Finally, when Emma Jean rose to clear the table, Sawyer carried AJ and his basket into the parlor and asked Henry to keep an eye on him.
He returned to the kitchen to find Emma Jean setting the kettle back on the stove. She smiled at him over her shoulder as she moved to the sink full of dishes. “Is there anything I can get for you before you head out?” she asked. “Though I still don’t feel right staying here while you sleep in a storeroom.”
He closed the distance between them and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “I have something to ask you, and I want you to look me in the eyes when you answer.”
She turned to face him, her expression suddenly guarded. “Is something wrong?”
No point in beating around the bush. “How did you come by the loom out at your place?”
She grimaced as she slowly dried her hands on her apron. “You mean did Pa give me part of the money he stole?” She mimicked his pose, crossing her arms over her chest, though the gesture seemed more defensive than confrontational.
He shrugged, keeping a close eye out for any tics or changes in her expression. “If you want to give me a different explanation, I’m listening.”
She sighed and pushed a tendril of hair off her forehead with the back of a still-damp hand. “I paid for it with money I earned myself. I ordered it to replace Ma’s old one that, well, that was broken. I ordered it before Pa stole that money, and I wish to heaven that I’d never done it. Or at the very least that the timing had been different.”
Given her current circumstances, he had a little trouble believing that. “Money you earned how?”
She must have heard the skepticism in his voice because her chin tilted up. “I use the loom to weave saddle blankets that I sell to Mr. O’Hurley, and I’d managed to put some of the money by.”
“The peddler?” Tom O’Hurley passed through town in his tinker’s wagon about every other month or so. Come to think of it though, he hadn’t been around lately.
“Yes. Ma used to make all sorts of woven goods that she would either barter or sell to him. Pa never did contribute much to the household income.”
That he had no trouble believing.
“When Ma passed, I took it up,” she continued, “but about the only thing I can do well is saddle blankets. Pa always took a big part of the proceeds, so like Ma, I would hide some of the money away before he could get to it. Not a lot, because that would make him suspicious, but a little from each sale. Over time it added up to a nice nest egg for me and Henry.”
“And the old one couldn’t be repaired?”
Something that looked like bitterness flitted across her features before she turned away and began washing the dishes again. “Last summer Pa came home drunk while I was working at the loom,” she said. “I’d lost track of time and didn’t have his supper ready for him. He got so mad he destroyed the loom, saying I should spend my time taking care of him and Henry instead of playing with my fancy toy. And then he used several pieces as kindling for the stove.”
He stiffened and his jaw clenched. How could a man act so despicably toward his own daughter?
“I thought about not replacing the loom. I figured we could get by for a while on my laundry earnings. But getting by was the best we would do, and I wanted more.”
Ambition? There was definitely more to Emma Jean than he’d assumed.
“Then Mr. O’Hurley came through and I explained that there wouldn’t be any more saddle blankets. He seemed real disappointed. He said those blankets were popular with his customers and that not only could he get me a good price on a new loom, but that he would start paying me four bits more per blanket for each one I finished for him.”
She was scrubbing the platter with a bit more vigor than necessary.
“I took a chance and gave him most of the money I’d hidden away so he could order me the loom. I wasn’t sure how I was going to explain it to Pa, but I knew I needed to be able to count on money from the blankets if I was ever going to be able to take Henry and escape from this place.”
That last bit jolted him. “Escape?”
“It’s a dream of mine to take Henry and go someplace where no one knows Pa or the name Gilley. Maybe open up a shop to sell my saddle blankets, or work in a restaurant, or even take in laundry again. A place where Henry can attend school without being bullied and where we can both finally fit in. But to do that, I need funds—enough for train tickets, new clothes, and about six months’ room and board to carry us while I find work and establish us in our new life.”
Seemed she’d thought it through. “Where would you go?”
“Ma used to talk about Jefferson. She went there once with her parents when she was a little girl and it fascinated her. The riverboats, the fancy hotels and shops, the bustling streets. The way she described it made me want to see it for myself.”
Should he tell her that Jefferson’s heyday was long past?
“But that’s all ashes now. My stash of money is gone. I have my loom but no customers for my blankets. And no laundry business to provide money for so much as groceries, let alone yarn. And I haven’t seen Mr. O’Hurley since July to sell him the blankets I did manage to finish.”
She hung the dishrag on the hook above the sink and wiped her hands on the apron with hands that shook slightly. She met his gaze again, and this time the look she gave him was almost a glare. “So to answer your question, no Pa did not buy me that loom with stolen money. I bought it myself and have regretted it ever since.”
She brushed past him as if to stalk away, but her dramatic exit was spoiled when her foot slipped on some spilled dishwater.
Sawyer reached out reflexively and grabbed her before she could fall, pulling her firmly against his chest.
Chapter 20
For a moment Emma Jean couldn’t move, could barely breathe. The feel of his strong, protective arms around her, the thrum of his heart beating against her chest, the rasp of his chin stubble against her forehead—it was all so overwhelming.
And so wonderful.
She wasn’t sure how long they stood that way. Seconds? Minutes?
It was Sawyer who moved first. There was a brief, featherlight touch, as if he’d stroked her hair. Or maybe he’d just shifted his hold. Whatever the case, a shiver of awareness went through her.
A heartbeat later he broke the embrace, moving his hands to her arms as he put a bit of distance between them. “Are you okay?” His tone was gruff, strained.
“Yes.” She tried to gather her scattered thoughts, still distracted by the warm protectiveness of his hands on her arms. “I’m sorry, I—”
“Don’t apologize.” His gaze bored into her, darkened by some emotion she couldn’t name. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
She nodded and he finally released her and stepped back.
“It’ll be dark soon—time for me to head out.”
Apparently they weren’t going to talk about what had just happened. She wasn’t sure whether she was relieved or disappointed. Maybe a little of both. “I truly appreciate you offering to spend the nights at your store, but I’ve been thinking that’s not really necessary or even a good idea.”
His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
She wiped the counter, not able to keep her wits when she met his gaze. “The thing is, you don’t spend a lot of time with AJ now as it is. Leaving before dark in the evenings means you’ll have even less time with him. How can you expect him to form any kind of attachment to you if you’re hardly ever here?”
“Who said I want him to form an attachment to me?”
Startled, she turned to face him again. “But, I mean, of course you do. You’re his guardian. And that means AJ’s going to be a big part of your life for a very long time.”
This time it was he who turned away, pushing the chairs back under the table. “Actually, I’m counting on it being very temporary.”
“What do you mean?”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, a
nd she thought maybe he wouldn’t answer. But then he shrugged. “No one took the time to check whether AJ had kinfolk on his mother’s side. So I’ve hired a detective to look into it for me. In fact, I’m hoping sometime in the next few weeks I’ll get a report with at least one name, maybe more.”
She planted one hand on her hip while she shook a finger in his direction. “You mean you’d just hand AJ over to someone else, a complete stranger?”
“No more a stranger to the kid than I was a few days ago.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I’m just looking out for AJ’s best interests. We both know I’m not the best candidate to be his guardian.”
Did he really believe that? “I know nothing of the sort.”
He frowned. “If you’re worried about your job, I warned you at the outset that it was just a temporary arrangement.”
She stiffened. “That’s not what I meant.” Then she softened. “You already seem much more at ease with AJ than you did that first day I visited here. And the poor baby has already been passed around so much in his short life, don’t you think he deserves some stability?”
“He can get that in his next, and hopefully long-term, home.” Sawyer crossed his arms. “But be that as it may, I’ve made up my mind, and that’s that.”
“What if your detective doesn’t find anyone?” She prayed that would be the case.
“He will.” His tone sounded more determined than convinced. “Now, it’s getting on toward dusk—time I head out.” And with a nod he moved toward the hall.
Emma Jean didn’t follow. So much had transpired in such a short space of time, she wasn’t sure what to focus on.
She rubbed her arms, seeing again the skeptical look on Sawyer’s face as he’d questioned her about the loom. Had she managed to convince him of the truth? It was important to her that he not think she was in cahoots with her pa.
And then there was that embrace. It was accidental, of course, not like he’d deliberately wanted to hold her. Still, he’d held her a little longer than necessary, or so it had seemed to her. Had he felt any of those wonderful, confusing, heart-fluttering feelings that she had? It was a moment she knew she’d be replaying in her mind for quite some time.
Then he’d spoiled her very lovely mood with his news about AJ. How could Sawyer not want to keep such a sweet little boy in his care? Especially when he had no one else. It wasn’t good for a body to be alone.
She straightened, feeling a new sense of purpose. She would do her level best before she left his employ to show Sawyer just how good it could be to have other people in his life to care for and be cared for by.
Chapter 21
As Sawyer walked toward the mercantile, he turned his collar up against the cool evening air. Herschel Evans was already out, turning on the streetlamps, and Sawyer made a point of speaking to him for a few minutes. The more witnesses he had to where he spent his nights, the better.
As he unlocked the door to the mercantile, Sawyer finally let himself think about what had happened there in the kitchen, about the accidental embrace that had turned into something more. The almost painful honesty and vulnerability mixed with fierce pride he’d seen in her just before she slipped had tugged at something deep inside him. Then she’d fallen right into his arms, the place he’d wanted her to be, and for a moment he’d just let himself feel rather than think.
Holding her had unleashed something in him he’d thought long dead, something fierce and protective and instinctual. A yearning to have something—no, someone—soft and tender, with a gentle kind of strength, someone he could cherish and who would cherish him in return.
He closed the door behind him with a bit more force than necessary and didn’t bother to light a lamp as he made his way to the storeroom by memory and the faint moonlight leaking in through the transom.
He had no right to be thinking those kinds of thoughts, to be having those kinds of feelings. And not just because Emma Jean was his employee.
No, the problem was in him, he had no right to form a romantic relationship with any woman. His former wife had made it quite clear that he came from a damaged bloodline. He had loved Lanny, but what woman would want to take a chance that she might bear similar children?
Sawyer pulled off his boots and stretched out on the cot, lacing his fingers behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling.
No, there could be no repeat of this evening’s embrace.
Trying to distract himself from that gloomy thought, he turned his thoughts to what she’d told him about how she’d acquired the loom. It certainly had the ring of truth to it and would explain a lot of things. In fact, it seemed a good sight more likely than the idea of Clyde Gilley giving any thought to the welfare of his kids.
It seemed he and the entire town had misjudged her. It was time he did his part to remedy that.
Sawyer rolled to his side, punching his pillow in an attempt to get more comfortable.
Why had he told her about the detective he’d hired? It wasn’t really any of her business. And if he was going to be honest with himself, the disappointment in her eyes as she’d looked at him had stung.
At least he hadn’t told her about the other detective he’d hired.
The one who was busy tracking down her father to see that he got the lynching he deserved.
As soon as Sawyer pulled the wagon to a stop in front of his house, Henry came bounding out the door, a cloth-wrapped package in his hands.
As Henry climbed into the wagon, Sawyer looked past him to see if Emma Jean would make an appearance, but the doorway remained empty. Was she still upset with him?
Once he’d set the wagon in motion, the boy unwrapped the cloth bundle to reveal four biscuits. “Emma Jean sent these to tide us over until we come back.”
Not entirely upset with him then. “Those look mighty good. And there’s a biscuit-sized hole in my stomach just waiting to be filled.”
Henry handed him one of the still-warm treats, and Sawyer took a hearty bite. The light, fluffy biscuit had been slathered with butter and blackberry jam.
“Your sister is a pretty good cook.”
Henry nodded. “Emma Jean can cook up a good meal with just about anything.”
Sawyer wondered how many meals she’d had to get creative with lately.
When they arrived at the Gilley place, he pulled a sack of feed from the back of the wagon. “Why don’t we do the same as yesterday—you tend to the goats and I’ll take care of the chickens.”
Henry eyed the sack. “Is that chicken feed?”
“It is. I noticed yesterday you were about out.”
Henry rubbed his neck. “Does Emma Jean know?”
“No.” It wasn’t as if he needed her permission.
The boy shook his head. “I don’t know if I should let you. Emma Jean doesn’t like folks just giving us things. She calls it charity.”
The woman had too much pride for her own good. “Don’t worry. It’s not charity—it’s your payment for the work you’re doing at my place.”
Henry looked as if he thought Sawyer was trying to pull one over on him. “But she said our payment was getting to eat with you so we wouldn’t have to use up our winter stores too soon.”
He mentally winced at this confirmation of the desperation she’d been feeling. “That’s your sister’s payment, but this is your payment.” He gave Henry a stern look. “But I expect you to earn it by helping your sister with the work around the place.”
Apparently convinced, Henry gave him an earnest smile. “Yes, sir.”
Later, when he and Henry climbed back in the wagon, Sawyer decided to do a bit of gentle probing. “So your sister is teaching you to read and write, is she?”
Henry nodded. “Course, we haven’t had much time to work on my lessons lately.”
“Why not?”
“Besides our regular chores, we’ve been gathering pecans and wild greens and then meeting the trains to try to earn a little money.” Henry gave him a broad smile. “I l
ike working for you better.”
Sawyer wasn’t sure whether to be flattered by that or not. “What books does she have you reading?”
“The only book we have is the bible. But Emma Jean writes stories sometimes that she teaches me to read from.”
So her way with words went beyond describing the rain. “What kind of stories?”
“All kinds. There was one about a boy and a horse that I really liked. And another one about a girl who grew butterfly wings and flew off to have some adventures.”
“Sounds fun.”
The boy grinned his agreement. “And the ones she tells me when we’re doing chores are even better. They make the work go faster.”
Sawyer suspected that was probably at least part of the reason Emma Jean recounted her stories. Lanny had liked stories too. He’d had a few children’s books with lots of pictures that he liked to read, though Sawyer wasn’t sure if he’d actually learned to read them or if he’d heard them so often he’d memorized them.
Perhaps it was time someone else got some use out of those books. Surely Emma Jean wouldn’t consider the loan of a few books charity.
After breakfast that morning, Sawyer decided it was time to start mending fences.
He helped Emma Jean carry the dishes to the washbasin. “About those saddle blankets you mentioned last night.”
She glanced up, her brows drawn down in question. “Yes?”
“You say you have some already finished?”
She nodded. “Three. But they aren’t doing me any good sitting in a chest in my room.”
“I was thinking I could sell them for you in the mercantile.”
Her expression hardened. “Do you really think anyone in this town would buy something I made?”
Unfortunately, she was right. “No one needs to know where they come from.”
A glimmer of hope seeped into her expression. “You’d really do that?”
He shrugged. “Selling goods is what I do.”
“Oh, I’d be so grateful.”
Sawyer (Bachelors And Babies Book 6) Page 9
