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Authors: Martha Hix

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BOOK: Caress of Fire
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Chapter Forty
“I've been thinking of names . . .”
Bending over their common crib in the bedroom of the house Maisie had rented, Lisette gazed at heaven's precious gifts. She turned her attention to the man who stood on the far side of the bassinet. Preacher Eli Wilson, wearing a black suit and a broad smile, murmured oohs and aahs at the infants.
“Good idea,” he said, “putting them in the same crib. It gives warmth as well as comfort.”
“I think so.”
Smiling with motherly pride, Lisette looked at her daughters. As yet unnamed, they were sleeping–for once, at the same time. How wonderful it was simply to gaze at them. My, they were beautiful. All perfectly formed, all raven-haired and wing-browed, all decidedly Celtic. Like their father.
Their father, who had denied them. Their father, who stood below the bedroom window each night and played his damned bagpipes–and disturbed his daughters' sleep.
The preacher clicked his tongue. “They're growing by leaps and bounds. I can almost see them gaining weight.”
At six weeks of age, they were big enough to travel.
“They're the spitting image of their pa,” Eli said.
“Yes.” Lisette fingered a wisp of black hair. “They look so much alike, I think they should have different-sounding names. In keeping with their personalities.”
Eli frowned. “Shouldn't you ask Mister McLoughlin's opinion? Why won't you speak with him? I know he comes by here several times a day.”
“Gil did his talking in the Drovers' Cottage.” At one point, hurt would have tightened her chest. There was nothing for him in her heart but the emptiness of broken dreams. She tightened the belt of her heavy wrapper. “Anything more would add insult to injury.”
Lisette settled in a nearby overstuffed chair and looked up at Eli. On the afternoon she'd awakened from that third birth, she'd asked for him. For not the first time, she wondered if she'd made a mistake, taking the man of God into her confidences. Weren't they enough, Maisie's pleas? Both had urged her to hear what Gil had to say.
Even Matthias, before he'd left for California, had mentioned that Gil might be worthy of a second chance.
Phooey.
“Your husband comes to see me.” Eli retreated from the crib, and picked up a straight chair to set it beside Lisette. “A more repentant man, I've never counseled. It wouldn't take but a minute or two to ease his mind.”
“His peace of mind isn't my concern.” Her fingers curled over the top of the wicker bassinet. “And I must save my strength for my daughters. They are my life now. We leave tomorrow for Chicago. I'm going to open a millinery shop.”
“The Lord be with you.” Eli rubbed his forehead. “Will the old Mrs. McLoughlin go along?”
At that moment Maisie opened the bedroom door that had been left cracked. “I am not
old!
But aye, I
will
be living in Chicago with my girls. All four o' them. Never had a daughter, never had a granddaughter. Lucky I am, though 'twould be nice t' see my grandson with a settled look on his mug.”
Standing between Maisie and Gil was Lisette's only regret; she ducked her head. “I ... I'm feeling rather spent, Eli. Maybe we could say our good-byes?”
They did.
“Good luck with your new church,” she said in parting.
“God is with us.” He smiled. “We break ground next week. And rest assured, Lisette, I'll always remind the congregation of your generosity.”
“All I want is your prayers for my daughters.”
Maisie walked the preacher to the door; Lisette turned to her infants. One opened eyes certain to stay blue, and gazed up at her mother. Lisette's heart expanded. Her time with Gil hadn't been a waste, not by any means. She had her girls.
“Hello, Miss Shy Eyes,” she whispered, set on not waking the others until she had some time with this one, and obtained a coo in reply.
Lifting the babe from the crowded crib, she parted her wrapper and held the child to a breast. Little fists balled, pushed against the soft flesh as those precious little cheeks moved in and out.
“My darling, I'll never let you down.”
Not like your father did–I'll never speak ill of him to you, though
. “We'll have a good life. I promise.”
Lightly, Lisette pressed her lips to the top of the tiny dark head. She heard the door hinges creak open and close, then the sound of boots moving slowly across the room. It didn't take looking up to recognize the encroacher. And she felt his eyes on her as surely as if he were touching her face.
“You two look more beautiful than I ever imagined.”
“Don't. Please don't.”
“I've missed you, Lisette. I want you with me. You and the girls. Forever and always.”
“Go away,” she whispered, refusing to lift her head.
“I won't until I've held my daughters.”
“Shhh. You'll waken them.”
“I intend to. I damned sure want to hear them cry before you take off for Chicago. And not from outside a window.”
“So, Maisie told you we're leaving.”
A slight shuffling of boots. A paper sack rattled. “Never fear. The Society of McLoughlin Women is intact. She didn't say a word. Eli Wilson told me.”
Wanting to be angry with Eli for betraying a trust, Lisette found it impossible. Maybe, deep in her heart, she'd wanted a last word with the man who had given her these girls.
At last she lifted her head to see a dark suit, a white shirt, and a string tie ... and the tormented visage of Gil McLoughlin.
Oh, God in heaven, she didn't hate him. The urge to ease his agony fought with the memory of the hurt he had inflicted. Damning herself, she wanted to revel in this moment . . . of a father seeing his children for the first time.
Oh, God in heaven, she still loved him. But what was love if she would always be in fear?
Stepping to the side, Gil bent over the bassinet. Into the arms that had held Lisette and had given her heaven on earth, he lifted a blanketed child. A measure of his visible agony diminished when he held the girl up for inspection.
“Lisette, she's beautiful.” There was wonder in his voice. “She looks just like you.”
“I won't argue the beautiful, but everyone–” No! She wouldn't tell him what everyone, including herself, thought. “Yes, she looks just like me.”
Miss Shy Eyes had had enough milk; she relinquished the nipple and sighed. Gil's eyes stroked the exposed breast, then the small face, and Lisette not only pulled her wrapper across her bosom, she scowled at him. “You have no right to gaze at us that way.”
Whipping his notice to the child in his hands, he said, “You know, she's a dead ringer for you, except for my hair. And there's no mistaking these eyebrows. They're mine.”
It ought to be heartening, his admission of paternity, yet Lisette could not forget the insult he had placed on that child when sheltered in the womb.
“Put her down, Gil.”
“Yeah. I'd like a gander at her cribmate.” Gingerly, he placed his daughter beside another. “Good gracious, I can't tell the differences.”
“There's a difference, all right. You've been holding The Scamp.” A smile escaped, though Lisette tried to hide it. “I think she'll be the one for troublemaking.”
Gil chuckled. “There's one in every family.”
No comment passed Lisette's lips. She settled her fed daughter on her shoulder, rubbed the sweet little back, and received a loud burp.
“Just listen to that,” Gil said, awe in his tone.
“I think you should leave. I've more nursing to do.”
From the look on his face, Lisette knew he wanted to stay and watch. He'd given up that right in the Drovers' Cottage.
“Must be burdensome,” he murmured, “three of them at your breast.”
“It's a burden of love.”
“You've been burdened by a lot of love in your life.”
Her teeth set, she replied, “It's my life, and you have no say in it. Especially after our divorce is granted.”
“I don't want one.”
Pushing to her feet, Lisette carried Miss Shy Eyes to the marble-top dresser. Her fingers shaking, she pulled away the wet wrappings and reached for a clean diaper. From the corner of her eye, she saw Gil picking up another daughter.
“Have you tagged a moniker on this one?” he asked.
“I call her The Thinker.” Lisette paused. “I swear, Gil, she studies everything as if she's forming an opinion.”
He carried the child over to the dresser, placed her beside her sister, then stepped back to study the result of his seed. The Thinker met his gaze, and he laughed. “Wife, I think you're right.”
Lisette fastened the diaper. “I don't lie.”
“I know.” He scooped the two girls into his arms, turned, and put them both in their crib. A trio of cries filled the bedroom, and waving his finger, their father demanded in a soft voice, “Hush.”
Amazingly, the howls ceased.
“They need proper names, Lisette.”
“Actually, I have come up with two. Shy Eyes, I'm going to call Olga, after my sister. The Thinker–she'll be Margaret, after Maisie. And The Scamp . . . well, I don't think she'd appreciate sharing a name. I haven't decided what to call her.”
His brows furrowed, he gazed down into the crib. “Hmm.” A finger went to his upper lip. “I've got it.” He swiveled around. “Let's give her a name that might make her think before she gets into troublemaking. Let's call her Charity.”
“Maybe.” Lisette, her back to the dresser, clutched the marble of its top when Gil stepped over to her. “You've heard them cry,” she whispered. “Now go away.”
“I have another demand.”
One of his hands settled at her waist, the other moving to her nape. “Don't,” she murmured, but he stepped closer. His body heat enveloped her, as did his presence. Lowering his head and parting his lips, he kissed her.
Ach du meine Güte!
He tasted so wonderful, so familiar. It was all she could do to break the embrace.
“I said go away,” she bit out, hugging the arms that yearned to tighten on him.
Disappointment sifted in his eyes. “I'll leave, but before I do, I want to leave these for the girls.” He reached for the paper sack. In it were three miniature hobby horses. “I whittled them.”
“I ... I'm sure the girls will enjoy the toys.”
His fingers reached into a breast pocket and extracted a small velvet box. “This is for you.”
“I don't want anything but a divorce.”
He opened the box. Three diamonds set in a heart-shaped pendant winked up at her.
“Our time together wasn't hearts and roses. I wish it could have been, but it wasn't. But the heart is mine–it's a symbol of my love, Lisette.” He paused. “And the diamonds are for Olga and Margaret and Charity.”
He lifted the pendant as if to fasten it around Lisette's neck, but she moved away.
Unfazed, he continued. “Couldn't find any roses. None to be had in Abilene. But if you'll go back to the Four Aces with me, I'll plant you a thousand rosebushes.”
“The only gift I ever wanted was your loving trust.”
“I can't undo the past. If I could, I would. But I can't. But if you'll give me a second chance, Lisette, I promise you'll never regret it.”
She said nothing, and one side of his mouth pulled into a grimace. “I am awfully, awfully sorry for not trusting you. Back then, it was because of my past–”
“Betty will always be your first wife.”
“I've forgiven her. And I've gotten over her.”
If only I could believe you.
He took Lisette's hand. “I know you're leaving tomorrow. You've got a night to think on us. If you'll give me another chance, be wearing my heart when the train pulls in. If I see it on your chest, all of us are getting aboard to make good on our plans for the future.”
“I won't be wearing it.”
“In that case, I'll turn in the opposite direction. But remember something. You're the only woman I'll ever love–well, except for our girls–and if you have anything in your heart for me, you'll give me a signal.”
“How nice it would be for you, were I still so gullible.”
He blinked. “You have until tomorrow, Lisette.”
A night to think about Gil. And it was a miserable, indecisive one. When dawn broke, she didn't know whether or not to trust him. There was no way to foresee the future, and Gil might well prove untrustworthy. But . . . if she turned her back, would the past always haunt her as it did her husband?
By noon, she had dressed in a traveling suit, and with Maisie's help, they bundled the girl up, then settled all three in a perambulator. She said to Maisie, “We'd better hurry, or we'll miss the train.”
 
 
His wooden trunk at his side, Gil had been waiting on the platform for hours. Yesterday filled his mind's eye. Lisette, nursing their daughter. Lisette, unwilling to accept his apology. Lisette . . . If she had been able to forgive, she would have been here minutes, if not hours, ago.
Damn, he hurt.
For six never-ending weeks he had hurt. He supposed he deserved losing out on a second chance at happiness, but–damn it–he was only human. He wanted his wife and daughters. Where were they?
With uninterested eyes, he watched a herd of longhorns being packed aboard the eastbound Kansas Pacific. Smoke belched out of the engine. More than a dozen eager travelers climbed the steps to the passenger car. Lisette wasn't among them.
BOOK: Caress of Fire
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