A Secret Fire (Western Historical Romance)

by Deborah M. Hathaway

  He peeked his head around the corner of the shelf to see Nancy Jane taking a step forward, forcing Emma back against the outer wall of the mercantile. His heart continued to break as he saw the beautiful girl’s head hanging down, tears dropping from her cheeks to the boardwalk beneath her. He heard Nancy Jane continue and held his breath to listen more closely.

  “But I guess you bein’ a saloon gal matches Thatcher perfectly, seein’ as how he’s just the same.”

  Thatcher shook his head at the accusation, laughing to himself at the audacity of the girl. She really was a snake. He watched as Emma’s head snapped up, but when Nancy Jane continued, Emma remained silent. More people stopped to see the commotion, Nancy Jane’s voice growing louder with each sentence.

  “But I wouldn’t waste my time with a man the likes of him. If he stays all night with you, just imagine the other gals he’s done the same thing with before.”

  He couldn’t give a hoot what Nancy Jane was saying. He’d had so many rumors spread about him that he couldn’t even keep track, almost all of them having been started by the women he hadn’t given the time of day to, just like Nancy Jane.

  However, as he watched Emma hang her head down once again, his heart sank. He kept waiting, hoping she’d say something to defend herself, defend him, defend their honor, but nothing. She remained silent and permissive.

  Was she really just too scared to say anything back to her? Or did she really believe what Nancy Jane was saying? Cruel visions of his mother entered his mind, of her walking out the door and never coming back. Bile rose in his throat as he realized that Emma was doing just the same as his mother had done. She was letting him go, not fighting to be with him, not caring enough to do anything.

  “I do declare, he probably couldn’t count on one hand the number of gals he’s been with,” he heard Nancy Jane continue.

  Still, Emma said nothing. Moving from his place where he could hear, Thatcher shoved Emma from his thoughts completely. If she couldn’t fight for him, then he didn’t want to fight for her. He walked out the back entrance to where Mr. Garth was loading things into their wagon and hoped that James would be back from the bank soon so they could leave town and never look back.

  ***

  Emma’s heartbeat quickened, her blood boiling, racing, threatening to explode forth from her skin. Her jaw clenched together, fingernails digging into the flesh of her hands as she fisted them tightly together.

  She knew Thatcher in a way Nancy Jane never would or could, and she was sick of hearing her southern accent ring out above everyone else’s.

  Nancy Jane’s face contorted in a triumphant sneer framed by blonde curls. “And I can only imagine what—”

  “Enough!” Emma yelled out before she convinced herself to remain quiet any longer.

  She wiped her tears away, and the crowd seemed to dissipate from around her, leaving only herself and Miss Nancy Jane Tilman. In reality, however, everyone drew closer in. Even James had stopped by to see why the small group had gathered and was now smiling at what he was watching unfold.

  Emma saw Nancy Jane’s eyes widen in shock. She quickly got over her astonishment, though, and her eyes again narrowed in on Emma, poison seeming to spit forth from them. “How dare you raise your voice to me, Emma Marchant,” she said, raising her chin, her bottom lip jutting forth. “I’m a—”

  “I said enough, Nancy Jane!” Emma said, pointing her finger at the girl, taking a step forward, her eyes narrowing likewise.

  The girl took a few steps back, but Emma continued, speaking through her teeth, feeling finally released. “I have had enough of this!”

  Finally the girl has stopped talkin’! she thought, already feeling triumphant. She didn’t want to be mean, but Nancy Jane needed to be stopped. She needed to understand that she couldn’t carry on the way she was any longer.

  “Now you listen here, Nancy Jane,” she said, walking closer, her finger still pointing. “I don’t ever want to hear you say another bad thing ’bout Thatcher Deakon.”

  “But he—”

  “Not one!” She pushed forward. More people gathered as they saw the quiet Emma Marchant standing up to the overbearing Miss Tilman. Nancy Jane’s eyes seemed to burst forth from their sockets. “He hasn’t done a thing wrong,” Emma continued. “Mr. Deakon is a perfect gentleman, a concept I’m sure you can’t even wrap around that little brain of yours.”

  Nancy Jane gasped, her mouth dropping open like a trout’s.

  “The night he was over at the inn was when Eliza had her baby. He was there helpin’ and talkin’ with Seth ’til the late mornin’, not doin’ what you’ve imagined in your absurd fantasies. He hasn’t done anythin’ with me or anyone for that matter.”

  She came closer to Nancy Jane, more threatening than ever, and Nancy Jane took another step back. “And if I ever hear you say another bad word ’bout him, I’ll tell your daddy to haul off and tan your little hide!”

  “Well, I never,” Nancy Jane said, her nostrils flaring. “You can’t talk to me like that, Emma Marchant!”

  “Oh yes I can!” Emma said just as forcefully. “And I’ll continue until you hobble your lip and stop speakin’ nonsense ’bout me and Thatcher Deakon!”

  She stepped forward once more, and that was all she had to do. Nancy Jane tried to distance herself by moving back yet again, but instead of the boardwalk, she stepped onto the unnecessarily long train of her pink dress and soon stumbled backwards.

  Emma watched as Nancy Jane’s arms flailed out from her body, waving frantically to remain upright. She tried to reach out for her hand, but it was too late as the girl stumbled backward at an angle off of the boardwalk. Her legs flew through the air, the pink dress rippling in the wind like the feathers of a flamingo, until she landed in the water trough below, her head submersing in the murky water seconds before she came up sputtering, trying to get the slime out of her mouth. Her curls were no longer intact but instead were wet strands drooping around her face, matching her soggy, dripping hat. She tried to get out of the trough, but those closest to her walked by, pretending not to see a thing.

  Eventually, Mr. Reilly, who Emma had not noticed until then, pulled the girl out, not bothering to hide his chuckles. As soon as she was out of the water, Nancy Jane wrenched her arm free from Mr. Reilly’s hand and looked to Emma. “You!” she squealed, her pink dress utterly soaked. “You did this to me!”

  Emma couldn’t help but laugh at the pathetic sight before her. “No, darlin’,” she said, mimicking her southern accent with the word. “I’m sorry, but you did this yourself. And it may be rude to say, but you’ve never looked better!”

  With that, Emma turned and walked away. She could hear a few people chuckling at what she had said as Nancy Jane continually shouted her name, telling her to come back and pay for the dress she’d just ruined, but Emma could only smile. What a beautiful day it had turned out to be!

  ***

  “You should’ve seen it!” James said as he walked behind the mercantile to where Thatcher was seated on the wagon. “Miss Tilman—”

  “Come on, James,” Thatcher said, looking at the reins in his hands. “Hurry up already. I’ve been waitin’ the whole afternoon.”

  James shook his head. “What soured your mood up right and fancy?”

  Thatcher looked at his brother, his eyes threatening him to not continue. “Not in the mood today, James.”

  “You were a few hours ago,” James said. “What happened?”

  “Nothin’.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Well, that’s your own problem. Now get on up here.”

  James climbed up onto the seat next to his brother, staring at him. Thatcher ignored the look he was giving him and slapped the reins against the horses’ backs, urging them to go quickly. They drove out of the town in silence, Thatcher not bothering to look over his shoulder to see if Emma was still cowering in fear from Miss Nancy Jane.

  He couldn’t care less at that moment.
He was hurt. Hurt and betrayed, and he didn’t give a second thought to Miss Marchant the whole rest of the way home.

  Until James mentioned her the minute they were out of Thundercreek.

  “Can I finish what I started to say, or are you still mopin’?”

  Thatcher only glanced to James then looked back to the road.

  “It’s about Nancy Jane and Emma—”

  “I don’t want to hear it, James.”

  “Suit yourself,” he said, “but you should know what happened between the two.”

  “I saw what happened, James!” he shouted, making the horses skitter until he reined them in. “I heard everythin’ Nancy Jane was sayin’. And what Emma wasn’t.”

  “Thatch,” James said, shaking his head. “You must not have heard all of it then, ’cause you’d be—”

  “I heard enough of what they were sayin’, little brother,” Thatcher said sighing, defeated. “So I just don’t want to have to hear you repeat it.”

  He was embarrassed, truth be told. Embarrassed that he had trusted the girl to stand up for him, to be a good woman. Embarrassed that he had been proven wrong. His jaw twitched with anger at himself and the one he thought he knew. Never again would he trust a woman. Especially not one as pretty and alluring as Miss Emma Marchant.

  ***

  “Oh, Liza! It was just too funny!” Emma whispered in excited tones, not wanting to wake Mae who was wrapped up in Eliza’s arms. “Her legs flew way above her head, and when she got out of the water she looked like a wet pup!”

  The girls giggled quietly. “I wish I could’ve seen that Nancy Jane where she belongs,” Eliza said, wiping away a tear of mirth. “That would just make my day!”

  “It made mine!” Emma said. “I almost felt bad for her, but then I thought of all the nasty things she’s said ’bout me and Thatcher, and I realized she really did deserve it. And it just felt so good to let it all out!”

  Eliza giggled again and smiled. “I’m so proud of you, Em!”

  “Thanks, Liza,” she said, giving her sister a hug. “Now all I got to do is tell Thatcher that I stood up for myself! He’ll be just as shocked as Nancy Jane was when she hit that horse spit water!”

  They burst into laughter again, this time forgetting to remain quiet. The baby began to fuss, so the girls calmed down, smiling at each other. A few fits of laughter remained until they both sighed, immeasurably happy.

  Emma watched Eliza bouncing up and down with Mae in her arms and again pondered the idea of having her wishes someday become reality. She wanted to go right then and there to find Thatcher and tell him her good news, but she knew she should wait. Perhaps when he and James came to supper on Saturday she’d be able to tell him. She smiled at the thought, excited for the opportunity to see his handsome face and smiling eyes once more.

  Chapter Nine

  “Quit bein’ such a croaker, Thatcher Deakon, and get ready. I’m not waitin’ any longer.”

  Thatcher looked up to his brother, eyebrows raised in surprise. James almost always had a smile on his face, but that evening he sure didn’t. Even still, Thatcher remained seated, cutting a slice of cheese to put on his dry bread.

  “I’m serious, Thatcher,” James continued. “You need to get up now.”

  “I already told you, James. I ain’t goin’.”

  “They invited us to supper over two weeks ago. You got out of last Saturday’s, you’re comin’ to this one!” James grabbed the bread from Thatcher’s hand and tossed it onto the counter, the cheese falling off the bread and onto the floor.

  “Hey! Give it back!”

  “You ain’t havin’ cheese and bread for supper again. We’re goin’ to the Marchant’s home to eat.”

  “I ain’t eatin’ there!”

  Thatcher knew he sounded childish, but he couldn’t really help it. He was hungry, had been for two weeks now, having not had the energy to fix himself much else but bread. That and he was still hurt from before, not wanting to face his betrayer, Emma. His heart told him to look at the facts, that he should go and speak to Emma about it, but his mind forced him to keep away as he worried she’d betray him further.

  Standing up, he pushed past James and tried to grab the bread, but James stood in his way, holding his arms.

  “I’m stronger than you, little brother,” Thatcher warned, brows coming together as they struggled against each other.

  “You were stronger, back when I was five and you were seven,” James grunted. With a firm shove, he pushed Thatcher back against the wall. “Now stand there and listen to me.”

  The wind was knocked out of Thatcher, and he stared at James. I guess it’s been a long while since we last wrestled, he thought. He stood there, breathing heavily and waiting for his brother to continue, finally having the sense thumped back into him.

  “Look,” James began, also breathing hard, “I don’t know what happened to you that day back at the mercantile, and I don’t know what you heard, but somethin’ has changed in you, and you need to fix it.”

  Thatcher fought the urge to become more frustrated, knowing his brother was right. He had changed. For the worse, too. “I’m sorry, James,” he said with a sigh, scratching at his jaw that had more than a week’s growth of facial hair on it.

  “You don’t need to apologize to me, Thatcher. You need to go over there and say sorry to that girl of yours.”

  “She ain’t mine,” he said gruffly. Not anymore.

  “You’ve been sayin’ that the past two weeks. Tell me why.”

  Thatcher bit his tongue, forcing himself to keep closed and not share his feelings, knowing he’d make a bigger fool of himself if he did.

  “How can you say she ain’t yours after I came home and you were all starry-eyed on her?” James continued.

  “Things change, James.” He still bit his tongue.

  “Yeah, I know. Just not that fast. Not without a reason.”

  “There is a reason! I ain’t just actin’ like this for fun!” he shouted, fists pulsing together. Darn it. He’d let out more than he was already planning on.

  James sighed. “Then for cryin’ out loud, brother. Just tell me why you are!”

  “I heard her, alright?” he yelled, hands flying in the air. If James wanted to hear what he had to say, then by heck he would hear it! “I heard Nancy Jane talkin’ with Emma, and I watched as she stood there doin’ nothin’, just takin’ it. And when the snake started talkin’ ’bout me, Emma didn’t defend me either! Just stood there takin’ it all in, believin’ it no doubt, too! So forgive me if I don’t want to see her!”

  He ended, breathing heavily through his clenched jaw. He scowled as he stared at James but was surprised when he didn’t see understanding on his face, just disbelief.

  “You didn’t hear it all, Thatch,” his brother said softly.

  “What do you mean?” he asked, angry for him not taking his side. “I heard enough. I didn’t need to hear no more of Nancy Jane tellin’ the world how bad I was, so I left. Besides, how would you know?”

  “I was there watchin’, Thatcher. And I can tell you, if you’re mad at Emma for not standin’ up for you, for betrayin’ your character and trust, then you didn’t hear it all.”

  Thatcher stared, bewildered. “Well, then what did I miss?”

  James only shook his head. “That’s for you to find out from Miss Marchant. I know she was dyin’ to tell you, that’s why I ain’t mentioned it ’fore now.”

  Shaking his head, Thatcher said, “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ ’bout, James.” He felt confused and defeated, the exhaustion of keeping his anger bottled in for two weeks finally coming to a point.

  “You’ll find out soon enough, brother!” James said, a smile spreading across his face again. He moved to Thatcher and clasped his shoulder. “And once you do, you’ll regret this little tantrum you had today.”

  Before Thatcher could hit him upside the head, James dodged out of the way. “Hurry it up. We’re leavin’. Now.”
>
  Thatcher obediently went to his room and changed into something that had a little less dirt caked to it, all the while pondering what James had said. Was he wrong in thinking Emma had betrayed him? Had he really missed something like James was suggesting? Either way, he figured he would find out that evening. He prayed James was right, because standing in Miss Marchant’s presence for very long could do two things to him: drive him crazy with frustration or drive him crazy with love, betrayal or no betrayal.

  ***

  Emma didn’t know what was wrong. Had she done something? Was the food horrible? Did she smell? Her mind was an array of questions all focusing around Thatcher and why he was behaving the way he was. After him being sick the Saturday before and not being able to make it to supper, Emma had missed him for two long weeks. And though he was just as handsome as ever, he looked a bit scruffier than she remembered, even dangerously appealing.

  She wondered why he hadn’t shown up at the inn or in town. She had rehearsed their encounters over and over in her mind, but nothing added up as to why he would be so distant with her. Perhaps James had told him about her standing up to Nancy Jane. Could he be thinking that she was rude to the girl? No, he had always encouraged her to stand up for herself. Anyway, Thatcher didn’t know about what had happened. James had said he wasn’t going to mention it to him because he thought it would be better coming from Emma herself.

  That night, all throughout supper he was silent, staring down at his plate and hardly contributing to the conversation. Sadness crept into her heart, along with insecurity, a feeling she wasn’t quite in control of yet.