A Secret Fire (Western Historical Romance)

by Deborah M. Hathaway

  As they sat in the parlor that evening, Thatcher improved slightly. Emma occasionally caught him watching her out of the corner of his eye, but he would look away before she even had the chance to smile at him. What was wrong? What had she done to make him behave that way to her? She focused on her hands folded in her lap, praying that Thatcher would be happier, that she would know what was wrong.

  “Emma?” James asked. “Why don’t you tell us the story of what happened between Nancy Jane and yourself again? Thatcher hasn’t even heard the story yet.”

  Her cheeks burned red as she saw Thatcher glance up to her with a scowl on his face and then immediately look back down at the wooden floor.

  “Oh,” she said, waving her hand, “it’s alright. It isn’t that important for him to know.” She felt embarrassed as she thought of how badly she wanted him to know about it.

  “Sure it is, Emma,” Eliza urged, smiling excitedly. “I love hearin’ it!”

  “Well,” Emma said, looking down to her hands in her lap again, “it wasn’t that great. All I did was tell Nancy Jane to stop talkin’ bad ’bout people.”

  Thatcher’s head lifted, his eyes staring suspiciously at her. Does he not believe me? she thought, completely taken aback.

  She tried to continue but still felt embarrassment over what Nancy Jane had said, though they all knew it to be untrue. She just couldn’t believe anyone would accuse someone of that kind of behavior. She burned red even thinking about it and was determined not to say anything specific about what the girl had said. It was bad enough that James had been there to hear it!

  “That ain’t all you said from what I remember,” James said, smiling from the memory.

  Emma couldn’t help but grin. “I told her to act her age and quit bein’ so mean. That’s all, really.”

  She dared a glance to Thatcher who was still looking at her with the same disbelieving look. Why didn’t he trust in her words? What had she done to not have his belief any longer?

  James spoke up, summing up what Emma didn’t have the courage to say. “It was mighty fine indeed. Seemed like the whole town was there standin’ behind Emma as she told the girl to behave herself or— What did you say again, Emma?”

  “I would get her father to tan her hide,” Emma said, unable to keep herself from smiling any longer. It felt good saying it out loud even then.

  ***

  Thatcher just couldn’t believe it. Was it true? Emma wasn’t the type of woman to tell lies. Then again, she hadn’t been the type to turn her back on someone. But had she? Her light blue eyes were as innocent as ever, her dimples showing as she smiled. But would it be just too fantastic to even consider it?

  Everyone in the room believed her. Why couldn’t he? Looking to James, he saw his brother watching him knowingly. He nodded his head, his eyes saying it all: she was telling the truth. His heart told him to believe James but most of all to believe Emma.

  His heart softened as she continued, her humble descriptions prompting other responses from their small group.

  “It wasn’t the talkin’ that got me,” James popped in. “It was seein’ you walk towards her like a wolf goin’ after her prey. That girl was plum scared out of her wits. Best face I ever saw on Nancy Jane!”

  The small group laughed, and Thatcher couldn’t help but smile as he thought of Emma approaching Miss Tilman. The more and more they spoke, the more he understood what had happened. He had left before Emma had spoken up. He hadn’t even given her a chance before he took off like a wounded pup! How stupid he felt. How utterly stupid. James had been right. He was embarrassed for throwing a tantrum that afternoon but most of all for not being kind to Emma. What a scoundrel he was for not trusting in her to stand up for him, betraying her instead of the other way around. What a yellow belly coward I am, he thought, his cheeks burning red. And how he regretted not speaking to her for two weeks because of his misjudgment!

  “Tell Thatcher the best part now, Em!” Eliza said, standing up to bounce Mae as she began to fuss.

  “Oh,” Emma started, glancing at Thatcher. His staring at her was sure to be unraveling her, but he couldn’t help it, his pride completely dissipated. “I guess I just advanced so much on her that when she took a step back, she tripped and fell down the steps into the water trough in front of the mercantile.”

  Thatcher couldn’t believe his ears. Did that really happen? He looked to James who was laughing and wiping away tears of mirth.

  “You should’ve seen it, Thatch!” he said between gasps of air. “I look over and next thing I see is Miss Tilman flyin’ through the air, one pink shoe takin’ off towards the crowd, and she’s yelpin’ and screamin’ all the way down!”

  A chuckle bubbled up inside of Thatcher as he pictured the image. He wished he would’ve stayed to see Emma speak up, he wished he hadn’t been so foolish! He looked to Emma, watched her as she smiled at James’s description. He owed her an apology. That night. Right that minute if he could! Thatcher would apologize to the girl and hope to high heaven she’d forgive him. At least without making him grovel too much.

  Emma was confused. Why in the world was Thatcher smiling at her? Had he just been simply bored earlier? What had made him change?

  Either way, she decided to ignore the sudden and swift mood transformation and instead focused on the happiness it brought her.

  “It was nice to see her hair afterwards,” Emma said, her head down as she smiled. “I was gettin’ sick of those springy curls. Who knew that backin’ her up into a horse’s watering trough would’ve been the easiest way to get rid of them.”

  They all laughed, and she looked up shyly to see Thatcher chuckling, as well.

  The evening progressed, and Thatcher sighed, setting his hands on his knees. “I think I’d like some fresh air.” He looked to Emma, and her heart flipped. “Miss Marchant, would you like to join me?”

  She smiled, blushing as she nodded her head. “’Course, Mr. Deakon.”

  He helped her up and placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. Just as firm as I remember, she thought with a smile.

  “Well, do you two mind if I join?” James said, and Emma looked back to him. She was relieved to see him wink mischievously.

  “Thanks for the offer, James,” Thatcher answered for them both with a smile, “but I think I want to spend my evenin’ out with Miss Marchant instead of you. Hope you don’t mind.”

  He didn’t wait for a response, leaving the room as they heard James laughing to himself. They continued in silence, walking out the back door of the inn and towards the river.

  The sun was beginning to set, lighting the edges of the trees and making them look on fire. A few crickets chirped their songs as dragonflies dodged around in the sky, their wings snapping together as they flew. The long grass swished against their legs, Emma’s long skirts swirling around her in the slight breeze.

  Neither one spoke for fear of breaking the perfect feeling around them, but Emma’s mind could not be stopped as she questioned the strange behavior of the man walking beside her, hoping he would address it before it popped out of her mouth by mistake.

  They continued walking, the town soon off in the distance, no one around but themselves. Their pace slowed, and Thatcher finally spoke. “Miss Marchant…I…” he hesitated.

  “Yes?” Why was he not calling her by her first name?

  “I just want to…I just need to apologize for my behavior the past two weeks and durin’ supper this evenin’. It was uncalled for, and I want you to know I am sorry for it.”

  It came out in a rush, and Emma tried to comprehend it all. He was apologizing to her?

  “It’s alright,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I know you didn’t mean any harm by it.”

  Thatcher shook his head. “I didn’t, I was just…” he broke off, sighing.

  He stopped walking, turning his body to face Emma and hanging his head. Emma wondered why he looked so ashamed. What was going on in his mind?

  “I
misunderstood you and didn’t look at all the facts. So I was…” he trailed off again.

  Emma replayed the words in her mind. What was he talking about? Misunderstood her? So it was something she had said to him!

  “Thatcher,” she said, not bothering to use formality when they hadn’t for so long, “whatever I said, I’m sorry. I didn’t know—”

  “No, it’s not what you said, Emma,” he said, shaking his head, sighing again. He pulled his hat off, running his fingers through his hair before replacing it on his head. “You did nothin’ wrong. It was me. It was my fault.”

  “I don’t understand. What did you do?” she asked, completely baffled.

  She watched him rub his neck as he looked to his boots that crushed the soft grass beneath him. She had never seen him so uncomfortable. “I was watchin’ you that day at the mercantile, when you were with Nancy Jane. I could see you through the window.”

  “Okay…” she prodded. So he had seen everything. But why did he look so shocked and unbelieving when he heard the story then? “I’m sure half the town was watchin’, too, so that’s no—”

  “It’s not that,” he interrupted.

  “Then what is it?” She tried looking into his eyes to figure out what he was thinking, but he avoided her gaze.

  “When I saw you standin’ there, just acceptin’ what the girl was sayin’ to you, I wanted to go out there and help you…But when…when she started talkin’ ’bout me and you didn’t say nothin’ to refute it, I…I just felt…”

  She watched as his shoulders slumped. “You felt like I’d abandoned you?” she asked. “Like I just believed and accepted what Nancy Jane was sayin’? Not strong enough to stick up for you?” She felt her heart reach out to him as he nodded his head. “But if you were there watchin’, you must’ve seen that I did stand up for you. I did!”

  Thatcher only shook his head, his voice quiet as he spoke. “I left ’fore I heard you speak a word.”

  A calm understanding rushed over Emma. “So that’s why you’ve kept away for two weeks?” He actually thought I had betrayed him! she thought. How could I betray the man I love?

  “Yeah, that’s why. I was just…just bein’ a coward, and I apologize.” He straightened his shoulders, his chin firm and level with the ground. He looked ready to receive his punishment.

  Emma smiled at him, elated that she finally knew what the problem was. “Thank you for tellin’ me, Thatcher,” she said. “I thought I’d done somethin’ terribly wrong!”

  He smiled. “No, darlin’, you ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief and wiped away pretend sweat from her brow, ignoring his still penitent gaze. “Well, I’m glad that’s sorted through!”

  “You mean you ain’t upset with me?” he asked with shock in his eyes.

  “’Course not, Thatcher!” she said with a smile. Standing on her tiptoes, Emma gave him a loving kiss on the cheek, her confidence returning. “Now,” she said, “can we put it behind us?”

  Mischief occupied Thatcher’s brown eyes then, a look she hadn’t seen for far too long. “Only on one condition,” he said.

  “And what, may I ask, is that, sir?” she asked, the corners of her lips turning up.

  “If you do some sparkin’ with me ’fore we go on back to the inn.” His eyebrows raised daringly.

  “Hmm,” Emma said with a pretend look of disappointment, “that’s too bad, ’cause I was just plannin’ on goin’ inside right now!”

  She took off towards the inn, hiking up her skirts as much as modesty allowed, giggling as she heard him charging after her.

  “You better run faster, darlin’!” Thatcher shouted from behind. “’Cause your lover is catchin’ up right quick!”

  Within seconds, Thatcher’s arms wrapped around Emma’s waist and held her tightly to his back, stopping her from moving ahead.

  “Got you!” he shouted.

  “No, no!” She giggled, enthralled with the touch of his strong arms holding her against his even stronger body. “This isn’t fair! Your legs are much longer than mine!”

  “Well, you got a head start,” Thatcher said as they panted together, “so I think it’s perfectly fair. Now come here.”

  He turned her around in one swift motion, causing their bodies to become close together. She looked up at him, smiling and still breathing heavily from exertion. As she rested her palms on his chest, she felt his hands at the small of her back pulling her even closer. “Now, Miss Marchant,” he said with a smile, “it’s time for you to pay up.”

  Her heartbeat quickened. He really did want to spark with her! She watched as he leaned in close, closing her eyes a second before his lips touched her own and the fire was ignited within her.

  It had been a long two weeks for Emma as her hands ran up Thatcher’s chest and around his neck, her fingers eventually linking as she stood on her toes. She pulled his head down to draw him closer, striving to drink in more of him. How glorious it felt to be kissed once more by her love, her best friend!

  ***

  Thatcher could not quench his thirst! No matter how close he pulled Emma in, no matter how much faster their mouths moved in sync, his desire for the woman could not be satisfied!

  Her fingers at the back of his neck tickled him, causing goose bumps to run up and down his arms, only making him more desirous for her. He was wild for this woman! His breathing became labored, and he held her tighter. Worried thoughts no longer occupied his mind, only Emma Marchant and the taste of her sweet mouth against his own. He knew he was rubbing her mouth raw from his rough facial hair that he hadn’t shaved in weeks, but he couldn’t seem to pull away no matter how hard he tried. If he had wanted to try, anyway.

  How foolish he’d been for staying away for so long. He should’ve just asked her from the very start and saved him a heap of heartache. Those thoughts were soon diminished, however, as he heard Emma sigh, the sound serving to increase his desire tenfold.

  ***

  Emma couldn’t help herself from sighing. How glorious it felt to have Thatcher’s arms around her body. She loved him even more, each second increasing her feelings. She was so grateful that Thatcher had finally spoken to her, and she showed her gratitude through loving affection.

  With his kiss, Emma could feel Thatcher’s true feelings, and her courage increased as the moments went by. She prayed that her affections would further his feelings for her, too, and help him to rise above the untrue thoughts he had of her not standing up for him.

  His scruffy chin burned her lips, but she loved the feeling! It only proved to remind her that she was kissing a man rather than those boys who had stolen kisses from her on the school grounds when she was ten, or even fifteen. Yes, this was a man’s kiss. And it was entirely intoxicating!

  She felt the moisture from his mouth and sighed again, fearing to say his name, for she didn’t want him to stop. So she said nothing, only breathed heavily in sync with her love as they shared a passion and unity she never thought possible.

  After a few more moments, their kisses slowed, their breathing evening out until Thatcher pulled back, kissing her lips three times in soft succession. She saw mirth in his eyes as he examined her face, and she looked at him curiously. “What?” she questioned.

  He chuckled. “We’d best wait awhile ’fore goin’ in again. Looks like you got yourself a rash on your face.”

  “What do you mean?” But as she placed her hand to her lips, she felt the burning sensation again and understood. She swatted him lightly on the arm, giggling. “Yes, well it’s your fault, isn’t it?”

  He smiled and nodded. “And I ain’t apologizin’ for it.”

  Her heart flipped as he winked at her. He was so handsome! But his smile soon faded, his face becoming serious once more. He looked into her eyes, and she saw the solemnity in his own. “I am sorry, Emma,” he said, “for bein’ rude and for not trustin’ you.”

  “It’s alright, Thatcher, I understand.” She smiled at
him, smoothing his brow.

  His eyes still looked worried, though. “I was just scared you’d be exactly like my mo—”

  He stopped, staring off into the west where the sun had almost disappeared, leaving only a faint light behind. Emma looked to him. “Like who, Thatcher?”

  “Like no one.” His mood had completely changed.

  He walked ahead of her, but Emma caught up quickly, walking right by his side. She didn’t want to pressure him into saying anything he didn’t want to, but for some reason she felt like he did want to talk about it.

  “Thatcher?” she said, stopping. “Please.”

  He turned around to face her, remaining still. His eyes held a sadness, his brows turning up, and it made her heart break to see him in such a manner.

  “Were you goin’ to say like your mother?” she asked in a gentle voice, walking up to him and running a hand through his hair. She saw him flinch and thought it was because she had touched him, so she removed her hand.

  He nodded his head. “Yes, like my mother. My mother who abandoned me and everythin’ else in her life.”

  His tone was bitter, and Emma watched his brown eyes change from grief to anger.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” The last thing she wanted was for him to get upset, so she prayed that he would open up.

  “What’s there to say?” he asked cynically, his eyes hard, jaw set and square. “How she left me to raise my brother? Or how she abandoned my father, her own husband?”

  Those few sentences helped Emma to understand. She nodded her head, tears flooding in her eyes at the pain he was feeling. “Yes, tell me ’bout what happened.”

  Thatcher’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “You want to hear my pitiful life story? It doesn’t have much of a happy endin’, I’m afraid.”

  “Yes, I want to hear it all, Thatcher,” she said, putting a hand on his strong arm. “Tell me. Please?”

  He let out a sigh. “There ain’t much to say. I was five when she left, James was ’bout three. She left Papa to raise us boys, but he didn’t know what to do on his own. His mama, our grandmother, took all three of us in and raised us boys, but she was gettin’ real old, so I mostly took care of James ’til he got older himself.”