A Widow to Heal His Outlaw Soul (Preview)

Prologue

1881, New Mexico Territory, Frost Ridge

“Push, push, Isadora! You must push!”

Isadora gasped for breath, dropping her forehead onto the side of the bed. How long had her labor gone on for? It felt like an eternity. It had been daytime when her labor started, and now it was pitch black outside. The wind howled, and Isadora wondered idly if it was snowing, or at least sleeting. The weather was cold enough for it tonight, and they were high enough up in the mountains for ice, snow, and rain to come when they least expected it.

“I can’t,” she breathed, her voice catching in her throat. Señora Marquez had her kneeling beside the bed, instead of lying flat on her back like some of the other doctors insisted upon.

“The baby knows how best to come,” Señora Marquez had stated firmly. “And a woman’s instincts are her best tool. Listen to them, where you can. I’ll be here for when you can’t.”

Dona Esperanza sat in the corner, rosary clutched to her chest, praying silently. It was Isadora’s rosary, and there was something oddly comforting about seeing it in the older woman’s work-roughened hands. She’d been praying since the labor started, even though Marquez scolded her for ‘worrying’ instead of helping. Isadora couldn’t make out the individual words of the prayer, but it was reassuring to hear the regular, whispering rhythm.

Dona Esperanza had wanted to go for a doctor, but of course that was out of the question. Now that Doctor Edwards was dead and gone, there was no doctor in town. It would take all night and most of the next day to get down the mountain and up again, even if the doctor there agreed to come. He likely wouldn’t, since nobody had the money to pay him. Lucia was out of town on an errand, so she couldn’t ride for the doctor, and Isadora’s labor had come on a few days earlier than it was meant to.

She was grateful that the weather wasn’t too bad. If there’d been snow or anything serious to block the routes between the houses, she would have had to give birth alone. She was lucky that Señora Marquez had been with her when the contractions had begun earlier that afternoon.

“Come on, come on,” Señora Marquez scolded, but Isadora heard the strain in her voice, and the first hint of fear. “Un empujón más, para el bebé.”

One more push, for the baby. That was what she was saying. The words echoed in her head.

For the baby. For the baby. For the baby.

One more push seemed to be a superhuman effort, though. Isadora thought, with a twinge of fear, that she could not manage even one more push. As she formulated the thought, however, her body began to work on its own. Instinct, like Señora Marquez had said. Instinct was taking over. All she needed to do was to trust herself.

Hopefully.

Isadora’s world blurred around her as she pushed down, clutching on the rope they had wound around the bedposts for her to steady herself on.

There was a rush, a juddering thing which seemed to drag out Isadora’s insides with it. The pain was something she could not even fathom, something deep and intense, and she was sure that she lost consciousness for a moment. Her own blood pounded in her ears, so loud she couldn’t hear anything else. The world rippled and blurred again.

Then a baby’s cry echoed through the silent house. At once, Isadora snapped back into herself, the pain forgotten.
“Ella está aquí,” Señora Marquez breathed. “Oh, Isadora. She’s here!”

Hauling on the rope for balance, Isadora twisted around, desperate to see.

“She? She? It’s a baby girl?” she gasped, her voice catching in her throat.

Dona Esperanza came shuffling closer, her black crepe dress crumpling around her. She was tired and crumpled, no doubt, from the lengthy labor. Even though hours had passed, she still smelled of lavender and sage and thyme, the herbs that Marquez had brought, dried herbs to fill the room with their savory scent. To bring luck, she said. The smell was everywhere, a calm and reassuring scent.

Dona Esperanza didn’t approve of luck. But Dona Esperanza was barely forty, and while her widowed status gave her a little power in the community, there was no going up against the elderly, respected Señora, who was somewhere in the region of seventy years old.

Still, it seemed that their previous arguments were forgotten in the presence of the baby.

Señora Marquez held a tiny bundle in her arms; bloodstained cloth wound around something so small Isadora’s heart jumped into her mouth.

The old woman was beaming, revealing toothless gums. Her face had wrinkled up with her smile.

“Healthy,” she pronounced, “and beautiful. Here, hold her.”

Isadora’s body felt strangely numb. She knew there’d be pain later, and a lengthy healing process. She’d seen it often enough. The actual birth itself was only a part of the process, and nobody expected what could come after. She’d seen complications with afterbirth more often than she cared to remember, and the mother often did not seem to understand how serious it was. Perhaps they didn’t care anymore, not when they had their beautiful baby in their arms.

Childbirth was always a tricky business, but as far as she could tell, hers had gone as smoothly as could be expected.

But that didn’t matter, did it? The baby was here. She had Señora Marquez and Dona Esperanza here to help. She wasn’t alone, not really. Her sister would return to town soon, having walked to the next town to collect medicine. A family was a complex thing, wasn’t it?

She gingerly took the bundle in her arms, staring down into the baby’s face. The baby was an odd color, blue-pink, the color changing as blood surged around her tiny body. Her face was crumpled as though she was angry at the world. Minute fists clenched by her face.

Isadora had seen plenty of newborn babies before. She was a midwife, after all. She was always struck by how strange new babies looked, and how furiously their mothers adored them anyway.

My baby is the most beautiful in the whole world, she thought dizzily. All those other women who said that theirs was the most beautiful – hah! They haven’t seen her.

“Your father would have loved you so much,” Isadora whispered. “He couldn’t wait to meet you.”

There was a short silence after she said that. Dona Esperanza and Señora Marquez exchanged uneasy glances.

“It’s bad luck to talk about the dead in a birthing room,” the Señora murmured.

Isadora barely heard her. She knew the superstitions, the ideas they all still clung to despite Father Roman’s gentle reminders that it was God who decided their fate, not an intangible sort of fate. It hadn’t stopped the older men and women refusing to walk under ladders or impelled them to risk doing much at all on the thirteenth of the month. They still threw salt over their shoulder if they spilled any and wouldn’t cross you on the stairs.

And they still refused to talk about the dead in certain circumstances, mostly during auspicious events like births, marriages, christenings, and weddings.

“She has to know about him,” Isadora answered tightly, her gaze trained on her baby’s face. She was beautiful. Perfect. “She has to hear his name. His name was Alejandro Vargas, and he could not wait to be your father.”

Sniffing, she met Señora Marquez’ eyes defiantly. “I am going to call her Maria Dolores, after Alejandro’s mother.”

Señora Marquez looked even more horrified. “A woman who died in childbirth, and gave birth to a weak baby? Child, please reconsider.”

“We make our own luck,” Isadora murmured. She was exhausted already and had no intention of arguing with the Señora. She’d already decided. “Now, if you can help me up…”

She was cut off mid-sentence by a powerful clamp of pain around her middle, so intense that it made her double over, gasping aloud. She might even have dropped the baby, if Dona Esperanza hadn’t hurried forward and snatched little Maria Dolores to safety.

At once, Señora Marquez was at her side, grim-faced. A second contraction came, and this time Isadora cried aloud. It seemed worse than before, although that could simply be that she’d had time to catch her breath and begin to relax. Was this what afterbirth pains felt like? If so, she felt guilty for all the times she’d reassured nervous mothers that all was going as expected, it wouldn’t hurt too much, that they were going to be perfectly fine. This time, the pain was almost as terrifying as before.

“What is it, Isadora?” she asked, her voice sharp and serious. “What is wrong?”

“It could be afterbirth pains,” Dona Esperanza chipped in.

Isadora shook her head, groaning. “It isn’t.”

The Señora cleared her throat. “Isadora, helping another woman through her childbirth experience is very much different than your own. The feelings…”

“It’s not afterbirth!”

The older woman tightened her lips. Ordinarily, she’d never accept such cheek from anybody, not even Isadora, but of course this situation was an exception. Abruptly, she shifted herself, running her gnarled old hands over Isadora’s belly. Her expression tightened, and she ducked her head, peering up Isadora’s blood-stained nightgown.

“What is it?” Dona Esperanza whispered fearfully. She clutched the baby to her chest, but the little thing was beginning to grouse. Isadora ached to feed her child, but rapidly the pain was cutting off any thought of anything else. Glancing over her shoulder, she met Señora Marquez’ eye.

The older woman’s expression was serious. Real fear closed over Isadora’s heart once more.

“There’s another baby,” Señora Marquez said bluntly. “It is coming fast.”

“Another baby?” Isadora gasped. “But my belly wasn’t big enough for twins!”

“That means nothing,” the older woman responded bluntly, rolling up her sleeves. “You should know that, but I suppose we don’t have a lot of twins in Frost Ridge. Dona Esperanza, more towels, and more water. Fetch Isadora a tea infusion, something to keep up her strength.”

“I only heard one heartbeat, Señora!”

Isadora heard panic in her own voice. Neither of the older women said anything. Isadora recognized this behavior from her own work as a midwife. There was a time and a place for comfort and reassurance, and a time and a place for action.

Now was the time for action. Nobody knew how this would end, whether Isadora was about to give birth to a live or dead baby, and there was no time to stop and think about it. At a time like this, delays could be fatal, so nobody had time to stop and reassure Isadora.

She didn’t expect it, logically, but in her heart, she could feel the panic peaking.

Dona Esperanza scurried forward to take the first baby, clutching the precious little bundle to her chest. Isadora longed to take her baby back, but she knew that was foolish. She had to have her hands free. She reached up, grasping the rope once again.

Please, she prayed, please don’t let me deliver a dead baby. Please.

“None of that matters,” Señora Marquez responded, her voice businesslike. “Don’t worry about heartbeats or the size of your belly. The heartbeats are not always heard, and this child is very small, I think. Very weak. We will find out soon. The baby is coming, Isadora. It is coming. Breathe as we told you; you know how to get through this. Take every moment as it comes, unique to itself. Don’t think of before, and don’t think of after. There’s only now, you hear?”

“I hear,” Isadora groaned.

Pain blurred Isadora’s world once more. This labor was much faster than Maria Dolores’, and the baby came suddenly, in a blur of pain. She relaxed against the bed, gasping for breath. Dona Esperanza put a savory-smelling cup of liquid against her lips, urging her to drink. Isadora did, the tea burning down her throat. She coughed and spluttered, turning her head away. She was too weak to do anything but breathe, flopping bonelessly against the mattress.

“I can’t hear a cry,” Isadora wheezed. Her hair, which had been braided back at the start of labor to keep it out of her way, was coming loose and hanging heavily around her face in a damp, sticky black curtain. She focused on her own hands on the bedsheets, a nut-brown color against the white.

Are these my best sheets? Oh, dear. I hope I haven’t got blood on them. The stains won’t come out easily.

I want to hold my baby. I want to hold both of my babies. I want the pain to stop.

I wish my sister was here.

I wish my husband was here.

“Señora?” she ventured again, her voice cracking. She could hear frantic movement behind her, the sound of the old midwife working. Water splashed, the sound of a towel gently rubbing against skin filled the room, mingling with Dona Esperanza’s whispered prayers. Maria Dolores began to cry.

“Señora!” Isadora almost screamed. “Señora, is my baby alive?”

Two Weeks Later

A slow procession made its way out of the small town, all the way up towards the chapel perched between two boulders. It was really the only spot left for the town chapel, but Isadora found herself cursing the journey with more vigor than usual. She was recovering quickly, and she knew that she was lucky, but that didn’t change the ache of pain she felt in her middle and in her thighs.

Childbirth could tear through a woman’s body like wet paper, and she reminded herself once more that she was lucky to be recovering so quickly. Even though she had mentioned the dead in the birthing room.

I don’t regret saying my husband’s name aloud. I never will.

She put thoughts of Alejandro away. These days, the memory of him didn’t bring the same pain it once did, but she still felt twinges of misery to know that he would never meet his children. She hoped that the rest of the pain would fade in time.

Some women might find that thought disloyal, but that was their choice. Isadora knew her husband like she knew herself, and he would not have wanted her to be miserable. If she had been the one to die, she would have been furious to think of him whiling his days away in grief, crying for her every day, and letting his life go by without him. She would want him to live, and that was what Alejandro wanted for her.

Señora Marquez followed behind, picking her slow, labored way up the rocky path. Dona Esperanza was somewhere in the crowd behind.

As always, Father Roman waited at the top of the path, by the door to the chapel. He was in his fifties, trim and strong for his age, and had been more helpful and kind than Isadora could put into words after Alejandro had first died.

“Congratulations!” Father Roman cried. “A christening is exactly what the town needs.”

“I agree!” Señora Marquez added, huffing and puffing up the path.

Isadora reached the stony little plateau outside the chapel and held Maria Dolores for the priest to see. He peered down at the baby with a smile.

“She’s beautiful. And naming her after Alejandro’s mother is a kindness, indeed. I think it would have made your husband happy. I was sorry to hear of your difficult labor, by the way. I prayed for it to go easily for you.”

Isadora shrugged, smiling tightly. “It was hard, but I am recovering quickly, and things could have been worse. I am grateful. I never imagined I was pregnant with two children, and losing a baby was the worst thing I could have endured.”

Father Roman nodded and laid a warm hand on her shoulder.

“Then let’s be grateful that you do not have to endure it.”

A smile broke out across Isadora’s face. “Amen to that.”

She turned at that moment, and spotted Lucia hurrying up the path, skirts swishing around her legs, clutching a tiny bundle to her chest.

Isadora gave a squawk. “Lucia! Don’t you dare run with the baby!”

Lucia obediently slowed, wincing an apology.

Isadora and Lucia were clearly sisters, with the same thick, straight black hair, nut-brown skin, and large brown eyes. Lucia was barely twenty-four, and therefore still had to fight off the village men sniffing around her, whereas Isadora would be thirty next year, and was grateful to be left alone.

“Here I am,” Lucia said, breathless, “and the baby is fine, Isadora. You worry too much.”

“Ah, but that is not possible,” Father Roman chuckled. “This precious baby girl is much smaller than her sister, and a little weaker, too. So, her mother will worry about her twice as much.” He reached out, and Lucia carefully handed over the quiet, tiny little baby.

“Her name is Valentina,” Isadora said, smiling. “I named her after my mother. She is small and barely seems to cry.”

“She’ll grow in strength,” the priest assured her. “Alejandro was small and rather weak when he was born, I believe. He grew up and gained strength, didn’t he? Just keep hoping, keep praying, and keep doing what you are already doing, Isadora. You are doing well.”

He handed over Valentina, and Isadora carefully gave Maria Dolores to Lucia. Then, she took the smaller baby for herself.

Valentina squirmed weakly, barely a weight in Isadora’s arms. They filed into the chapel, and Isadora stared down at her baby. The fear she felt was a familiar sensation now. She’d felt it on that fateful night, when she’d been so sure that she was going to lose one of her twins. She felt it now, when Valentina was not growing as she should and rarely cried.

There didn’t seem to be anything physically wrong with Valentina, but it was clear that she was the much smaller twin, and that Maria Dolores had taken up all the food and space in the womb.

Not that it’s poor Maria’s fault, of course. I just want both of my girls to grow up healthy.

“Where are we going after the christening?” Lucia asked, puffing alongside her sister. “Dona Esperanza said that she wanted to host a celebration dinner.”

“Then that’s where we’re going.”

In twos and threes, the other villagers climbed up the last twists of the rocky path, all pausing to smile at Isadora and her children as they entered.

In truth, Isadora was hugely relieved that Dona Esperanza had offered to host the celebration dinner. The locals would expect something, but frankly, Isadora’s pantry was all but empty. With Alejandro gone, and her unable to take care of the fields properly herself, food was not coming into their household. Lucia did what she could, but it wasn’t enough. It didn’t help that Lucia, always ready to think of others, was often out of town, fetching medicine and supplies and other things for those who couldn’t fetch it themselves. It was often said that Lucia was the best horse rider in their parts, and Isadora wholly believed it.

Still, she hoped that Lucia would calm down a little and be at home more often now. Taking care of a baby was never going to be easy, but two babies…

A pang of fear shot through Isadora’s chest. She swallowed hard, taking her place in the front pew. Behind her, the chapel was filling up. Father Roman came striding down the aisle, beaming at everybody.

“Brothers and sisters,” he began, turning to face them, “we are brought here by the happiest of occasions. When is the last time we were able to celebrate a christening? To our beloved Isadora Vargas, who has suffered enough of her own trials recently, no less!”

Applause broke out, and Isadora found herself smiling. She glanced up, meeting the priest’s smile.

And then, quite slowly, the smile dropped off his face. His gaze slid past her and landed on the doorway.

A rush of cold air seemed to shift over Isadora’s skin, even though it was a warm day. She knew, without looking, who would be standing at the doorway.

Heavy footsteps thumped down the aisle, a clinking sound coming with every step. A boot chain, perhaps, or a necklace. He was known to like jewelry and fine things. A large shadow fell over Isadora and stayed there.

He’s not going to move until I look at him, she thought, swallowing hard. Tearing her gaze away from baby Valentina, sleeping in her lap, Isadora made herself look up at the man.

Don Mateo Olivares was one of the largest men in town, in many ways. He was the tallest, to be sure, with a bulky, strong build from years of hard work, even at the age of forty-five.

He was also the richest man in town by a mile. At least half of the men in active employment were employed by Don Mateo, and the other half would snatch at an offer of work if it came their way.

In short, Don Mateo was a man who could get anything he wanted.

And he did.

When he wanted a prime square of farmland nestled in the heart of town, he had no qualms in knocking down the chapel and ordering the townsfolk to build it again, further up in the mountains. When he wanted Parkton Ranch, but the Parktons refused to move, well, that was okay. They were simply beset by misfortunes. A barn burned down. The river was mysteriously dammed up before it could reach Parkton land – which was completely legal, apparently – and the cattle went missing in droves.

At last, with their ranch house itself half destroyed by a mysterious fire, the Parktons sold their ranch to Don Mateo for half of what it was worth. They left town shortly after.

Yes, he was a man who got what he wanted, and it was clear to Isadora that what he wanted at that moment was for her to look at him, greet him, and smile.

“Good morning, Don Mateo,” Isadora said. She didn’t smile, though. “Welcome to the christening.”

He had sharp, angular features, and a bristling gray moustache. His eyes were a cold, flat blue, like a pond with no fish in it, and gave nothing away.

“Good morning, Isadora,” he responded. “Congratulations on your babies.”

“Thank you.”

“After the service, I’d like to speak to you outside, if you don’t mind.”

She swallowed. “Very well.”

He inclined his head, just once, and then slid into the opposite pew.

Father Roman cleared his throat.

“Well, then. Let’s proceed with the service.”

***

Isadora had fully intended to slip away after the service. She had thought it would be easy enough, but apparently this time Don Mateo did not intend to let her get away.

The instant the amen for the final prayer was said, Don Mateo was on his feet, looming over her.

“That word outside, if you have a moment?” he said pleasantly, in a tone which implied that it was not a suggestion, or even a request.

Silence spread through the congregation. Lucia laid her hand worriedly on Isadora’s arm. Father Roman met her eye, and there was a warning there.

Be careful, that gaze said. This is not a man any of us can afford to offend.

She gently removed Lucia’s hand from her arm and handed Valentina over to Dona Esperanza.

“Of course, Don Mateo,” Isadora murmured.

He led the way down the aisle, and Isadora followed him. The eyes of the others burned into her back.

They stepped out into the sunshine, and he turned to face her.

“I think you can imagine what I wanted to speak to you about, Isadora,” Don Mateo said softly. “I understand that things have been difficult for you lately. You’re widowed, which is such a shame. You have no family to care for you, no money, no way of earning money. You have twin daughters to care for, and I know that your sister has always been… well, troublesome. Things must be difficult.”

His gaze roamed up and down her figure as he spoke. Clenching her jaw tightly, Isadora folded her hands in front of her waist and tried not to notice.

“We are managing,” she said quietly, “but thank you for your concern.”

He took a step closer, reaching out to take one of her hands. He lifted it, placing his hand on top of hers. Swallowing hard, Isadora tried not to panic. She knew that if she tried to pull away, she wouldn’t be able to do it.

Just breathe. In and out.

“I’ve had my eye on you for a while, Isadora,” he continued softly. “Even since before your husband died, shameful as it is to say. But now, you’ve given birth safely, and you’re ready for a new start.”

I prayed that you’d lose interest in me while I was pregnant. I guess I was a fool to hope that it would be over.

“I haven’t thought often about marriage,” Don Mateo remarked thoughtfully. “It always seemed like a waste of time, like tying a millstone around one’s neck. I’ve never struggled for companionship, you see. But for a while, Isadora, I’ve known that you’re the woman for me. You’ll make me happy. Perhaps we’ll even have children of our own, since it’s clear you can produce them. So, how about it?”

“I… I don’t understand,” she stammered.

He chuckled. “You’re very sweet. I am asking you to marry me, Isadora. Oh, your life will change overnight, I can promise you that.”

She closed her eyes briefly. So, this was it, then. There was no more dodging him, no more pretending not to understand what he meant.

If I was Don Mateo’s wife, I wouldn’t starve. My girls would grow up with everything they needed. Maybe I could even take care of Lucia.

But at what cost?

Breathing out slowly, she met his gaze.

“I’m sorry, Don Mateo. I cannot marry you. I’m flattered, but we aren’t suited.”

His expression changed. In the silence that followed, Isadora realized that there was complete silence coming from inside the chapel.

Everybody can hear us.

“Well,” he said at last, dropping her hand abruptly. “This is disappointing. I’ll let you think it over, Isadora.”

“I’m quite certain that…”

“Sometimes clarity takes time,” he interrupted, holding her gaze. She didn’t dare look away. “You don’t always understand the weight of things. You don’t understand consequences, not yet, at least. Speak to some of the older men and women in town. They’ll help you understand. I’ll ask again, Isadora. I’ll ask again, and hopefully I’ll get a more sensible answer in future.”

He walked away without waiting for an answer, leaving Isadora with a breathless feeling of dread.

What have I done?