A Secret Fire (Western Historical Romance)

by Deborah M. Hathaway

  Chapter Eleven

  Emma trudged through the mud next to the river, noting how unusually high the water had risen from of the rain they’d been receiving. She moved a few feet away, uneasy about the swift currents she saw as she wiped her muddy feet on the dewy grass.

  It was early morning, the first day that hadn’t started with rain in a week, although the clouds above still threatened to spill any second. Emma had decided to take advantage of the pause in the moisture and stepped outside for a walk, not able to handle being cooped up in the house any longer.

  Breathing in, she noted the feel of the cold air entering her lungs, but nothing seemed to soothe her worried heart. She had yet to hear from Thatcher. It had been so long. Had he forgotten her? Was Lucy alright? Surely, James would’ve let them know if something bad had happened. She tried to be patient, tried to calm her troubled heart, but nothing seemed to work. She imagined the feel of Thatcher’s warm, protective arms around her as she pulled her brown shawl closer.

  The memory of Thatcher’s lips on her own returned, and she thought of the sweet kisses they had shared. She knew deep down that Thatcher had feelings for her, but she also knew that there was a fear holding him back from accepting those feelings, a fear caused by his mother’s actions. She longed to have him return to her so she could prove herself worthy of him, to show him that she would never do anything to hurt him. Ever!

  “You look mighty cold.”

  She whirled around, goose bumps prickling her neck as she saw Silas Gyver standing before her. How long had he been following her, watching her without her knowledge? An uneasy feeling entered her heart as she saw his eyelids moving slowly up and down, his eyes unable to hold a straight gaze. He was drunk. Even more so than usual.

  Trying to come up with something to say to warn him to keep his distance, Emma looked to the ground, only to glance back up as she heard his footsteps drawing closer. He led his horse to the trees near the river, and she noted the way the horse skittered away from Silas’s hands as he tied the reins to a branch. Anger swelled inside of her as she saw the fear in the horse’s eyes.

  The man’s attention then moved to her, looking her up and down lecherously, and bile rose in her throat. She looked around, cursing herself for being so distracted. She had been so consumed in her thoughts that she hadn’t even heard his approach. And she had walked so far from town that there was no way she could escape.

  “Why don’t you come on over here and let your lover warm you up, Em?” he said with a grin, his yellow teeth causing the desire inside her to vomit.

  “No thank you, Mr. Gyver,” she said. She had nowhere else to go, so the best thing she could do at that point was to be in control. Pretend to be, at least. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll finish my walk alone.”

  She didn’t want to walk towards town, for he was standing in her way, so she made an angle away from him, praying he wouldn’t block her.

  Yet quickly he stood in her pathway again, stumbling over his own mud-covered boots.

  “Let me pass, Mr. Gyver,” she said, her voice betraying her with a crack. Rain started trickling from the clouded sky, and Emma blinked as one drop fell onto her eyelash.

  She wiped it away as Silas smiled, taking a few steps towards her. “That’s no way to talk to your future husband, Emma,” he said, his mouth slurring words together. “Now come on over here and give me a kiss.”

  She tried to dodge him as he advanced, but he caught her arm with a drunken strength. His grip tightened as she continued struggling to try to get away from him. “Let me go, Silas Gyver!”

  He only laughed, entertained by the little game he’d created. She saw the look in his eyes, the insanity that had replaced a normal mind, and fear overtook her. She had to get out of his grasp. She had to get away!

  “Now come on and quit your fightin’, darlin’,” he continued. “I’ve been wantin’ a taste of your mouth here for such a long time. Why ain’t you just goin’ to let me have one?”

  Disgust filled her soul, and she took a deep breath. A power entered her body, a strength that only appeared when fear for a life came into play, and in a swift motion, she pulled her arm free from his grasp, spinning quickly on her heel and running the opposite direction, praying to be able to draw close enough to town for her cries to be heard.

  The rain picked up speed, as did her legs, but she heard footsteps scrambling behind her, drawing closer. Anxiety weakened her resolve, and the mud stuck on her shoes, making it harder to run.

  Soon, she felt a tug on her waistband, and she screamed. Her cries were muffled, however, as Silas’s grimy hand covered her mouth. He pulled her close to his body, her back against his front, and she squirmed, desperate to escape his filthy clutches.

  “Now stop your fussin’, dear,” he said, placing his wet mouth against the back of her neck. “Give me a kiss!”

  He spun her around and tried to force his mouth down on her own, but she lifted her knee, hearing him groan as she watched him double over in pain. She wasted no time in her escape once more, but the mud clung to her skirts, making it impossible to run.

  Again, his footsteps closed in, and she was soon flying through the air, her foot having stumbled on Silas’s boot as he stuck his leg out in front of her. She landed, the breath whooshing out of her lungs, mud flying across her face. She scrambled still, tears streaming down her cheeks and blurring her vision. He pulled her up by her hair, and she screamed in pain as he slapped her across the cheek, the hurt she felt stunning her into silence.

  “Shut your mouth!” he shouted, pulling her hair again to wrench her head back. The rain poured onto her face, and she tried to blink away the moisture. She saw him hold his hand up, ready to slap her again, and she winced, already anticipating the feel of his hand against her cheek once more.

  “Gyver!” A distant yell came from across the river, and relief flooded Emma’s soul as she looked to see none other than Thatcher Deakon riding his black stallion ferociously through the rain, coming upon them with a violent speed. “Get your hands off her!”

  “Thatcher,” she whispered. Was it really him? She could hardly believe it!

  Silas let go of her, shoving her so hard that she stumbled into the mud again, falling flat on her back. The wind was knocked out of her, but she managed to scoot away, trying to make as much distance as possible between herself and Silas, who was intensely focused on Thatcher.

  Tears spilled down her face, smearing the mud even more as she watched her rescuer, her Thatcher, coming to save her. The black horse glistened with moisture, and drops of rain poured from the brim of Thatcher’s hat, spilling onto his hands that held the leather reins firmly. Her heart soared with relief and gratitude.

  “Thatcher!” she yelled, breathless, wondering how he had managed to find her.

  “You shut your mouth!” Silas shouted, pointing his finger down at Emma before turning his attention back to the man headed his way.

  Thatcher directed his horse with ease, the black stallion forging through the deep currents of the river with strength and resolve, just like his master. Water splashed up, mimicking the rain pouring from the sky.

  As soon as Thatcher reached the other side of the river, he flew off his horse and walked determinedly towards Silas.

  “What do you think you’re doin’, Gyver?” he growled, his deep voice resonating over the sound of the rushing water and the thunder rumbling above. His boots gleamed with water droplets, and his legs were drenched, but he didn’t seem to notice or care.

  He strode right up to Silas and grabbed the drunken man by the collar of his shirt, pulling him further away from Emma. Her heart pounded as she watched Thatcher defend her.

  “You’re as drunk as a dog,” Thatcher said with disgust as he pulled Silas closer to his face, “and I don’t want to see you ever touch Miss Marchant again. You hear me?”

  He pushed him away, Silas stumbling backwards, catching himself right before he fell down. He spit at Tha
tcher, missing his face by an inch. “Don’t you tell me what to do, boy!”

  “I can tell you to do anythin’ I want when it involves my woman!” he shouted, pointing a threatening finger towards him.

  Emma’s heart flipped with Thatcher’s possessive words, but she backed away again when she saw Silas’s leering gaze. “Your woman?” Silas sneered. “She ain’t your woman. She’s mine!”

  “You keep your eyes off her, or I’ll kill you!” Thatcher yelled, rage powering his voice. “I swear I will!”

  Silas glared at Thatcher, cursing him profusely before he pulled his arm back and attempted to hit him. His drunken aim missed Thatcher’s face and went for his arm, but the able man moved out of the way, retaliating with a swing of his own, his fist meeting directly with Silas’s jaw. The drunkard stumbled backwards, his eyes even more dazed than before as he fell down flat on his backside, his eyes rolling in his head.

  Thatcher took a step closer, pulling Silas up once more by his shirt as the man winced. He pulled him close to his face, spitting out, “I don’t want to ever see you here again. If I do, the sheriff ain’t goin’ to stop me from killin’ you!”

  He released Silas’s collar and shoved him once again to the ground. “Now get out of here!” he shouted before the drunk man scrambled to his feet and ran to his horse.

  Thatcher watched until Silas mounted the jittery animal and rode across the river in a mad dash, his cowardly fear evident in his speed.

  Emma watched Silas’s head bob up and down as the horse pranced across the water, but he looked back and swore. “You’ll be sorry, Deakon!” he shouted across the river. He glared at Emma until he spurred his horse to run again in the opposite direction of town, his body swaying from side to side, bouncing from his horse’s weak footing.

  Her heart soared as she saw Thatcher making his way over to her, a determined look on his face. He pulled her up effortlessly, examining her body to make sure she wasn’t hurt, then moving to her face, holding it between his hands. He looked into her eyes as tears flowed freely down her stinging cheek. It was really him!

  “Did he hurt you, darlin’?” His voice was soft and absent of anger.

  Emma’s lip quivered. “No.”

  He sighed, wiping the smeared mud off her cheek, gently caressing the red mark Silas’s hand had produced. “I’m so sorry for not bein’ here sooner to…to protect you. If I would’ve known…”

  She shook her head, staring into his deep brown eyes. “No, you saved me, Thatcher.”

  She felt his hands tremble as he held her face, and she knew it was adrenaline and anger caused.

  “If that man…” he started, his teeth clenched. “I swear I’ll kill him.”

  She shook her head. “It’s alright. He’s a coward, he won’t be comin’ back.”

  Thatcher didn’t seem convinced as he closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths before releasing them slowly to calm down.

  The rain was still heavy, and Emma was soaked to the bone, but she didn’t care. She had the strong desire to throw her arms around Thatcher’s neck, but she pushed it away, unsure of what his reaction might be.

  Instead, she waited, watched him relax, his shoulders slumping down, eyebrows no longer scowling. “Emma,” he said seconds before he pulled her into his strong arms.

  Emma bit her lip, but her quiet sobs couldn’t be stopped. She had never been so relieved! She said a silent prayer of gratitude to heaven once more for the blessed man who had saved her once again. He squeezed her tightly, and her love for him increased. How wonderful it felt to be held in his embrace, how safe she felt!

  As her crying lessened and her nerves were calmed, Thatcher loosened his grip and pulled back, looking deeply into her eyes as she wiped away her remaining tears. “I don’t want you to walk out here alone, Em,” he said. “Not until we know Gyver ain’t comin’ back.”

  She was about to protest, but the look in his eyes told her the request was from fear. She nodded, fully agreeing at that point, and stared meekly at the man who had just saved her virtue and very well her life.

  “How did you know where to find me?” she asked, her voice slightly quivering.

  A faraway look came to his eyes. “I…I was just comin’ back and thought I heard a scream, so I rode to see who it was. When I saw Gyver standin’ up, I knew you were in trouble.”

  She shuddered to think of what might have happened had he arrived any later.

  He wiped a stray tear from her cheek and smiled softly. “Let’s get you out of this rain ’fore you freeze to death,” he said with a wink.

  He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, tucking her close to his side. She slid one of her arms around his back and relished in the feel of the muscles in his back twitching as she moved past them. They walked to his horse, leading him behind them as they made their way along the river back to town. They moved in silence, neither of them knowing what to say.

  Emma finally felt secure, sheltered by the man’s power and strength, but she had a heap of questions moving through her mind. “Why…How are you?” she asked, changing her question at the last second.

  A soft chuckle came from Thatcher, and she looked up to see his eyes crinkling at the sides. “I’m doin’ alright, sugar,” he said with a wink, pulling her closer to protect her from the rain. “You warm enough?”

  She nodded. “And how is James’s fiancée? We heard ’bout her fever when you boys left town.” Her concern for the girl had not been forgotten, even as the events of the day began to take a toll on her mind.

  “She’s doin’ just fine. Her fever broke a few days ago, and she’s already startin’ to regain her health.”

  Emma was relieved, grateful the girl would be alright. Yet, with one question answered, there were still many to go, and she felt agitated. What was Thatcher doing there? Was everything all right with his brother and Miss Martin? What about himself? He seemed uneasy, but was that because of Silas or because of the many things unspoken between them? Did he remember their last conversation and how he left? He would probably still be upset with her because of what she had said to him.

  “Emma, I…” Thatcher began, and Emma’s heart threatened to stop beating. Would he finally explain? Would she get some answers? But what if the answers she was seeking weren’t what she wanted to hear? All confidence disappeared, and she looked to the muddy ground.

  When he didn’t continue, however, Emma found the courage to urge him forward. “Yes?”

  He stopped walking as they arrived at an area heavily covered with trees, only a few drops of rain escaping the leaves above. He seemed to examine the place shortly before directing Emma to take cover under the shelter. Once they were out of the rain, Thatcher began. “I know we need to get you home and into some dry clothes, but Emma…”

  She looked up to him as he paused, his deep brown eyes full of concern and some other emotion Emma couldn’t quite pick out. Sighing deeply, she leaned into his hand as he placed it gently on her cheek. She couldn’t speak, her emotions right at the surface. She loved him so much. She was afraid it would burst forth from her mouth!

  Thatcher sighed and took his hat off, smoothing his hair before replacing it back on his head. “I have so much to tell you, I just don’t know where to start,” he said with frustration.

  She didn’t know what to say to him, so she remained silent, looking up at him. His gaze met her own, and finally, he started, not looking away once from her eyes. “I just wanted to first apologize for the words I said before…and for walkin’ out on you so abruptly. I shouldn’t have been so rude.”

  Is that what it was all about? An apology? “Well, ’course it’s all right, Thatcher,” she said, dumbfounded. He was worried about that? “I said some things I wasn’t proud of either, and I’m sorry.”

  Shaking his head fiercely, he said, “No. No, you shouldn’t be sorry. You said exactly what I needed to hear so I’d stop wallowin’ in self-pity.”

  She smiled, glad he felt that way, but
guilt would always gnaw at her soul for being so abrasive with him. A question niggled at her brain, and she couldn’t help but blurt out, “Why are you here, Thatcher?”

  There, she’d said it. No more skirting around the issue.

  He chuckled, smiling softly. “That’s the other thing I had to tell you. James finally bit the bullet and married Lucy two days back.”

  “Oh that is wonderful!” she exclaimed, truly happy for Thatcher’s brother and his new wife.

  “It sure is,” Thatcher said smiling. “I came back to clean my things out from the house so Lucy can move in.”

  So that was why he had returned. Lucy was taking his place, and he was leaving. Emma felt her heart break in two.

  “But that ain’t the only reason I came back,” he said, taking a step closer to her, causing her to crane her neck back in order to see his face.

  Her breathing quickened as she looked to his lips, her mouth filling with moisture, her heart beating with more pressure than normal as he leaned closer to her. “What’s the other reason?” she managed to breathe out.

  “I came to see a little wildflower,” he said, his deep voice soft and slow. “A wildflower I can’t seem to live without.”

  “What are you sayin’, Thatcher?” she asked as tears welled in her eyes once again, her hands gripping onto his arms to steady herself, his strong hands still holding her face.

  “I’m sayin’ that I was a fool before, Em.” He leaned down, kissing away a tear that travelled slowly down her cheek. “I was a fool for walkin’ out on you, for not trustin’ you, for bein’ worried ’bout you changin’. But now I’m sayin’ that I ain’t scared anymore.”

  She smiled through her tears as he kissed her other cheek and then her forehead. “I’m sayin’,” he said, pulling back to look into her eyes, his own filling with tears, too, “I’m sayin’ that I love you, Emma.”