Jillian Hart (34 page)

"No more tea." Lissa gritted her teeth. "Besides, it tastes terrible."

"It will help with the pain." Sophie sat down beside her. "You look pretty tired."

"I'm ready for this to be over." The contraction ended. Lissa leaned back into the pillows. "Something is wrong with the baby."

"Doc and I are doing all we can."

Another clamp of pain gripped her. Lissa lost her breath, sat up into her friend's arms, gritted her teeth. Sweat sluiced down her face. "I can't go on like this."

"It won't be much longer now. Here, drink up."

The contraction released, only to wash over her again. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't bear it.

"Sophie." Doc looked up from the foot of the bed. "Get down here. We have a problem."

Lissa felt dizzy with pain, felt the weight of exhaustion. Sharp, hard contractions left her helpless. What was the problem? What was the doctor saying to Sophie?

She felt the wetness, felt the tearing pain. She was bleeding. She didn't even have to ask. What did it mean? What about the baby? Was he going to die? The thought of losing Jack's baby rent her in two, left her weak, left her crying.

Sophie took her hand. "We need you to push, Lissa."

"I don't think I can."

"You have to." Sympathy burned in those dark eyes. "The cord is around the baby's neck, and I can't loosen it."

Lissa pushed. Pain ripped through her, unnatural and like nothing she'd known before. She felt her own blood pool beneath her, felt her heart dying a bit.

Sophie took her hand and held on tight. She didn't have to question her friend to know the truth, to know what both Sophie and the doctor feared.

The baby might already be dead.

Jack heard the clang of the outer door, then the drum of footsteps. Glass
dunked,
then light licked along the floor, coming closer. He wondered if Palmer had given up his promise to hang him in the morning, and wanted to do it now, in the dark of night, when no one could stop him.

The sheriff stepped into sight, the swinging lantern flickering orange flames. Jack's chest tightened. It looked as if he'd run out of time.

"Jack." Jeremiah Buchman's voice rose in the darkness. There in the shadows the tall man emerged, behind Palmer. "Lissa's in labor."

"Labor?" Alarm buzzed down his spine. Fear settled into a cold ball in his guts. "It's too early. She's—"

"Having a hard time." Jeremiah stepped into the light, his long face grim. "Sophie and Doc are both with her. There is a problem. Lissa is losing a lot of blood."

"Will she be all right?"

"There's no telling. She's losing strength fast. "Jeremiah bowed his chin. "Open the door, Palmer."

Palmer's face was bowed, too. His voice, when he spoke, was strained. "You understand this is just for the night."

"I understand." Jeremiah shrugged. "Sometimes being mayor pays off. And being friends of a mayor does, too."

"I don't like it," Palmer growled low, over the sound of keys clanging in the lock. "My deputy and I are staying close. You try to run, and we'll do whatever it takes to stop you."

"You get to be with Lissa, Jack. "Jeremiah tugged open the barred door. "She's asking for you."

"I could lose her." The knowledge left him cold, numb, and unable to move. His anger and his worries died with the thought of Lissa's suffering. "Is she home?"

"She's at our house." Jeremiah stepped aside. "Come with me. Palmer, this is decent of you."

The big sheriff said nothing. His head remained bowed, and his tipped hat brim covered his shadowed face. He said nothing as Jack walked away, out into the world with fears as dark as the night.

"She's been in labor since early afternoon." Jeremiah spoke over the crunch of their footsteps in the frozen snow, despite the bitterness of the winter air. "Blanche is worried we will lose her."

Jack's heart felt as brittle as the ice at their feet. The Buchmans' house shone in the darkness, every room lit, a cozy sight on such a frigid night.

"I hope we're in time." Jeremiah's hand paused on the doorknob. "I just want you to be prepared, Jack. The news may not be good."

"I'm prepared." He felt pain so deep it froze him, dark as the night, bitter as the wind. They stepped into a silent house, so silent that a clock's tick could be heard two rooms away. Fire snapped and crackled in the hearth and wood popped in the belly of the kitchen stove, but that was all.

Jack knew without asking, was afraid to ask. Just like that, a man could lose everything—everything that mattered to him. He thought of John Murray, the man he'd inadvertently replaced, who had lost a wife and child. Thought of Ike Palmer, who had lost a wife and baby. Thought of Lissa, who had buried a husband and two sons. How did they go on living? Jack didn't know if he could take another breath.

"Jack." Low and solemn, Sophie's voice whispered in the upper shadows of the stairwell.

His heart broke—one piece at a time, a slow, horrible rending that left him unable to move. He heard the soft squeak of a board on the stair, heard the faintest brush of her moccasins against wood.

"Do you want to meet your son?" She stepped into view, cradling a tiny bundle in both arms.

"Lissa?" He choked. Tears stung his eyes.

"She's resting." Sophie laid the baby in his arms—so light, it could have been nothing but the blanket "He's small, but that's to be expected. He's a strong baby. I think he just might make it. I'm giving Lissa plenty of rush skeletonweed and baneberry tea. It will bring strength to them both."

"Thank you, Sophie." Overcome, he was afraid to move, afraid to break the magic, afraid to believe that Lissa was truly fine.

"Take a look at your son. He's a handsome boy." Sophie lifted the corner of the blanket, revealing a tightly scrunched face, round and sleepy.

Lissa's nose. His chin. He stared in amazement at the baby, their son. Tears wedged in his throat, filled his eyes at a love so strong it overwhelmed him, so enormous there was no end.

"He's had quite a hard time of things so far, with just coming into the world. He's tired like his mother, but he is perfect." Like song, Sophie's voice tugged at his heart, made it safe to believe again. "Come upstairs and see your wife."

"Are you sure she's fine?"

"As sure as I can be." Sophie smiled, leading the way up the stairs and into the second story. "She's sleeping, too, which is good. She needs to heal and gather her strength. Being a new mother isn't easy."

A door creaked open. A single lamp had been turned low, brushing the bed, caressing the sweet face of his wife. She looked so peaceful, but he saw at once how pale she was, how exhaustion bruised her skin.

A fire crackled in the hearth, keeping the room warm. Jack sat down in the chair by the bed, hating to disturb the woman who had given him the greatest of gifts, the finest life he'd ever known.

Lissa stirred. Her eyes flickered open, and her smile shimmered with joy. "Jeremiah said he was going to try to get you out of jail."

"He forced Palmer into letting me go. Of course, there are two armed men stationed at both doors, but I'm not going anywhere."

"You'd better not." She lifted up on one elbow, her hair of gold framing her face, glinting in the low light. "What do you think of your son?"

"I think he's mighty fine." Pride made his voice thick. "You did good, Lissa."

"I'm so glad he's able to breathe." Her voice sounded thick with tears, too, and weak, so very weak. "He didn't make a sound right away after he was born. But then he let out a tiny little cry. He's going to be fine."

"I know he is." Jack leaned forward, brushed her brow with a kiss. How tired she looked, how beautiful. His heart might be breaking, but he didn't want it to show—not now, not during their last time together. "Palmer's going to haul me back to jail soon, but I want you to know something."

"What?"

"Living with you and having the privilege of loving you has been the sweetest thing I have ever known."

Tears sparkled in her eyes, but the love for him, the love they had together, shone through. "You have made me a stronger person, Jack, just from knowing you. And you've given me another son."

She brushed her hand along the side of the baby's face, his eyes scrunched tight against the light "What are we going to name someone so precious?"

"Joseph." His throat filled. "Joey. I would like to name him Joey."

Palmer sat in the dark room. An opened bottle of whiskey scented the air, growing warmer from the fire in the stove. Flames crackled and popped, and an occasional wind gust rattled the door and released a puff of smoke. Otherwise, the night was quiet.

Three more hours until dawn, when he had decided to hang Jack Emerson. Palmer thought of that remembered the look of grief on Jack Emerson's face when he thought he could lose Lissa to childbirth. Memories he didn't want washed over him, hard and sharp, more painful than any wound. Stella had died in his arms, crying in agony. Doc hadn't been at
her
side. Sophie hadn't been crushing
her
herbs. The mayor hadn't been arguing on
his
behalf.

Hanging Emerson was right. It solved a dozen problems, and it gave Palmer a new chance. Maybe that was what he needed—a new town, a more satisfying job, money to buy whatever he needed. Money would protect him. It could have convinced Doc to stay in town in case Stella needed him. It could have bought a finer home, a better life for the son who never lived.

Bitterness filled the empty chambers of his heart, the dark emptiness of his soul. He'd heard Lissa lived. Of course she had. She might not be rich, but she had the biggest spread in the county. She had assets, and that had guaranteed a doctor at her side.

Palmer took another drink, hating the man he'd become. He'd lost his hope, his heart, and his humanity. Now all he wanted was the oblivion a good bottle of whiskey could give him—and revenge. How he wanted revenge.

He would hang Jack Emerson two hours early, before his wife, the great mayor Jeremiah Buchman, or any other Good Samaritan could stop him. It would be just the dawn, a few of his friends, and Jack Emerson hanging from a noose.

Lissa laid Joey down to rest in the cradle Blanche had brought down from her attic, dusted, and cleaned. The baby was very tiny, but he carried Jack's blood in his veins. He was strong. He would live. She knew it in her heart.

"Chad wants to see his new brother." Blanche stood in the threshold, growing round with her pregnancy, a little blond boy at her side. "Can he come in?"

"Chad." Lissa held out her arms and her son dashed across the room. He tumbled against her.

"You didn't tuck me in last night. Mr. Buchman said you couldn't come because of the baby."

"Tonight I will read to you. That's a promise." Lissa brushed the locks from his forehead and kissed his brow. "Come meet Joey."

Solemn, Chad's hand slid into hers. He peered over the top of the cradle, his face seriously studying the baby asleep beneath the blankets. "That's my brother?"

"That's him." Lissa took hold of Joey's tiny clenched fist. "You're a big brother, now. That's something special."

"I know." Chad nodded, his shoulders set, his spine straight, his posture just like Jack's. "Joey, I'll let you play with my dog when we get home. And when you're bigger, I'm gonna teach you to ride."

Lissa's throat filled. The first light of dawn beckoned at the windows, peach and gold, the colors of a new day.

Their baby was safely born. Now she would find a way to save Jack, just the way he had always saved her. It was only six o'clock. She had two hours—two hours to ask Jeremiah and the ranch hands to help her with a plan.

Jack saw the light change from gray to peach, felt the morning come with the reverence of nature—birds sang, a rooster crowed, a wind whispered along the frozen ground, all announcing the new day.

He hadn't slept since leaving Lissa's side. He sat in the darkness. His life before knowing her was patchy, but what he remembered was bleak—a small house, lonely and silent. His days always ended in that house, in the quiet, so lonely he hurt.

She had given him everything he'd ever dreamed of, ever wished for: The beauty of a woman's love, the honor of being a father, a rare happiness found in precious moments—really just normal moments made up from the sight of Lissa's smile over the supper table, or reading his son asleep, or picking berries in the rain. Those moments made up the pieces of a man's life, made it whole.

"Ready to hang?" Palmer strode into sight his stride cocky, his grin triumphant. Why didn't that surprise Jack?

"You know I have a right to a trial."

"Too bad life is unfair." Palmer slid the key in the lock. "Of course, you'll be dead before anyone will know."

The door swung free. "And lucky me. I have the honor of placing the noose around your neck."

"How are you going to silence the livery owner? How are you going to keep Will quiet? Those men know the truth."

Palmer shrugged. "Threats have worked with the stable man. And accidents happen all the time on a ranch. Will should remember that."

The morning sun stung his eyes as Jack stepped out into the street. The scaffold smelled of new lumber and rose up against the east horizon, silhouetted by peach and gold.

There was no one out so early in the morning. Only Anders, Hubbard, Lambert, and a few of the men who had threatened him now strolled out of businesses and saloons. Palmer tugged him up onto the floor of the scaffold.

He thought of Lissa, thought of all he had wanted to do for the boys. Hunting and fishing, and sending them to college—these were the dreams he'd nurtured. Now, he would not have a hand in his sons' lives, or their futures.

Palmer drew down the noose. "I want you to see we spared no expense in building this scaffold. We wanted to do a good job, one we could be proud of."

Jack said nothing. He would not spend the last moments of his life arguing with a murderer. Palmer pulled the hemp over Jack's head. The rope was rough and scratched his face, bit into his neck.

"Tight enough, Emerson?"