Becky turned and ran out. Seconds later, Emma heard her footsteps clomping on the stairs. She turned and dipped her hands in the hot dishwater.
"You're so good with them." Sam got up and came to stand behind her.
Emma tensed. He was too close. The scent of leather - and Sam - washed over her, and heat pooled in her belly.
Then she felt his hands on her shoulders, exerting just enough pressure to turn her to face him. He picked up a towel and wrapped it around her hands, gently rubbing them dry.
"How's your eye?" he asked, his lips quirked in a smile.
"My eye?"
"That something that was in it this afternoon--"
Suddenly, Emma remembered. "About this afternoon ... we need to talk ..."
"You're right," Sam interrupted, "there are some things that need saying."
Sam's fingertips brushed the side of her neck, his calluses sending a tingling heat coursing through her. She shifted, pulling herself from his touch.
"I ... can't ... be what you want ..."
"I want a real marriage ..."
Oh, what she wouldn't give to be able to be a real wife to Sam. He was everything she'd ever wanted in a husband. He was handsome, strong and, she admitted to herself, his lean and muscular body was very pleasant to look at. He was a good man, and he would be gentle with her. She had no doubt about that.
He had such patience with his children, and he treated everyone he met with respect. Yes, he'd be a very good husband.
Nothing like Barclay.
Why had he suddenly popped into her brain? But now that he had, she couldn't help but compare the two men. How could she have ever believed she loved Barclay? How could she have gone to such lengths to impress him?
And now, because she was so silly and impulsive, she'd never be able to be a wife to the one man she was falling in love with.
Maybe if Sam loved her he'd be able to see past the scars and the blemished flesh. But he didn't. He was still grieving over Catherine's death. He'd made no pretence about his reasons for marrying Emma.
They had made a bargain, but now he wanted more. He wanted the one thing she couldn't provide without risking his turning from her in disgust and destroying the fragile relationship they'd developed over the past few weeks.
"We had an agreement, Sam."
"That agreement became void this afternoon."
Emma shook her head. "No. It was just a momentary lapse in judgement."
Sam cupped her chin in his hand, forcing her to look up at him. "That was no momentary lapse, and you're kidding yourself if you try to say it was. That was a kiss between a man and a woman. You enjoyed it as much as I did."
"No, I didn't--"
"Stop lying to yourself, Emma. Why can't you admit you feel something for me? Is the thought so terrible?"
Tears filled her eyes, threatening to spill. "No," she whispered. "But I can't..."
"You can't or you won't?"
Silence descended on the kitchen. Finally, she raised her eyes to meet his and said in a firm voice, "I won't. I intend to honor my end of our agreement. I expect you to honor yours."
Sam took a step back. The way his eyes searched her face frightened Emma. Could he see through her firm words to the sadness lurking in her eyes?
"In that case I suppose I should apologize for taking liberties with you this afternoon. It won't happen again."
The lump in Emma's throat made it impossible to speak. All she could do was nod.
"Then I'll say goodnight," Sam muttered a few moments later, then turned and grabbed his hat off the hook behind the door.
Emma turned and immersed her hands back in the dishpan, her tears dripping into the soapy water as she heard the door slam behind her.
She'd done the right thing. Hadn't she? Wasn't it better that he was angry rather than repulsed by her? For several days now, she'd wondered if perhaps Sam was different, if he was a better man than Barclay and the doctors who'd looked at her with revulsion and pity. The more time she spent with Sam, the more she admired his integrity and his basic goodness. Maybe he would care for her despite her imperfections. They could have a real marriage, be a real family, and perhaps she could even have children of her own. She could have everything she'd ever dreamed of.
But if she was wrong, she could lose everything. Did she dare take the chance?
***
A few mornings later, Emma was tackling the weeds in the vegetable garden behind the house when she heard the door close. Nathan came up to stand beside her. "Are you mad at Pa?"
Turning, she looked up. His face was drawn in a frown, and as he waited for her response, he bent down to pick up one of the weeds in the pile Emma had pulled. He squeezed a leaf between his thumb and finger, then tossed it back in the heap.
Setting down the small hoe she'd been using, she sat back on her heels. "No," she replied. "What makes you think I'm angry with your father."
Nathan shrugged, then kicked at a small mound of dirt at his feet. "Aw ... I don't know ... you just look kinda mad ... like mama used to ..." His voice trailed off.
True, she and Sam had barely spoken since their discussion three days ago, but she couldn't say she was angry exactly. She couldn't speak for Sam, though. Ever since she'd refused him, he'd been walking around like he had a hornet's nest in his breeches, barely speaking, responding with one-word answers when she asked him a question, and avoiding her whenever possible. Meals were the worst, though. Silent, the only sound in the kitchen the clinking of silverware on the dishes. Then he'd go outside and stay there until she was in bed for the night.
Obviously, the strain in their relationship hadn't gone unnoticed by the children.
Emma gave Nathan a soft smile. "I'm not angry. There's nothing for you to worry about."
"Joseph said you was mad and you might want to leave us like Mama did."
Her heart filled with sympathy for the little boy. A lock of dark hair slipped down onto his forehead, and Emma reached out to brush it back. She was a little surprised when he didn't pull away from her touch.
"Oh, sweetheart," she said quietly, "your mother didn't leave you because she wanted to. She died, and people can't control when they die."
"I know that," he said matter-of-factly. "But she wanted to leave us anyway."
Emma's eyes widened. "She did?"
Nathan nodded. "Yep. Her and Pa used to fight about it all the time. She was mad a lot. I don't think she liked Pa very much."
As much as she was curious about Sam's relationship with Catherine, at the same time she felt a little guilty encouraging Nathan to talk about his mother. But her inquisitive nature wouldn't permit her to let the opportunity go by. She did promise herself she wouldn't ask questions, though. She'd only let the boy tell her what he wanted to.
"I'm sure you're mistaken," Emma said.
"Nope. Me and Joseph knew that. Becky was too little, but we're big enough. She used to yell at him a lot."
He paused for a few seconds, his brow furrowed. Then he added, "she used to yell at us a lot, too."
So theirs hadn't been a very happy home, by all accounts. Yet Sam had loved her. Still loved her.
"At least you don't yell much," Nathan went on. "That's good."
Emma's lips quirked in a smile, and she turned away for a moment. Nathan was perfectly serious, and she didn't want him to think she was taking his comments lightly. Instead, she concentrated on a bee flitting among the marigolds edging the garden.
Nathan knelt down in the dirt beside her and snatched a weed in his fist. He yanked it out, and dropped it in the heap beside them.
"And you read good stories," he murmured as he turned away from her and pulled at another weed.
Emma smiled, feeling a lump form in her throat. This was the first time Nathan had voiced anything positive about her presence in their lives. She'd felt it for the past few days, that she was finally breaking down the wall he'd built between them, but to finally have evidence that she was succeeding
was almost overwhelming. "I'm glad you like them," she murmured.
"Will you read us another one tonight?" he asked, gazing up at her with eyes so like his father's.
"Once supper is cleaned up and you have a bath," she promised.
Nathan's lips pursed. "Ew, I hate baths."
Emma grinned. "We could throw you in the river," she joked.
"But I can't swim yet," he protested, his eyes widening in fright.
Emma chuckled and Nathan, realizing she was teasing him, joined in.
"That's why you have to take a bath," she said a few moments later when their laughter had died down.
The little boy let out a loud sigh. Then his face brightened, and he dropped the weed he held, turning to Emma. "Could you tell us a good story, a funny story?"
What was he thinking? "I ... suppose so ..."
"Good," he said, "maybe Pa'll like it and he won't be so ornery all the time."
With that, he turned his back on Emma and began to tug at the weeds, leaving Emma with the distressing thought that a little boy shouldn't have to be concerned about the moods of his parents.
***
"Sam? We have to talk."
Sam looked up to see Emma standing in the doorway of the barn, the sun silhouetting her shape against the deep blue of the sky. She walked towards him, her hips swaying gently beneath the fullness of the brown work skirt, and desire shot through him with the force of a cannonball. He turned away, training his eyes on the sickle he'd been sharpening when she called his name. Maybe if he kept his gaze on the tool he'd be able to tamp down the need in his gut that exploded whenever she was near.
The past few days had been agony. Watching the way her body moved as she worked in the kitchen, breathing in her scent, feeling her lying beside him every night ...
The only way he'd managed to get through it was by avoiding her as much as he could. She'd been confused and hurt. He knew that. But he didn't know what else to do. When he'd agreed to this arrangement, he'd had no idea this would happen, that he'd be able to put his life with Catherine in the past, that he'd want another woman more than breath itself. But that's exactly what had happened.
He'd thought Emma felt the same way. He knew enough about women to know when they were responding, and Emma's body told him what her voice refused to. And when he'd suggested they be a real husband and wife, he'd expected her to agree. But she'd turned him down.
Where were they supposed to go from here?
"What's the problem?" he mumbled, keeping his gaze averted.
"We are."
Sam set the sharpening stone on the top of the stall rail and straightened up.
What was she getting at?
She was nervous. He could tell by the way she was nibbling on the inside of her bottom lip. What the hell did she have to be skittish of? Him?
"We are?"
Emma nodded. "We can't go on living this way."
Sam's eyebrows lifted. "Oh? And what way is that?"
"You know what I'm talking about, Sam. We've barely said two words to each other in days. You leave the room whenever I come in, making half-hearted excuses about how much work you have--"
"What do you expect me to do? Pretend that we're a loving couple?"
"Exactly."
"But we aren't."
"It's not good for the children to see us like this," she explained.
"And what about you? It doesn't bother you?"
Sam heard Emma's sharp intake of breath. Was it driving her as crazy as it was him?
"I ... of course ... we were friends before ..."
"I want more than what you're willing to give, Emma. It's going to take a while before I get used to that."
Emma's voice softened to a murmur. "Can't we be friends again?" she asked, her eyes focused on his. Her teeth began to nibble her lip again.
Sam took a step towards her. "Are you afraid of me?"
Emma shook her head. "No. I know you would never hurt me intentionally."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Only that sometimes people can't help saying or doing something that hurts someone else, even though they don't realize it."
Sam's arms reached around to draw Emma into his embrace. Even though she knew she'd regret it, she couldn't bring herself to resist. His warmth, the soft beating of his heart against her breast, the caress of his coffee-scented breath against her cheek made her feel almost dizzy.
"Who hurt you, Emma? Who hurt you so badly you're afraid to trust anyone else?"
"No one."
"Your fiance?"
Emma's silence was her answer.
"He didn't deserve a woman like you," Sam said. "You are a beautiful woman, inside and out--"
"No, I'm not-- you don't know--"
"Then tell me. Tell me what the hell happened to convince you that you aren't worth caring about."
Tears slipped down Emma's cheeks, and Sam gently brushed one away with his thumb. "One day, I will. Just not now."
Emma's gaze slipped away from his. She couldn't bear to see the hurt in his eyes. She wanted to tell him. She truly did. And deep inside, she sensed he wouldn't turn his back on her. But she was afraid ... so afraid to take the chance.
"Hey, Pa!" Joseph's voice interrupted the silence. "Somebody's comin'."
Sam loosened his grip on Emma and took a step back, his gaze focused over her shoulder on the buggy slowing in front of the house.
Taking her hand in his, he ushered her outside.
Sam stopped short at the door of the barn as two people climbed out of the buggy. Emma squinted, raising her hand to shade her eyes from the blinding sun. She didn't recognize their visitors.
"Who is it?" she asked, looking up at Sam.
His grip on her hand tightened. His face grew pale, and a muscle began to twitch in his jaw.
"It's Catherine's parents."
Chapter 12
What the hell--?
Sam's muscles tensed. His heart hammered against his ribs.
"What are they doing here?" Emma whispered.
"I don't know. They didn't answer my telegram telling them the kids weren't coming after all, so I expected that would be the end of it. I figured they'd accepted that. Seems like they didn't."
Sam paused in the doorway of the barn, hidden from their view, but still able to get a good look at the man helping the woman out of a fancy carriage in front of the house.
"My, they're quite an imposing couple, aren't they?" Emma commented.
Sam squinted, studying the pair. Winston, Catherine's father, hadn't changed much in the years since he'd seen him last. A little less hair, a few more wrinkles where his cheeks were beginning to sag. But still tall and stocky, with a presence that had intimated many men.
Florence, on the other hand, had aged - and not gracefully. Always on the small side, she'd gained at least fifty pounds, and her hair, once a deep auburn, was now almost white. But she still held herself with that air of self-importance he'd recognize anywhere.
Emma took a step forward, but Sam's grip on her hand stopped her. He was in no hurry to see his deceased wife's family.
"Pa!" Joseph's voice reverberated in the air.
"We can't stay in here forever," Emma said softly.
"I suppose you're right, but I can tell you I'd rather spend my time with a whole passel of wild hogs than with those two."
"They can't be that bad," Emma protested. "After all, you were going to allow them to raise your children."
True. And now, seeing them again, he wondered how he could even have considered sending his kids to them. The only excuse he could come up with was that time had softened his memories of Catherine's parents.
"We must go and greet them. They've come a long way to visit the children."
Sam shrugged. "Let's just hope it's a real short visit. Like five minutes," he said wryly, giving Emma a quirky smile.
Much as he tried, he couldn't pretend to be pleased to see them.
"Which one ar
e you?" he heard Florence ask as they approached.
"I'm Nathan," Nathan said. "I'm six."
"So you must be Joseph," Winston put in, eyeing Joseph standing a few feet away.
Joseph nodded. "Yes, sir."
Becky was sitting on the bottom step of the porch, her finger wrapped in her hair the way she did when she was feeling particularly shy.
Florence called out to Becky. "Come here, child."
Becky's eyes widened in fear, but she didn't move until she spied Sam and Emma, then bounded up and raced to hide behind Emma's skirt.
Apollo growled at the woman's feet.
"Get that thing away from me," she squawked. "Shoo!" She flapped her hands wildly in the air, and the dog raced away, only to return seconds later.
"Joseph!" Sam said. "Put Apollo in the pen."
"But --"
Sam sent Joseph a look that brooked no argument.
Without another word, Joseph picked up the squirming puppy, giggling as its tongue lapped against his cheek. "Ain't he somethin'?" he muttered, turning and disappearing behind the house.
"Sam." Catherine's father nodded an acknowledgement of Sam's arrival.
His wife didn't say a word, but Emma didn't miss the silent appraisal she was receiving as the woman's gaze slid over her.
"Welcome to Texas." Emma smiled, receiving only a cool nod for the effort she was making to be friendly.
Silence descended over the group as Joseph and Nathan came to stand beside Sam. In the apple tree a few feet away, a nest of young birds chirped incessantly.
"Children, these are your grandparents," Sam announced.
The children began to speak all at once.
"Pa! You promised we wouldn't have to go--"
"What are they doing here?"
"I don't wannna go--"
"Hush, now," Emma said firmly. "You aren't going anywhere. Your grandparents have come a long way to visit you. Now mind your manners."
Two heads bowed at the rebuke. "Sorry," they muttered simultaneously. Nathan kicked at the dirt with the toe of his boot.
"We weren't expecting you," Sam said finally.
"Obviously not," Florence muttered, brushing at an invisible speck of dust on her skirt. "I assume you would have cleaned up a little if you'd known we were coming."
Emma's Wish Page 13
