Emma's Wish

by Margery Scott

  The muscles in Sam's jaw tightened, and he glanced at Emma. She had straightened to her full height, and Sam was well aware how the insult would sit with her.

  Winston's gaze took in the house and land. "So this is the squalor my daughter was forced to live in. It's no wonder she became so ill."

  God, the man was doing it again - making him feel worthless, as if he'd never been good enough for Catherine. Winston was the main reason he'd taken Catherine and the children and moved to Texas, to get away from the constant criticism, to make a life for his family by himself.

  Florence took a step towards Sam. "And when she wanted to return home, you kept her here, away from decent medical care, until she died."

  Sam's grip tightened even more on Emma's hand. It was taking every ounce of self control he possessed to hold on to his temper, and not toss their pompous asses off his land.

  Sam didn't respond.

  Catherine's father then turned his attention to her. "And I suppose you're the whore Sam found to replace my daughter."

  Sam released Emma's hand and closed the gap between him and Winston. He'd apparently heard enough. Emma saw his hand clench in a fist, and knew he was itching to use it. Before he could, she gripped his arm.

  Sam took a deep breath, and his voice was low and controlled when he spoke. Yet the underlying threat was clear. "I'm warning you, Winston. This isn't Boston, and you can't get away with speaking to people as if they aren't fit to wipe your shoes. Out here, men don't take kindly to people insulting their women."

  Taking a step backward, Winston slid a glance to his wife, who was cowering behind him.

  Sam's rage was obvious. "Don't ever speak like that about my wife again or you'll be going back to your fancy newspaper with a mouthful of gums!"

  Winston's face reddened, but he didn't apologize.

  Emma forced a smile, trying desperately to ease the tension. "Please come inside and have a cool drink," she offered quickly. "You must be thirsty after the ride from town."

  "Of course we are," Florence put in, emerging from behind her husband now that the danger had dissipated. "I was wondering how long it would take you to show some common courtesy."

  Emma choked back a retort and led them inside. Thankfully, she'd spent the morning cleaning, so the furniture gleamed and the kitchen was spotless. A pot of stew simmered on the stove, the aroma filling the air.

  "Please sit down." Emma indicated the settee in the parlor, then scurried out to the kitchen, leaving Sam to deal with Catherine's parents.

  What horrible people! How could Sam even have considered sending the children to them? What kind of childhood would they have had? No wonder he'd agreed to marry her, and agreed to the conditions she'd set. Anything was better than allowing those people to raise his children.

  Taking the tray of lemonade back into the parlor, Emma tried to smile, all the while praying they'd be on their way soon and never come back.

  "... Nathan is awfully thin, isn't he?" Florence commented. "Don't you feed these children?"

  "He eats like a horse," Sam countered. "Isn't that right, Nathan?"

  Nathan stood beside his father, staring at the two strangers, and nodded slightly.

  "And Becky," Florence went on. "She's filthy."

  "She was playing outside with their new puppy," Emma put in. "Children are bound to get dirty when they play."

  "Hmmph. She should be inside learning how to be a lady instead of rolling around in the mud." Florence took a sip of the lemonade.

  Emma waited for her to criticize that, too, but she didn't.

  "What about the gifts?" Winston asked, turning his attention to his wife. "I'll bring them in now." He got up and disappeared outside, returning a few seconds later with his arms filled with wrapped parcels.

  "You shouldn't have--" Sam began as Winston began to dole out the presents. The children squealed with excitement as they ripped into the paper.

  "And why not? Like it or not, these children are our family."

  "Golly!" Joseph's eyes sparkled as he opened a small box and found inside an ornately carved pocket knife.

  Nathan's fingers pawed at the wrapping paper, finally exposing a wooden train. "Joseph! Look at this! It's the one from the mercantile."

  Florence pasted a condescending smile on her face. "We stopped at the store to buy a small gift for the children. There's really no selection to speak of, so we asked the proprietor if the children had expressed interest in any of the merchandise. She mentioned the knife and the train, and also she pointed out a doll Becky had admired."

  Becky's squeal of delight confirmed they had made the right choice. "Mama! Mama!" she cried out, squeezing a doll to her chest.

  Florence's smile disappeared, her eyes narrowing as she turned to Sam. "Mama? How can you make the children call her Mama when they know she isn't their mother?"

  "Nobody forced them to call Emma that. They chose to."

  "Oh, really." The tone of her voice showed she didn't believe that for one instant.

  "I don't," Nathan chimed in.

  The woman's lips curved in a smile at Nathan then, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. "Good boy."

  "Now, children, run along and play while I speak to your father," Winston commanded in his booming voice.

  The children looked at Sam for his approval. He nodded, and the three youngsters raced from the room, toys in hand, their chatter blending with the sounds of their footsteps on the porch and the door slamming behind them.

  "Really, Sam. You're raising these children to be savages. Don't they know how to behave in a civilized home?"

  Sam bristled. "They're far from savages, Florence. They're healthy and happy. That's what counts."

  "They need proper guidance."

  "They have proper guidance," Sam retorted.

  Winston's gaze took in their surroundings. "I knew you wouldn't amount to much, but I had no idea you were so ... poor."

  Sam had had enough. It was time to get down to the real reason they'd travelled all the way from Boston to Texas. "How long are you staying?"

  Florence took out a lace-trimmed white handkerchief and dabbed at a dot of perspiration above her lip. Winston and his wife exchanged glances.

  Suddenly, a sense of foreboding swept over Sam.

  "It's rather uncertain. Hopefully not long," Winston replied.

  "I'll be happy to return home as soon as possible."

  "As you can see, we have no room to put you up here, but I can bring the children into town to visit with you."

  "Oh, we aren't here to visit," Florence said, getting up.

  Sam's sense of dread grew.

  "Then why are you here?"

  Winston crossed to where Sam was standing. Mere inches separated them. The two men faced each other, their equal height failing to give one any advantage over the other.

  "We've come to take the children back with us."

  Emma gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth.

  Sam's face darkened. "I told you they weren't coming. They're staying here with Emma and me."

  "Don't kid yourself. They will be returning to Boston with us. We've retained an attorney in Fort Worth. Legal steps are already being taken in order for us to gain custody of the children."

  ***

  Emma came up behind Sam later that evening when the children were asleep. They hadn't had a chance to talk since Sam had almost bodily thrown the Howards out of the house amid threats and angry words. The children, sensing the tension, had been subdued, and Emma had sent them off to bed earlier than usual with a promise of another picnic the following day.

  She rested her hand on Sam's shoulder. "They won't win," she said softly.

  Sam reached up and closed his hand over hers. "I wish I was as sure of that as you are."

  Emma wished she were more confident herself, instead of only mouthing the words she knew Sam needed to hear. In truth, she was just as terrified as he was that Catherine's parents would indeed win the court battle and take t
he children back East.

  She almost shuddered as she thought of how their lives would change. No more cavorting in the yard with Apollo. No more picnics. No more laughter around the dinner table. No more wet kisses from Becky and embarrassed hugs from Joseph. Heavens, she'd even miss the way Nathan opposed her every chance he got.

  "Hell, Emma, they have everything. Money, power, important friends. How can I fight them?" Sam raked his fingers through his dark hair.

  "We'll fight them together."

  "How? They've hired the best lawyer in Fort Worth. I can't even afford to hire Jonas McCallum."

  Jonas was Charity's only lawyer, a man who'd appeared in town a few years back and hung out his shingle. All folks knew was that he'd come from Georgia, and that he had no family. It was questionable how he supported himself, since there wasn't much call for legal advice in this part of the country, but somehow, he got by.

  "Of course we can."

  "Emma, we won't have any money until I sell off the cattle in the fall."

  "We can use my inheritance."

  Sam bounded out of the chair and turned to face Emma. His eyes narrowed and his lips formed a thin line. "We've gone through this before. And the answer is still no."

  Emma eyed him squarely. "Before it didn't matter. This is important."

  “I won't take your money."

  Why did the man have to be so stubborn? Emma planted her hands on her hips and raised herself to her full height. "Now you listen to me, Sam Jenkins. Pride is fine, if you can afford it. Right now, you can't."

  "What kind of man am I if I let a woman provide for us?"

  "It's not providing--"

  "Same thing."

  "You're just being stubborn--"

  Sam's face reddened. "I'll provide for my family."

  "If you don't let me help you, you may not have a family to provide for."

  Emma saw the muscles in Sam's jaw tense, and she knew she'd struck a nerve. He was so proud, so independent, that admitting he was unable to look after his family without help was like rubbing salt in an open wound.

  "And besides, "Emma went on, "I don't need your permission to spend my money. I can hire Jonas myself."

  "You wouldn't--"

  Emma's eyes narrowed. "Try me."

  Their gazes held for several long seconds. She could see the frustration on his face, then the defeat. He knew she was right.

  "Why?" Sam asked finally, his voice so low she could barely hear him. "They aren't even your children."

  Emma felt a stab of pain so real she gasped aloud.

  "Oh, damn! I didn't mean it like that. I just meant that ... Oh, hell ... I'm sorry ... I seem to always say the wrong thing ..."

  "You do have a way of opening your mouth without thinking first," she replied. But now that she thought about it, she realized he hadn't meant to be cruel. He was merely pointing out the truth - that these weren't her biological children. The ache in her heart sat like lead against her breast. "As for why, it's simple. I love those children. I may not have given birth to them, but I can't imagine caring for my own child any more than I care for them."

  "I know you do. And I can't think of anybody--" He paused, his gaze meeting hers -- "anybody - who is a better mother than you are."

  "Do you remember the day at the train station?" Emma asked. She'd remember every moment of it for the rest of her life.

  Sam nodded.

  "I told you then if I had a child, I'd die before I'd allow anyone to take it away from me. That's how I feel about your children." She paused for a moment. "Our children."

  Sam's eyes glistened. "Thank you," he whispered, cupping her shoulders and drawing her into his arms.

  Emma stiffened, afraid of the sensations rushing through her. But she knew deep inside this wasn't a sexual advance. He merely needed comfort, someone to hold on to. Relaxing, she rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart beneath his thin cotton shirt. The scent of leather - and Sam - surrounded her, and she suddenly realized she needed him as much as he needed her.

  And even more importantly, she discovered she loved him. She'd pretended her only goal was to be a good mother to his children. She'd even fooled herself into thinking a man's love wasn't important.

  But she was wrong. She'd fallen in love with this man whose life was being torn from him. She'd grown to love his sense of humor, his patience, his strong moral character. Even his stubborn pride and independence. She loved him more than she'd ever thought it was possible to care for one person. Enough that she'd give everything she owned, even her life, for him.

  He'd made it clear he wanted a real marriage. And, God help her, she wanted that, too. Now, for the first time in her life, she could have everything she'd dreamed of. Except that two people resting in their room in Charity's only hotel wanted to take it away from her. Because if they won, not only would she lose the children, Sam would have no reason to continue their marriage.

  Tears filled her eyes and spilled over, dampening Sam's shirt. Yet he didn't move, just held her a little tighter until she stopped crying.

  "It'll all work out, Emma," he whispered. "We'll make it work out. As long as you'll stand beside me, we'll do whatever it takes."

  Emma nodded. "I'll be here," she murmured into his chest. "For as long as you want me."

  ***

  The moon cast a golden glow on Emma's sleeping face. Sam tucked a stray blonde curl behind her ear.

  God, she was beautiful.

  Sliding into bed beside her, he rolled onto his side and waited. Within a few minutes, Emma shifted, snuggling her bottom into him. He reached around her middle and rested his palm on her stomach.

  She sighed, and her hand found his.

  Sam held her, needing nothing else but her warmth, her presence. All he needed tonight was to know he wasn't alone, that Emma would be there beside him to fight for his family.

  What would he do if the Howards won? Even though it hadn't been so long ago that he'd planned to send his children to them, now, after seeing them again, he knew deep inside he'd never allow his children to grow up in their home.

  He'd run, he decided. If the worst happened, he'd take his children and run. He'd leave everything he had behind, and disappear.

  Even Emma.

  The thought made him feel almost physically ill. How could he go through his life without Emma? She exasperated him at times with her impulsive behavior and her refusal to obey him like a wife should, but she also made him laugh, made him see the good things in life, made him see the good in himself.

  But if he lost the children, he'd lose Emma anyway. She agreed to marry him because she wanted to be a mother. Without the children, she'd have no reason to stay.

  Visions of his life without her kept him awake until the first streaks of dawn peeked over the horizon.

  Chapter 13

  Jonas McCallum's office took up one of the rooms above the barbershop on Charity's main street. His shingle hung right beneath the red-and-white striped pole protruding from the on the side of the weathered wooden building.

  Sam gripped Emma's hand as they made their way up the stairs and through the open door into a small office. Worn leather-bound books and piles of papers blanketed every available surface, even stacked on the floor so that they seemed to be holding the walls. A framed diploma hung at a crooked angle on the wall beside the window.

  Behind a massive oak desk that took up the greater part of the room, a man looked up when they entered. He reminded Sam of St. Nick, at least what he remembered of a sketch he'd seen when he was a boy. For some reason, the resemblance relaxed Sam, even though rationally there was no reason to trust the man just because he had a bushy white beard and rosy cheeks.

  "Well, come on in," Jonas puffed, struggling to extricate himself from the chair behind his desk. Offering his hand, he took Sam's in a tight grip. "The name's Jonas McCallum."

  Sam introduced himself and Emma.

  "Glad to meet you," the lawye
r said, pumping Sam's hand. Then, turning to Emma, he winked. "I knew your daddy well," he said. "He was a good man."

  "Yes, he was."

  "Well, now, sit yourselves down and tell me what the trouble is." Then he chuckled, his cheeks turning even pinker. "Guess I should clear a spot for you," he said, gathering up a heap of newspapers off a leather armchair and plopping them on the floor in the corner. "Gotta keep up with the news," he said as a way of explanation.

  Emma sat down, perching herself on the edge of the chair. Sam took the other, his long body folding into its depths. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

  "Mr. McCallum--" Sam began.

  "Hold it right there, son." The lawyer sank into his chair then held out his hand to stop Sam. "If I'm going to help you with whatever your problem is, I think we need to get rid of the formalities right off. The name's Jonas. Now, Sam - Emma," he added, giving her a grin, "what can I do for the two of you?"

  Sam gave him a weak smile and took an envelope out of his pocket containing the papers the Howards' attorney had delivered the day before. He handed them to Jonas, but the lawyer didn't look at them. Instead, he tossed them onto his desk and leaned back in his chair. "Before I look at those, tell me what's going on."

  Whether the man could practice law was something only time would tell, but at least he was friendly. Emma seemed to like him, too, Sam thought, giving his wife a sidelong glance. She seemed more relaxed than she had in days.

  Jonas listened carefully while Sam explained the situation, interrupting him occasionally to clarify a point. Finally, when Sam was finished, Jonas opened the envelope and scanned the documents. A frown wrinkled his forehead and he let out a soft whistle. Sam's heart plummeted. This was not a good sign.

  "What is it?" Sam asked.

  "They've hired Jackson Ambrose."

  "You know him?"

  "I know of him. The man has quite a reputation in these parts. But don't you worry, son. Just because the man has a fancy brass plaque on his door doesn't mean he's any match for Jonas P. McCallum."