In the care of the lawman
When Texas Ranger Jack Elder stormed the isolated Kansas homestead, he expected to find a band of outlaws. Instead, the only occupant is a heavily pregnant woman—and she’s just gone in to labor. A loner uneasy with emotion, Jack helps deliver widow Elizabeth Cole’s baby girl and can’t get back on the trail fast enough. The robber and murderer he’s after killed one of Jack’s own, and he vows to catch the man. But when he returns to check on Elizabeth and her little one, he discovers that she may hold the key to his unsettled past—and his hoped-for future.
Rare longings for a home of his own surprised Jack with their intensity.
He didn’t want a family, a permanent place to live. He was content with his work, satisfied with his contribution to society. But the widow had him picturing a life where he returned home every night to enjoy a hearty meal before a roaring fire. A home where he watched his own children grow.
He’d chosen his given profession for a reason. He didn’t want to be tied to the family ranch like his brothers, buried beneath the uncertainty of droughts and blight. He controlled his own destiny. And right now he controlled the destiny of an innocent man. If he forgot that, he surrendered his honor.
Elizabeth and her daughter had unleashed his protective instincts, that’s all. He’d quiet these disturbing yearnings for home and hearth once he found proof that Elizabeth’s husband had been involved with the outlaws. There was something here. He just knew it.
He’d steeled himself from the crushing loneliness of life on the trail before, and he’d harden his feelings once again.
SHERRI SHACKELFORD
A wife and mother of three, Sherri Shackelford says her hobbies include collecting mismatched socks, discovering new ways to avoid cleaning, and standing in the middle of the room while thinking, “Why did I just come in here?” A reformed pessimist and recent hopeful romantic, Sherri has a passion for writing. Her books are fun and fast paced, with plenty of heart and soul. She enjoys hearing from readers at [email protected], or visit her website at sherrishackelford.com.
Winning the Widow’s Heart
Sherri Shackelford
God setteth the solitary in families:
he bringeth out those which are bound with chains: but the rebellious dwell in a dry land.
—Psalms 68:6
To Mothers:
To Rita Rounds Shackelford, for the beautiful soul
I never had a chance to meet, for all the extraordinary books she never had a chance to write. Thank you for giving me the most precious gift of all: my husband, Todd. Your generous spirit shines through your children.
To Bonnie Preble, for always believing in me,
even when I didn’t believe in myself.
To the three greatest characters ever conceived:
Jocelyn, Shawn and Noah
Contents
Chapter One
Outside Cimarron Springs, Kansas, 1870s
A shrill scream from inside the homestead split the frosty air.
Jack Elder flattened his back against the cabin’s rough-hewn logs, his Smith & Wesson drawn. Icy fear twisted in his gut. He couldn’t think about the woman inside, couldn’t let himself imagine what had ripped that tortured sound from her.
Head cocked to one side, he strained to hear voices over the howling wind. How many men were inside? Was Bud Shaw one of them?
Dense clouds draped the afternoon in an unnatural twilight. Fat, heavy snowflakes sheeted from the sky, pillowing in heaps on the frozen ground. Jack nudged the deepening slush with his boot. No footsteps showed in the fresh covering. No animal prints, either.
The glass-paned windows had been covered with oilcloth to keep out the cold air and curious eyes. He cautiously edged toward the rear of the house, his shoulders hunched. A sharp gust of wind sucked the breath from his lungs. He stretched one hand around the corner, relieved to feel the raised surface of a door latch.
Another harsh shout mingled with the raging blizzard. The desperate cry hardened his resolve. He didn’t care how many men were inside—he couldn’t let that woman suffer any more.
Mustering his fortitude, he whipped around to face the door and kicked. Hard. Wood splintered. A gust of warm air scented with fresh-baked bread knocked back his hat. He lunged inside, his pistol arm leveled. A woman’s startled blue eyes met his shocked gaze over the silver barrel of her Colt .45.
Jack froze.
The lady standing before him was young, and nearly as round as she was tall. Her pale hair clung damply to her forehead, and a shapeless gingham dress in drab hues swathed her from head to toe. She kept her body partially obscured behind a tall chair, as if the flimsy wood might somehow repel a lead bullet.
Her hands shaking, the woman wrestled back the gun’s hammer. “Take one more step and I’ll blow your head off, mister.”
Jack thought he’d planned for everything, but staring down the barrel of a quivering Colt .45 was proving him woefully wrong. An armed woman hadn’t been on his list of contingencies.
Carefully pointing his own weapon at the ceiling, he