“Oh, yes, it is,” Candice replied with real delight, counting the precious eggs. “Thank you, Louis. Please bring me in some water before you go.”
He left as quickly as he had come and Candice sighed, setting the eggs aside carefully. The wind had picked up, indicating a storm, and the doors and shutters shook and rattled against the house. Doc Harris had also split some wood for her—which happened to be the least of her problems because, with a fetching smile, she could always get one of the soldiers to do it for her too.
There was a sharp rapping at the door.
Candice, who was kneading dough (and even that made her tired) got up, instinctively patting the gun in her apron pocket before pulling her shawl more securely over her breasts. She peered out one window, then smiled when she saw a red-nosed Henry Lewis standing on her doorstep with more laundry. She had just seen him last week, and she knew he was not there because he had a passion for clean clothes.
“Hello, Henry, come in, it’s cold out.”
“That it is,” he said, shivering despite his army greatcoat. “Who would have thought it’s like this in winter out here? I thought the sun always shone in the desert.”
Candice laughed as he came in. “So did we when we first came out here.”
He looked at her, removing leather gloves. “You and your husband?”
“No, me and my family. They’re in Tucson.” The instant she said it, she regretted it. She had been keeping her identity a secret.
“Really? I didn’t know that.”
“Let me take your coat,” she said. When she reached for it her shawl slipped, but she didn’t notice it as she hung his coat on a peg. She turned back. “How about—” Seeing his expression of shock, she froze.
Then went red. His eyes were on the protrusion of her belly, and she immediately dragged the ends of her shawl together.
“My God,” Henry said, stunned.
Candice decided to make light of it. “Surely I’m not the first pregnant woman you’ve ever seen?” She laughed and went to the coffeepot. “I just made fresh coffee, Henry.”
He was behind her, his hands closing over her shoulders. It was the first time he’d become so intimate. She stiffened as he turned her abruptly. “He deserted you while you’re pregnant?”
Candice felt the old combination of anger and hurt rising. Hurt and anger that Jack had deserted her. But she felt compelled to defend him. “You don’t understand.”
“You shouldn’t be doing laundry!” Henry cried passionately. “You need a man to care for you, my God!”
“I’m doing just fine,” she said, but she knew he was right, she did need a man—she was too tired to bear her burden alone.
He cupped her face. “I’ll help you, Candice. I’ll split more wood and do your chores before I leave.”
“Henry …” She was overwhelmed with his kindness—but frightened by it too. Would a man who simply lusted after her go to such trouble? She didn’t want him to fall in love with her. But, God, she needed someone.…
“Don’t say a word. Let’s have that coffee and then I’ll go out, milk the cow, split the wood, fetch the eggs, and bring you water. Okay?”
He was still holding her face. Tears sparkled in her eyes. Damn you, Jack, she thought miserably, for putting me in this position. Then she blinked and knew Henry was going to kiss her.
His lips were light and tender, and so very gentle. Candice wanted to be held—she needed it. The kiss meant nothing to her, stirred nothing within her, but she leaned against him and he wrapped his arms around her and held her, and she closed her eyes, sighing. If only she were in Jack’s arms.
After a cup of coffee, Henry got up and went outside. She could hear him splitting wood. She was feeling dangerously emotional, and very low. But the rhythmic sound of the ax was reassuring and comforting. When suddenly it stopped, Candice waited for it to resume. When it didn’t, something pricked at her, and she got up and opened the door.
She almost fainted.
Jack sat on his stallion, dressed from head to toe in buckskins, fully armed with two revolvers, a knife and rifle, ammunition belts crossed over his chest. He was staring at Henry, who stood in his blue-and-black army uniform, ax in one hand, staring back.
The stallion shifted restlessly.
Jack turned his gaze to her.
Candice didn’t think, she reacted. She smiled, a dazzlingly brilliant smile of profound joy, and ran down the two steps and across the yard, arms open. He slipped from the horse and then she was in his embrace—his warm, hard embrace, cheek to cheek.
He set her back, gave her a long, hot look—the kind of look that told her he hadn’t had a woman since he’d left her—and he turned to Henry, who was flushing furiously. Candice clung to Jack and he put his arm possessively around her. “Thanks for chopping wood for my wife,” he said levelly.
