Chasing Clovers (5 page)

"
I guess I should make some noise before I come into a room, huh?" His full lips tilted into a smirk.

"
It might help."

His dark eyes evaluated her, making the room feel cramped and closed in.

She inched away from him again.

He held a piece of the plate in his hand and rested his elbow on his knee,
"You know, you wouldn't look half bad if you smiled."

He
grinned wider.

She stiffened
at the insult. "Excuse me?"

John 's brow furrowed.

"
Now don't go gettin' your chaw in a knot. I meant that you're kind of pretty as is. I can't imagine what you'd look like with a smile on your face."

He chuckled.

She
clenched her jaw. Fury radiated from every pore in her body. After the day she'd had, this seemed to be the icing on the cake. She squeezed her eyes shut. She hated being teased. She'd grown up with it all her life, and couldn't help but feel angry. "I don't see how a broken plate would prompt one to smile, Mr. Taylor."

"
Ah, hell. I'm only playin' with you, Livy."

"
Well, play all you want to, Mr. Taylor, but it won't be at my expense." She stood, untied her apron and tossed it over the back of the chair. "I'm sure the rest of the plate will find your humor hilarious."

Chin held high, she
marched up the stairs, smiling when she heard him swear, hoping he cut himself.

Angel curled her exhausted body into a tight ball on her bed. The pain in her abdomen was beginning to fade. Her long brown hair, loose from its braid, clung to the sweat on her temple. She had no energy left to wipe it away. She took a shaky breath once the ache had subsided, and let her head rest lightly on her pillow. It wasn
't but a few minutes when another piercing spasm sliced through her stomach, jolting her upright. Angel moaned and clutched her midsection. Veins of throbbing torment snaked slowly around her back and seized her whole middle.

She
bit her bottom lip to muffle the cry she knew would burst from her dry lips. But her efforts proved futile as a loud scream erupted and her eyes clouded with tears. Her stomach felt as if it were about to explode. The hard, swollen mound protruded from the damp white cotton nightgown she was wearing. The door to her room opened, and Doctor Simms entered quietly and calmly. He placed his large hands on her stomach, and she nearly jumped off the bed from the pressure.

"
It's almost time," he said to her, pushed up his sleeves to wash his hands at the basin on her dresser.

Angel's breaths came in short, quick puffs. Her hands instinctively searched out the sheet on either side of her, ready to tear it from the straw-filled mattress. Her crotch felt heavy and it pulsed with urgency. A gush of liquid burst from between her legs and soaked the bed beneath her. An uncontrollable urge to push took over. She sat up and pulled her legs inward. She drew in a deep breath, pressed her chapped lips together and pushed with all her might.

The doctor was in front of her now, and nudged her shaking legs farther apart.
"A few more pushes and the baby will be out."

The agony of it all
was too much. She didn't know if she could stand the pain any longer. Her tired body was hot and sticky, and her legs felt numb. Her stomach tightened again, and she couldn't help but push. Her crotch burned―the pressure from the baby's head unbearable.

The room blurred, and her
head started to spin. She panicked, fearing she was going to die. Her life was ending, and she would never see her baby's face. Her middle was going to tear in two. She pushed again. Her body stretched and ripped, allowing the small life to come through. She ground her teeth together and groaned loudly.

A baby
's cry pierced the quiet night. she reached down, touching the baby girl that had slipped from her womb. Shiny and wet, she was the most beautiful thing Angel had ever laid eyes on. The pain gone, she examined her daughter, now cradled in her arms. Pink lips quivered as the baby mewled. Angel bent to brush a light kiss on her damp forehead.

The doctor handed her an old yellow blanket. With shaky hands she began to clean her daughter
.

The room was lit by one lamp, casting the room in an orange glow. Calm and serene, Angel glanced out the window. All she could see were the white fluffy snowflakes that stuck to the glass. She snuggled closer to the bu
ndle in her arms. She was warm, and for the first time in her life, truly happy.

"
I've got your money, Doc." Her voice was hoarse from the long labor. She rummaged under her pillow and grabbed a brown tin. Inside was the money she'd been saving. Not much there, she counted out a few coins and handed them to the doctor.

Shaking his head, Doctor Simms spoke clearly, "It's already been taken care of, Dear."

Angel glanced up confused.

"
Sam."

The bartender and owner of the Saloon had paid for her delivery? Angel knew she shouldn
't have been surprised. He'd felt guilty about what had happened to her and wanted to somehow make it right.

"
Me and little Emma," she said her daughter's name for the first time, "we plan on getting out of here and starting fresh someplace else." She watched as the doctor's kind blue eyes moved around the tiny room. She owed him and Sam so much more than her thanks. They had both helped her when no one else had, or wanted to.

The room she rented upstairs at the saloon was a far cry from the white house the doctor called home. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment when she noticed the bawdy gowns that she had to wear scattered across the floor. Her life had no meaning before this day, and she was determined to give her daughter the life she never had. Emma whimpered, and Angel gazed down at her child. The love she felt for her daughter came instantly.

Doctor Simms shrugged into his
coat, and said quietly, "You'll do right by her. Chances are he'll be passing through here again soon, and he'll come looking for you." He stared directly into Angel's eyes. She saw pity in their kind depths.

"
When you leave here, don't ever come back." He gave her one last look, and left the room.

She
heard the doctor's warning and her body shuddered. She knew the doctor was right. He'd come back. He said he would, and as sure as Monday followed Sunday, he'd come looking for her. Emma cried and she gently rocked her baby back and forth while humming the lullaby Sam had taught her.

Livy woke, her nightgown drenched with sweat. She lifted trembling hands to her lips. She had dreamt of Emma again, holding her, touching her, kissing her. Now fully awake, she tried to remember what her baby girl had looked like, but her face would not appear in her mind
.

"
No, no, no," she cried, burying her head into her pillow. "Don't let me forget," she sobbed harder.

She couldn't remember Emma's smell, or how her hand felt when she'd hold on to Livy's finger. What color was her hair? What color were her eyes? She didn't know―couldn't remember! Her heart beat loudly inside her chest as uneven gasps blew in and out of her mouth. The room began to spin and her vision blurred. She needed to get a hold of the short breaths filtering up from her lungs.

Breathe, Livy. In. Out. In. O
ut.

She sat cross-legged on her bed, concentrating on her breathing.
In, out. In, out.
U
ntil her pulse slowed to its regular beat. But the ache deep inside her soul lingered, and the piercing pain continued to shoot across her chest. Her face wet with tears. She laid her head back onto the pillow. Closed her eyes, and willed her daughter's face to appear.

John woke to Livy's cries. He wondered if he should go to her. "And do what?" he spoke aloud to the empty room. He didn't know her well enough to barge into her bedroom, and as sure as there was fire in hell, he knew he'd not be welcome. Not after he'd insulted her last night.

As much as
he didn't want to admit it, he'd thought she was quite pretty. Even though it annoyed him, he hadn't stopped thinking about her all day. He felt sorry for her. She'd said in her letters she had no family left. So he knew she was alone. Maybe that's why she seemed so empty all the time, so lost. Maybe she missed her Ma and Pa, or had a brother or a sister who had died. He thought on it and decided to ask her. See if he could help―sometimes talking to someone did.

When
Becky died, he'd talked to God. He was the only one worth talking to, and at the time, the only one there to listen. He rubbed his chest. He sure missed her.

Th
ree years had passed since the night little Emily was born―the happiest, yet saddest day of his life. While he watched his little girl slip into the world, he also watched his wife slip out. Since then he'd thanked God a thousand times over that he'd had the chance to tell his wife one last time that he loved her. He rolled over and lightly touched the locket on the table beside the bed.

Emily never knew her Ma, and
he hoped Livy could fill the void in his little girl's life. He sighed. His son struggled too without his Ma around, and often woke with nightmares. Livy would be good for him too. But his daughter needed a woman, especially when she got older, and he was grateful that Livy had answered his advertisement. He hoped he wasn't betraying Becky by remarrying. The question lingered in the back of his mind several times a day since he'd sent for Livy. Becky was the only woman for him, always would be. No one else came close.

The rising sun peeked through the blue curtains, and cast sapphire and grey shadows throughout the room. It was time to get out of bed. He yawned and stretched his arms above his head. He was always working, and he was tired of it. Rubb
ing the sleep from his eyes, he couldn't remember the last time he'd taken a day off or had any fun. On a ranch this size there was always something to be done. He was glad he had Clive, his foreman, to ease some of the heavy load.

They had grown up together in Calgary. Clive had left for a few years, but had come back, knocked o
n his door, and asked for a job. He couldn't have been happier. It was after Becky had passed, and he couldn't get out of bed. He'd relied on Clive in those days when he didn't leave his room except to get another bottle of whiskey. His body gave an uncontrolled shake. Now he didn't touch liquor. Couldn't. Made him sicker than a dog. Doctor said he'd die if he drank any more. Besides, he had two kids to look after, and had disappointed Becky enough by succumbing to the amber juice that left his head foggy and his body numb.

His mind already filling with chores that needed to be done today, he decided to give up on gettin
g any more sleep. Sighing, he got out of bed, dressed, and headed downstairs to start the coffee.

CHAPTER FOUR

Livy waited until she heard John go out the back door before she ventured downstairs. Her growling stomach and the smell of coffee lured her to the kitchen. Eyes still puffy from crying, she got out a mug and poured some of the hot brew. Lifting the cup, she inhaled the aroma. The scent always calmed her nerves, and after the night she'd had, she needed it.

She thought of the dream. It reminded her that he was still out there somewhere, and she may never be safe from him. He had almost found her twice after Emma had been born.
And both times she had escaped just in time. She didn't know if he still searched for her. It had been a little over a year since she saw him last.

There was a time when she didn
't care if he found her or not, when she wanted him to. Dying would've been her only escape from the reality of Emma's death. But the memories of what he did to her―what he took from her―always haunted her. She'd forever be looking over her shoulder wondering if he'd find her and break her into pieces all over again.

She took a deep breath and
picked up the cookbook on the table. She fingered through the pages for an easy recipe. A half hour later, after reading, and re-reading the instructions for making pancakes, she decided to hunt for the ingredients. She lined them up on the counter and began preparing the batter.

Thirty minutes
and several swear words later, she had a plate of steaming pancakes ready to be served, the burnt ones hidden on the bottom. She placed them on the table, and saw that the children were already sitting quietly, waiting for their breakfast.

"
Oh, I didn't even hear you two come down." This didn't surprise her. They were like their father, quiet as Indians ready to raid.

"
Yeah, well, we smelled the pancakes," Benjamin said, his dirty blonde hair messed from a night's sleep.