Chapter 7
Knowing this would probably be Neill’s last day and wanting desperately to give him something in return for all the kindness he’d given her, Clara had offered to do his washing. Of course, he’d only agreed on the condition that she let him set up the tub and tote the water, as if she hadn’t been doing such chores throughout her pregnancy. Sweet, stubborn man.
His clothing now flapped in the breeze from her drying line. Three shirts, a pair of trousers . . . and a handkerchief that wasn’t really his. Clara reached into her apron pocket and fingered the handkerchief she’d found in his pocket. She’d pilfered it, replacing it with one of Matthew’s—an identical white cotton square. Neill would never notice. Or care.
But she cared. She pulled it from her apron pocket and lifted it to her nose, breathing deeply. It carried his scent. Not strong, but just enough to help her recall how it had felt to pillow her head against his chest. His shirt open at the neck, exposing the warmth of his skin. His strong arms supporting her as if she weighed nothing. The tender way he’d stroked her, and the tremble in his fingers when he felt the baby move inside her.
She had never felt more cherished in her life. In those few precious minutes with Neill she’d found everything her heart secretly longed for. Everything she knew she couldn’t have. Neill deserved a woman who would come to him untouched, not one carrying another man’s child. A woman who would bring him honor among his brothers and friends, not one people would scorn because of her Comanche blood. A woman who could bring him laughter and joy, not one who added to his burdens with the magnitude of her troubles. Even if he were crazy enough to offer her his protection and his name, she’d not take advantage of his compassionate nature. She esteemed him too highly to steal his chance at true happiness.
So she’d settled for stealing his handkerchief instead and would live off the memories of one perfect moment in time when a good man had cared for her.
Stuffing the handkerchief back into her apron pocket, she banished her melancholy thoughts and got back to work. Biscuits wouldn’t bake themselves. Clara jammed her hands into the flour-lined bowl and gently kneaded the soft dough until it reached the perfect consistency. Neill deserved the finest meal she could wrangle, and she aimed to give—
A warm gush of wetness between her legs cut off all thought.
No. Her dough-covered hands clutched at her stomach. Not now, little one. Not now. I’m not ready.
This couldn’t be happening. She hadn’t even felt any contractions. Clara massaged her abdomen as if she could somehow hold the baby inside. But a second smaller gush mocked her efforts.
Think, Clara. Think.
The midwife she’d consulted had told her that first babies took a long time to birth. Hours. So she had some time. Clara drew in a pair of deep breaths, willing the panic away. The midwife had also told her that many women found the birthing easier if they stayed active until the pains grew too intense to stay on their feet. That shouldn’t be too hard. Her pains hadn’t even started yet. She could finish dinner, feed Neill, then send him out to the barn early so she could retire. He knew how tired she’d been that morning. He’d not argue.
She’d have to close her window. It wouldn’t do for him to hear any cries that managed to escape her lips. She’d always planned to have this baby alone. Ever since Mack made it clear he wanted her child. He could easily pay off the midwife, the doctor, anyone in the area who might help her. Not only would they tell him about the birth, but for a big enough bribe, they might be induced to take her baby from her while she was lying abed after the birth. She’d be too exhausted and weak to stop them.
No, it was better to do as Jochebed and the other Hebrew women did when Pharaoh commanded the midwives to kill their sons in the days of Moses. Learn all they could, then have the babies on their own before the midwives arrived. She had no sister or mother to aid her, but she’d not risk losing her child because of such a small matter. She’d made do pretty much on her own for the last two years, handling things she’d never thought herself capable of. This was simply one more challenge. God helped Jochebed. He’d help her, as well. He had to.
Neill glanced across the supper table at Clara, trying to find a way to share his plan with her. An unusual tension vibrated in the air around them, though. They’d never had trouble talking over supper before. In fact, it was one of the things he’d enjoyed most about his time with her. But something was off. She seemed withdrawn, distracted. She had yet to meet his eye, despite numerous attempts on his part to garner her attention. Was she distancing herself because she expected him to leave now that the roof was complete? Hadn’t he vowed to help her? Did she have so little trust in him?
Neill gave an imperceptible shake of his head at the thoughts running through his head. Why should she trust him? Her husband married her to defy his father, and her father-in-law wanted to take away her child. The woman had no reason to trust men. Especially a man she’d known less than a week. She had no way of knowing that he intended to follow through on his rash promise to help her. For all she knew, he was just a big talker, full of wild schemes and good intentions with nothing to back them up.
Well, he could at least put her mind to rest on that score.
Tossing down his napkin, Neill cleared his throat. “Clara, I have a plan. I want you to come with me—”
“You need to leave, Neill,” she interrupted, her focus still locked on her plate. “Tonight. Before full dark sets in.”
“What?” He couldn’t believe he’d heard her right.
She finally raised her chin and looked at him, her face a stoic mask. “Leave. No good will come of you staying.”
Neill leaned back in his chair, his focus intent on her face. Something was definitely off. Had their closeness this morning scared her? Dissolved the trust that had been growing between them? But even that made little sense. She’d gone out of her way to do his washing, to bring him refreshment during the day, to bake a fresh batch of his favorite biscuits, even when there were some left over from yesterday’s meal. It made no sense that she would go out of her way to be so kind if she truly wanted him gone. She could have just ordered him off her property this afternoon, when he told her he’d finished with the roof.
“Why tonight?” he queried, watching her closely. “Why not at first light?”
Her mouth tightened for a brief second while at the same time, a slight crease marred her brow. At first he attributed it to frustration, but then she swiveled her head aside as if she feared he might have noticed the telling twitch. When she turned back, her face was as smooth and stoic as ever.
“Your job is finished,” she said with matter-of-fact precision. “I appreciate all you’ve done, but it is time for you to go.”
Neill crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not leaving. Not unless you come with me.” If she thought she could out-stubborn him, she had a lot to learn about Archer men.
“You’re not my protector, Neill. You’re just a hired hand who’s passing through. I’m not your problem.”
“No, you’re not.” Neill’s jaw twitched as he sat forward and did his best to glare some sense into her. “You’re my friend. And if you’ll let me, I’d like to be even more than that.” He softened his voice and reached for her hand. “I want to be a husband to you, Clara. A father to your babe.”
“No!” She snatched her hand away from him and jumped up from the table. She spun toward the stove, turning her back to him, but not before he caught the glimmer of tears in her eyes. In an instant, though, her steel returned, as if she had mentally poured molten metal down her spine and cooled it with icy reserve. Her shoulders straightened and her voice emerged without a single warble.
“Marriage doesn’t solve problems. It creates more. I’ll not make the same mistake twice.”
“No, you’ll just make a different one.” Neill pushed up from the table so fast his chair tipped over and crashed to the floor. Clara flinched but made no move to turn around. “Do you honestly think you and your child have a better chance of escaping Mack on your own?” he demanded as came up behind her. “Or do you think so little of my character that you lump me into the same category as Matthew?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll not marry you. So go. You’ve done your good deed. You’ve made your offer. Now you can leave with a clean conscience.”
“I already told you,” he gritted out, “I’m not leaving.” He cupped her shoulder and spun her around to face him, intending to get to the bottom of things once and for all, but the tears streaming down her face stopped him cold.
She stretched her neck away from him, trying with all her might to hide her misery, but it was too late. He’d seen the truth.
His hands immediately gentled on her shoulders. “I’m not leaving, Clara.” His voice hardened with resolve even as he snuggled her close to his chest and rubbed soothing circles over her back. “No matter what you say or do to push me away, I’m not leaving. So you might as well get used to the idea and quit fighting me.”
“But I’ll bring you nothing but trouble.” She struggled against his hold until she was able to tip her head back and meet his gaze. “It’s no good.”
Neill smiled at her, then tenderly forced her head back down to his chest and covered it with his chin. “Oh, I don’t know,” he murmured, his tone husky. “I think it could be very good.”
Again she pulled her head free and looked into his face. The stoic mask completely decimated now, her vulnerability became palpable. “I can’t agree to marry you, Neill. Not yet. I’ve only known you four days. It’s too soon.”
He started to argue, but she shook her head at him. “Please. I know you are a good man. That’s not what I fear. I just don’t want to be forced into marriage again because of hardship. If I marry, I want it to be because we both truly want it, not out of a sense of fear on my part or duty on yours. Just give me some time. Please?”
Neill peered into her face and swallowed his arguments. “All right. I’ll not pressure you about marriage. But I am going to take you home with me. Home to my brother’s ranch, where the Archers stand together. Where we can protect you and your child. We can leave at first light, and catch the train in Amarillo. My sister-in-law can help you with the birthing. Everything will be perfect. You’ll see.”
Clara ducked her head against him, but she didn’t relax. No, her entire body tensed, and she curled forward over her belly.
“Neill?” Her voice emerged through gritted teeth.
“Yeah?” He started rubbing her back again, his concern growing over her obvious discomfort. She was practically curling in on herself, the muscles across her midsection pulled tighter than the strings on his fiddle.
“I don’t think your sister-in-law is going to help with this birthing.”
Before she could reply, the answer hit him like a log beam against his thick skull.
“Land’s sake, Clara. You should have told me you were in labor!”