Oklahoma hadn’t left her, and it wasn’t just the baby that had been left inside her. She had memories, dark ones, he could tell. He didn’t know what they were and she didn’t seem willing to tell him. But he wasn’t going to add to them.
Chapter Six
Jack headed back to the cabin for lunch. He noticed that a pathway had been shoveled from the door and his first reaction was anger. She shouldn’t have done that; he’d have seen to it when he got back. He hadn’t done so because he hadn’t expected her to venture outside.
He entered the cabin and was instantly enveloped in the aroma of something cooking. Etta was at the fireplace, stirring a pot with smooth, measured strokes. She smiled at him.
He didn’t smile back. “You shouldn’t be shoveling,” he said.
Her smile faded. “I fed the chickens and brought in the eggs.”
“It would have waited for me.”
“I was here and you were gone and it’s no more than I’m used to doing,” she said.
“You could hurt yourself.”
“You mean I could hurt the baby,” she retorted. “I told
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