Borrowed Hearts

By Lisa Marie Long

Josie Emerson is finally free, leaving behind her past to start over. She arrives in a small Oregon town with nothing but a dream: to find the baby she hasn't seen in 5 years and carve out a small chunk of respectability.

Josie wants nothing to do with any man, especially Cordell Williams. He is unshaven, unkempt, and grief-stricken. But something about him makes her want to change all of that. He is tender, patient and kind, and loves his children fiercely. Josie begins to see not a sad widower, but a man in need of healing.
Getting involved is the last thing she wants. She can’t afford to get attached to this man and his children. As soon as she finds her daughter, she intends to leave. But can borrowing this family mean the end of her dream?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lisa Marie Long
• Release date: Jan 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310775666

Lisa Marie Long

Romance author Lisa Marie Long brings strong women and sexy men together in the American West.Awards for Borrowed Hearts:**WINNER**, 1999 Greater Seattle Romance Writers "Emerald City Opener" award*FINALIST*, Best Long Historical Romance2002 Romance Writers of America's "Golden Heart" award, the highest honor for an unpublished romance writer.About Lisa:A lifelong reader and writer, author Lisa Marie Long loves weaving words to entertain and enlighten. Creating compelling characters and making them fall in love is a wonderful job to have.Lisa raises boys, chickens and cats with her husband in rural Columbia County, Oregon, the setting of her historical romance, Borrowed Hearts. An Oregon State University Master Gardener, Lisa has written over 200 articles on home horticulture for the OSU Extension Service, and was interviewed on Portland's KXL Radio on growing orchids.If you love strong women and sexy cowboys, then check out Lisa's books!

Book preview

~~~ Chapter 1 ~~~

Columbia County, Oregon, 1885

You ain’t never gonna be no good, Liza.

Don’t say anything. Don’t turn around. Just keep walking. Eliza started down the stairs to the front door, worn carpetbag in hand.

You’ll be nothin’ but a two-bit whore the rest of your life.

Don’t let her get to you. Not this time. Don’t let her win. Eliza concentrated on the next step, trying not to trip on the threadbare red carpet in her new shoes.

You’ll end up on your back again. You all do.

Laughter floated behind her, then faded into the familiar hacking cough as she reached the bottom step.

Eliza stared at the tarnished brass knob of the door in front of her, the door to the rest of her life. The door that opened to her freedom.

You ain’t gonna get some gent to marry you. It don’t matter how gussied up you get. They can all see through it. You’re nothin’ but a whore.

The acid words stung. Eliza hated that the woman could so easily slice her soul. After all the years, she had thought maybe just once she could let it go and not feel the pain that woman inflicted so expertly.

Don’t say anything. Just leave. Go. She barely recognized her gloved fingers as she reached for the doorknob.

Did you hear me? You’re a whore, girl. That’s all you’ll ever be!

The sound of her own pulse filled the silence that followed. Eliza turned back slowly. She rested her gaze on the corpulent figure of Miss Agnes as the woman grasped the upstairs railing, staring down with a triumphant grin on her rouged and powdered face. Agnes’s sneer said she knew her cruelties had once again succeeded. She rearranged her worn shawl around her shoulders and took a sip from the small silver flask she always kept close.

Eliza’s heart thumped in her throat, drummed in her ears, drowning out the niggling voice that told her to leave without succumbing to Agnes’s taunts.

"You’re wrong. I am not a whore. She tightened her shaking fingers around the knob. And I never will be again. Good-bye, Agnes."

The woman’s grin transformed into a mask of rage. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be beggin’ in the gutter and your dead momma woulda starved a long time ago! She stabbed the air with a pudgy, flapping arm, whiskey sloshing from her flask. You’re no better’n the rest of us! You ain’t never gonna be nothin’! All you know is makin’ your livin’ on your back, and you’ll be doin’ it again before long. You listen to me, you’re nothin’ but a--

Eliza shut the door behind her, shut out the pain and the stab of recent grief, and drew a deep draught of air scented with spring rain and sawdust from the lumber mill down the road. Clean, crisp, new air that tasted sweet and filled her lungs with hope and renewal. Air that didn’t reek of cheap perfume or stale, whiskey-laden breath or the heavy foulness of unwashed bodies.

She stepped off the tobacco-stained front porch of the only home she had known for the last seven years. A surge of pride filled her. She hadn’t let Agnes win.

This was the beginning of a new life for Eliza Josephine Emerson. Josie. Liza no longer existed. Nothing would ever hold her back again. From here on out, her life was going to be good.

No, she wasn’t looking for a man to marry her--she knew better than that. All she wanted was a tiny piece of respectability and the little baby girl she hadn’t seen in five years.

Five years. A pang of sorrow squeezed her lungs. Had it really been five years since she heard the mewling cry of her newborn daughter, and lost her in the same moment? She hadn’t been free to make her own decisions then. But freedom was hers now. Now that Momma was gone.

The jingle of harnesses barely registered as the lumber wagon sped past her, splattering mud all over her new shoes and dress. Her only decent dress. The one she had bought to start her new life in.

Eliza squeezed her eyes shut and let out a long breath.

Lord, please don’t let it be a sign.

The pounding in his head was getting worse. It practically rattled the windows. If it would just stop for a moment, maybe he could get back to that nice dream and sleep off the damn headache.

But the pounding only got louder.

A muffled voice floated up from downstairs. Tell that no-good father of yours to get down here at once!

Oh, Christ. Not Leticia, not right now. Not when he had the ugliest hangover he’d had in months. Cord groaned as his feet hit the floor. Sitting up, he rested his head in his hands and rubbed his bleary eyes.

Cordell Williams!

God, that woman had the lungs of an ox.

Cordell, you get your sorry self down here right now. Don’t make me wait another minute. I mean it, Cord! I’ll come up there after you.

She would, too. Cord ran his fingers through his too-long hair and scratched his beard. He needed to clean himself up. He’d gone on a bender last night and knew he looked like hell. Leticia’s voice booming in his head didn’t make things any better.

He’d never understand how Leticia and Emily had ever been from the same family. Emmy had been soft, gentle, sweet. His sister-in-law was the biggest, bossiest, scariest woman he’d ever laid eyes on. And she was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.

He ran his hand back over his face and scratched his chest through his long johns. A tiny sniff sounded and he turned in its direction. Two shining green eyes stared back at him from the doorway. Emily’s eyes. A stab of pain ran through him.

You sick, Daddy? Lacy’s soft voice tucked a blanket of warmth around his heart. Half-hidden behind the door jamb, she stood with a wet finger in her mouth.

A wave of guilt washed over him. Cord sighed. No, Sweetpea, Daddy’s not sick. Just tired.

You better hurry. Aunt Leticia’s gonna come up the stairs. An’ you got no pants on, Daddy.

You go on and keep her company till I get dressed. Can you do that for me, Sweetpea?

The little girl’s face fell and the finger dropped from her mouth. She padded to him in her bare feet and leaned toward him. Do I have to Daddy? Hot, whispered air blasted his ear. I don’ like Aunt Leticia.

Cord tried hard not to grin, and stroked his daughter’s silky, blonde hair. Emily’s hair.

I’ll be just a minute, Sweetpea. Find your brother and tell him to keep her company.

He’s in the outhouse. He had to go when Aunt Leticia banged on the door. She ran out the door, the whisper of her feet on the once-polished floorboards following her.

Cord grabbed his pants from the floor and stepped into them. He couldn’t blame Matthew for hiding. Hell, he wished he had a good hiding place right now too.

Cordell! I’m coming up there!

Pulling his suspenders over his shoulders, Cord made his way down the stairs. He stepped off the bottom step and squinted at the woman standing in front of him with her hands on her ample hips and an accusatory look on her pinched face. Why did it have to be so damn sunny today?

Cordell Williams.

Whenever she said his name, it was a condemnation.

Don’t you realize it’s nearly eleven o’clock? Folks are wondering when the store is going to open. Or aren’t you concerned with supporting your family? She waved her hand at Lacy, who hid behind Cord’s legs. Your children look like urchins, running around in dirty clothes and no shoes, and you’re standing in front of me, obviously drunk!

Cord rubbed his beard-rough face. I’m not drunk, Leticia.

Those children need looking after, and not by a drunk of a father. Have they even eaten? Do you even know where your son is?

Leticia, I am not a drunk, they have plenty to eat, and they are hiding from you. Matthew’s in the outhouse. Cord tamped down the anger rising in his chest. Does that answer all of your questions? Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get something to eat myself and then I’ll open the store.

The woman sighed heavily, shaking her head. My father never missed a day of work in this store, God rest his soul.

It’s my store now, and I can open it whenever I choose. I can also have a drink now and then whenever I choose. That doesn’t make me a drunk.

She glanced at Lacy’s bare feet, then at the pile of clothes at the bottom of the stairs. My sister would be appalled at the way you’re raising those children.

They are my children, Leticia, and I can raise them how I want. Dammit, why had he gone and hit the bottle last night? He was trying so hard to stay strong for the kids. But sometimes, he just missed Emmy so damn much. Guilt pierced him, constricting his chest.

They are my sister’s babies, and I will not let them be raised this way, she said, hat bobbing as her head shook.

Cord stiffened at the familiar barb. Be careful what you say, Leticia. That sounds like a threat.

Cordell, don’t force me to do it, she said, sighing as she crossed her arms. If you don’t clean yourself up and start taking better care of those children, I will take them from you and raise them myself. You know I can.

No, Daddy! Lacy’s tiny wail floated up from behind him as she clutched his pant legs.

Anger boiled up inside of him, overpowering his hurt at the thought of losing his kids. He gritted his teeth together. "Leticia, get out of my house right now. Don’t ever come in here again and scare my children, do you understand me? They are my children, Leticia. You got no claim on them. Emily wanted me to raise them, not you."

The woman backed down in a huff and scurried toward the back door she’d come in through.

I’ll be watching, Cordell, she said, hesitating at the door. "Either you take better care of those children, or I will come and get them." She banged the door shut behind her.

Cord reached down and pulled Lacy into his arms, her stricken little face tearing at his heart. She buried her head in his shoulder and hugged him tightly.

Is she really gonna take us away, Daddy? Her tiny voice lanced his insides.

Cord padded to the kitchen window and watched Matthew’s dark-haired figure peek around the outhouse door, then run toward the house as if the devil were after him.

No, Sweetpea. Cord laid a kiss on her warm temple. Daddy’ll make sure that never happens. He forced away the vision of his children ripped from him, the thought tearing at his heart. No matter what it takes.

Cord winced as the bell above the door rang out once again, aggravating his pounding headache further. Another customer. Probably some busybody friend of Leticia’s sent to witness his hangover. He focused on the account book on the counter in front of him, trying to concentrate on balancing the columns. Cord rubbed a weary hand over his eyes. He’d been working on the same damn column all afternoon.

Footsteps stopped in front of him. He thought about ignoring them, but finally shut the book with a sigh. His head hurt way too bad to be figuring anyway.

Can I help you? He looked up into startlingly blue eyes, eyes that seemed to hold the depths of the ocean. They quickly darted away and Cord realized he’d been staring.

He cleared his throat, the sound rattling in his thumping head. He swept his gaze down the young woman’s slim figure. Mud stains clung to the skirt of her plain dress as she wrung her hands in its folds. What--ah, what can I get for you, ma’am?

The woman’s gaze flitted around the store, pausing on the crock of dried apples, the tins of fish, jars of candy, the cracker barrel. She swallowed thickly and brushed a stray lock of jet hair from her cheek. Do you have—I mean, I’m looking for...

Her voice was a forgotten melody, its breathy song dancing in the air around his head. Her fingers worked the folds of her muddied skirt again.

For a job, she said finally. I’m looking for work.

And then she looked into his eyes again with those fathomless blue ones of hers and Cord forgot how to speak.

Never mind. I’ll go somewhere else. Sorry to bother you, she said in a rush. She spun around and was out the door before Cord could close his mouth.

What the hell was that all about? And what was wrong with him?

Before he knew what he was doing, Cord found himself out the door and running down the street, searching for a dark-haired woman he didn’t know.

Josie could have thrown up, if she’d had anything to eat since yesterday afternoon. Her money had run out on the wagon trip to Houlton.

Why had she thought it could be any different? Of course that man had seen through her, seen what she really was, what she always would be. The look on his face had said it all. She shouldn’t have bothered going into that store. Looking in the window had just brought back memories, of better times, of happy times.

At least she’d reached her destination. Her daughter was here, somewhere. If she could just find a job and a place to stay, she could start looking.

Wait! Miss! Come back.

A shout behind her caught her attention, and she turned in time to avoid a man running toward her. Lean and disheveled, the man from the store bounded to a stop, bent over and clutched his head as if it would explode.

Josie tamped down the urge to run. Tendrils of apprehension tingled up her spine. Why would he chase her? The man groaned and looked up at her, grabbing the porch railing for support.

Are you all right, Mister?

You said you need a job, he said, gasping for breath as if he’d just pulled a wagon down Main Street.

She looked at him, confused, hope rising. Well, yes, I did. But--

I think I have just the job for you.

Disappointment twisted her gut. Of course he did. He knew what she was. Anybody could see she didn’t belong in the respectable dress, the hat and gloves. No, he didn’t mean a real job.

Oh, I’m sure you do. She turned to leave.

Wait! He straightened and moved to grab her arm, but pulled back his hand. C’mon, lady, I just chased you down the street, at least hear me out.

She set down the carpetbag filled with everything she owned and narrowed her eyes at him, waiting for his proposition. I’m listening.

You know anything about takin’ care of kids?

Taking care of kids? Josie blinked at him. He looked completely serious. Was he truly about to offer her a respectable job? She knew nothing of taking care of children, had never had brothers or sisters. But she needed money, needed to eat. The knot of hunger pulled tighter in her stomach.

Yes, she lied.

Good. I need a housekeeper. Pays room and board, and a small allowance. When can you start?

Shock spread through her like molasses. He really was offering her respectable work. For the first time in seven years, she would be something other than a whore.

She blinked. Right away.

Relief washed over the man’s features, making him look younger. Good. I got a spare room downstairs, next to the kitchen. It’s yours. That is, if you want it.

Josie couldn’t believe her luck. She’d only just arrived, and she had a job and a place to live. Would it be as easy to find her daughter?

The room--your wife won’t mind?

The man’s face fell and his shoulders slumped as he exhaled. Sadness draped around him, weighing him down, adding years to him that rested in the hollows of his eyes and in the lines of his face. My wife passed on. That’s why I need a housekeeper.

Oh. Josie glanced away from the cloud of sadness that hovered over him. I’m sorry.

He took a deep breath and let it out in one huff. Well, tell me where to pick up your things and we’ll go back to the store and get you situated, if that’s convenient for you.

I--I only have the one bag.

He looked down at the small bag next to her, then back up with a confused frown. A question seemed to linger on his tongue, but then he shrugged, picked up the bag, and started back the way he came. Josie followed.

I suppose I should ask your name, he said over his shoulder.

Eliz-- She quickly coughed to cover her mistake. Josephine Emerson. Josie.

My name is Cordell Williams.

He stopped and held out a hand to her. She hesitated, unused to polite gestures, then held out her own.

Nice to meet you, Josie.

His fingers wrapped around hers, warm and gentle. Josie stared up at his kind, sincere smile and warm, golden eyes. She’d never had a man be so courteous to her. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Maybe this was another sign. She glanced down at her muddied skirt. A much better sign.

But as she followed her new employer, this stranger, down the street, Josie couldn’t tamp down the feeling that she was making a mistake.

~~~ Chapter 2 ~~~

The bell over the door jingled as Cord opened it and held it for the woman. She hesitated, then stepped through and peered around the store as if she hadn’t ever been in one before. Cord set her bag behind the counter, watching the woman out of the corner of his eye.

Her eyes lingered everywhere, drinking in the unruly piles of cans, jars, tins and boxes. Good lord, he’d let the place go.

Well, uh, I know it doesn’t look very organized, but the customers don’t seem to mind.

The woman flinched almost imperceptibly, but said nothing. What was she all about? Why did he have the pestering feeling he was getting himself into something? Cord rubbed a hand along his rough jaw. Maybe he should have spent more time cleaning himself up.

Customers. The very word made Josie cringe. The last seven years of her life had been spent serving customers. Men who didn’t bother to wash after a long day setting choke-chains around felled trees, men who reeked of whiskey and tobacco, men whose only kindness was not kissing her as they used her body for their own pleasure.

You don’t have to worry about working in the store, the man said, trying to straighten a stack of fish tins. One kept falling off the side to the shelf. He finally gave up. I take care of the counter. I don’t expect you to have to look after the children and the store as well.

Josie let out a silent sigh of relief. No more customers for Eliza Josephine Emerson. No more Liza.

The man grabbed a broom that had seen better days and managed to raise a bit of dust with it. Unless you want to work in the store sometimes, like when Lacy’s napping, though she doesn’t like to do a lot of that anymore. She thinks she’s a big girl now.

Josie coughed from the dust and curled a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Is Lacy your daughter, Mr. Williams?

He stopped sweeping and gave her a lopsided grin that revealed the hint of a dimple beneath the stubble of his left cheek. No one calls me ‘Mr. Williams.’ It’s Cord. He chuckled and ran a hand through his chestnut hair. I guess I did forget to tell you about the kids.

Kids. More than one. A ripple of apprehension shivered across her shoulders. How many children do you have?

Just two. He motioned for her to follow and led her through a doorway in the back of the store and past a staircase. Matthew is eight and Lacy is five. They’re good kids, won’t give you any trouble.

Two! She didn’t know the first thing about taking care of two kids! She forced calm into her voice. What exactly are my duties?

He stopped and leaned on the newel post. The stairs were dusty and dirt-smudged, with clothing, toys, and God-knows-what strewn up them.

Well, keep ‘em clean, fed, and make sure Matthew gets to school. He likes to cut out sometimes and go fishing by the creek. He nodded toward the short fishing pole lying across the bottom steps. Can’t tell you how much trouble he gets me into with his teacher over his fishing. He turned back to her and scratched his jaw. I guess clean up after them and take care of the kitchen.

Josie’s tongue stuck to the roof of her dry mouth. She tried to keep her voice even. The kitchen?

He turned and led her through the door just past the stairs. Late afternoon sun streamed through the back window of the kitchen, illuminating a shaft of dust motes that seemed at home next to the table piled high with dirty dishes and pans. She stepped over a wet pair of small boots in the middle of the doorway. Cord kicked them into the corner, leaving a streak of mud behind them.

I, ah, I haven’t had time to tidy up, he said with an embarrassed shrug, pushing a chair strewn with clothes under the table.

Your room is there, he said, nodding to a closed door to the right of the stove. A crusty pot and grease spatters covered its surface. His boot caught the side of an empty whiskey bottle, sending it spinning into the table leg. He quickly picked it up and stashed it in the sideboard, which was piled with odds and ends and a good layer of dust.

You can use anything out of the store for meals. And there’s a pantry here so you don’t have to go back and forth. He opened the door to a cupboard, revealing a leaking bag of flour and a jumble of jars and cans. He quickly shut it. We don’t care for much fancy food, just basic things like chicken and dumplings, pot roast, stew, biscuits. Nothin’ fancy. Pie now and then.

Pie? Nothing fancy? How was she supposed to take care of two children and make sense out of this kitchen enough to make a pie? She’d never made a pie in her life. Or pot roast, or chicken, or dumplings. And biscuits! He wanted biscuits.

The bell rang out front and Cord turned, leaving her standing in that filthy kitchen. It wouldn’t matter if it was the cleanest kitchen in the world, she still wouldn’t know how to make biscuits.

Cord ducked his head back in. One more thing...

Good lord, there was more?

He smiled slightly, making that tiny dimple dance in his stubbled cheek, and nodded toward the wet pile of boots. Make sure they wear shoes.

Josie stared after him as he disappeared. What had she gotten herself into? She should have kept walking. There had to be something else she could do in this town.

There was. But she was never going to do that again. She had to make the best of this situation. At least she was out of Miss Agnes’s Home for Women.

Home. Home for Josie had been a run-down shack in a filthy logging camp, depending on the kindness of others for what little she and Momma ate after the logging accident had killed her father. Then Momma had taken sick, and there was no money for a doctor, let alone medicine. When Agnes offered her a maid’s job at the Home, she jumped for a chance to earn the money for Momma’s care. She hadn’t known it was a whorehouse. But she quickly learned.

Josie glanced around the sun-filled room and shook her head. This was now her home. Being a housekeeper was not going to be easy, not in this place. But it didn’t matter. That tiny chunk of respectability she was looking for was forming. A smile crept across her face. She was a housekeeper. Not a whore.

She retrieved her carpetbag from where Cord had set it by the kitchen door and stepped over a wet, muddy pair of pants to get to the door adjoining the kitchen. She took a deep breath and prepared herself for the worst as she opened the door to what was now her room.

The sparse furnishings and lack of clutter surprised her. As did the window that let the sunlight stream in. The narrow room was just wide enough for the cot and chair. A small dresser sat opposite the door, and a washstand in the corner. She ran a finger along the dresser. Apart from needing a dusting, the room was clean.

This was my room.

Josie caught her breath and spun around. Cord leaned against the door jamb with casual ease.

Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.

She hadn’t noticed before how snug his trousers fit down the length of his long legs, or how the open neck of his shirt revealed a sprinkling of chestnut hair. He didn’t look much like a storekeeper.

She glanced behind her, suddenly feeling the closeness of the room. She was trapped. Josie drew in a shaky breath and leveled her gaze at him. I don’t scare.

The corner of his mouth rose in a lopsided grin. The door has a lock, but it’s busted. I’ll get it fixed right away. ‘Til then, you can jam the chair under the doorknob, if that makes you feel safe at night.

I’m sure I’ll be fine.

He tilted his head slightly. You sure?

Quite sure. I feel perfectly safe here.

I promised you an allowance, and I figure you could use a bit of it now, since you’ve just arrived. He handed her a few bills and coins. If you need toiletries or anything out of the store, feel free. I’ll run you a line of credit. Doesn’t look like you brought much, he said, eyeballing her bag.

She’d brought everything she owned in that bag.

Thank you.

He nodded. Lacy’ll be around here somewhere. Matthew’s been fishing and is probably hiding out ‘till dinner time. I’ll be out front if you need anything. With that, he turned and left.

Josie stared at the money in her hands. A place to live, anything she wanted from the store, a job--a real job--and money for doing nothing. All in the space of a few minutes. Maybe the mud stains on her new dress hadn’t been a sign. Maybe this was the beginning of a wonderful life.

A wonderful life in a houseful of pigs.

Josie sighed and pulled the pin out of her hat. She knew well enough how to clean, she supposed. May as well start in now on that kitchen. It would give her time to figure out what she was going to do about cooking.

Cord tapped a finger on the page of his account book, but couldn’t muster enough concentration to focus on the numbers. This time it wasn’t the hangover that kept him from getting his columns balanced.

She had eyes bluer than the sky. And she was skittish as a colt. He really hadn’t meant to scare her, but he couldn’t help watching the woman. And wondering. Cord had the uneasy feeling she was running from something. Or someone. It was little things, like the small bag that held her possessions. Like her nervous plea for a job before she ran out of the store. The way she nearly jumped out of her skin and unconsciously stepped away from him in her room. Maybe his imagination, or perhaps the hangover that still drummed in his head, made him see things, but he thought he’d seen the flash of fear in her eyes.

Those eyes that seemed to pull him into their depths, seemed to invite him to lose himself in them. Eyes that struck him dumb.

Cord shook his head. She was there to care for his children and cook. The less he thought about her eyes, the better. She probably had a burly husband after her, and he didn’t need to get in the middle of anything. He’d had enough trouble in his life, and didn’t have any interest in going back to jail.

The bell rang out and Cord tried to look like he was concentrating on his books. God, he hoped it wasn’t the husband.

Afternoon, Cord.

He didn’t bother to look up from his books. A wave of relief washed over him, and he shook his head in disgust. He was letting his imagination get away with him.

Jackson.

You look like hell, friend, Jack drawled. You go on another bender?

Cord closed his eyes a moment to check his irritation. That goddamn Jackson always knew the wrong thing to say, and made the mistake of saying it. But the gambler was about the only man Cord considered his friend. Jackson DuPree had been the only person to accept Cord when he arrived in Houlton. Except for Emily.

Emily. Thinking about those times always made him thirsty for another bottle.

He ran a hand through his hair and forced a smile. You know how it is, Jack.

Jack nodded and a sad smile crossed his normally grinning features. Yeah, I reckon I do, Cord.

Cord looked at the pages in front of him and sighed. The books weren’t going to get done today, no matter how long he stared at them. He snapped the ledger shut, wincing at the shaft of pain it sent through his temple.

Jack chuckled. Headache?

Dammit, now his only friend was harping at him. Cord scowled. This a social call?

Jack tipped his hat back. Just thought I’d check in on you. The way you were downin’ them last night, I figured you wouldn’t be awake yet.

That hit too close to home. Cord tossed his pencil on the worn wooden counter. Yeah, well, I got a business to run, Jack. Some of us make our living legitimately.

Jack held up his hands. Well, now, I have no problem with a few drunk dock workers parting with their money in my favor. He grinned. You weren’t always so respectable, as I remember there, Cord.

Cord glanced away, adequately reprimanded for his rudeness. Look, Jack, let’s stop before we mean it.

Hell, Cord, we both know we’re the only ones in town who can stand each other. No harm intend-- Jackson stopped speaking, jaw hanging open, and cocked his head toward the back of the store. His eyes narrowed.

You got a woman back there, Cord?

Cord froze. What?

Jackson rolled his eyes. Listen with your good ear, you dumb Yankee.

Cord frowned and stepped closer to the just-open door leading to the living quarters. He turned his head to the left and strained with his good ear. At first he thought he only imagined it, but faint notes wafted through the door. He opened it wider, and then he heard it. Singing.

Soft, dulcet notes floated toward him, wrapping him in their melodic warmth, teasing him with their lilting purity, bringing back memories of a home filled with love and music and the aching sweetness of Emily’s voice. Cord shook his head slightly. Shock rendered him speechless.

Sure sounds like a woman to me, Jackson said over Cord’s shoulder, startling him.

Cord shut the door and quickly moved back to the front counter. I--She’s a housekeeper, Jack. A housekeeper. Taking care of the kids, is all.

Jackson sauntered up and leaned against the counter, pulling out his makings for a cigarette. Helluva singer. Where’d you find her?

Cord sighed, loud and long. Of course the questions would start. He had hoped to avoid this for a few days. She walked in and asked for a job.

Know anything about her? The gambler grinned around his unlit cigarette and reached into his brocade vest for matches.

Cord scowled. Goddamn Jack had him feeling like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar. She knows how to take care of kids and cook, and that’s all I care about, Jack.

How long you been hidin’ her?

She started today. And I’m not hiding her.

Jack grinned again, flashing his mouthful of even, white teeth. Sure, sure. And that’s why that door is shut. You always keep it wide open.

Damn gambler noticed everything. Cord kept the door open to keep an eye on the kids. C’mon, Jack. Let it go for now, he said, aware of the weary note in his voice. I’m not up to all the questions today.

The real question is, my friend, Jack said, pausing to strike a match as he moved toward the front door, does she have a face to match that angelic voice? His chuckle mingled with the door bell as he left.

Cord scowled.

Long after Jack left the store, the woman’s singing floated through the door. Memories flooded Cord with each clear, soprano note. Memories of Emily singing as she nursed Lacy, as she did the wash, as she fried eggs. Memories of her loving voice and healing touch, and the beautiful family they created together.

Emmy. Even whispered, he heard the wistful note in his own voice.

Cord jammed a hand through his hair. Shit. He was gonna catch hell from Leticia when she found out about the woman living in his home. He hoped to God it didn’t get his kids taken from him.

~~~ Chapter 3 ~~~

Josie eyed the growing pile of laundry by the back door and frowned. Every piece of it had been draped over a chair, piled on the floor, or strewn across the stairwell. It would take her all day tomorrow to wash it. Maybe the day after as well.

She’d made good progress already, washing all the dishes and crusty pans, scrubbing the table and floor, dusting her room and collecting the clothes that needed washing. But that was just part of the downstairs. There was an entire floor above her that needed tending to, if it was anything like the downstairs. She let out a weary sigh and knelt to pick up a discarded shoe.

Are you my new momma?

The tiny voice startled her and Josie turned so quickly, she lost her balance, abruptly falling on her rump. A small, tow-headed girl stood next to her, hugging a well-loved rag doll.

What?

The girl sniffed and twirled a strand of tangled hair in her fingers. My momma went to heaven. Are you the new her?

Josie stared at this child, visions of the child she dreamt of finding welling up inside of her. Her own daughter would be the same age as this girl. She would have Josie’s dark hair and blue eyes, not like the soft green of this little girl’s. Would her own child recognize her? Did she ever think about her, or did she even know about her?

Since her own mother had died, finding her daughter was the only anchor Josie had. Her arms ached to finally hold the beautiful baby girl who was snatched away so long ago. But would the child love her? After all these years? Would she love her mother, the mother who had no clue to the identity of her baby’s father? A woman who slept with men for money to survive? A whore?

This poor child in front of her had lost her own mother. And now was looking at the worst example of motherhood