Emma's Wish

by Margery Scott

  Maybe not, but Sam wasn't so sure. It did mean he could afford a brass plaque, not a dried-up piece of wood with a name burned into it. Surely that said something about his success and the type of clients he represented. And the man must win his cases, otherwise word would have spread and he wouldn't be in business long.

  Jonas picked up the sheaf of papers on his desk again and began to thumb through them, muttering here and there as he read the legal documents. At one point, he frowned, his gaze lifting to the ceiling as if he was thinking.

  "What is it?" Sam asked, worried.

  Jonas waved away his question. "Nothing. Nothing at all." Then he continued to read until he'd finished the last page.

  "The children mentioned here are your natural children?" Jonas asked.

  Sam nodded.

  "And their mother is dead?"

  "That's right. Emma and I got married a couple months ago."

  "Uh-huh," he said absently. "How do the young'uns feel about you bringin' a new mother home?"

  Sam grinned. "We had a few rough patches, but they seem to be coming around."

  The lawyer nodded. "Good. Good. The judge will want to see that they're happy."

  He studied the documents for a few more seconds, then straightened his chair.

  "I won't kid you folks," he said, folding the papers back up and sliding them back into the envelope. "Ambrose is good. One of the best in the state."

  "Damn!" Sam was afraid of that.

  "Now your deceased wife's folks have money, so I understand."

  Sam nodded.

  "But the fact of the matter is, those are your children, and unless they can prove you aren't a fit father--" He paused and gave Emma a confident smile, "and you, Emma, aren't a fit mama, then I don't see any way a judge is going to hand those children over to a pair of socialites from Boston."

  "You're sure?"

  "Now before you think this is going to be easy, let me point out one thing you probably haven't thought about."

  Sam's brows puckered. "What is it?"

  "It all depends on the judge. With luck, we'll get a judge who doesn't have political leanings, and won't care what kind of backing and influence your in-laws have. But if we get one who's looking to make a name for himself, or is thinking about running for office--"

  He didn't need to finish his thought. Sam knew exactly what he was getting at. His future, his children's future, would depend on someone else's ambition.

  "What can we do?" he asked finally.

  "Not a darned thing. We'll have to wait and see which judge is assigned your case, and then we'll think up something."

  "We haven't told the children," Emma put in. "We thought it best to wait until it was necessary. Please tell us the truth, Jonas. What are our chances?"

  Jonas rose and came around to the front of his desk. He leaned against it and folded his arms across his middle. "I wish I could tell you," he said softly. "But I honestly don't know."

  ***

  Joseph tossed his hat onto the hook on the wall behind the door. "Bullseye!" he shouted when the hat clung precariously to the hook, but didn't fall off.

  "Bullseye!" Becky cried out with a grin, tearing off her cotton bonnet and tossing it at the hook. The bonnet landed on the floor. Her face crumpled as she snatched it up.

  "Here, Becky," Joseph said, crouching down and wrapping his arms around the tops of Becky's thighs. Heaving himself up, he lifted Becky as high as he could, then held her as she slid the bonnet on the hook. "Bullseye!"

  "Bullseye!" Becky repeated, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

  Nathan, who had been watching silently a few feet away, called out, "Hey, Joseph, watch this." With one deft motion, Nathan threw his hat in a high arc. He grinned when it landed squarely on an empty hook.

  Laughter and loud voices filled the kitchen as the boys raced to retrieve their hats and stand further away, taking turns tossing their hats at the hooks. Becky squealed with delight each time one of them hit their target.

  "Hush, now, all of you," Emma scolded. "You're making enough noise to raise the dead. Go and wash up for supper."

  Sam came in and crossed to where Emma was taking a tray of biscuits from the oven. "Leave them a little while, Emma," Sam said, his voice barely above a whisper. "There may not be many more days like this."

  Emma looked up at him, seeing the strain etched on his face, the sadness in his dark eyes. He was right. If Catherine's parents won custody ...

  No! She refused to think about the possibility of losing. Somehow, they would convince the judge the children belonged with them.

  "Stop it, Sam!" Emma said. "The children aren't going anywhere."

  "I hope to God you're right," Sam replied.

  Emma smiled softly. So did she.

  ***

  Sam sat down on the top porch step. Resting his elbows on his thighs, he gazed out into the darkness.

  His land. Under the moonless sky, it was a black void. Like his life would be if he lost his children. And if he lost Emma. Over the past few weeks, it had become hard to separate his children and Emma in his heart. The two had become one. They were his life. Without them, nothing else mattered.

  He prayed Emma was right. She was so sure that the judge would see fit to leave the children with him.

  But Emma hadn't grown up back east, where men with money and power exploited those less fortunate, manipulated the government, and grew richer on the backs of others. He'd seen it first-hand.

  The Howards had money. Lots of it. And friends in high places. What chance did he, a struggling rancher, have in a court battle against them?

  Sam heard the door close behind him and Emma's soft voice as she crossed the porch. She stopped beside him. "Are you all right?" she asked.

  "Uh-huh," Sam lied. He wondered if he would ever be all right again. He looked up as Emma sat down on the step. The clouds shifted, and moonlight played on her face, shadowing the curve of her jaw, shimmering on her pale blonde hair curling down her back. Her scent wafted over him, the fragrance heating his blood and pooling deep in his groin.

  He had to stop his thoughts from centering on the woman sitting beside him with her thigh brushing against his. "Are the kids asleep?" he asked.

  Emma nodded. "Nathan asked me something that's worrying. He and Joseph had obviously been talking, and they both got very quiet when I went into the room to say goodnight. Then Nathan asked me if I was going to die, too."

  Sam thought about it for a moment, but couldn't come up with any reason the boy would ask about the possibility of Emma dying. She sure didn't look sick. In fact, she looked downright beautiful. "Why would he ask that?" he asked finally.

  "He thought something must be terribly wrong because you look so sad. He told me you looked the same way when his mother became ill."

  "Aw, hell ..."

  Emma's hand found its way to rest on Sam's bare forearm. The touch of her fingers on his skin sent desire skimming through him. "We have to try to forget about the Howards, forget about the courts, forget about everything but what we have here. Worrying won't change the outcome, and the best thing we can do for those children is to give them the kind of life they deserve."

  "How do we forget about it, Emma? How do we forget that two weeks from now, they might be on their way to Boston."

  "That's not going to happen." Emma's voice was stern, but he heard the catch in her voice.

  Sam turned to face her. She was so beautiful. Reaching up, he traced the line of her jaw with his forefinger. Her eyes sparkled. Brushing his thumb across her cheek, he felt the dampness of a tear that had escaped.

  "Help me forget," he whispered just before he closed the gap between them and his mouth found hers.

  If only they could, Emma thought as she felt the first touch of Sam's lips. If only they could forget everything and everyone who threatened their happiness. If only she could forget the reasons she couldn't be a real wife to Sam. She drew back. "Sam, I can't."

  "All I'm a
sking for is a kiss, Emma." His lips teased the corner of her mouth. "Just a kiss."

  "I ..." She should get up and run now, before the feelings washing over her made her lose her common sense. Deep inside, her heart was thrumming, and the way Sam's lips were brushing over her throat were making it difficult - no, impossible - to think straight.

  Sam's lips followed the line of her jaw and came back to her mouth. "Just a kiss, Emma."

  One kiss. One kiss couldn't hurt, could it? If that's all she'd ever experience, why not enjoy Sam's kisses.

  Slowly, sensuously, Sam threaded his fingers through her hair. Wrapping a curl around his finger, he closed his eyes and breathed in its fragrance. "I love the smell of your hair. It reminds me of the air right after it rains." His finger touched the nape of her neck, and she shivered. Her hand splayed against his chest.

  "Are you cold?" he asked.

  Emma shook her head. "No. In fact, I was just thinking about how warm it is tonight. It's unusual for this time of year."

  Sam smiled. "It isn't the weather, Emma."

  "No?" What else could it be? Sam's grin widened, and his meaning became clear. She felt her cheeks flush. "Oh-- no, it isn't ... I can't ..."

  "Yes, it is, and you can." Sam let her hair fall across her shoulders once more, and cupped her chin. "You're a normal woman, Emma, and there's nothing wrong with wanting love from a man."

  Emma shook her head. No, there was nothing wrong with wanting love, but plenty wrong with watching the man you love turn from you in disgust when he looked at you.

  The man you love. The words ran through Emma's brain. Yes, she admitted to herself again. Sam was that man. The man she loved. She hadn't expected it to happen, she hadn't wanted it to happen. But it had. Somehow, she'd fallen deeply in love with the man beside her, with his kindness, his honor, even his stubborn pride.

  And even now, days after she'd discovered how deep her feelings were for him, the force of those emotions still surprised her.

  She looked at him then, seeing him in a new light. Suddenly, she began to think about fragile intimacy of their relationship, and she realized their life together might come to an end. Very soon.

  "Love isn't part of this marriage, Sam. We made a deal."

  "We're talking about a kiss. Nothing more. Unless you want it."

  "Sam, I don't think--"

  "Good. That's the plan," he said. "No thinking. Just kissing."

  His heart beat steadily beneath her hand, and her own heart skipped in response. She took in an unsteady breath, praying for the strength to pull away, but instead, she breathed in the scent of leather and soap and sunshine. Sam's scent. And she was lost. "A kiss?" she asked weakly. "Just a kiss? Nothing more."

  The lines beside his mouth deepened. "That's all I'm asking for. But if you want to give more, I won't refuse."

  Oh, mercy. How could she resist him? He was looking at her with an expression bordering on ... was it love? Was it possible he could feel the same way she did? Could there possibly be a future for them? Or would her heart be broken once more?

  Emma could no more pull away from him than she could stop breathing. And, Heaven help her, she didn't want to escape. Sam shifted and drew her into his arms. In her brain, reason fought for control, but desire was so much more powerful.

  His lips found hers, touching them as tenderly as he'd caress an infant. She'd thought it was impossible for this kiss be better than the one before, but she was wrong. It was as if her lips had memorized his, their texture, their shape, their taste. Her lips met his as if they were meant to be joined, and she stopped breathing, afraid that she might spoil the moment if she took a breath.

  Reaching up, she touched his face, her fingers feeling the rough stubble on his chin. Her hand drifted around to touch his hair. Strange, she thought. It was much softer than she expected it to be. She threaded it through her fingers, revelling in the feel of it.

  Emma closed her eyes, surrendering to the feelings flowing over her. She felt her breasts strain against the thin cotton of her chemise and a gnawing sensation somewhere between pleasure and pain settled deep within her belly.

  His tongue teased her lips, and she parted them, allowing him to deepen the kiss. His tongue explored her mouth, finally mating with hers. She almost moaned aloud at the heady sensations washing over her.

  He drew his lips away. She'd never felt this way, and she hadn't known what she was missing. This was ... wonderful.

  She should stop him. And she would. In a few minutes. One more kiss. Just one.

  Sam let out a deep groan as he released her and shifted, twisting his body to lean against the porch railing. He moved until he found a comfortable position, then smiled at Emma as he drew her back into his arms.

  She was half-sitting, half-lying against his chest, her body resting snugly against his. She could feel his heart thundering between them. Or was it hers? She had no idea, and right now, she didn't care. All that mattered was the touch of Sam's lips on hers.

  Her senses whirled. His lips left her mouth, grazing her jaw, her forehead, the soft skin beneath her ear. His breath tickled her cheek, and his roughened skin only heightened her awareness of him.

  Suddenly, she felt Sam's hand on the swell of her breast, his thumb grazing the tip. The sensation was so intensely pleasurable she gasped. His touch as he palmed her breast was gentle, yet at the same time possessive.

  Emma's breath caught. This was so natural, so, so right. If only they could stay like this forever.

  Her nipple hardened, and Emma couldn't hide her surprise. She'd had no idea this could happen ...

  "Sam ..." she said breathlessly, lifting her head to look into his dark eyes.

  "Hush, Emma," he murmured. "Now isn't the time to talk." His lips drifted downward into the hollow of her throat, and somehow, the buttons of her blouse opened. How that had happened she didn't know, but at that moment, she didn't care. Cool air caressed her bare skin, and in turn, Sam's lips heated it. The contrast sent shivers of desire coursing through her, making it impossible to think clearly.

  "But--."

  The pressure of his lips on hers stopped her. Again, she was lost in a whirl of new sensations. Her blood rushed to every nerve ending, and an ache began to form between her thighs.

  She felt his hands untie the top of her chemise, and as he lowered the fabric to expose her, his fingers claimed her other breast.

  He drew his head back to look at her. His hand rested on the soft swell of her breast, and she saw the question in his eyes.

  "What's this?" he asked, his finger skimming across the fabric covering her breast.

  Oh, God. He'd felt her scars through the chemise. Her face flamed with embarrassment and shame.

  How could she have done this? How could she have forgotten?

  Wresting herself out of Sam's arms, she snatched at her blouse and folded it over her chest. How could she have been so stupid?

  "What's wrong?" Sam tried to bring her back into his arms, but Emma slid back until she was out of reach.

  "Nothing." Emma quickly buttoned her blouse and smoothed her skirt. "I have to check on the children."

  "They're sound asleep. Now come here. We aren't finished."

  "Yes," Emma said sternly. "Yes, we are."

  "What happened? What did I say to upset you? Was it because I asked about what I felt? It felt like a scar."

  Oh, if only the ground would open up and swallow her now.

  "Is that what it is? A scar?"

  Emma nodded. How had she let this happen? How could she have lost control of her common sense and allowed him to touch her? His kisses had felt so good, so natural, and his touch ... well, she'd never felt a man's touch, had never realized just how exciting it was.

  But if she didn't stop now, he'd want to touch her again. And more. He might even see the hideous puckered skin on her shoulder and her breast. And he'd look at her in the same way the doctors had. And the same way Barclay had looked at her when he'd caught a glimp
se of her shoulder after the accident. His eyes had widened in horror, and he'd stood, speechless as she struggled to cover herself. He hadn't been able to hide his shock - or his disgust. She was still in hospital when she'd received his note ending their engagement.

  She couldn't risk the same reaction from Sam.

  Sam reached for her, drawing her back into the circle of his arms. "I thought so. Someday you can tell me how it happened, but right now, I'd rather your lips were doing something else."

  Emma pushed away. "No."

  Confusion appeared in Sam's eyes. "Why not?"

  "I ... just can't ..."

  Self-consciously, Emma folded her arms across her breasts.

  "It's only a little scar, Emma. Nothing to be embarrassed about."

  "It's not a little scar. You have no idea--"

  Sam got up and moved a few inches away. "No, I don't. So why don't you tell me? What is it about a scar that's got you in such a state that you can't get away from me fast enough?"

  "Nothing," she said sternly, but the quiver in her voice gave her away.

  "Don't lie to me, Emma."

  "I'm not lying. You say my scars are nothing only because you want ... " Emma paused, trying to find the right words.

  "What?" Sam shouted, then softened when Emma glared at him and shushed him, pointing to the window upstairs where Nathan and Joseph were sleeping. "Because I want what? Sex? Can you say that, Emma? Can you say sex?"

  "Stop it, Sam."

  "No. Do you really think I'm shallow enough that I'd take a woman to bed even though I'm disgusted by her just because I want sex?"

  "I know men have needs--"

  "Dammit, Emma. What kind of man do you think I am?"

  Tears welled up in Emma's eyes and spilled down her cheeks. "I know you're a kind and gentle man, and you deserve more than a woman who is imperfect. I'm sorry I can't be that woman. Goodnight."

  On quaking legs, Emma got up and ran past him into the house. The sooner she got away from him and could get her emotions under control, the better off she'd be.