The broken she-wolf - Healed by innocence

Chopping wood

*Blaise*

My Lillian. I stand in the doorway of her bedroom, watching her. She is too trusting, leaving the front door and the door to her bedroom open. And the dog isn’t a damn bit of good. It neither heard nor smelled my approach, but just continues to gnaw on one of Lillian’s black shoes near the bed, growling at it as though it were a threat when the real threat is leaning against her doorjamb.

In her daisy-colored dress, she sits on the floor, her legs tucked beneath her, her toes peeking out from under her backside. Her thick braid is draped over her shoulder. She has opened a wooden chest and is slowly removing tiny pieces of clothing, spreading them over her lap, and pressing them flat with her fingers, as though each garment is as precious as the child growing within her.

My child.

My knees feel like a couple of strawberries left too long on the vine, until they are soft and worthless. Her note asked nothing of me. She expects nothing from me. She had simply wanted me to know that she is carrying my child.

I had gathered up my belongings at the hotel, saddled Black Thunder, and ridden hard, every word of her letter emblazoned on my mind, echoing through my heart. I wish I could offer her more than an uncertain future and broken dreams.

I shove myself away from the doorjamb. My boot heels echo through the room as I walk toward her, my stomach knotted as though someone had lassoed it and given the rope a hard tug. She jerks her head around, the wariness in her golden eyes remaining as I near. Sweeping my hat from my head, I hunker down beside her. “Howdy.”

She gives me a tentative smile, her fingers wrinkling the tiny gown she has just smoothed across her lap. “Hello.”

“Thomas gave me your letter.” I say.

“You didn’t have to come.” She mumbles.

A shaft of deep sadness pierces my soul. “You don’t know me at all, Lillian, if you believe that.”

Tears well in her eyes as she drops her gaze to the delicate clothing in her lap. Reaching out with my thumb, I capture a teardrop that slowly rolls from the corner of her eye. “I’m going home, Lillian.”

She snaps her gaze up to mine. “You found the man you were looking for?”

“No, but I think it’s unlikely that I ever will, after all this time. I spent the past five years dying. I want to start living again.” I tell her.

She gives me a hesitant smile. “I don’t even know where your home is.”

“West Texas. My brother has a ranch and pack there. For as long as I can remember, I have helped him work his spread, herd his cattle.” I say.

Her smile grows. “I guessed that you were a cowboy.”

Not by choice. I have always hated ranching, had always dreamed of leaving, but the places life has taken me weren’t exactly what I had in mind. My gaze drifts to her stomach, flat as a board. I'm about to travel another trail I hadn’t knowingly chosen, but oddly, I have a feeling this one will leave me with no regrets.

“I would be real honored if you would marry me,” I say, my voice low.

More tears fill her eyes just before she averts her gaze. I wish the blue flowers hadn't disappeared from the hills. I would have liked to have brought her some. Maybe I should have settled for the red and yellow flowers that remained. Or maybe I should have brought her a bright yellow ribbon for her hair, anything to accompany the words that sounded as cold as a river in January. I watch helplessly as she swipes the tears from her eyes, knowing I'm the cause.

She peers at me and gives me the saddest smile I have ever seen. “No.”

I feel as though she’s just hit me in the chest with an iron skillet. “What do you mean no?”

“I mean I don’t want to get married.” She says.

“Then why did you send me the note?” I ask.

She gives a half shrug, “I just thought you had a right to know about the child.”

“I have more than the right to know. I have the responsibility to care for it. I’m not gonna have him labeled a bastard.” I huff.

She flinches and angles her chin. “Her.”

“What?”

“I think it’s a girl.”

That makes sense to me since it seems the Moonshadow men are only capable of producing girls. “All right, fine. It’s a girl. You want her whispered about 'cuz that’s what’ll happen.” I soften my voice. “And they will whisper about you, too, and don’t tell me that there’s nobody around to notice. You can’t live like a hermit with a child. You can’t deny her the world just because you have seen the ugliest side of it. Marry me, Lillian.”

“Do you love me?” She asks.

Her quietly spoken question is like a fist closing around my heart. “I like you well enough,” I answer honestly. “Don’t you like me?”

“I like what I know of you, but what do I really know? Until a few minutes ago, your home could have been on the moon as far as I knew.” She sighs.

“Well, I don’t live on the moon. I live in West Texas, and I have the means to provide for you… not in as grand a fashion as I’d like, but I think it’d be tolerable.” I tell her.

She raises a brow, “Tolerable?”

“Dammit, Lillian! I wronged you and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make it right.” I half groan.

“How does convincing me to marry a man who doesn’t love me make it right?” She asks.

I sigh, “Maybe it doesn’t make it right for us, but it’ll make it right for the baby. We have to put her first.”

“Do you still love Olivia?” She asks.

My stomach tightens, and I clench my jaw. Alexander had certainly been right about words spoken in the heat of passion. I had uttered one word, and this she-wolf is going to hold it against me for the rest of my life. I surge to my feet and storm from the house. I head for the woodpile, work the ax out of the stump, lift a log, and slam the ax into it.

I try to put myself in Lillian’s place, remembering the relief I had felt when she had confessed there was no Jake. Only for her, there will always be an Olivia. My first love.

“What are you doing?” she asks from behind me.

I toss the split wood onto the pile and heft another log to the stump. “Chopping you twenty years' worth of wood. I’m gonna repair your house, paint it, and do anything else around here that needs to be done. You don’t want to marry me? Fine. But I will be damned before a child of mine is gonna suffer because of the mistakes I made.”