And Rebecca knew then, somehow she would.
Lily dictated her thoughts to her baby’s father, and Rebecca wrote every word down. And from then on the whore and the rich girl became friends.
Over the next few weeks bitter January winds blew as the two women spent hours together, sharing their fears and hopes.
And then Rebecca went into labor. Lily held her hand, offering words of comfort during the long agonizing labor. Rebecca’s baby—a girl—was stillborn. Lily stayed at her side during the next few agonizing days, offering solace to Rebecca for her lost child.
Then Lily’s time came and Rebecca, still grief-stricken and exhausted, dragged herself out of bed to be at her friend’s side. The birthing had been quick and easy, but then Lily had started to hemorrhage and within hours she was gone.
Engorged with milk and her heart aching, Rebecca held her friend’s limp hand, stunned at how fragile life was. She could barely believe Lily and her own baby were gone. She didn’t know how long she sat in the darkened room alone before the cries of Lily’s child penetrated the darkness around her.
She stared at Lily’s infant son still covered with afterbirth as it kicked and squirmed on the bed next to his dead mother. She picked up the boy and held him close. She whispered soothing words and rocked him back and forth.
It seemed only right that Rebecca care for Lily’s child until Cole came for him.
But when she took the baby to her breast and suckled him, her heart filled with unimaginable happiness. In that instant, the boy had become her son and she knew she’d never give him up.
“I’m sorry, Lily. Mac is mine now!”
* * *
“Miz Rebecca!”
Startled from her thoughts, Rebecca looked up to find Sheriff Ernie Wade standing in her path. She’d almost walked right into the grizzly bear of a man who smiled down at her. His shoulder-length hair and close-cropped beard resembled the color of well-traveled snow. The man wore faded denims, a plaid shirt and a dented tin star on his chest.
Rebecca hugged Mac tighter to her breast, impatient to get him home. “Afternoon, Sheriff.”
“Miz Rebecca, you’re looking mighty fine today.”
“Thanks.” She started to leave.
“I was just thinking about the Fourth of July picnic. You know it’s next week?”
“Yes.” She didn’t want to sound rude as she tried to step around him, but she had to hurry. “Perhaps, we could talk later.”
“Well, we could, but what I got to say won’t take but a minute.”
She wanted to scream. She needed to get home. “What is it, Sheriff?”
“I was thinking you and Mac could come with me to the festivities.”
She tried to step around him. “Sure, that would be fine.”
His eyes brightened. “You mean it?”
“Absolutely. Perhaps we can talk about it later. I really need to get home.”
“Oh, sure. You get home and I’ll stop by later and talk over our plans.”
“Great.”
She nestled Mac on her hip and quickened her pace across the dusty street, her mind brimming with worries. Instinct told her to take her son and run as far away from White Stone as she could. If she sold what remained of her mother’s silver, she could reach Denver or Cheyenne and stay hidden for months.
Rebecca opened the gate to the picket fence surrounding the wood frame house built by her father. Just looking at its whitewashed exterior, gabled roof and wraparound porch soothed her nerves. Her most treasured and difficult memories were as much a part of the house as the timber and nails.
Rebecca yanked open the front door and the smell of freshly baked cookies drifted out to greet her. Bess. When Mac was a baby, she had hired the widowed Bess Gunston, a no-nonsense pioneer from Kentucky who at seventeen had followed her husband to White Stone twenty years ago when he’d come in search of gold. The prospector had never struck it rich and when he died, Bess had needed a place to live. Rebecca had needed the help and what had started off as an arrangement grew into a deep friendship.
“That you, Rebecca?” Bess called.
“Yes. I’m home.”
“Bess! Bess!” Mac squealed.
Rebecca set her son down and watched him run toward the kitchen. He moved like a big boy now, no longer a baby.
When she reached the kitchen, she found Mac hugging Bess’s skirts. The older woman stood at the kitchen table, her meaty hands buried in a mound of bread dough. Flour smudged her blue homespun dress. “I just put a pie outside to cool and a loaf of bread like you asked. You know that urchin boy is gonna steal ’em.”
Rebecca smoothed a curl off her face with a trembling hand. “His name is Dusty. And he won’t take charity.”
“So you put out food for him to steal.”
“He’s got to eat.”
“Cookie!” Mac squealed.
The little boy’s brown eyes, olive complexion and blond hair reminded her so much of Lily—the friend she’d just betrayed with her lies. Guilt tugged at Rebecca’s heart.
Pushing the unwelcome blame aside, Rebecca went to a blue jar and fished out a large sugar cookie. Mac heard the rattle of the jar and hurried to Rebecca. He clapped his hands and laughed. She knelt and handed him the cookie, content to watch him gobble the treat. She brushed crumbs from his rosy cheeks then stroked his silken hair. Maternal pride welled inside her. “How’s that cookie, big boy?”
He cupped her face with his small, sticky hands and grinned, revealing his six teeth. “Good.”
Bess shoved the heel of her hands into its spongy dough. “It ain’t smart to hand out sweets so close to lunch.”
“Bess, Mac and I are leaving town.”
Her words met stunned silence. “What are you talking about?”
“He’s back.”
“Who’s back?”
“Cole McGuire.”
Bess hissed in a sharp breath. “You sure it’s him?”
“I spoke to him at the saloon not ten minutes ago.”
“What’s he doing in White Stone?
”
“Looking for Lily.”
Worry lines creased Bess’s brow. “Oh, lands. He got the letter.”
“Yes.” Rebecca’s thoughts turned to finding her luggage—the set she’d bought on her honeymoon. Where was it?
“Cole came looking for his child?”
“Yes.” Luggage, downstairs closet, top shelf.
“Does he know about Mac?”
Distracted, Rebecca strode toward the hallway closet without answering. Standing on tiptoe, she pulled a dusty brown satchel down. She thought about Cole’s dark, dangerous gaze burning into her and she pushed back a feeling of panic.
“Does he know about Mac?” Bess had followed her out of the kitchen and spoke behind her.
“I told him the baby died.”
“Rebecca!”
She jerked a large square bag down to the floor. “I know it was wrong, but I was so afraid.”
“Honey, it’s a matter of time before he finds out. Too many people in town know.”
“That’s why Mac and I are leaving.”
“But White Stone is your home.”
“My home is with my child.”
Rebecca hurried to the kitchen to check on Mac who now sat on the floor. He’d smashed his cookie into small bits and was now eating the crumbs one by one.
“What if he follows you?” Bess demanded.
“I’ll make sure he doesn’t find us,” she said turning back to face her.
Bess sighed. “Honey, you’re heading down a dangerous path.”
Rebecca shook her head, more worried than before. “I have to protect Mac.”
“Cole is the boy’s father,” Bess warned.
“That doesn’t mean he’s fit to raise Mac. Look at Dusty’s pa. He deserted that boy two months ago.”
“But Cole ain’t been given a chance with his son.”
“Whose side are you on?” Rebecca asked.
“I’m on your side. But you best think long and hard before you start lying to Cole McGuire.”
“If I tell him the truth, he will take Mac from me.” Rebecca smacked her fist against her thigh. Life had finally become good, happy and safe again. And now this.
“Think about Lily,” Bess asked softly. “She would have wanted Cole to know his son.”